Not the best looking girl but definitely in the top four. All your mates think you are just going to get your face slapped. But you cockily think yes I can play on this dance floor. I’ve got the moves. I’ve got charm and determination on my side. No one is even asking her for a dance. So you do. A couple of dances into the night you are gaining in confidence. But still no one thinks you are going to end up eating breakfast. But you keep going and coincidentally “against all the odds” is on the turntable and you still find yourself in the close clinches. The Commodores hit the turntable. You’re Once Twice Three Times a lady and you’ve got the wandering hands going. You get that once in a decade break and before you know it there are orgasmic moments. And yes you find yourself at the big table eating Breakfast. So it’s not the champagne breakfast, but the’s beans and black pudding and the tea is sweet. Never been sweeter. And next year Breakfast is going to be continental. What a night.
As I sat in the Queensland early morning darkness watching the game. Watching Trevor Francis talking up our chances. I wondered why am I risking two hours of sleep on the four to one against chance that Wenger will be sad. Four to one seemed generous. Then we walked onto the pitch. We looked better than the odds and we hadn’t even kicked a ball. Ziggy looked statuesque. Foster looked confident. Bowyer, Fahey even Ridgewell looked like they were going to compete. Arsenal looked like they had turned up and they expected to win. But crucially the Arse back end five all looked nervous as Ziggy went past them.
The Blues started best and looked dangerous from the start. Just like a spotty teenager with an attitude. Then the worse man on the field turned out to be one in a hi-vis jumper and a flag in his hand. Bowyer well onside was flagged offside. Clean through and on the Polish goal keeper who pole axed Bowyer. But for the wrong flagging, the Ref would have had no choice but give the Blues the penalty and probably poleaxe the pole with a red card. Bear in mind that Szczesny’s father played for Poland in goal but is best remembered for punching Man City boss Roberto Mancini. The pole has reputation to live down too.
Well despite the setback Ziggy got us in front. But this was uncannily familiar. The same had happened at Highbury earlier in the year. And yes despite looking the better we let them back into the game. Ridgewell was easily left for dead by the perfectly named Arshavin and the cross was well turned in RSVP Persie. The goal proved very expensive as RSVP eventually hobbled off in the second half after trying to run on the knee for 50 minutes. Wenger has spent the best part of the last 45 years moaning incessantly about tackles that come in over the top of the ball and calling for straight reds for such tackles. Laurent Koscielny committed a copy book over the top tackle that was millimetres from ending Lee Bowyers career. Just a yellow card was the result. At the end of the first half we should have been 1 up instead of level.
From there forward the Blues competed. Foster pulled off some great saves. Fahey nearly snuck a goal all but for the woodwork. Then on came Chamakh who scored the goal at Highbury to beat us. He was wearing a turtle neck that made him look like one of those African girls with rings around there necks. He truly looks like his neck has been fed Giraffe hormones. Nevertheless history wasn’t to be repeated. The big Eck has pulled off some lovely tactically perfect switches this year. Bringing on Martins proved just such a move. He always looks sharp and causes defenders moments of panic. With a little over a minute left he benefited from just such panic. Courtesy of the two players who could have already been sitting on the bench if the boys in the Hi-vis clothing were doing their jobs properly. Szczesny and Koscielny combined to gift Martins the easiest goal he will ever score. There was then somersaults, lots of dancing, jumping up and down, cartwheels, hysterical screaming and that was just in my front room. As it was still only 3am half the lights in the street came on and several Kangaroos were spooked and a Koala fell out of the tree in the front yard.
Back at Wembley the Blue half of the stadium went wild and then remembered that we have lost games from here. The red half started to leave. A few tense minutes that felt like decades past by. I swear that minutes haven’t moved slower since 5th form geography. But then a whistle that sent us wild. Oh the joy of seeing a distraught Wenger. I am sure he was still thinking that it wasn’t his fault and trying to find a way to blame Martin Taylor. All to no avail. We won, we won, we won. The dawning that we now get to go to Europe next year. Last time we went to Europe we got banned when our fans tore down the sails and threw the oars over the side. That Joke will now go into retirement. Admittedly with a couple of our players. But for now we have new legends and the St Andrews Janitor is in the basement looking for the trophy cabinet. Bring on the beans and black pudding.