Blimey that was crap. There she was. A happy and hopeful Hammer, 45 minutes away from the Carling Cup final and a face off with my beloved Gunners. But that sweet missus of mine has the misfortune of being born into an affliction for which there is no cure. The family team is West Ham and so Queenie’s die (hard) was rolled. Hammer till she dies, blowing bubbles and praying for pretty footie. Me I’m an Arsenal lass. Dad took me to my first game way back when and there I was at Portman Road out to support my local team. Only they were playing a team in red and white and I fell for the swagger and guts of Jennings, Brady and Stapleton. It wasn’t quite one-nil to the Arsenal but even though the tractor boys grabbed a win, Arsenal grabbed my heart. Smitten. For no reason other than 11 men kicking a ball.
And its been a love affair of joy, passion and disappointment. Freak goals, Merson’s misdemeanours, Adam’s hands on hips, the record breaking Arsenal Ladies FC, Wright’s 101 plus goals, the wonder of our chantings… “we’ve only got one Song!”, Henry’s magic, Nasri’s skill, Bergkamp’s pure genius, Fabregas’ glorious passing and, yes, even Seaman’s tash.
And so occasionally there’s conflict in our house. The West Ham Vs Arsenal match bringing cheers, jeers and occasionally seperate viewing. Once where there was singing of ‘going down’ or a certain homebound ambulance, now there is only affection. Well almost. West Ham maybe my second team but when it comes to three points I don’t care where they comes from! But as the Hammers sit bottom of the table propping up the rest of us I pray for a miracle. It might be cheaper to see a Championship side (especially if those Seagulls go up) but I don’t want no repeat of those relegation tears. And anyway as my fellow Hammer in-laws will testify, no win, no score. Wink.
Come on you Hammers. Stay up. Make my missus happy and keep us in-laws grinning.
Best Chant in the world ever. End of.