Written by Su Lewis Wednesday, 21 April 2010 17:13

GunnerTalk Blog

By Su Lewis

The city of Romance & Heart Ache

After having had a brilliant day and a fantastic result in Copenhagen the year before we thought going to Paris for the Cup Winners Cup Final against Real Zaragoza was going to be more of the same. We were wrong!

On 10th May 1995 my cousins, Lindsay & Steve, and I set off from Heathrow to watch our defence of the cup we had won the previous year. We landed at Charles de Gaulle Airport (which turned out to be the highlight of our trip!) and got a cab to our hotel. I won't bore you with the details, suffice to say a white knuckle ride has nothing on French taxi drivers!

After dumping our bags at the hotel (well, I say bags but Linz and I had suitcases and Steve just had a holdall!) we went off to explore Gay Paree and to find all the other Arsenal supporters so we could soak up the atmosphere.

Well, that was the first disappointment. In Copenhagen we were everywhere. Singing (1-0 to the Arsenal), in fact the whole city reverberated with 'that' song; laughing, drinking, joking with the locals, etc. In Paris the fans were a lot quieter (when we eventually found them). The only singing we heard was on the metro and then we were all asked to shut up by the French.

We had to leave the metro a couple of stops early as the gendarmes wouldn't let us get off too close to the Parc des Princes in case we met up with the Zaragoza fans.

This is where the fun began. We were literally herded along by the bloody gendarmes towards the ground. Linz (who was only about 14) was on crutches at the time but the gendarmes didn't care and pushed us into the middle of the throng. We were being pushed and shoved all over the place – God knows how we remained on our feet (or foot in Lindsay's case). There were thousands of not very happy Arsenal fans who would have rioted – if there'd been any room that is!

Well, we eventually got to the ground. Next problem. The f'ing gendarmes wouldn't let Linz in with her crutches – huh? Apparently they were a lethal weapon. Mind you, knowing Lindsay they weren't that wrong! Anyway, after a lot of hand waving, shouting, arguing, show of guns, garlic fumes (them not us) we had to leave her crutches at the entrance and somehow get her upstairs and into her seat.

To this day I don't remember how the hell we got her up to the seats but somehow we did. We got ourselves comfy (not) and waited for the match to begin. Finally, we were with 'our' supporters who were, at last, singing and shouting. The atmosphere was great and we were sure that we wouldn't be beaten by the Spaniards. After all, who were Zaragoza? They weren't Real Madrid or, dare I say it, Barcelona, for God's sake.

Well, the match finally got underway. Little did we know that, unfortunately, this game was to be the setting for one of the most extraordinary last minute goals in football history.

The match had been at stalemate throughout with Zaragoza scoring first and then Arsenal pulling back to make it 1-1 and take it into extra time. Arsenal's scorer was John Hartson (thank God that he is recovering now) and their scorer was the very well known Esnaider (I personally had never heard of him before and haven't since!).

With only seconds left before a penalty shoot-out the great David Seaman made one his 'rare' sorties out of the goal. The bastard filth reject, midfielder Nayim, picked up the ball on the halfway line and, seeing Seaman off his line, struck the ball on the volley to beat the stranded Arsenal keeper and win the cup for Zaragoza. Thanks David. This goal is listed as one of the top 10 best last minute goals and is still frequently shown on the box. Like we want to keep seeing it?

At this point Steve decided it was time to go so we could avoid the crowds leaving the ground. When we used to go to Highbury together he always left 5 minutes before time and expected me to do the same. (He used to sit in the East Stand and I stood with the 'real fans' in the North Bank in those days). I always made an excuse that I couldn't get out of the ground because I wouldn't leave before the whistle. How many last minute goals did he miss?!!

Anyway, back to Paris. We got up to leave, Linz started to hop up the stairs to the exit with Steve and I helping. Suddenly, we were confronted by a whole platoon of gendarmes pointing handguns and rifles at us! They started shouting at us to go back to our seats which we couldn't do because hundreds more Arsenal fans had followed our lead and were standing behind and to the side of us. None of us could move backwards and, obviously, we couldn't go forward either. They were shouting and screaming at us, waving their guns around and all I could think of was what my aunt would do, because I had promised that there would be no trouble and Linz would be perfectly safe with us! Help!

To add insult to injury, they kept us there at gunpoint for what felt like hours but was probably more like 30 minutes until the match finished, the teams got their medals and Zaragoza were presented with the cup. We then had to wait until the Zaragoza fans were let out of the ground before they would free us.

I could not believe their stupidity (let alone their aggression). Surely, it would have been easier and far safer to let us out and keep Zaragoza in. After all, they had won the bleeding cup and would want to stay to watch the presentations. We didn't want to watch any of that.

Well, we finally got out, collected Lindsay's crutches and started to make our way to find something to eat and a little something to drown our sorrows. Because of the intelligence of the gendarmes we had to battle our way through the Zaragoza fans as well as the gendarmes, French football fans and others. I must say though, Lindsay's crutches finally came in useful and I then understood why she wasn't allowed to take them into the stadium!

We finally found somewhere for a meal and a drink – and I mean a drink. The cost of everything in Paris is ridiculous and I would have had to take out another mortgage to really get pissed!

What a shit end, to a shit day.