Miller Men Account of Arsenal Away.....

ARSENAL AWAY – NOT A JEFF WHITLEY SONG TO BE HEARD

Here we are again, fifty odd quid lighter hoping to see Sunderland’s season turn around. Every game we go to now we think ‘this could be the time, this is where our season starts’ but at the end of the game you’re just back to square one. This fifty odd pound is actually £55, for a train ticket and a seat at one of Europe’s top club grounds – and, just like the other 9 lads that accompany me on the 7.12am train out of Durham, I never been to Highbury - and we’re out to enjoy it win (haha), lose, or draw....

The train crossing Durham viaduct coincides with the sound of 9 cans cracking open – the first of many. Mirley is looking rough from last night’s session, and as I am armed with the digital camera for the 1st time this season I hope to get some unsavoury pictures of the lads in some uncomprimising positions! Mirleys first tin lasts him until Peterborough and I receive a phone call from a Mr Gilling explaining that he is feeling "very rough from last night" and "he won’t be having much to drink today". Men and boys Jimmy, men and boys…..although I do sympathise with him having Butch taking the piss out of him all day!

A couple of smart ladies and a big pisstaking session perk us up a bit and a few Stella and some of Ma Evans’ buffet later and we’re in London for 10.40am. We quickly jump on the Piccadilly line to Finsbury Park (they reckon Northumbria Police told Sunderland fans to stay away from this area?) and we find a pub called The Blackstock. We’re the first ones in and a little fat black barmaid dressed in everything that is Arsenal welcomes us – we find what will be our seat for the next 3 hours in perfect view of the big screen. The barmaid with nice yellow teeth puts Soccer AM on for us and we fill the dusty air with the sounds of the Kaiser Chiefs and Oasis from the juke box. By 1pm the place has filled up and we are the only SAFC fans in there – maybe the coppers were right about keeping away but a few renditions of "Shearer is a Wanker" gets us on good terms with the Gooners and we sort of upset them by playing Chas & Dave songs on the juke box so we gave them a gymnastics show by the pool tables – by the way, Davey owes the owner £300 to fix the floor after his 3rd attempt at a kart wheel…..

Shiner, complete with pervert’s mack, and his Middleham gang arrive to boost our numbers and we have a couple more and head on our 20 minute walk to the stadium. The queue to get in is quite big so we blame the coppers; it wasn’t the fact that we never left the pub until 2.45 though no, no, no. Once we find our seats I decide that this is the worst view I have ever had at any football stadium – and I am including Bury and Rotherham in this list. £35 for this? I see Sol Campbell launch a ball into the sky, the next thing it is down the other end on Van Persie’s chest and its 1-0. I think Arsenal had to work harder in their Friday morning training session.
Soon its 2-0, so I go for a pint – bollocks they don’t even sell beer, how good is this? After 70 minutes, half of us decide that enough is enough and we leave. Jonathan ‘Tore’ Stead just doesn’t cut it for me on the wing!

So, a quick slide down the banisters out of Highbury and a jog to the tube station and we’re on the way to O’Neills at Kings Cross for the final whistle and we find that the game finished 3-1.
Were any of us bothered who scored our goal? I didn’t care. Ashy does his best to break my neck as he freefalls out of his seat on to me, I am in a state of real pissed offness and the beer starts to go down badly – not a good sign but a quick lash out at one of the lads (which I later apologise for) I put my troubles behind me for a day and I am back on the Stella in full flow. We make our way to the Flying Scotsman, Clarky is put off by the 6 riot vans parked outside so decides to go to another pub across the road with Darren and Rodge (£45 heavier from a win on the bandit). I enter the Scotsman Zoo, faced by a couple of West Brom fans but by no means fazed as I see Ash, Mirley and Chrissy checking out the semi-naked lady on the stage (who I must say is the ugliest "gentlemen’s club entertainer" I have ever seen), another couple of pints out of a plastic cup and we have another hour to wait for our train home.

Unlike our previous visit to London we have plenty time to purchase our refreshments for the journey – Rodge went in and slipped on the floor and put his foot through the fridge door – ooops! The guy of Asian origin says it is ok but I think he stung him for the 12 cans of stella. Ash gets the infamous bottle of 20/20 for the exit from The Smoke.

The train home was eventful due to a handful of dickheads who got the train stopped at Peterborough – the coppers came and threatened arrest, even threatened Davey with arrest until they realise they wouldn’t be able to pick him up as he lay comatosed in his seat. Our resident coppers Rodge and Pete Carr diffused the situation and after a 40 minute delay we eventually set of again, but oh shit, some of us find ourselves out of beer, Christopher John Smith Ashworth even diverts to the Stella. With 2 or 3 more cans down our necks and some anti-Newcastle songs without the swearwords later, Durham is within sight. We hit the Fighting Cocks in spectacular style, we look like a gang of lads who had been on the piss for 16 hours but we didn’t half look good. I, by this time, am absolutely mashed – I even pay £6 to get into Café Rock to buy one bottle. Home James, I am getting too old for this – the hangover is gonna last until Tuesday….all in all it was a great day, with all the lads on the piss and I am glad Clarky come along for the ride….

Next stop Tottenham Hotspur, I am taking my adopted Uncle Steph Walton for company this time so I had better be on my best behaviour…