Written by Lindsay Melrose Wednesday, 20 October 2010 12:16

GunnerTalk Blog

By Lindsay Sheehan

So I took my beloved daddy to the Emirates last night. Regular readers will remember from 'Surrounded by Spuds' that my old man is a Tottenham fan as the song goes. My old man is also my hero and football is the one thing I am sad that we don't share along with our DNA. Did I mention he is also Scottish? So your first thought was poor chap - Spurs AND Scotland! Must make for an awfully miserable life huh? Well yes but also an English Gooner for a child? Strike 3 for 3.

Although I have been to The Lane many times this was his first visit to the home of football. He has been to Highbury but those were the days of flared troosers and the Metropolitan Police Band at half time. He said he remembered us having a clock. I told him we had a firework party to celebrate its return. At this point his face told me it was gonna be a long night.

He only came out of fatherly duty.  I know he would rather have razor blades stuck in his eyelids than watch The Arsenal. I asked him to come to the Carling Cup game against Liverpool last season but he answered with a resounding no and a snort of indignation. My tantrum was brief but immense. How dare he? A Carling Cup non event game against the universally disliked Scoucers? At a world class stadium? In Club Level. Free beer? With his only child and indulging her real passion? How fucking rude!! So this invitation, which I'd spent almost a year working up to, was answered with a less than convincing "I'd love to!" Then a gap in which you could have easily fitted "turn you down flat. Watching those fucking bunch of knobs!! What do you think I am? Desperate?"

 
The first half started badly. I'm sure it was the worst game in recent times just because he was there. My lovely friend Ian in the neighbouring seat tried to give him some stick. Something about at least one member of my family being able to use a knife and fork. My dad pointedly ignored him and lived up to the reputation he held as Superintendent in the old bill as 'The Growler' by not joining in the joke. Cesc my ace in the hole was inaccurate and off the pace.  The traffic was heavy, the crowd quiet and my chances of a well late in life conversion were slipping through my fingers a quick as Alex Ferguson's reputation as the best man manager in football.

The man next to us was absolutely convinced my dad was disabled. How else can you explain him remaining sat down after a Cesc penalty or a genuine bone fide Wilshire piece of skill (by this I mean the shimmy and pull back for his goal not the studs up challenge he is also fairly adept at) but sit down and cross his arms he did. The geezer just kept looking at his legs, searching for the issue.

The shocking goalkeeping display from Shakhtar's keeper for our first brought a snort and yet another arm fold. His body language was that of a Mexican football player in a 'Guess the Tranny' competition. When we joked that this keeper will probably be signed by Arsene in January as he had the right fuck up credentials he didn't laugh. 
Nasri's beautiful second raised one eyebrow (the left I think) before half time. I offered him a free pint but he opted for tea. Tea? Yep Scottish Spud drinking tea? God he must have been finding it hard.

I filled the silence with chatter. Everything from showing him the most expensive sweetie shop in Norf London (comer of Lowman Road N5 with their Saturday kick off special of £8 for a packet of Marlborough Lights) or discussing why on earth Ashley Cole features in some Club Level art work. I showed him the new Legends Bar and the swanky toilets. He merely mentioned the age old issue of a long queue and wondered out loud when we would stand still so he could drink his tea.

He coughed at half time that we'd probably beat this lot 4-0 and that he wondered what in earth they were Champions off. Certainly not anything football related in his opinion.

Second half saw us attacking the goal we sit behind and yet a blinding picture perfect view from our seats still failed to inspire him. Three more goals, one the penalty and yet still he looked bored.

10 minutes before the end we left and missed cheering Eduardo's goal. Well done Gooners, classy behaviour every time.  During the journey home his mood visibly improved. He was like that Satanic kid in the Omen film. While close to the church he was mental, with it receding in the distance he was all smiles again. Instead of church read Emirates.  By the time we reached TGI Fridays he actually fancied alcohol again and was quite jovial.

Anyway I dunno what I expected. This is the man who truly believes that Thierry Henry was shit. He never missed an opportunity to tell me just how shit he was. When I came home from the CL final in Paris he called me up to give me a minute by minute illustration of Thierry's shitness. Mind you he also thinks most of his own team are shit. Lennon, Huddlestone, Bale and Pav get it constantly. I think the only one he quite likes is Van der Vart. Now loathe them as we do even we must admit they have their best squad currently in decades.  Also btw Steven Gerrard in his opinion - shit.

So as he half kissed me goodbye he mentioned we'd scored 'one or two good goals'. Wow a concession as big as Israel giving up land on the Western front. Well done Arsenal and love you daddy. What have I learnt about Spurs fans? They just don't get it. Poor sods.