It does what it says on the tin – I’m from Brooklyn, NY and I’m a Gooner.
I wish I could say that I had some grand Fever Pitch-esque story that I can tell about how I came to join this fun-loving tribe. Honestly though, the Premier League highlights show was broadcast on the old SportsChannel New York back in the early 90s – this was the season that Swindon was in the top flight. Anyway, the names of two clubs struck my fancy – the other was, of all things, Queens Park Rangers. What swung it for me was that Arsenal featured weaponry on their crest and they wore red instead of blue. Really, that’s what it came down to.
Once SCNY dropped the highlights show, my lifeline to Arsenal was a frail one for many years. At the time, I was far more into hockey and baseball (in that order). I still madly love my Montreal Canadiens and San Francisco Giants, and they were all I had at the time. The only means of communication I had from fortress Highbury was the late, great, @FC Online Arsenal Fanzine. The archives are thankfully still up, and I go back every so often to relive the days before NYC football pubs, message boards, Twitter, Facebook, the Guardian’s minute-by-minutes, etc.
I can’t place when exactly the spark picked back up. I know it was previous to 1998, as that was the year I was in England studying for a semester…and by that point, I was well back in it and knew all the players around the league and such. Oh yeah – that was also the year that I saw our reserves and kids get tonked 5-1 at The Home of Football by that prick Gianluca Vialli and his full-strength Chelsea side. Have I also mentioned that was my only trip to THOF? But hey, I am a cynical and bitter man, and thus can find small solaces in unlikely places – such as Shite Hart Lane, where I sat with the Brentford supporters in another League Cup tie and saw Lloyd Owusu beat Hans Segers in something like the 3rd minute. Oh, how I chortled! The Scum won 3-2, but the fact that they made heavy weather of such a tiny side warmed the cockles of my heart.
Anyway, I think it must have been the advent of Nevada Smith’s that corralled me back into football for good. One of my acquaintances in high school was a Manshites supporter and insisted that I come see this wondrous place where one can consume beer and watch people kick things. Of course, I use “wondrous” in terms looser than than the “vagine” Borat refers to – you know, the one that hangs like sleeve of wizard’s robe. It was a dank hellhole with no food and that fucking old twat who goes around snapping at people if their beer is 3/4ths empty. Yes, I’m getting another one you wanker…leave off.
Ahh…digressions. Get used to them, my friends. Parenthetical side-notes, non sequitors and juvenile asides are my friends, and they will be yours as well.
So yes, Nevada Smith’s. The first match I saw there was actually the Manshites vs. Aston Villa, the first in a 485797459375934769435695476943-long series of mid-table sides spreading their legs and letting Fergie’s lot do whatever they wanted. Half of these mobs didn’t even get dinner and a movie first. That was the only one for a while because I lived upstate at the time, but eventually I started soujourning down on my own when I knew that Arsenal were being shown. I don’t have any particular memory of games or players from this time, just that the connection was slowly being made.
Once Rupert Murdoch ascended on his black hellhounds bearing Sky satellite service to fine drinking establishments everywhere (and also to Nevada Smith’s), it was all over. Football quickly skyrocketed to the summit of my internal sports-watching table, never to relinquish the crown. More and more Gooners started amassing (for the big games anyway…you get the same 20 die-hards for Bolton away) as the years passed, and the bonds of camaraderie and shared hatred of the Scum (and the other Scum, and the other Scum, and the other Scum…oh, and those West Ham fucks too) began to form.
Now, shit…the days of waiting until 2 days after the match for @FC to update are a distant memory. You will find me at the Blind Pig in Union Square, living and dying for the red and white with my brothers and sisters of the NYC Arsenal Supporters Club. I hardly ever miss a game, and now I fully intend (Oh, good intentions…when have you ever failed me? What? Oh) to provide witty, insightful commentary on the matches upon my return each week.
Or, alternatively, I’ll log on real quick to type “ROONEY IS A TOSSER” and call it a day. Either/or.
Whichever way it ends up, I do hope you enjoy your stay here.
UP THE ARSE!
- Sean
8/3/2010
