Category: Sp*rs

Yesterday was the best North London Derby for me, ever, and for a reason I don’t think anyone might expect.

Beating Tottenham? Great. Beating them with beautiful play from our sublime right wing and seeing him cup his ears in response to misguided (though predictably stupid) taunts? Super. Our goalkeeper making a terrible mistake but showing the mental strength to not let it impact the rest of his game? Excellent. And the online banter afterwards, the schadenfreuede and elation over winning another NLD? Welcome and so satisfying. All good, but nothing that would ever make it “the best”.

The real joy came from something that I didn’t even know happened when it happened. I was driving, on a 3+ hour return trip from seeing my parents, in the car with the family, endlessly tapping my left foot against the driver-side door, angst and nerves consuming me. Riding shotgun was my 19 year old son. My son is neurodivergent. He loves sports but cannot watch sports. The events of any given game make him anxious. He knows everything about Arsenal, world football, the Knicks, the Mets, etc. But bad, or unexpected results have, in previous spells, led to dysregulation and incredibly difficult circumstances for him and for all of us who were around him. For anyone who is neurotypical, who thinks a game not going their way is rough emotionally, I challenge you to watch someone on the spectrum have to deal with the psychic pain of that disappointment. During the pandemic it rendered Arsenal a non-option for me (hence I disappeared from social media and mostly had to cease watching the team I love so much). I gave that up willingly, with difficulty, for him. This disappearance was in solidarity with my son, who grafted a devotion of his own to Arsenal out of mine.

Yesterday in the car he gave me limited score updates. I asked him first if he wanted to follow the game and he said yeah, he’d be fine. “City are winning the league anyhow, so it’s no big deal”, he said. No details, though: his phone is restricted (by his own design) to sites that only offer scores but little in the way of details.

1-0. No idea how. 1-1, then back to 1-0 shortly thereafter and a high five. 2-0. 3-0. Halftime. Some perhaps too-confident proclamations. A deep breath, and a mid-Connecticut traffic-less interlude. While his ability to cope with stress has improved over the past two years we all have some trauma from the moments back in ‘20 through early ‘22 when he couldn’t hold it together. So the drive, which was uneventful, was still laced with my own nervousness – about the game and, more importantly, about what might happen if things went south.

As the time passed I made little milestones for myself, tinged with a kind of compulsive superstition. If we make it three miles and my son doesn’t give me bad news that’s good. If we make it three exits then all will be well and I can breathe. Then 3-1. No idea how, why, or what happened. Better that way. But still, it was 3-1, and late. And then silence. Nothing. No updates. I kept eyeing the clock. Counted the exits. Watched the odometer. I knew when the second half had started so I also new it was approaching stoppage time. But no info on how much there was. Or the status. Nothing. So, I presumed it was 3-1, and thankfully nothing was happening. 10:51, 10:52, 10:53, and still silence from the next seat over. Finally, around 10:58, I hear a “YES!” and my son tells me it’s over. We won! A little fist bump and a deep breath and he says “it was 3-2”. “3-2?”, I say? Yes, he answers. He says “Tottenham got a penalty and it was 3-2 but I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to get nervous”. I couldn’t believe it.

And THAT was the best result of the day, and that simple sheltering of information was what made it the best NLD I have ever had. This kind of act, this kind of response to stress, was unthinkable just 12-18 months ago. He protected *me*. He managed his own stress, actually engaged with it, while removing mine. My vulnerable son took care to shield his old, ostensibly mature father from the nerves of a late frenzy in a do-or-die NLD, and took the vulnerability on himself. That’s no small feat. It was incredibly brave, for him to risk his own emotions in that moment. I can’t describe what that means for him (way more than what it means for me) as an emotionally developing and neurodivergent teen.

It was the best NLD ever.

It isn’t a North London Derby win without both joy and schadenfreude. It’s the Red Sox beating the Yankees (for me), or the Yankees beating the Red Sox (for you sociopaths, if that’s your thing). Today was a supplier of both, in healthy fashion.

Let’s start with the joy:

ESR and Martin Odegaard. Winning in style. There were the proverbial “green shoots” the past couple of weeks, but today illustrated that we can play up a level, beyond that of our opponents. And these two guys were central to that elevation. I sensed a touch of “playing down” these past two weeks, though there was evidence of better things to come. Today it coalesced. And nobody better then Emile Smith Rowe and Martin Odegaard, oozing class.

Auba. Running everywhere. And smiling. Especially after the game. NBC covered a fair bit of the post-game celebration, players making the lap around the stadium, Bukayo Saka handing his shirt to a kid, and – late in that section of the broadcast – Mikel Arteta and Auba embracing in sincerely ebullient fashion. There was some catharsis there, after last season’s punitive benching.

Aaron Ramsdale. I am not one who thinks there is much value in reading anything into how players interact, since the interactions tend to be based on the events that have just transpired. Goalies and defenders who embrace and look happy after a key block are like that because the shot was blocked. Goalies and defenders who look shakily at each other after a defender failed to block a shot and cost the team look shaken because, well, someone f*cked up. Body language isn’t much of a language, in my mind. But – it’s still fun to watch a goalie cheer on his defenders, thank them, let them know they did something good. It’s fun because, well, it means they did something good! And boy does our keeper like to let his players know they did good. He’s like a puppy dog. And his name sounds like one too. Is there a breed called a “Ramsdale”? Because if there isn’t there should be.

The supporters at the Emirates. I have been to four games there – all wonderful experiences. One win and three somewhat tepid draws. The win was in a cacophonous – though familiar for a sports fan – environment. The tepid draws were fun, but the stadium tepid. I can only imagine what it must have been like there this afternoon. The players deserved the fantastic result, and the supporters deserved to watch and enjoy such a result.

And the schadenfreude:

Sergio Reguilon. Getting a hand on his chest and grabbing his face to try to draw a card. This is something taught – it has to be. Because if you get pushed in the chest and your first reaction is to grab your face that takes consideration. It’s not a reflex. Because of this I now dislike Sergio Reguilon – and anyone who has coached him. And it was fantastic seeing him go down like he’d been hunting with Dick Cheney, only to be summarily ignored by Craig Pawson and the linesman.

Harry Kane. Fluffing his lines, in front of his own goal (leading to Saka’s at the other end) and in front of ours. Also, not getting the calls. Interesting what happens to a player’s morale and attitude when nothing goes their way. Thank you, Daniel Levy!

The supporters at the Emirates. Is there anything more enjoyable than the camera pan to the away fans’ section and everyone is stone faced, every fourth seat empty, with three people walking up the stairs because going to the urinal at the Emirates is actually more entertaining than the football on show from their team? Today was bad for them. And tomorrow is…Monday. Glad we could start their week off so nicely.

Erik Lamela. Nowhere near the Emirates, but he gets on the list because f*ck that guy. I hope that, out of sentimentality, he checked the scores today and doing so ruined his afternoon.

Next week: (Potentially) top of the table Brighton, if they can pull it off tomorrow.

Until then let’s enjoy a week of what this feels like.

NOTE: It’s been over a year since I posted here. It feels good to write a bit more long form, rather than the reflexive, hyper-emotional and unfiltered messages of a place like Twitter. It’s good to think a bit before hitting “post”. I probably should do this more often.