The Road to Wembley - My Coming of Age as an Arsenal Fan

By 1977 Liam Brady was blossoming into the special player he was always destined to become. He showed this by leading Arsenal on a twin-pronged FA and League Cup assault on Wembley. It helped to take my mind off the difficult transition to secondary school. After all, when you’re on the road to Wembley, nothing much else matters. The possible realisation of a dream was becoming a daily preoccupation. My parents watched on as Arsenal took over my life. Indeed my mother must have feared the worst when she ironed a pair of Arsenal shorts we had recently bought on a trip to London. They shrivelled and promptly melted. I remember returning home from school to be told of the great disaster. My mother looked as if she had done something terrible. Mum enjoyed ironing, but the terrible events of ‘Black Thursday’, as it became known, cast a dark shadow that wouldn’t be easily forgotten. I was heartbroken. But all was not lost. That’s the thing about parents, they always have a plan B and a replacement pair was duly despatched by my cousins from London.

A major crisis was averted and all was well with the world again apart from school and the increasing tension I was experiencing during Arsenal matches. This included a pounding heart, jelly-like legs, and an utter feeling of helplessness as the midweek matches played out on BBC Radio 2’s ‘Soccer Special.’ Most teenage boys experience these kinds of feelings when they first discover the opposite sex. In my case, the girls would have to wait, not that they seemed to be in anyway put out by the delay, apparently unaware of my smouldering good looks and easy way with words. The nerves weren’t helped by the fact that these midweek radio commentaries only started after the eight o’clock news. This meant that it was left to Brian Jones or another member of the BBC team to begin by playing any goals that had been scored during the opening minutes of whatever game was being covered. Your team could be two down in the blink of an eye and yet I always felt an intoxicating level of excitement as I tuned in and hoped for the best. In the modern world where instant information comes at you from every angle, it is difficult to believe such a time ever existed. Teletext was years away. The internet was still being kept under wraps by the US military meaning it was Brian Jones or nothing.

First up was the League Cup. Arsenal found themselves in the quarter-finals for the second year in succession where they ground out a gritty goalless draw away to Manchester City. The replay at Highbury was definitely the biggest game of my Arsenal career so far. Even though I had never been to Wembley, I could almost reach out and touch it. Over 57,000 packed into Highbury. I sat on my bed and turned on my radio. I was determined to play my part. Prayers were said. Wood was touched. My scarf was tied around my neck. Homework was pushed to one side, then again that happened every night. At two minutes past eight I breathed a sigh of relief when Peter announced that there were no goals. This was the night Alan Hudson came on as a substitute to have one of his finest games in an Arsenal shirt. Up until the former Chelsea and Stoke star's arrival City had been pretty comfortable. However Hudson soon had them rattled and a foul on Arsenal's centre forward Malcolm Macdonald resulted in a penalty.

Time stood still as I climbed to my feet and waited, my hands joined together in prayer. ‘Chippy’ Brady stepped up. The silence followed by the roar of the North Bank as the ball beat Joe Corrigan. 1-0 to Arsenal! I charged around my bedroom, jumping for joy and punching the air, like a lunatic, before I raced to tell my father the god news. It really was football that brought us together. And yet, when it came to Arsenal I was now on my own, devoid of the usual family blanket that had been thrown over me during the more communal sporting events. Ireland soccer and rugby internationals. All-Ireland Finals. This must have been the tough love people talked about. I was learning to walk alone, something a Liverpool fan would never have to do. Being an Arsenal fan in Ireland was a lonely business, everyone supported Manchester United, Liverpool, or Celtic, so I had to get used to it because meeting another Arsenal fan was like bumping into a kangaroo in your local supermarket. It’s a life lesson that has stood to me. Walking aimlessly in the same direction as the crowd has never ever been my way.

Suddenly I could see Wembley’s famous Twin Towers in the distance, closer than they had ever been. As the song goes, we were on our way to Wembley. Well almost. There was only the small matter of beating the best team in Europe in a two-legged semi-final. Liverpool lay in wait. Meanwhile back in the real world, I was just about holding my head above water in school, but in truth, it was Arsenal who was keeping me going. I had moved onto a secondary school where I had to play rugby. In my first match, I scored my first try and promptly burst into tears, overcome by the overwhelming emotion of it all. Luckily nobody saw me as I was standing out on the wing freezing half to death. This was a regular experience in my school years, as most of our rugby coaches didn’t believe in using the backs. Often I wondered if they were even aware we existed. It seemed we were only there to tackle and give the ball back to the forwards if by some miracle we ever got our hands it, which was usually as a result of an opposition error. Subsequently, my first try had not been the culmination of a flowing move but came courtesy of a misplaced Clongowes kick dropping at my feet five yards from the opposing try line. Even I knew this was too good an opportunity to turn down, so I scooped the ball up and fell over the line. It was a stunning start to my rugby career, but despite this, all I wanted to do was play soccer. Unfortunately, I would have to wait until the summer term when the rugby balls and the egos that went with them were deflated and we could finally get down to the serious business of real football. This involved running rings around the suddenly awkward big boys who had been in their element running through and over us during the winter. Skill replaced brawn as the sun came out. I, for one, was only too happy to oblige.