Daddy's Arsenal Jinx takes Its torments to another level entirely.

In the back of my generally rational mind is a voice still screaming, "it's NOT you, it's them!", but, seriously, this is starting to freak me out now.

On the rare occasions when I have gone to watch the Arsenal live, our record has not been good - see below - but since the events of the past weekend, I'm starting to suspect my worst fears; that I might indeed be the hapless pawn in a demonic game played by an adversary I now know as The Jinx.

To recap my live matches watching the Arsenal so far:

8 Sept 1979: Derby County 3 Arsenal 2
My first ever game of football - - I know the date because of these fellas, ta! All I remember is the car journey which took the best part of a week (it seemed), and how dark it was, and the noise, and that I loved it, despite the sting of the defeat. No YouTube footage exists, for some reason.

[A whole load of games I don't remember from my childhood and early adulthood, but including Arsenal 1 Everton 0 on the day of the Poll Tax Riot...]

1995: Arsenal 1 The Agents of Satan 0
Somehow we got tickets, probably through a contact of my mate Paul - Bergkamp's early cushioned close-range dink past Schmeichel settled it for us. Not, as you will discover, a taste of things to come...

1996: The Agents of Satan 1 Arsenal 0
The same season, home and away: we even got late 'general sale' tickets for the away end, somehow, and drove up with Paul and some friends - Cantona spooned one in from distance, but it took 11 deflections inside a space-time vortex illegally created by United over Old Trafford that FIFA rightly banned shortly afterwards, and no fewer than TEN United players were clearly offside.

March 1999: Arsenal 3 Sheffield Wednesday 0
Three late goals - it being a rare visit for me, I went berserk to each of them, rather to the bemusement of the blase regulars around me.

April 14 1999: Arsenal 1 The Agents of Satan 2
Feeling good about the team that season - on course for the title, playing well - we travelled up for the FA Cup Semi-final at Villa Park in 1999. This is probably the best game of football involving the Arsenal I have seen, even though, well, read the score. The atmosphere and the drama, and the skill, but settled by Bergkamp's timid last-minute penalty and Giggs' grotesquely jammy meander and mis-hit cross...
For the record, the best game of football I have ever seen is unquestonably Sparta Rotterdam 4 Fortuna Sittard 3, my last game in Rotterdam before moving back to England, watched with all my mates, with a last-minute winner from 0-3 down.

11 May 1999: L**ds United 1 Arsenal 0
Less than a month after the FA Cup Semi calamity, here is where my presence started to seem portentous, as 'The Jinx' played a cruel, cruel trick. With just three games to go, we needed to win to keep pace with The Agents of Satan in the title race. My best mate Dom and I watched it in the home end. Elland Road is not a place that welcomes 'infidels' sat among them, so when Jimmy Floyd Hasselbaink scored for L**ds in the 86th minute and I sank into my seat in despair, Dom suggested that, in lieu of being surrounded by baying Leeds fans, I might want to stand up and warmly congratulate them on their late winner. That is, if I wanted to live...

October 2000: Lazio 1 Arsenal 1
With tickets courtesy of my sister-in-law's Lazio-supprting husband, Dom and I got in and out of the Stadio Olimpico alive, despite being surrounded by Laziale who registered their disgust for Bobby Pires' late equaliser with the most obscene hand gesture so far recorded by Anthropology.

March 2001: Bayern Munich 1 Arsenal 0
Flights out to Munich with friends Andy and Kat on the day of the game, we hit the bierkellers - where I took one of the best pictures of Andy and Kat as a couple armed with gigantic beer glasses - before watching the game in the old stadium in a relentless drizzle. We conceded an early goal and lost, but results elsewhere went our way and we had a top meal somewhere before heading home the next morning - £300 or so, all in for a rubbish 1-0 defeat.

December 2001: Arsenal 1 Newcastle United 3
Yep, I was there the evening the Toon broke their infamous London Curse, having failed to win in the capital since the miners' strike or some equally vast expanse of time. Worse, I was in the away end with a Toon mate, and had to 'heartily acknowledge' Shearer's late penalty to settle it. I think it was this match when I sensed The Jinx might be real...

[A TWO-YEAR INTERLUDE IN ROTTERDAM...]

May 2006: Sunderland 0 Arsenal 3
Liam's first ever game of football - covered here - which, in hindsight, might have persuaded The Jinx to let me off this one. That said, we did lose the then-promising Abou Diaby to long-term injury, The Jinx's way of letting me know It was watching, and waiting.

December 2007: Middlesbrough 2 Arsenal 1
A trip to the Riverside with my Durham University colleague Tom Redman, we were in the home end, again, for me to suffer the ignominy of a sound beating from the Smoggies. I sensed that The Jinx was getting warmed up now...

September 2010: Sunderland 1 Arsenal 1
My mate from University, [Big] Liam suggested he come up for this one, and make a weekend of it. Again, we were in the bloody home end, from where we watched in silence as Fabregas fluked an opener, then Song got sent off, and with a picosecond left of the 90 - a picosecond is one trillionth of a second (The Guardian clocks it in the 95th minute in the report) - Darren Bent scored an equaliser. High above the stormclouds over Wearside, The Jinx let out a booming "Mwah hah hah hah!" that only I could hear. 'It' had formally declared hostilities, and invited me to come and have a go...

So I did.

February 2011: Newcastle United 4 Arsenal 4 (the highlights; Phil Thompson's reactions - worth watching)

If you're thinking, "surely you weren't at that one?!", and this diary is now starting to creep out of 'mildly amusing' territory into 'actually quite unsettling', then imagine how I felt. This was the game when I announced to several mates that I was going, and that there may be some sort of Jinx on me, and to get a bet on... I texted in jest; The Jinx made a mental note.
In - yep, you've guessed it - the bloody home end, I had to watch our four first half goals (at the other end of the ground) in a kind of sullen despondency, but I texted a few mates over my half-time Guinness that surely, at 0-4, this was the end of The Jinx; it had been vanquished in emphatic fashion...
Well, 'It' does not know when It is beaten, and It came back with a great vengeance and fuuuuuurious anger. When Newcastle's third went in, the fat bloke next to me grabbed me in a sweaty, blubbery bear hug, which of course I had not merely to endure, but actively endorse! And when Tiote's cracker of an equaliser went in, it was proper bedlam. "4-0, and you rather made a mess of it", as the home fans sang - I paraphrase - all around the ground...
Remember - I had only gone to two games that season, and only 3 since coming back to the UK. And this utterly preposterous outcome was one of them. Coincidence?

The day after, I travelled down to London for my mate Stuart's 40th, and met Mark and his wife travelling back down from the game. Both Gooners, we discussed the possibility of My Jinx being real and they persuaded me, calmly and patiently, that it was the team, the manager, maybe even the entire club, but not me. Which, as I said above, I knew - but didn't quite believe.

Well, Mark said he could get me some tickets for games he couldn't make, and so in the lull of the summer, I suggested I'd be quite keen on The Agents of Satan away...

August 2011: The Agents of Satan 8 Arsenal 2.

I travelled over fully expecting to watch a defeat because of the depth of our squad, but the main reason for going over was to see Dom and his family. And we had a brilliant weekend, with some beer and pool and darts in Helmshore the night before, playing with his two lads in the morning. We got into Manchester for lunchtime and, with me being a tourist, we headed for Rusholme's Curry Mile. After some great Guinness and a good laugh with David and Jim, two friends (one City, one United), in The Albert Inn, and a tasty enough tuna bhuna (I'm not kidding - a first for me, and it worked) in the Sangam curry house, we taxi-ed over to OT for one last pint, and got into to the away end. Yes, we were among our own people this time. My own brethren and sistren.
The scoreline says it all, and I'm not going to expand on my gradual drift from 'In Arsene We Trust' to 'With Arsene We Rust' [or is it the Board's fault?], but this is what happens when I tempt and provoke The Jinx. 'It' cannot claim credit for the defeat, but It has Its grubby fingers all over the score, and the fact that this was our biggest league defeat since 1896.
Perversely, though, Dom and I had a 'good' time. Not least because for fully 30 minutes from the start of the 2nd half the Arsenal supporters sang, relentlessly and passionately, "We love you Arsenal, we do" - even as their goals went in. Literally, within seconds of them scoring, we simply started up again: same song, more volume. We just ignored the goals. It was like something out of the film '300': proud and perverse defiance in the face of superior numbers and brutal oppression. The crowd dynamics were compelling; I think after a couple of minutes or so, we all knew, collectively, that we couldn't, and shouldn't, stop. There was nobody leading it, nobody orchestrating it, it just emerged and sustained itself, and it was a proud moment. As the man from the fine Arseblog blog says, "my lungs ache". Many of us hoped, too, that the impact of just keeping on going would resonate around the ground, not only among the home fans but in the away dugout, too. And Robin van Persie at least heard us and appreciated us.
And it did seem to annoy the home supporters, who really are as deafeningly quiet as the 'prawn sandwich brigade' stereotype has it. Barely a single chant, and even the ones they managed were truly pathetic for a crowd of 72,000. Which made our hearty support all the more powerful - especially as, let's be honest, it's rare for the Arsenal to be associated with "sing-yer-hearts-out-for-the-lads"-type support.

So - a genuine Jinx, or a series of rather unfortunate occasions linked only tangentially by my active presence?

Two out of three ain't bad...

I've written elsewhere about Liam's complex relationship with football. All right, all right, about MY complex relationship with 'Liam and football'.

Like most football-mad Dads I had hoped my only son would similarly love the beautiful game, and we'd share that bond forever: replica shirts for birthdays, bunking off work/school to go to away games in Europe, having someone to confide in about my fears re: Arsenal's options in goalkeepers, etc etc... But I'm starting to accept the reality that Fate has dealt me. My name is Graham, and my son is utterly indifferent to football.

With hindsight, alarm bells should have been ringing from the outset. There is an infamous passage in the family video of Liam's first ever birthday, when he staggers over to the TV showing an Arsenal match (highlights admittedly, but still...). Liam takes one look at the screen, one look at Daddy, and switches off the telly. At the time, I put it down to his playful experimentation with cause-and-effect. Now...? I can barely watch the footage without wincing inside.

And yet, with a ball at his feet, Liam had shown reasonable promise: look at these pictures, taken when he was four. Check out the Cruyff-esque command of the ball at his feet, as if he is surveying the positions adopted by his team-mates; why, in the next picture, he's even trying a prototype drag-back. The main picture at the top, meanwhile, suggests an emerging thunder to his shooting. (We'll overlook the bottle of fruit juice in his hand below which, while technically not covered in detail in the FIFA rulebook, is probably frowned upon...) More recently, Liam's form with a football has been patchy. There is the elegance of this strike of a foam ball on his birthday... ... but see how he's leaning back as he approaches this ball in a square in Barcelona - that could go anywhere (well, if it wasn't made of iron and secured to the pavement, but you know what I mean).

As for going to see live games, to enthuse him with the raw emotion of the crowd, and that sense of affiliation with a common tribe, and the artistic spectacle of the game in all its glory... Well, up here in the North East, I'm at a bit of a disadvantage on that front, with a choice between Sunderland, Newcastle and Middlesbrough (and Hartlepool United and Darlington, OK, but talk about digging your own grave!).

To date, Liam has been three times to a live game: Sunderland twice, and at no stage in any of the 270 minutes he has witnessed first-hand did even so much as a hint of a possibility of a monkey's being given cross his cherubic little face... So that approach was doomed.

The end of the dream came quickly this year, in two quite desperate episodes. The first was one Saturday afternoon, when he was doing his drawing on our table and I was working o the laptop listening to 5 Live's commmentary of Arsenal away at Bolton. We were 1-0 with eight minutes to go, when we scored a second.

"YEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! COME ON!!!!" I cried, punching the air.

"What? What is it, Daddy?"

"Liam, Arsenal have just scored, we're going to win", I explained, hoping subtly and subliminally to make that connection in his formative mid: Arsenal scoring = extreme happiness (YOU SHOULD TRY IT, SON!)

Liam's answer? "Dad, I don't care".

It was difficult to see a way back from that. But the final moment - almost certainly, although there is always hope - came during the World Cup this year, when Liam asked, "why does it have to last A WHOLE MONTH?!" I mean, the one gene you want to pass on...! But no, I have to face facts: it just doesn't look like it's happened.

So - one down. But, there is hope: Liam has always been a creative little boy, he's good at drawing and making stuff, and when he was five he came home from school with "his first real six-string". Talk about an emerging Seasick Steve-style commitment to the blues in its purest form!

It got better when, later that night, just before bedtime, he gave his debut performance, singing a medley of the classics, while displaying his virtuousity in switching effortlessly between guitar styles... (Watch for his face at the end, when he tries to get his head around some of the more peculiar edicts of punk rock.)



Then, when I came home from, well, see the previous post, I learned that Liam is now taking guitar lessons at school. He promptly got out his real axe, and started to set up. Amazed, and bursting with joy, I asked him waht he was doing.

"E Minor" came the reply.

Glasses off, eyes dabbed for the best part of half an hour I think.

And so this is what I'm clinging to, his not-yet-confirmed-but-surely-latent love of music. When we're both on the table doing our thing - him drawing, me probably some bloody deadline or other - and I've got the music on, his head nods sub-consciously along, and he has a clear preference for noisy guitars. As he once put it, albeit - I think - with a bit of help from me - "I like the ones where you can't hear what he's singing over the guitars".

Not sure I could put it better myself.

Now, I worked in a song reference in the title, but to be honest I'm not sure what should be the third of the Vital Trinity: football, music, and....? Any ideas?

Durham vs Rotterdam: The Inaugural Tournament

A truly ludicrous - bordering on miraculous - alignment of the elements on Saturday 27th September ensured perfect sunshine for the inaugural Durham-Rotterdam Cup, played between all my mates from Rotterdam (pictured outside Durham Castle, where they stayed) and the fellow University staff members I play with every Tuesday lunchtime here in Durham. The Rotterdammers out on Palace Green, Sunday afternoon.

I had set up an identical arrangement in 2002 between the Rotterdammers and my mates down in London, which worked brilliantly as a home and away two-legged confrontation for 4 years. But in the last two years a number of players felt it had turned too competitive (tackles from behind from one or two players, way too many 'handbags' confrontations, even bookings for crying out loud!). It had lost its original vibe somewhat. That, and the Rotterdammers wanted to see Durham, and Liam and Valeria... So they came to Durham.

The Dutch arrived by the overnight ferry on the day itself, with 12 players and their coach Bob Uijlen. The Durhamite ranks eventually swelled to 16 players, and so I - with a conflicted identity - played for the Dutch to even things up, stamina-wise! (And because I really couldn't bring myself to wear the suspiciously T*tt*nh*m-esque kit that had been sourced for the home team...!)

(below) DURHAM team L to R (standing): Gareth Bird, Vig Juntas, Michael Lavery, Dima Yufit, Padraig Lyons, Andrei Krokhin, Steve Bradley; (front row): Richard Gildea, Steve Smith, Greg Iordanou, Andres Sanchez, Steve Willis, Rick Simpson.

(above) 'THE ROTTERDAMMERS' L to R (standing): Richard de Jong, Remco van Dijk, Robin de Roon, Dennis Tummers, Gerwalt Spijkerman, Manfred Wienhoven, Jan Hanssen (front row): Nils Ligthart, Me, Christiaan van Beek, Jeroen Peters, Edwin van der Zon, Gijs van Beek.

The game was played in a terrific spirit, which was a huge relief: still competitive - both sides certainly keen to win - but very friendly at the same time (genuine concern for people knocked over; pass backs to the opposition at drop-balls, that sort of thing). Unfortunately, the 90 minutes saw one hospitalisation, Steve from the business school's catering team chipping his shoulder when he fell awkwardly (but he's all right now, and serving up his usual delicious grub for us).

Rotterdam took the lead early, super striker Gerwalt Spijkerman skinning a Durham defender in the box and shooting across the 'keeper for 1-0. But Durham equalised within a few minutes, defender Greg Iordanou chancing a lob that eluded the Rotterdam keeper, Gijs van Beek. A defensive calamity let in Spijkerman for his second, and at half-time the vistors were a goal to the good - although Durham had had a fair few chances, as well.

In the second half Michael Lavery slammed home from close-range from a corner to level the scores again, but the practically unmarkable Spijkerman got his hatrick with a trademark header from an equally trademark Edwin van der Zon corner. 3-2. Richard de Jong then stretched the Dutch lead, with - I think - his first 11-a-side goal in an Anglo-Dutch fixture.

Durham striker Andrei Krokhin had a goal ruled out for offside after probably the best move of the match (lashing home a volley from a deft lob provided by Durham captain Andres Sanchez. The linesman stuck to his guns admirably - all the more impressive as he was only about 13! No histrionics from the locals, I'm pleased to report. But shortly after, Steve Willis, who had flown in from a holiday in Italy that very morning, celebrated his return with Durham's 3rd.

With five minutes to go, Krokhin got his just reward, spanking in the equaliser to set up the archetypal "frenzied finale". This saw Durham's defence - and Steve Bradley in piggin' particular - deny your correspondent a clear run on goal at least twice. Then Durham captain Andres Sanchez showed the best shimmies of the match to free up space and launch a rocket - which cannoned off the bar. At the death, Durham had at least four corners in a row - it felt like 94 - but they were all scrambled away by Jeroen Peters, Dennis Tummers and Jan Hanssen, Remco van Dijk and Christiaan/ Gijs van Beek in the Rotterdam rearguard.

So, the game finished 4-4 at 90 minutes, Durham probably shading it in terms of chances but having to come back from 1-0, 2-1 and 4-2 down.

Louise, wife of Durham's Steve Bradley, took some tremendous pictures from the sidelines, and they can be viewed here.

Being old, fat, slow and less than diligent in matters of personal fitness, we went straight to penalties, and when Gareth Bird guessed right to deny Spijkerman with a terrific block for the first (pictured here-ish), it seemed that Durham were set fair for victory.

Steve Willis, Greg Iordannou, Andrei Krokhin and 'John from the Business School kitchens' (apparently playing football for the first time in four years) all belted theirs home, while Nils Ligthart, Edwin van der Zon, Jeroen Peters, and Richard de Jong netted for the Dutch (see various pictures below - you can click on some to enlarge them, but not them all for some reason).

So, on his penultimate game in the city, Durham captain Andres Sanchez stepped up to win it for the home side...

Cometh the hour...

And he had a 'John Terry' moment (pictured) - complete with slipping on the surface and landing on his ar*e. Except Andres didn't hit the post, only Manfred Wienhoven in the Dutch goal who, the photographic evidence above clearly confirms, was some way off his line!

Gijs van Beek and Michael Lavery knocked in the first pair of 'sudden death' pens, and modesty forbids a detailed commentary on what turned out to be the decisive penalty for the Rotterdammers, stroked into the bottom corner with the right amount of pace, power and precision to beat Gareth's flailing dive. (Just - thank God!) ;-p .

Then Guy Millen, from the Business School, invoked the ghost of Chris Waddle with a thumping drive aimed high. Although Manfred the Rotterdammers' specialist 'penalty keeper' never moved, it thwacked unluckily off the bar, and that was that.

Bob the Dutch coach filmed the penalties with full commentary (albeit in Dutch), and most of them can be seen here [mainly the Dutch ones] - although it's a bit grainy and ended up being filmed into the sunlight, but hey.

Mike Carr, who works at the Maiden Castle sports centre and was a perfect ref, gave me a free trophy which was awarded to their captain Jan Hanssen - and then broken in two places within 10 minutes of falling into Liam's hands on the Sunday.

The post-match meal was at Oldfields, a great restuarant in Durham that uses only locally sourced ingredients, and it was yum.
The Dutch lads then experienced the glorious spectacle that is 'Durham on a Saturday night', in Varsity, Lloyds Bar and LoveShack. As Edwin said the morning after, "Last night I saw some sights...", and then his voice trailed off, as he stared into the middle distance in the manner of a Vietnam veteran. Next year, the Bigg Market then! (For a reflective commentary on the weekend, in Dutch, on the Sunday morning click here.)

So, general consensus seems to be that a home and away two-legged fixture for next year is nailed on, as it was brilliant fun. Or a tri-team tourno with the Londoners. BIG thanks to everyone who played, it went better than I could have dreamed.

Liam goes to the footy again - and remains unconvinced!

We went to see Sunderland take on Man City in April 2008, Liam's 3rd football match (the 2nd had been Durham City against Bishop Auckland: 2-0 to City, although even the home fans admitted the second was a "hotly disputed" penalty). His School had got some cheap tickets from the club, right on the front row behind the goal in the home end (see below)...

Liam soaking up the big match atmosphere/trying desperately to find something to do that might stave off the overwhelming boredom...

In truth, Liam had been less than psychotically-obsessed the 1st time he went to a live game [Sunderland 0 Arsenal 3], being much more interested in the crowd and his biscuits. I'm ashamed to admit this did cause me some grief as his Dad, as I am desperate for him to love football; perhaps too desperate really, thinking about it. Maybe Liam sees football as a rival for my attention and so resents it. When it's on the telly, for instance, it's not something we can bond over, it's something he tries to remove from his life so we can get back to more important things. like dinosaur fights. How do you play that one, Dads?

Nils, a friend from Rotterdam, has suggested taking my time, playing the long game, waiting for football to work its inexplicable magic. Stuart, a mate from London, says: "I feel the best approach is almost certainly to deprive them of going to footy games etc, thus making them WANT to attend, feeling they’re missing out... Ted already knows that I disappear off to PLAY footy, and I think he is intrigued..."

Perhaps I am pushing too early. Liam does quite like kicking a footy in the back garden, primarily for when he scores a goal and I chase him around for a few minutes, catch him and throw him into the air in an enormous somersault of celebration. (Scoring the goal does seem to be a means to an end for him...) Can't help thinking, though, that real football ain't always like that, and I'm guilty of mis-representation...!

He is three years behind the schedule I had as a kid [obsessed by the age of two, apparently]. But then, Theo Walcott only started playing seriously when he was 9 (a fact I cling to with the unattractive fervour of a never-say-die fanatic).

Here he is in the ground, with his on-off 'girlfriend', Nathalie.

It was an appalling game, so in one respect it was good Liam had little idea what was going on, but he didn't enjoy it much, to be honest and there was a scene in the Gents' at half-time of brutal father-son dynamics. We were attending to his needs in the toilet behind a locked door, when he told me, "I want to go home!" I tried to suggest the game would get better, but he then said, at an uncomfortably public volume, "I don't like football Daddy!"

When I stepped out of the toilet with him, the massed ranks of patient blokes lined up waiting for us gave me half a smile, and half a wince of sympathy.

Well, the game continued to be crap long into the 2nd half as well, but late on City got a penalty and scored from it, but Sunderland equalised a few minutes later (a cracking volley from Dean Whitehead). I threw Liam into the air loads of times, shouting "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!" which he enjoyed enormously, and when we sat down he said "Again!"

At which point I had to explain to him that Sunderland needed to score first before we could do it again, as otherwise it would be rather odd behaviour. (They didn't; City did - Liam is becoming a Sunderland jinx. Good job they stayed up, or we'd have had to keep a low profile...!)

But the day did end on a positive note: Liam was quite clearly on Match of the Day later that evening! If you freeze-frame the celebrations after Dean Whitehead's equaliser down to a frame a second, and you know where in all the indistinct blur to look, and you squint really hard, you can see me lifting him up, on the telly! Liam, my son, on Match Of The Day! (I've kept it, for use when he makes his Arsenal debut in - ooh - only 11 years from now...)

Sunderland 1 Manchester City 2 (You can't see Liam on this footage, alas...)

Sunderland 0 Arsenal 3 (Liam's first live football match)

When a colleague, Professor Timothy Clark, popped his head around my door at work and said he was thinking of getting tickets for the visit of the Arsenal to play Sunderland in May 2006, I knew that a defining moment in my life as a father had arrived... This was to be my son's first live game of footy.

I was nervous. If truth be told, Liam's obessive devotions in life to date had been his toy cars and Thomas the Tank Engine. On the rare occasions when he had deigned to kick a football he'd shown himself capable of wellying it with promising power and accuracy. But it hadn't captured his imagination to the exclusion of all other possible distractions for hours on end as I'd, naturally, hoped for...

So, as we set off I feared that he'd be freaked out by the whole experience (the crowd, the noise, Sunderland's hapless defending) and it'd put him off for life, and I'd never be able to live with myself, denying my own son the joys of being a football fan.

It was an evening kickoff. Arsenal arrived needing the points to qualify for the champions League the next season (we were 5th, behind our hilariously hapless neighbours, T*ttenham). 'Fortunately', Sunderland were already relegated so didn't much care. (As Wearsiders now - the river Wear runs through Durham - they are our favoured local team. And, apparently Sparta Rotterdam copied Sunderland's shirt colours...)

We were sat in the Sunderland family enclosure, a few rows up from the touchline. Liam settled on my lap quickly, content to gaze around the huge stadium and gorge on his biscuits. There was little point in telling him that that man there is the most ludicrously talented footballer ever to wear the red and white of the Arsenal so watch and learn... Liam had no idea what was going on, only a vague idea really of the concept of football, but he loved the atmosphere, so a big thankyou to all the Sunderland fans for starting up some Mexican waves which kept him royally entertained! Best of all, though, was that he would mimic the crowd's reactions a good 5 seconds after he first heard it, starting to clap only when the applause had died down, and going "Oooooh!" long after a shot had been skied into the terraces. It was hilarious.

I think he got through it unscathed, and I was a relieved man. Just need to upgrade his 'mild amusement' into 'lifelong, deranged obsession' and my work will be complete.

Arsenal won 3-0.