UNBOWED, UNBENT, UNBROKEN

I started watching football when I was about 10. It was never a conscious choice. The only time I was allowed to watch TV was in the evenings, after I was done with my homework. By that time, my father would be home. That meant watching sports. Cricket, or on weekends, the live telecast of the English Premier League.

There was this one team, Arsenal. They were the most dominant team in the division. They played a stylish brand of football, almost flawless at times. The first time I started actually sitting through matches, and watching the entire season with some comprehension of what was going on, and I saw a team infallible. They simply did not lose. Tough situations came by, but somehow, they found a way. And then, at times, they simply ripped their opponents apart. Thierry Henry, Dennis Bergkamp, Robert Pires, Patrick Viera, Sol Campbell, Jens Lehmann and others. The Invincibles. The first team since Preston North End, over 120 years ago, to end the season unbeaten. P 38, W 26, L 0.

And then there was this old man on the sidelines. He was over 50, clearly. He didn’t look much like a sportsman. In fact, he looked more like a primary school teacher.  He would constantly be on the touchline, the edge of the playing area, shouting instructions. Sometimes, he would replace certain players on the field with others. The best manager in the league, though maybe Sir Alex Ferguson would have something to say about that. But on the 15th of May, 2004, as his team were crowned champions, and took their place in footballing history as one of the best to ever play the game, he was the champion. The best of them all. The King.

Along came the pretender. The very next season. Jose Mourinho. With an owner ready to spray the cash, he began assembling a team to challenge the master himself. Brash, arrogant, ruthless. Both the team and the new young manager. He even managed to get an Arsenal player to defect to his cause. Ashley Cole. Promises of riches and then, even more riches proved more potent than any claim on loyalty.

And Wenger had to change stadia. From the hallowed grounds of Highbury, the club had to move to a new, bigger ground. The Emirates, built at a cost of what would be nearly $750 million today. While it was a great prospect, one that would surely secure the future of the club for decades, the high cost meant two things- the club could not afford to buy the best players any longer, and they could not afford to keep their best players any longer. Barcelona, Juventus, and later on Manchester City and Manchester United, all poached the best away from the club. Wenger could do nothing but watch.

What followed next was obvious- a trophy drought. What was not obvious to the fans was the duration that this barren period would extend for. From 2005 to 2014, over 10 years of winning absolutely nothing. No trophies. The best players leaving the club for pastures anew. Every time a Gael Clichy, or an Emmanuel Adebayor hoisted a trophy, the heart of every Arsenal fan broke a little.

Wenger tried to stem the rot. Home grown players were asked to play. Players were brought in for virtually nothing, changed and developed into the best player on the planet. But it was all laid to waste. They would still leave the club. Samir Nasri, Alex Song et al. And obviously, there would be the two defections that cut every Arsenal fan to the core. Cesc Fabregas. The player who had, since he was 16, been pinned as the team’s great hope, the one truly world class player who still remained, would leave for his homeland. Barcelona DNA and all that.

And obviously, Robin Van Persie.  A precocious talent Wenger had spotted as a youth and supported through attitude problems, injuries, and tantrums, Van Persie was a player who owed most to Arsenal. Any other club would have sold a player with the issues that Van Persie had had for nearly 4 years, since he moved to Arsenal. But not Wenger. He trusted him, played him, and developed him into quite simply, the best striker on the planet. But when Manchester United came calling, the “little boy” inside him made him force his way out of the club. One good season effectively ended any sense of loyalty to the place, to the man who had made him what he was. One good season, and he was too big for the club.

Wenger soldiered on, the best he could. He kept Arsenal in the UEFA Champions League, that Holy Grail that guaranteed a huge revenue stream and kept the team among the elite. But for a fan base which was used to being supporters of the best, which had seen the team win the title at a canter, would not be appeased by this. They simply could not reconcile themselves to the fact through uncontrollable circumstances, the team was no longer capable of challenging for titles. That finishing fourth in the league and maintaining a UEFA Champions League place was realistically, the highest the team could aim for. And not for one, two seasons. 11 years of no prizes. Of seeing teams with more money prance their way to the title. And could you blame them?  Wenger had set the bar too high. He had created those expectations himself. Now, he found that he did not have the resources to fulfill them any longer. Dissatisfaction simmered and boiled over. Wenger was no longer the messiah. He was a liability. An old school professor, trying to use his old tricks in a new pond, in front of bigger fish. A stubborn idiot. Every fan thought he could do better than him. His policy of developing youth was ridiculed. Every move scrutinized, every word criticized.

Rivals didn’t miss a chance too. From calling him a “voyeur”, an “idiot”, a “has-been”, to a “specialist in failure”, mudslinging was the name of the game. The king was down, you need to kick him just then. Keep him down.

But you know what, things change. With time, everything comes a full circle. There is always a place for real values, for deep roots. And yes, bad times do end. Case in point, September 1st, 2013. After years of austerity, of frugality, Wenger had finally signed a real superstar. Mesut Ozil. The best playmaker in the world. Add his roster of the talent he had painstakingly nurtured, a squad with Jack Wilshere, Aaron Ramsey, Theo Walcott and others, a result of his beliefs, his faith and his hard work, and you get an end to the trophy drought. And end to the ridiculous accusations of not wanting the team to win. An end to the humiliation and the disgrace. The FA Cup, 2014, on the 17th of May, 2014. A year later, a successful defense of the same title.

Another EPL title, to add to his previous three, still eludes Arsene. There are still concerns about if the team is ready for the title. The man is still regarded as stubborn to a fault. But one thing is clear. Wenger finally has all the jigsaw pieces in his hand again. And yes, it may take another season, but the king will gain his dominion back. The title will be his again. The man still has it to be the best of them all. The King will have his crown back.

“All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadows shall spring;

Renewed shall be blade that was broken,

The crownless again shall be king.”

~ J.R.R. Tolkien