some background

When I first started following the Arsenal, the internet was the only hope for me. I really had little knowledge of the English game. I grew up playing the sport but could never see it at the highest level. Even the World Cups didn't get great coverage here until 1994. Occasionally, very occasionally, I would catch highlights on whatever local sports cable channel was picking up the nascent Fox Soccer Channel, then called Fox Sports World. I learned that Dennis Bergkamp was leaving Inter and headed to England, so I sought out results and news about his new club.  Mostly I read match reports on American news sites like CNNSI and ESPN Soccernet. Among that dross I found a gem of a site called @FC.

This was a time when the internet was still relatively young and that was still only a match report type of blog, not like the daily ones you see now. But it was told from the supporter's perspective: from the pre-match tension, to the position and condition of the meat pie in the Red Geezer's stomach, to casting aspersions at the referees, to the jostle at the ground when the Arsenal scored. It chronicled the arrival of Wenger and the author seemed particularly smitten with a certain gangly young midfielder by the name of Patrick Vieira. If I landed on the island Arsenal by chasing Bergkamp, I just might have stayed true in those formative years because of the nexus of that blog, that player, and that manager. 

I moved to New York and by sheer luck my roommate, an old college buddy, was an Ian Wright man. Loved the Arsenal. And he introduced me to Nevada Smith's. You used to have to pay a cover for many matches and if I recall correctly about 20 bucks for things like the FA Cup. But it was heaven. Supporters from all clubs across the European leagues crammed into a smelly, dark bar with screens in every direction to watch football. And sing. It didn't matter that it was 10 am or even earlier. I was completely hooked. 
At that time when we were regularly finishing in the top two in the league, it was commonplace to see outrageous skill. Sublime passing moves. Pace and power. But even when we started to drop off, after the Invincibles were disassembled and our position slipped to third and fourth, there were still unmistakable moments of class. That's what got me excited for every weekend and got me out of bed at god-awful hours to get myself down to the pub for early kickoffs, or an hour or more early to beat the crowd for the clashes with United. Those moments inspired the drawings in this blog.

In some ways, these recent lean years are even more inspiration. Now the internet is a quite different place. A lot more opinion is voiced and far more vitriol. I myself fall into that category at times. In the last year or so it has reached a zenith. Coming home from a capitulation against a newly promoted side or throwing away a two-goal lead to the local enemy had a severe effect on my mood.  Like many others, I vented on discussion boards and blogs, and ran into quite a number of keyboard warriors in my time. 

I spent too much time on the BBC 606 board, especially sparring with disgruntled Gooners and United supporters. The consensus seemed to be that despite the quality of football Arsenal have played these last several years, it will be forgotten because there have been no trophies. I strongly disagree. I remember these moments of footballing skill, and I draw them. I spend time on them, rendering them by hand, working them over for many hours. Drawing these players reminds me why I love football, and in particular, why I love the Arsenal.  It also takes my mind off the angst that we get lost in, distraught over the comical goals we concede lately, the collapses we endure too regularly, the departures of great players before their time. Like Critical Bill says, "it keeps my powder dry Jimmy. It keeps my powder dry."
This series is a riff on the classic drawings of Paul Trevillion in his ongoing run doing You Are The Ref. I realize the media culture around football constantly supplies us with heroes and villains. This is my take on the bad-guys by documenting the less savory travails of the biggest idiot at a given time.

A prime example is Sepp Blatter. The idea formed in my head to draw him because of the steady stream of outrageous statements about any number of matters from the world of football. It all came to a head during the last World Cup and it occurred to me that this fella really is a cunt.

Fast forward to October of 2011; I got the wild hair to get this blog up and running and it could only be a matter of time before YAAC became a feature. The original debutant was going to be John Terry after his scuffle with Anton Ferdinand, but before I could get that going  Blatter shunted him straight out of the way with a level of cuntitude only he could muster.

It's a harsh term though. It's Louis CK’s favorite little word and I do appreciate his enthusiasm for the language, and how it better describes a state of being rather than women or their womanly parts. It’s especially used in pub culture with certain regularity.  But let’s not be indiscriminate. I’d rather pick on those who distinguish themselves with an almost id-driven compulsion to be an utter and complete cunt than just celebrate any old prick. ‘Where there’s smoke there’s fire’ and all that. These bastards practically use that smoke as a screen, so this is how I call them out.


Just about self-explanatory, this is a place for me to take the opposite stand to "you are a cunt" and pay tribute to those around the game of football that are worthy of admiration.


Now, there are a good many bloggers out there with match reports, nearly all of them a lot closer to the action than I am.  And because I do the overwhelming majority of my match viewing in the pub, I’m reluctant to only give an account of what happens on the pitch. So much of being a football supporter is about the experience on the day, sharing the pre-match tension, the during-match angst, and the post-match glory [or misery as the case may be].  In the Football Factory, the NY Gooners have found a very good home to do just that.

I find it incredibly amusing that like dogs and their owners, many of the Gooners I have met there have a similar disposition. Some disturbingly so.  We are a merry band of grumps, if that makes sense. But even with our various digital fora, there has never been much of a record of any of that nonsense that takes place during a match at the pub---the ridiculous chants, the run-ins with rival supporters, and the institution that is Jack Keane.  Suffering and celebrating the Arsenal is a blood-bond, and these folks are my Gooner family.  So this is my record.


Once in a while I get a wild hair about a subject and have to put digits to keyboard. I'd love to do a more regular bit but with the day job and with drawings taking priority over my free time, these will more likely than not be infrequent.


One of the reasons I started doing pub reports is because there is a little group of us NY Gooners that utter the most ridiculous chants under the influence of booze and the Arsenal, and I wanted to somehow capture that. It used to happen as a part of a knees-up back in the day when the Invincibles would bag three goals in the first half and we needed to escape the boredom of seeing the second half out in cruise control.

Nowadays, it's an escape from the tedium of toothless possession or a foil to conceding two goals in the first twenty minutes as is far too often the case. Sometimes you just have to make your own entertainment. Some of these are born on the spot, some are culled from others on my twitter timeline, and some develop over time. TJ [of the NY Gooners] hates most of them, which probably also explains why I keep at it.