Arsenal vs WBA

I don’t believe any Arsenal fan would’ve predicted this outcome: 3 -2 to West Bromwich Albion. To watch this game unfold before my eyes only brought more anger and spittle being ejected from me. What on earth happened to us today I have no idea. We lost a perfect opportunity to close the gap between us and Chelsea as they had lost to Manchester City : 1 -0. The fans were at fever pitch and we knew the WBA game was an easy bag for us. In fact, on the train journey down from Putney I bumped into a Fulham fan (who was off to see Fulham vs Everton) and when he realised we were playing WBA his last infamous words were – an easy three points. I’m no BBC Sports pundit, but even having our midfield consist of Song, Diaby and Eboue was certainly disconcerting. We simply didn’t have an attacking midfield option and especially these players as they don’t have the accuracy that Fabregas, Nasri and Wiltshire posses. But the biggest let-down has to be our keeper. For the love of God, why does this buffoon always leave his goal area. It was this stupid move that allowed Odemwingie (WBA) to slot home a win. Reeling from that goal it must have been less than a minute and half before they scored again. The third WBA goal was made when Alumunia came rushing out to the right of the box which made a perfect opportunity for WBA to square it to one their players before netting their third. It was at this point that some Arsenal fans had given up hope and began to leave as it was already 73 mins into the game. Nasri pulled off a miracle by netting 2 goals in the 75th min and one in extra time. But we could not equalize in the time given to us and so it ended. We lost. 3 -2. It was my first Arsenal loss in the Clock End. How did I feel? …… Inconsolable.

Observational Research

Coming out from the Station I was visually assaulted by the mass of red and white that lined the street. You also can’t avoid the number of Police Officers which eye all the tube passengers as they disembark the station. I had to pull over to one side and take this photograph – Gillespie Road – which shows the mass on a typical match day. I also took some audio as we entered the Arsenal football grounds via the Gillespie Road entrance – click here to listen. On listening to this I was surprised to hear the hullaballoo of the noise change drastic tempo as we walked up the steps and on to the walkway to the stadium. This is the calm before the storm. Two things are happening at this point in relation to the sound: The noise of the street is being dampened as we move up and away, and secondly the sight of the majestic stadium stuns people who for some they immediately begin to pull out their cameras and fire off rounds of shots. I decided not to hang around outside as it was quite cold so I entered through the turnstiles.

As I walked in I made my way to buy some water and then stood near one of the overhanging flat screen Sony tv’s to watch Manchester City vs Chelsea in High Definition. It was only 2pm and there was an another hour to kick-off I wanted to see Man City kick Chelsea’s butt (which they did – Yeah!).

As I watched the game, I noticed a tall man with his son. The father was a pencil like figure wearing a yellow Arsenal away top over a light weight blue hoodie top. He had mid-length dark brown. His jeans were kind of interesting as on his left rear pocket (it’s Obs Res okay!) was emblazoned an English flag with the number 66 – referring to when England won the World Cup. His son was rather androgynous looking. He must have been around 6 or 7 years of age and wore an adult size Arsenal home shirt which hung just above his knees. Like his Dad, he wore his shirt over a lightweight blue hoodie top and he sported a fancy pair of Nike football trainers. As I observed the two I noticed the father was having a pint and his son drinking a bottle of Pepsi. They both stood in front of me watching the game overhead. But there was no contact between father and son. The father was such an imposing figure that he casted a protective shadow over his son. Now an again, the father would briefly look down at his son who was transfixed at the screen. I was thinking about how the father and the daughter in my story would act in my story. It’s so amazing to see a father and his progeny spend this quality time yet there is nothing to be said between them. It’s a lovely image that I want wring the essence and place in my story.

Taking my seat in the Clock-End (to the right of the goal and 20 rows from the pitch) it was nice to be a little higher than previous. 25m to the right was where the WBA fans were fenced in. During the game there was the usual tirade of amusing abuse being thrown from the clock-enders to the WBA fans and back. Our chants are singing were completely drowning them out. Being in the clock end, you get to learn some new chants and one of them was ‘Shut-up, sit-down….shut-up, sit down’  to the tune of Big Ben’s chime.  But this all changed when they scored their first goal. They went mental. But when WBA scored their second goal their fans went ballistic with joy. It was like watching a circus act of derange caged animals. This infuriated the Arsenal fans and many of us got up to stick two-fingers and various other hand gestures – but let’s face facts they were in the lead. One of the WBA fans, who was an extremely large fellow with man-boobs took off his shirt – for some unknown reason – and started to rub is belly and his man boobs. This caught the clock-enders who began chanting ‘You fat b***ard’.

But football is about passion. And the passion’s mercury was at boiling point when Nasri scored our first goal on the 73rd minute. With the second being netted in the 92nd minute we all just exploded. I was screaming for them to at least net a third. Please let’s equalize and not lose to this team. I was shouting, screaming, swearing, spittle being ejected as I chomped down harder on my chewing gum. The Arsenal fans were standing. One woman to the right of me was so alarmed at the game that she covered her face. The intensity of the game. The shear hope that we can get one more goal in. The team fighting for possession. The clock counting down. The Arsenal screams of ‘Come-On’ and ”Get it into the Box’ and ‘Shoot’ was our braveheart moment.  But it was all in vain as the referee blew his whistle and I stood there shaking in the realisation that I had witnessed a defeat and it felt so utterly bad. I came into the game positive and enthused but I came out low, angry and I was bloody cold.

In my story, the father and daughter make a series of visits to the stadium. It’s the one area that they have anything in common. The rest of their relationship is very toxic as it’s been 10 months since the mother took her own life. As they visit the stadium, we’ll see their relationship change especially as they are both reacting to their loss in different ways. Watching us lose this game today I began to think what would happen if I was angry, or I was with someone in which our communication was fairly limited.

Imagine what that relationship would be like post-game? Somebody would inevitably say the wrong thing to the other, or something may be misinterpreted and construed in an ill manner which would affect the relationship. In my story the daughter who is around 8 years old refuses to talk to her dad. The only discussions we see / hear are the ones that take place at the stadium and they are all football related but have a subtext quality that infers the state of their relationship. Also, I want to tie the losing and winning of the games into their relationship to give it an emotional punch for the audience. I’m really angry that we lost,  however I’ve been able to salvage how I felt and hopefully can press that into my story.

Walking out of the stadium and making around to the exit back to Arsenal tube station I took this photograph.

When I got home I looked at the photos I took. In my haste to take photos while walking hurriedly you’ll notice in the above photograph the man in the green hoodie in the foreground. The next photograph, below, has this interesting shot:

Maybe a possible ending shot of the story. The father reconciled with his daughter at the last match and they both walk off together. The life now starting anew. Maybe?