I’ve sat in front of this blank screen for a while now. Not really knowing where or how to start. I’m writing this on the Sunday after the Champions League final, still in Greece, a couple of hours before the parade. An earlier football post than usual. How I wish I was amongst the Arsenal fans in London right now. I’m sitting on my own in my room as the OddSon has his nap.
I watched the final in the resort bar. They had a screen and a projector, but at kick off the sun was so bright the projector was rendered useless. Regardless, I sat in the prime seat on a sofa between both projector and screen with the rest of the OddFamily. The screen wasn’t as big as the projector so for a large part of the game I was squinting to make out what was happening and locating the ball.
I don’t really fancy going into a detailed analysis of the game. Not that I ever do! I said to my brother before the game that whatever the result it won’t matter because this team has made me proud, so providing we didn’t get hammered we’ll be ok. But to lose on penalties like we did? That fucking hurts!
It sounds weird but I feel the Havertz goal maybe came too early – it was a quality finish – but to hold onto a one goal lead for practically the whole game would be difficult. We came agonisingly close though. The best defence vs the best attack – and in a weird way I feel our defence came out on top. For all of PSG’s possession, they didn’t do much with it.
Outside of Havertz’s quality goal – we didn’t really show the quality in attack as we did in defence. Something we really need to address this summer. As soon as PSG scored the equaliser I sensed the game would go to penalties. So I was nervous to see our best penalty-takers taken off. Even then, I believe we should have had a penalty when Madueke was fouled. The decisions felt like they went PSG’s way – a lot.
There’s not too much more to say about the match than to say there’s no fault on Eze or Gabriel. Penalties are a lottery, and the pressure is on. They’re probably feeling it a lot – but I hope their names are sang loudly during the parade. I’d be more than happy to offer them a hug if I was ever allowed to see them in person!
As the game went on, Mrs OddFather had to take the kids and put them to bed. This left me on my own on the sofa so some kids from another country decided to sit next to me because they seemed to prefer Arsenal to win. This was great and all, but they were so fidgety and eventually ended up on their iPad with the volume high so I had to move. In fact, it was for the best as I paced around in extra time.
I was one of only two real Arsenal fans in the bar. There was a woman behind me who watched with her young sons. There were a fair few PSG fans in the crowd. Here’s the thing – I somehow achieved some sort of cult status at the resort after wearing a different Arsenal shirt each day the last week. People were coming up to me with their reactions through the game. This morning, a couple told Mrs OddFather they were more interested watching me watch the game than they were in watching the game themselves. Not sure how to take that – thanks, I guess?
I stood still during the penalty shootout – not reacting to any kicks. But each time the crowd seemed to turn to look at me. Pretty strange. Then Arsenal missed the last spot kick and something kind of beautiful happened. Lot’s of people came up to me to shake my hand, as if I were the one that had been playing the game. A woman from Newcastle came and gave me a hug and reminded me how Newcastle got a result vs PSG. And a boy no older than 5 years old wearing a Barca kit came and asked me if I was ok. That kind of melted my heart. If there wasn’t such a spotlight on me I probably could have cried.
There were a few jibes from PSG fans and anti-Arsenal fans – mainly just banter. But as the players on the screen were reacting to the result, the crowd in the bar disappeared. No one remained for the trophy-lift. Not even the PSG “fans”. And as I found myself alone, I went up to the bar and ordered two Ouzo drinks (which is basically Greek sambuca) and sat down again to watch the players receive their medals.
I didn’t remove my Arsenal shirt. It stayed on. Because despite the result, I’m proud of this team. As a Greek singer on stage butchered Oasis songs I sat and drowned my sorrows. At one point I saw a couple of guys in the distance sitting, staring in my direction and sniggering. I didn’t take kindly to this, so proceeded to wave at them, indicate that I have my eyes on them, and then did something similar to Trossard’s binoculars celebration as Wonderwall was being bastardised by the singer. The perceived threat worked – they quickly looked away. That should teach them hooligans about where to go. Until they got up to leave… Carrying some young sleeping kids.
Ok, maybe that wasn’t necessary on my part!
I don’t know how many people will read this post today. I get it’s not something Arsenal fans at least will want to remind themselves of. But I hope the parade today is the celebration that it should be – for fans and players and anyone else involved with the club. This may not have been a joyful read, but it’s been therapeutic to write about for sure.
Love to all Arsenal fans. One thing is for sure – the Arsenal story isn’t over yet.
