Fourscore

And so it was tonight that I sat down to watch the battery of the Artillerists at work. The bombardment began early, but let the opposition off in the second half. And so it has been, and all too frequent instance of the kind of story told in the annals of the Artillerists.

The Good Book says, "Let he who thinks he stands be careful lest he fall." It is a true saying. In more melancholic vein, Eliot writes, "Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you." And so it goes.

A hundred and twenty-five years since the Artillerists began to fire, and still, the lessons have not been learnt. We who admire them, and have admired them all our lives, still note their uncanny ability to self-destruct at the worst of times.

But the gentlemen who hold fire in their hands know that there will be other times, and those will be better, and the best is yet to be.

Painful to Watch

Last night in Manchester, a strange sense of déjà vu must have filtered through the Professor's mind. Watching your chief export do the dirty on your team, in an excellent performance of the sort he didn't give when he was last with you, must be a painful experience. And losing a match you shouldn't have lost, courtesy of an own goal and a sorry loss of concentration — that must be all too familiar in this part of the country.

It's the same with other former champions that have to rebuild. They'll deny it a lot at first, but the rebuilding takes time and effort, and isn't always successful. Sometimes, it never is. One has hopes for the future, and that the best is still yet to be. But one also worries about the present, and signs of familiar degeneracy.

Just The One

I am listening to the roar of the fans singing, "One Arsène Wenger, there's only one Arsène Wenger..." to the tune of Guantanamera. The game is now over and Arsenal have beaten Wigan 4-1 after lagging 0-1 at half-time.

Actually, I heard, for a moment, something completely different and associated with the College of Wyverns where I used to work. Ah, the illusion of understanding...

No Cylinders

When something is working at maximum yield, we say that it is 'firing on all cylinders'. What then to make of something that seems to be producing no yield or a declining yield?

In 1886, the venerable institution I speak of was founded with the highest of ideals. It has had many high points and low points. For the last few years, it has been at the top of the table and rarely fallen to anywhere below third place. There was one golden year in which the team could do no wrong, and they remained undefeated the whole season.

This year, however, with various stalwarts farmed out into the unknown and the untested and untried brought in to replace them, the team seems to have been firing on no cylinders at all. We have a player who claims he is the best of his kind; well, we are thankful that there is only one of him, then. We have a captain who is forever mouthing off inappropriately and causing dissension in the ranks; sometimes all he seems to think about is his position and his pride.

We are decimated by injuries and by the need to wait too long for the next generation to rise up and lead. In fact, while we were waiting, some of the better players of that generation have gone on to other institutions and done very well. Occasionally, they get the opportunity to 'stick the boot in', as it were, against our side. It must give them some pleasure to return to the Emirates and win.

There is no point in appointing vice-captains who don't play and can't lead. There is no point in picking players without the guile to unlock the defences of teams like Sunderland. Sadly, even the inventive and eccentric talent of the Persian (haha) is now linked to an ultimatum that the club should show ambition. Well, people like him should show some spine. Rome wasn't built in a day, although you apparently can raise a Villa in a few months.

Time to build up the Arsenal and stand United. Or something like that.

Midweek Football Ruminations

If football be the love of food, play on;
I have excess of it, forfeiting
An appetite that sickens, so do I
Refrain again.

I have been watching way too much English Premier League football. I see that now. I have had a love-hate relationship with it for years. Grainy black-and-white Division One footage was my mainstay in the long and boring weekend afternoons. I supported Liverpool when I was young and knew no better. Ray Clemence's steady acrobatics between the sticks, Bruce Grobelaar's steady antics anywhere except between the sticks... I wondered at times why I ever supported a team which only seemed to run on interesting goalkeepers, and with Bruce I sort of gave up.

For a brief spell, I supported the quixotic behaviour of Nottingham Forest. I suppose I had dreams of Robin Hood and stuff like that. Well, least said is best.

I've been an Arsenal fan since the 1996/97 season I think. (I have always had an affinity for creative teams founded in 1886, like Coca-Cola and Mercedes-Benz.) The thing that caught my eye was not at first style and passion and all that stuff, but the fact that a team named Arsenal would have a coach named Arsène. A decade later, I am a great fan of Mr Wenger.

Wenger was born in 1949 (yes, he will be 60 next year, along with Billy Joel), a younger son who grew up to have an undistinguished playing career. He eventually surfaced with degrees in engineering and economics, and a manager's diploma. This was where his career really took off. Wandering around the world and ending up in Japan, he developed a sound resumé by displaying unflappable Gallic cool, an intellectual streak, and a penchant for rigorous philosophy backed by the test of hundreds of football matches. Eventually, he reached England.

Not many gave him a chance at first, but he proved his mettle by taking charge subtly and firmly. He never insulted his predecessors nor his players. He worked with the stingy and physically brutal 'boring, boring 1-0 Arsenal' sides of his earlier years and also with the 'Unbeatable' 2003/2004 side that lost no games. Along the way, he won over the fans and even had an asteroid named after him. He has received France's highest civilian honours and accolades from round the world. And his management style, while open to some criticism, could certainly not be worse than that of many other world-class leaders.

Most of all, Mr Wenger has shown competence, fairness and stability in all his dealings. I am sure he has had a few lapses here and there; most of these have been at those junctures where competence, fairness and stability clash. He has had to be ruthless in building up his side repeatedly after the loss of key senior players, but he has always been consistent in nurturing the young into leaders, movers and shakers. He is not one for drama or Byzantine dealings.

This midweek, surfeited with football, I reflect on Liverpool and Arsenal. I have long been a fan of Liverpool FC and never of its managers; I have long been a fan of Arsène Wenger, and also of his club. When the two meet in battle, I find it hard to be partisan; when the two battle other foes, I am firmly in the red.

Adversity Creates Success

I have been a fan of the old 'canonicals' for years. Founded in 1886, that group of mavericks continues to enthrall under the leadership of their foreign manager. Recently though, their form has seemed rocky at best. They have lost a formidable champion for a while, their board looks shaken up, the manager seems less than convincing on the issue of taking money in from outside... the list goes on.

It was with great joy, therefore that I watched a stupefied imitation of this part of my Western heritage trail stagger around blindly for one whole afternoon, almost lose it totally, and then recover in regal fashion to trounce the heathen on our home ground. While there are those who will still say, "Better Red than dead," I will continue to say that we are still much alive and that the best is yet to be. We might even beat the Blues. Ha.

Ars Magna, Vita Brevis

Yes yes, this is an utterly pagan Easter night post.

As everyone knows, I am a loyal and extremely patriotic adherent of a venerable institution founded in 1886. It has won many awards and medals over the years, and its fan base is wide - covering several continents and many other cities besides its own. My blood flows freely in its colours.

The problem is that this institution can be so much greater than it is. It has everything: young and enthusiastic talent who contain world-class award-winners within their ranks, a developmental system touted as holistic and complete, management once considered enlightened and academically supreme. But it is not indubitably championship material any more. It tends to win enough to make pundits say that it might be the best, and then falter in certain key areas.

They have a brand-new expansion, costing millions in donations and investments. They will be paying off the creditors for years to come. The new site is huger than the old one by far. It should bring with it dominion and power, majesty, honour... argh, all right, I have gone too far and verge on blasphemy now. For the new site has recently been the venue of horrible defeat at the hands of the enemy.

It is an unhappy situation for me. It makes me suffer. I remain loyal and patriotic. I will not let go of this old lady who has provided me with so many thrilling experiences over the years. Yet I am sad, I am hurting. We have become the laughing-stock of millions, our captain appears to be out of the action for months at a time (and even when active, seems a little out of sync with everyone else despite his native talent).

But what can I do? I have suffered long enough as a fan of Arsenal FC. This venerable North London football club has seen highs and lows, and to be truthful, is not doing as badly as it might. It is currently fourth in the English Premier League. Manchester United and Chelsea, however, have an insurmountable lead. And Bolton and Everton are not far behind. Let's not talk about Liverpool though. And we lost to West Ham 0-1 at Emirates Stadium yesterday. Woe, woe, woe.