If you are not a supporter of Arsenal, kindly avert your eyes. Grieving should be a private, family affair. If you are a Man United fan, bugger off.
It has been an especially painful eight weeks; pretty much everything has gone wrong. On February 27 Arsenal were fighting on four fronts and surely about to win their first trophy in six years — admittedly, merely the Carling Cup, but a trophy nonetheless.
As a veteran who well remembers the 18 long years between 1971 and 1989 in which just one FA Cup and one League Cup were won, one’s hope was that it would at least shut up the spoilt-brat, Johnny-come-lately fans who had acquired such an unseemly sense of entitlement during the early Wenger years, from 1997 to 2005, a golden period that yielded seven trophies — three Premierships and four FA Cups.
Since the Carling Cup final catastrophe against Birmingham City there has been an excruciating implosion. And so the intra-fraternity question that Arsenal fans now ask each other, usually in hushed tones, glancing furtively over the shoulder, is: “Are you keeping the faith?”
It is secret samizdat code for “Are you still with Wenger?” Poor Arsene Wenger; after Sunday’s season-ending defeat at Bolton he looked a broken man, ashen-faced, with red, sunken eyes.
He is known as “the professor” but now, one fears, it’s more like “the mad professor”. As the defensive errors, the injuries and the unjust referring decisions have mounted, his careworn exasperation, deeply furrowed brow and obsessive-compulsive mannerisms have all intensified.
One moment he is apparently auditioning for a part in The Madness of King George, the next he’s imitating Mr Bean, with pinched facial expressions and manic gesticulations. He is fast becoming a caricature of himself and one fears that his credibility — perhaps even with his players — is in terminal decline.
‘The invincibles’
And so I come to write the piece that has been in my mind for several years: the one that compares Wenger with another leader of even greater obsessive-compulsiveness and stubbornness — Thabo Mbeki.
Both have in common great talents, as well as reputations as intellectuals. But, like King Lear, both have blind spots that make you want to scream: “For God’s sake, can’t you see the obvious?”
They are strong-willed, proud men. It is their way or no way. In Wenger’s case, he wishes to play beautiful football with young men who he has nurtured from teenagehood. He espouses a political economy that is fastidiously prudent; like Mbeki, Wenger prefers fiscal discipline to populist expenditure.
The more the blogging Gooners demand big-name, big-fee transfers, the more Wenger shakes his head and, with a Gallic shrug, says: “No, why should I buy? I have good young players here, so why should I stunt their development?” He eschews the bling-bling culture of United and Chelsea, let alone Real Madrid, where success is bought with absurdly inflated transfer fees.
This economic policy makes one proud. But you just want a little concession here and there, especially when it comes to defensive players. Blend your pure Corinthian spirit with just a soupçon of pragmatism: in recent years, our brilliant youngsters have cried out for an experienced hand or two to share the burden of expectation and to provide the leadership that youth cannot provide.
Wenger seems to have forgotten that his success of the first eight years was built on the back of two strong defences — one that he inherited (Seaman-Dixon-Bould-Adams-Winterburn) and one that he created himself (“the invincibles”: Lehmann-Lauren-Touré-Campbell-Cole).
This is his Lear-like blind spot. No need to buy a Vidic or a Piqué, but at least a Mertesacker or a Yaya Touré — someone who has been around the block and won a few things and knows how to do it, and who can place a reassuring hand on the callow shoulders of Alex Song, Johan Djourou, Jack Wilshere and even Cesc Fà bregas.
Wenger-ball
And, as with Mbeki and with Mugabe’s Zimbabwe, you just want a public admission that, yes, maybe the policy is not entirely working and, yes, maybe I must adjust it a little — not a retreat or a U-turn but an acknowledgement that things can, and will, be done a little differently in the future.
But no, no, no — that would be to succumb to “the dark arts”; it would be, in Wenger’s eyes, to sell out. The Wenger youth movement must march on, unsullied by such overtures to realism ahead of idealism. The truth is that while one admires the principles of youth development and fiscal probity there is a large dose of vanity in the Wenger project — he wants his equivalent of Busby’s Babes or Fergie’s Fledglings.
But that moment may now have passed. Wenger’s internal political calculus has shifted. For the first time, Arsenal now has a majority shareholder. He is an American, not an old Etonian. New money, not old. The culture of the club may change. Success may be measured differently. And Wenger may face new pressure — this time from his employer.
Perhaps, like Mbeki, his critics will reach critical mass — an alliance of journalists, supporters and factions within his own organisation aligned against him — and he will be “recalled”.
In East Africa, if not in North London, there will be sorrow if this comes to be. Southern Africa may be Manchester United territory (and Liverpool, at the southern-most tip); and West Africa, thanks to Drogba and Essien, may favour the nouveau-riche Chelsea. But try Kampala, Addis, Dar or Nairobi and you will find an Arsenal majority as big as the ANC’s. And, unlike the ANC’s electorate, Arsenal’s East African constituency appears patient and therefore largely unwavering in its loyalty.
They appreciate Wenger and his brand of “Wenger-ball”. And they agree with him — better to lose with style and principle intact than to win with bling-laden pragmatism. And be careful what you wish for. Any nostalgic longing for “The Chief” or regrets now that Jacob Zuma is at the helm? While my faith in Mbeki dimmed and finally died, with Wenger I will stand. Provided, that is, he goes out and buys a decent new centre half.