Posted on Saturday, 3rd November 2012 by Harry Hotspur
The White Rabbit put on his spectacles. ‘Where shall I begin, please your Majesty?’ he asked.
‘Begin at the beginning,’ the King said gravely, ‘and go on till you come to the end: then stop.’
As discussed at length and almost dare I suggest predicted on this week’s show we are suffering all over the shop. That’s as plain as the nose on your face. But what’s the right response? Is AVB a clown? Are Levy & Co. a shower of bean counting shysters? Do our players need keel hauling and flogging?!
The Blame Game is a doll, eh?. It’s the most inclusive game in the world. Literally anyone can play. You don’t need any ability to reason or analyse. Just a strong desire to pin your metaphoric tail on the metaphoric donkey of your choice.
Before we get going on the ‘attitude’ of the crowd at White Hart Lane, let me not be accused trying to peddle opinion as fact in this respect. How we laughed at Arsenal. The Emptycrates. How we sniggered at ‘Arsenalisation’ and what it meant. They moved from a library into a purpose built monument to ambition and it turned out to have all the soul of an NCP car park.
This week however Arsenal fans have given us an exhibition in how to support. Losing 4-0 to the mighty Reading during the week and they were unrelenting in their support. Song after song. Earlier today they were losing away 0-2 to Manchester United. They sang, ‘We love you Arsenal, we do’ with a passion, a pride and a determination that was nothing shy of historic.
These are supporters who are seriously feeling that most horrible of pangs. Watching a former player be pivotal in their 90 minutes of demise. But they refused to give up. Old Trafford didn’t even really try drown them out because the home tribe acknowledged the away tribe’s strength and their honour.
White Hart Lane to me has for some time become over infested by people who behave as if they are going to the cinema. They take their seats and wait for the performance to please them. People who aren’t part of a tribe anymore. These weaklings have let the burden of expectation turn them into members of an audience, not supporters.
Never in the history of the world has there been such a time for a football fan to voice their opinion. Never. iPhones, android, apps, iOS Face Time, Facebook, Tweet, Skype me baby, call us now – we’re live and want to take your call, blog, use a net book, home office mate, log in to the forum now!
Who needs information.This high off the ground
Just give me confirmation We could win a million pounds
Who needs information When you’re living in constant fear
The first line of defence tends to be the line, ‘I’m entitled to my opinion.’ Of course you are, dear. But given the myriad options available… does enforcing the silent treatment, huffing or booing strike you as being amongst the most constructive options? Is that support?
The second line of defence tends to be the line, ‘Well at least I go!’ This dear reader is the suicide note of suicide notes. Who could possibly regard that of having discernible value? This is like the world’s worst employee pointing to his attendance record. ‘Yeah, I was the cancer of the business, fair cop. But I was never late for work!’
What of the fans that simply cannot attend? Is the girl in India a second rate fan? Is the man in Canada an idiot? Is the mother of 4 in Norfolk a time waster? No. The answer is too many idiots are over inflated with their own sense of self importance and indeed worth.
I’m aware of the pressures modern day fans face. Cost, burden of expectation all that jazz. My response to those of you weak willed enough to hide behind these and other pieces of equally worthless rubbish is simple. Ever thought this isn’t for you? Devote your time to something that gives you actual pleasure. Collect stamps, take up sewing, take a small plot of your garden, tend it and grow something. Root vegetables are as much of a reward to some as a sophisticated vine.
Tomorrow we’ll discuss the squad and the way the boss has used it thus far.