Money Can't Buy Me Love

Hi folks

We can't really justify the expense of any of the European away matches but old habits die hard and so I was sat in front of the TV last Thursday, my fingers poised over the laptop, ready for the frantic keyboard pressing session necessary to try and suss out the cheap flights between when the draw was made and the actual dates of the games announced an hour or so later.

We've already seen us play Ajax in Amsterdam and Switzerland has a reputation for being a fairly pricy place to visit, although I would have quite liked to visit the Wankdorf Stadium to watch the match against FC Thun. But I'd decided that we couldn't really afford the cost of schlepping to the opening group games, that was until Sparta Prague came out of the hat.

Having missed out on the match there last time we played and with Prague having a reputation as such an interesting city, I thought I would at least check out our options (as I did with the other two destinations). Once I'd found 50 quid return flights with Easyjet, it wasn't long before I'd changed my mind

I was thinking that having schlepped all over Europe these past few seasons, following the Arsenal's unsuccessful exploits in the Champions League, the laws of Sod and Murphy were bound to prevail, in as much as the first season I stopped travelling to the away matches (and with the Arsenal pretty much already written off by most of the pundits) this was bound to guarantee our success

So if we should fail miserably again, you now know you can blame my irresponsible spontaneity, in deciding to go to Prague. Meanwhile, we nearly didn't make it. I sat here hitting the "refresh" button on my broswer a couple of times every minute, waiting for the actual dates of the games to be announced, as experience has proved that they invariably appear online first.

In the end I got up to make something to eat, believing that the act of leaving the computer and being distracted by satisfying my belly, might instigate the announcement. But it appears that the "refresh" button on my browser wasn't doing the job and I was more than a little surprised to receive a text message from a pal who was interested in travelling as well.

The fact that he was assuming I'd already know the dates was bad news, as it meant that the info must have been available for more than a couple of minutes. So by the time I struggled to hit the "confirm" button on the Easyjet website, without transferring the remains of half my sandwich from my buttery fingers to the keyboard, the fifty pounders had long since been snapped up, I assume by Gooners who'd been quicker of the mark (I am sure Easyjet must have about twenty different price levels on each plane, with only a few seats available at each!). The total inclusive price had already doubled and at just over a ton for each of us, my mate decided it was no longer such a cheap outing and I was grateful that at least one of us was being sensible.

So having already hung up on the phone to him, after deciding that we wouldn't bother going, I glanced at the pages of notes I'd scribbled during my fairly pointless search and recalled that I'd also seen some flights offered by Czech airlines. Despite the fact that they took off from the conveniently located Stansted, I'd dismissed them previously because they were pricier than Easyjet, but when I went back to the web site and re-checked, they still had availability at 80 quid.

When I phoned my mate back, it seems the 20 quid difference was just enough to swing the deal and suddenly the three of us were off to Prague again. I hurriedly dug out the plastic, praying I'd be able to make the booking in time before my reservation timed-out and tapped in all the relevant details. However in the instant I hit the confirm button, I noticed on the screen that I'd entered the name on the card with a "u" at the end instead of a "y". But it was too late to do anything and for a minute or so I sat here cursing my impatient failure to check the details first. I was panicking that the incorrect spelling would mean that the booking wouldn't be accepted and in the time it was going to take to repeat the entire booking, the cheap seats were bound to disappear.

Mercifully the Czech Airlines computer didn't baulk at my bad spelling and I breathed a huge sigh of relief to finally see the confirmation page. Unbelievably, I became so engrossed in sorting out this trip that I completely forgot about the Test match and after the flights were confirmed, I spent the next few hours pouring over web sites offering accommodation in Prague. It wasn't until after the close of play that I suddenly realised I missed all the exciting opening day action from Trent Bridge.

Come Friday we were sitting having our regular Friday night dinner round at my Ma's house (the one night a week I am guaranteed a bit of protein and some respite from Ro's veggy preferences) and I announced that we were off to Prague. It was only when I confirmed the dates out loud that Ro announced in horror that the 18th October was just about the due date for her second grandkid.

I was completely knackered by the time we returned home and I wasn't planning on even opening the laptop for fear of finding myself stuck in front of it for a few hours, when all I wanted was an early night. However I thought to myself that it might be best to fire off an e-mail to the airline, as if I was going to get any sympathy with regard to cancellation, or a name change, the sooner after making the booking, the better.

I was halfway through typing a few lines when my computer froze and when I rebooted I was mortified to see the dreaded question mark on my screen. On an Apple Mac, the question mark at start-up means it can't find the hard drive for some reason and computer aggro doesn't come much worse than this.

As a result I sat here until five in the morning, at one point terrified I'd lost everything, but never more grateful when I managed to sort it out (thanks to being able to use my iPod as the only thing I could find from which I could start-up the machine). So much for an early night. The again, it wasn't as if I needed to be in fine form the following dat, as I wasn't about to be joining in with "Glory, glory Tottenham Hotspur!"

Meanwhile any Gooners out there fancy seeing the Gunners play in Prague?
Peace & Love
Bernard


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Money Can't Buy Me Love


With the Scouser's playing the Abramovich B-team in the Super Mickey Mouse Cup in Monaco (for the unenlightened, the Russian mafioso's oil company, Sibneft, sponsors CSKA Moscow to the ‘small change’ tune of $18 mill!), the Gunners got a weekend off. So with no game between 24 Aug and 10 Sep what's a Gooner going to do for his footie fix, but go see how the other half live. To be honest if it wasn't Spurs v Chelsea, where I had a feint hope in our North London neighbours nicking some points off the Abaramovich all-stars, I might’ve struggled to drag myself away from the gripping Test match on TV. However wired for sound with my radio tuned to the amusing eccentricities of the institution that is Test Match Special, I had a relatively entertaining afternoon, watching one and listening to t'other.

Mind you if I had the misfortune to be a Chelsea fan, I certainly wouldn't have needed to count on my closest Spurs mate being away on his hols to secure a ticket. As far as I'm concerned, it sums up the Chelsea situation quite succinctly that apparently they were still selling their small allocation of tickets to the second biggest London derby of the season, last Wednesday at the West Brom match! And if I wanted to sum Spurs up I suppose I'd have to tell you about the traffic around White Hart Lane last week, as their fans queued to have their picture taken with the league table!

One of the rare pleasures of going to a game as a relative neutral party (shows how times have changed, 10 years ago I wouldn't have dreamt I'd be going to White Hart Lane to lend my support to Spurs!) is the strange sensation of being able to sit back and appreciate the footie, without all the angst which goes with kicking every ball in a game involving the Gunners. Although Saturday's game at the Lane wasn't exactly overflowing on the entertainment front. It's a shame because as both teams fired some tentative first few shots across the bows of the opposition in the first 20 there was a serious danger of a good game breaking out. That was until ref Rob Styles intervened, with a ridiculous sending off. Surely there should be some law to prevent pompous, limelight whores like Styles, spoiling a perfectly sporting football occasion for 36,000 paying punters?

There wasn't a dirty tackle worthy of the name and by dishing out 5 yellows and a red, it was Styles needless card waving which would've been culpable if this match had developed into a more fractious affair. Sure the Egyptian's challenge was a mite aggressive and some might say he lead with his elbow, But what's the worse that could've happened, a broken nose or a bonk on the head. Personally I'd prefer they left the beautiful game alone. But if the authorities are intent on stamping out anything, I would much rather see referees react to Drogba diving all over the penalty area, than the sort of manly assault by Mido, where there wasn't any intent to harm and which is merely a symptom of the sort of intensity which makes British football so much more enjoyable than some of the antiseptic fare seen on the continent, where raising a stiffy is seen as foul play! I wondered whether Styles had seen a replay of the incident at the break because he seemed to spend the entire second half making incorrect decisions in favour of Spurs, as some sort of paltry compensation

It was interesting seeing Carrick on Football Focus suggesting the current Spurs side believes they can beat anyone. If the Lilywhites were guilty of anything, it was that they showed Chelsea too much respect, even when it was 11 v 11. Although it's understandable considering the amount of quality throughout the Chelsea squad and as we all know, confidence is everything in football. While Chelsea were content to knock the ball about, patiently awaiting an opening, despite a decent atmosphere at White Hart Lane as a result of their optimistic start to the season, it felt is if there was an abiding mood of fatalism, where both fans (who haven't seen their team win against Chelsea in 18 years at White Hart Lane) and players alike were in fear of the crucial mistake which might gift the Blues a goal.

Then again if the Gunners deferred to the Blues ability by starting with a lone striker at the Bridge, then it's unlikely lesser opposition are going to be any more gung-ho.

However sadly I've seen Chelsea beat us twice and Spurs once in recent weeks and even without my "red currant" tinted specs, I have to tell you I'm glad that I get to be entertained by the Arsenal on a regular basis, rather than suffer the somewhat boring Blues. They say winning is everything but perhaps there's a good reason why the champions struggle to sell a couple of thousand seats to a game on the other side of the capital?

The consensus of opinion suggests that we'll struggle to unseat the current champions, but at least when the Arsenal are on fire, as we saw in the second half against Fulham, we play with a joie de vivre which is an absolute joy to watch. Whereas to my mind Mourinho now has so much ability at his disposal, that his side doesn't need to display their skills. They appear to be able to get away with playing a percentage game, where, with Drogba's speed and immense strength, they can simply keep hitting long balls, knowing that eventually one will pay off. What's more, even if their opponents manage to hold them at bay for the first-half, they then face the demoralising sight of £70 million quids worth of substitutes waiting their turn after the break. Although to my mind it seems somewhat criminal that Mourinho's many million pounds worth of midfield talent are all left suffering with neck ache, from watching the ball fly over their bonces for most of the match.

Down to ten men and conceding a goal just before the break, defeatist habits prevailed, as the bloke beside me suggested we might as well go home now. With little to lose, personally I would have preferred to see the Lilywhites throw caution to the wind in an effort to level the match. I guess Jol decided he'd rather try to keep the score respectable, than suffer a confidence shattering defeat. Although I sincerely hope that someone has the 'cahones' to really take this Chelsea team on sometime soon. Otherwise they’re likely to develop the same aura of invincibility they had last season, where squad rotation might be the only danger of disruption. We’d be left relying on disquiet in their dressing room, amongst those who are desperate to secure a highly-prized seat on a plane to Germany next summer.

Meanwhile as we departed White Hart Lane I made the preposterous suggestion that perhaps this one horse race should be handicapped (where on earth would they put the saddle weights?). At least this would give Mourinho a little more to think about. Despite his suggestions that the season is only just getting started, it would appear that the arrogant git is already in a sufficiently secure comfort zone after only the first few opening salvoes. With Bridge and Cesc the only Chelsea players not disappearing during the international break (perhaps joined by John Terry - I felt more than a little ashamed as the words left my mouth but when Terry went down injured I couldn't help myself from suggesting that I hoped it was nothing trivial!), their manager is away on his holyers.

Special my ass! Not that everyone else has the luxury of switching off during a sunshine break but they could all afford a ten day skive, if they had the millions at Mourinho's disposal, even Graham Souness! Although I can't imagine Arsène Wenger or many other Premiership managers wanting away from their footballing world, only two weeks into a new season.

Watching the Blues consistently bypass their midfield might be boring and predictable, compared to the Arsenal's attractive play, but I'll happily admit to being green with Gooner envy. Although not (yet!) so bitter and twisted that I'm unable to enjoy the latest ditty doing the rounds on the internet

(see: http://www.radioireland.ie/audio/giftjose.wma)

After sweating out the climax to another incredible Test Match on Sunday, I found myself engrossed in the opening round of Serie A (Football Italia has found its way on to Bravo this season). I imagine Patrick Vieira might well prosper amidst the 'slow, slow, quick' style of Italian footie, compared to the more exhausting pace of a relentless Premiership. However it was very hard to witness Paddy's imposing presence, directing midfield traffic for the old lady of Turin. One would expect him to look a little awkward, in bed with his new black & white striped sugar mummy. Instead of which I was like a jealous voyeur, watching an old flame’s calm, assured display in his Serie A debut, disappointed that he and his new teammates performed like long term bedfellows.

There are always empty spaces in the 70,000 seater Stadio Del Alpi. Although it was surprising to see such vast expanses of unsold seats for the Italian champions first home game. The 'tifosi' sounded in fine voice on TV, yet it was more interesting to note that amongst the many banners lauding the extremely popular likes of Del Piero, Nedved and Ibrahimovic, there wasn't a single sign proclaiming their love of their similarly prolific stars Trezeguet, Thuram, Emerson or Vieira! Who'd want to be a black player entertaining all the 'facisti' amongst these Italian fans?