Morning.
So it’s gonna be PSG in the Champions League final after a 1-1 draw with Bayern Munich last night. It was, I think it’s fair to say, not a repeat of the ‘classic’ from last week, almost as if that game was something of a borderline crazy anomaly. Entertaining, sure, but not necessarily a reflection of how games between sides like this usually play out. Sometimes football is just mad, and that was obviously the case last time they played.
PSG scored early, Bayern huffed and puffed, discovering that a 32 year old Harry Kane who drops deep and takes throw-ins to make himself look involved isn’t conducive to causing the opposition too many problems. To be fair, he got a goal but one that ultimately didn’t matter and because it came so late there was little chance for it to mean much.
Clearly PSG are a fantastic side, technically excellent, and they possess real depth of quality in midfield and attack. Last season though, Arsenal caused them plenty of problems, and but for some incredible saves from Gigi Donnarumma, those games might have taken on quite a different complexion. I’m not sure that this season they have the same strength between the sticks, and it was quite the sight to see their keeper, Matvey Safonov, boot the ball deliberately out of play from goal kicks.
Clearly it was something tactical from Luis Enrique to squeeze the pitch on that side, but it’s quite funny that a squad built with all that nation state money, a thing which rarely gets mentioned much anymore because they are considered a ‘fun’ team to watch nowadays, resorts to something as industrial as this. Perhaps it’s tactical genius from Enrique, and you can probably get away with it more easily when you have a midfield like theirs and forwards like Khvicha Kvaratskhelia and Ousmane Dembele doing what they do, but I’m trying to imagine what the reaction would be if Mikel Arteta decided his players had to make like rugby players and kick the ball out for a line-out/territory.
No doubt, behind the scenes, the analysts are already looking at what PSG do and how they do it, and I’m sure Nicolas Jover will be licking his lips at the idea of unsettling a keeper who is potentially a weak link when it comes to set-pieces. Anyway, we have plenty of time to consider all of that, with the game on May 30th, still some weeks away.
I also think it’s a bit early to start looking ahead to West Ham on Sunday, so I want to repeat something I said on the Arsecast yesterday. As Arsenal fans who are so heavily tied into the fortunes of this club and team, to the point where a result can be the difference between a good day and a bad day, a fun weekend or an awful weekend, I think it’s worth remembering the wives and girlfriends, the boyfriends and husbands and partners, who may not have the same investment in Arsenal and football as we do, but whose lives are impacted because of our obsession.
They want Arsenal to win for us, and as I sat there on my laptop, just minutes after the final whistle, loading up the Aer Lingus website to book flights for Budapest, it occurred me they deserve a shout out. They’re there when we win, they’re there when we don’t, and by extension the varying fortunes of Arsenal play a part in their day to day lives. If we deliberately subject ourselves to something that is fundamentally out of our control, they have to experience that vicariously too. So thanks to all of you for your ongoing patience, especially on the days when it doesn’t go as well as it did on Tuesday night ❤️.
Quite how I snag a ticket for the game is another question. With so many season ticket holders and an allocation far below that, there’s no way I could even try to get one that way. I’m guessing fans of other clubs who won tickets through the UEFA ballot may place them for sale on secondary markets, but let’s see how it pans out, and how many organs I need to sell to fund a potential purchase.
I also saw some eye-watering prices for accommodation in the Hungarian capital, even through those websites that find you the cheapest option. But fear not, a lad called Gabor is going to rent me half a broken down van that’s currently sitting outside his grandfather’s house. I wonder who my room-mate will be.
I was there in Paris in 2006, and it was an incredible, unforgettable occasion, even if the result didn’t go our way. Someone brought a ball and we ended up playing football outside an Irish bar called Kitty O’Shea’s, there was post-office opposite and we used big metal racks as goalposts. Alex Ferguson drove by in a car and got a very vigorous ‘greeting’ from the assembled Arsenal fans. Then some policemen with machine guns came along and told us to stop playing football and booting the ball through an open window in the post-office. I find it’s a good idea to do what people with machine guns say.
At that time, I was living in Barcelona. The morning after, I boarded my train in Paris, still wearing my yellow away shirt. The carriage was, as you’d expect, primarily made up of Barcelona fans who were thoroughly enjoying themselves singing at the one visible Arsenal fan on the train. I thanked whoever invented the iPod for their service as I put my headphones in, watched the French countryside whizz by, and the Barcelona fans continued their celebrations until we got to Perpignan, changed trains, and they sang all the way home, the happy bastards.
I so want the Arsenal fans, however they get to Budapest and back again to wherever they need to go – London and far, far beyond – to be the happy ones this time around. And if there’s one slightly disconsolate looking PSG fan on the train or plane or bus or whatever, he might, at least, have a little story to tell one day.
I hope so, the sad, sad bastard.
Till tomorrow.
