Someone you should know at Nevada's: Me

How cute am I? How'd did I become the blog-writing, singing, dancing morning drunkard Gunner that I am so proud to be? The reasons illustrate the strange and incidental paths by which we develop the immortal sporting loves we hold so dear. In FIFA 93 for the Sega Genesis Arsenal was my team. The selection was made entirely upon the coolness of the name. Over a decade later, Devo tyold me there was a plausible reason to drink in the morning. Done. Their final Highbury colors were Burgundy and Gold. The only other team in the galaxy with these threads is my Washington Redskins. Never underestimate the little things. Then I came to Nevada's. I saw the match. I sang the songs. I was in love.

Here are my stats:

Favorite Drink: Bass

Favorite Player: Hleb

Favorite Song/Chant: Arsene Wenger's Red White Army

Favorite Arsenal Gear: "Arsene" My trusty wristband.

Favorite Game: Fulham 07 Opening Day

Where you'll find him at the bar: Just listen for the loudest guy.

Yes, I am a loud and proud fan. I like to think of these briefs morning adventures as a chance to re connect with my English roots. That's how I keep it real. And let me tell you, my roots know how to have a good time. Still, I am a yankee, and as such, I present and advertisement which sums up so much about me. Enjoy. 

 

On you Seagulls! Premiere League #20, Everton

Here's a little outline of today's Saturday's perfect morning @ Nevada's:

1. Top of the league

2. Cristiano Ronaldo botched a penalty kick in a ManU loss

3. We were winning by a goal for a very short period of time

4.  A good ol' fashion cheering war broke out

5. Good friends were made

Yes, all of the aspects of a morning soccer bar were in  force. The righteous were rewarded, the pretty boy fell on his face, and the competitive camaraderie that can only be found amongst soccer fans was illustrated in it's finest form.

So, arising at a decent hour Devo, his mate and I made the uneventful trip to our home away from home where we settled into a nice bar spot about 3/4 of the way down. This zone is great because you are right at the frontier of Arsenal fans. If you can avoid that particularly drunk Chelsea fan (you know the one) then you are usually in for some great back and forth cheering. Strangely, it came from West Ham fans, who saved our bacon today.

You see, I had left my abode when ManU was up 1 nil. Arriving in low spirits to find they had lost to the Hammers turned a worrisome morning into exactly what we wanted. A chance for the young gunners to prove something. 

As always.

How did lowly West Ham get it together against Big Red? They played great defense and took their opportunities, but I'd rather focus on this:

Thanks for choking on your bigillion pound salary.

On a side note, it should be mentioned that in 2007, Google's most popular search for "I hate -----" was "I hate Ronaldo". It beat out "men" and "school". Upon hearing this news, Cristiano apparently fell to the ground and started crying while he grabbed his shins in "pain". No one is really sure why.

So now we had a reason to get rowdy. And we did. Devo is a bigger fan than any of us, and though he's usually very subdued, he has a fondness for going after England. What with the events surrounding Almunia's change in citizenship, Eduardo's Croatia goal and the general bitterness of English fans, there was plenty to work with. He provoked the West Hammers, who were celebrating their victory, and made life so much more fun.

Seriously, what is the deal with this "English players thing"? I mean, how can fans spend so much time ragging on Arsenal for not having brits when they are all too happy to root for Ronaldo, Drogba, Torres, and many more who are the saviors of their teams? Also why are Rooney, Owen, Lampard, Gerrard, Terry, blah, blah, blah so beloved if they give their all for the millions of pounds their clubs pay, but can't summon anything when England calls? Forget it. If you're gonna call Arsenal a "french team in London" fine. Then maybe we'll get to play in Euro 08.

But thats just my personal beef. For the most part it was great fun. We met a man named Byron, whose merciless taunts earned him Fan of the Match. A man named Jim came to play and helped Devo and I get the Red Army moving. We the fans, like our team, always start slow and end strong. Some of the Hammers were alot of fun too and I felt bad for the two Everton fans at the bar, caught in a sea of Arsenal, who cheered positively the whole time.

I hate losing, but with Arsenal, you have to be used to being down a goal almost once a game. What I can't deal with is being up by a goal. The sheer terror of losing your three points is something I was glad to avoid as Adebayor, in a miracle on onsides, got us to 3-1. In this state, I need only worry about an Everton goal which would force me to worry about the match. 4-1 means I only have to worry about worrying about being worried. This is best.

So I didn't have a coronary. We're back on top, and I had some beers.

Afterwards, there is always a chance to meet some good mates. Webber (I am about 63% sure of that name) and his gang from Brighton were on holiday and happened to stumble upon our little corner of the futbol world. They were very curious as to why there were so many Gunners in NYC. I have an answer, but I'll discuss that in another post. 

Here's a terrible pic.

I have just bought a better camera phone to prevent this sort of amateurism. 

They also brought the banner of their local team, the Seagulls, which now hangs somewhere in Nevada's. You have to love that our hangout is well enough known for Brits to leave England in order to put their banner in a soccer bar. 

Of course, there is nothing new about the English crossing the ocean to claim things with flags. 

On you Seagulls!

     

Premier League #19, Portsmouth

I got in touch with my roots by keeping it real in my hometown of Chevy Chase, MD for Jesus' 2006th Birthday Bash! As a result, I was not at Nevada's for the nil-nil thrill that was the Pompey game. I was able to drag my family to an "English Pub" for the match though. With a corny name like Union Jacks, this place clearly was not the real deal. It took twenty minutes to get the TV on the match and we were the only ones there. In many ways, it was the Anti-Nevada Smith's. To add to this disapointment, my one chance to convert my family of NFL fans to "the beautiful game" was shattered by a goaless draw (the kryptonite of futbol) which they rolled their eyes at. It was very hard to explain why the match was actually a very exciting piece of back and forth futbol. 

Still, my step dad, who made sure Santa brought me a new Gooner Scarf,  and I had a good ol' time. He was in England for many years and a Leeds United fan before it all went wrong. I think they play high schools now.

So I missed the match at Nevadas, but I trust the Arsenal Mob was out in force.

I took some crap from various "ManU fans" because they managed to top the league. Have fun being worried every week. 

Dreaming Gunner, Premier League #18 Tottenham

Soccer has invaded my repast! Two weeks in a row I have been awakened for a game from a dream about Champions League. I was watching the highlights of the first leg with my friend Kody in a giant, trendy version of Nevada Smith's. Now, I should have realized it was a dream when Real Madrid somehow beat Juventus, but I really a should have realized it was a dream when a Barca player's long range shot was blocked by a Gryphon. 

That's right, a mythical creature with the body of a lion and the head and wings of an eagle (who apparently was picked up in the transfer window by Celtic) leaped up and made a beautiful deflection which sadly bounced off another Gryphon and landed in the net. Did I wake up? No. I simply turned to Kody and we carefully critiqued the half-breed creature's poor defense. 

That's when I woke up. Crazy. 

Or was it?

Now in the world of the conscious, I hustled to where "football is religion" with Jakes. Here is his smiling face and my fatty mug for your pleasure.

 

I am very disturbed by my likeness to Big Sam Allardyce. 

Anyway, we got there and, I have to say, I was blown away by the size and vigor of the Gooner faithful considering the 7:45 call time. Songs were being sung, beers were being hoisted, Adebayor was being bashed. In short, it was business as usual and not long before my voice was shot.

This happened almost immediately as I took my first toss of Bass and launched a thundering "What do you think of Tottenham?" After this boisterous, yet potty-mouthed announcement, I looked down to see a small child no older than 7 or 8 looking up at me with those wide eyes of curiosity and a big smile. I was immediately ashamed, but this feeling was replaced by questions such as: Why is this child standing in a crowded bar at 8 am? Who brought this tiny miracle to the bar? Are they the worst parent/guardian ever known? Or the greatest Gooner fans in the known world? Who can say? I, for one, advise keeping your little ones out of a forest of morning drunkards who love to yell and insult people's mothers for yucks. Being an Adult is weird.

To my credit, "What do you think of Tottenham?" does teach children a valuable lesson in courteous conversation as I not only thanked my fellows but received a hearty "You're welcome" in reply. Yeah.

After that it was all futbol though. Mt. Sinai and her ready posse were there along with a man I know only as "Tommy" (on account of his Rosicky shirt) He is a loud and proud Gunner who has a passion for his songs. I name this fellow my Fan of the Match as he pulled off a fine "Red White Army" cheer, which takes a true fan to do right. Also, we had a gas with Elias (pictured) and many others.

Someday, when more than my three friends read this blog, I will know all these peoples names.

By far the best part of the day was not Fabregas' angelic back heel, or even Bendtner's unsaveable power-header, but Manuel Almunia's coming out party when the blonde, winged Gryphon picked it right and slammed the door on the first Hotspur derby win in years. Strangely, I never felt that this game was in jeopardy. Even when Robbie Keane was given a free pass at killing Gunners around the world, I just always had this positive feeling that can only come from being surrounded by good fans, and filled with good beer. 

Well done Gooners in Exile. You made my very, very long day.

P.S. I work with a ManU fan who has told me for the ninth or tenth week this year that my Arsenal is "so lucky". My response to this is to say that everyone gets lucky, but if you get lucky every week, then it's not really luck anymore. 

Keep grasping at straws.

-Mark

  

  

This kinda fun should be illegal

What's better than losing to Tottenham? Anything.

What's better than anything? Beating Tottenham?

Not quite.

The answer is beating Tottenham after shutting the door on a would-be victory for the Hotspurs. And that is just what we did. Well, Manuel did that. But we watched, and we cheered.

I'm sure that helped.

Nevada's was the best it's ever been for one of these 7:45 am shindigs.

I'll give the full details of the bar adventures soon, but for now watch this.

Someone you should know at Nevada's: Jakes

Jakes has a family history of Royal Arsenal love but is just coming into his own as a fan. He still lacks the proper attire but his attendance rate at Nevada's has been steadily climbing. He does, however, tend to have a punctuality problem. His rarely arrives til about the 30th minute, but maybe that's just his way of emulating his gunners who also do their bast work late in the match. An intellectual by trade, he favors a less boisterous style of fandom than his compatriots, but is capable of violent outbursts of Red and White patriotism screaming "This is Bullshit!", "Come on Arsenal!", and his trademark "It's not over till we say it is!". 

And you know what? He's right.

Here are his stats:

Favorite Drink: Black and Tan

Favorite Player: Bacary Sagna

Favorite Song/Chant: Wanky Tottenham Hotspur

Favorite Arsenal Gear: N/A, but there is talk of  a Fabregas Shirt

Favorite Game: Carling Final 07 (A loss, but a great day for Jakes)

Where you'll find him at the bar: Anywhere by the Second Half

Like all Gooners, Jakes is a stand-up human being. He teaches distressed teens theatre and writes about politics on Daily Kos. The photo by, by the way, is from his fabulous karaoke rendition of "No Diggity". Here is a picture of the jersey he will one day own.

    

North London Throwdown

Since most of my blog is based on using the marvels of the computer age to seek out silly photos, I have prepared the definitive study on the effects of evil on the young and talented. Take note of the before and after shots of three young go-getters and the horrible fates that awaited them after they elected to follow Satan.

Here's Dick Cheney,

 

And look at poor Anakin,

                          

And Martin Jol,

                                                      

Look at Jol! He was a young man with his whole life ahead of him! The world was his oyster, but Tottenham FC turned him into a melted version on the Thing. Well, this was my last chance to stick it to old Marty. Farewell and best of luck ya ogre! It was fun. Watch out for E Coli and remember that it's not to late to root for the Boys in Red and White, at which point your Mother will no doubt give up her working girl ways.

On the other hand, check out our man Arsene.

.

Looking sharp Professor! I rest my case.

Obviously all this skulldugery is just my way of gearing up for the North London Derby. It's always an early one, and with Ward, Devo and Margaret all tied up with family blah, blah, blah, it's up to myself and Fan of the Match hopeful Jakes to rock Nevadas. But this is the chance to show the true dedication of our often maligned fan base. There will be nothing fair weather about tomorrow morning.

This is, of course, one of those scary games. 1 point lead, at home, arch rival on the rebound; it can and will get ugly. But don't worry, we have the full squad and Arsene seems confident.

See ya there.

Someone you should know at Nevada's: Ward

Ward is a true member of my faction in that, though he is Arsenal "through and through", his favorite team is Drinking in the Morning FC. To him, the footer is merely the pretext for his consumption, but let's not get all down on him. This man has provided more drinks for the general populace than Al Capone. Ever the generous man, there is a 93% probability that YOU have gotten a free drink at Nevada's on his tab if you are a regular. I even saw him getting a couple of cold ones for some Chelsea girls on Sunday (In his defense, they were cute).

Here are his stats:

Favorite Drink: Carlsberg (traitorous bastard)

Favorite Player: Hleb

Favorite Song/Chant: Wanky Tottenham Hotspur

Favorite Arsenal Gear: Final Highbury Throwback Shirt (Henry)

Favorte Game at Nevada's: Arsenal vs Manchester 06-07 (1 Nil to the Arsenal)

Where you'll find him in the bar: Always at the bar, usually in the middle near a tap. Anytime. Day or Night. Seriously. Anytime.

I'm not kidding. This man constitutes virtually the entire nightlife of Nevada Smiths. He is beloved of Jack and spends so much money there that some say he is responsible for that projection TV. Watch this great goal from his favorite game. This clip is particularly great because, on the second replay, you get to see Super Cesc Fabregas take the ball from Ronaldo (who dives, of course) then makes some mean moves before a pristine pass to Adebayor. Enjoy.

 

School's Out! Carling Cup vs Blackburn

Quick photo of our Carling Cup squad. I know they're young, but they showed great heart to find the win. (Bendtner is the one in the glasses)

That muppet-like face I'm sporting is one clearly born of suffering, release and a large dose of "that just happened". The footer gods granted us an extra bit of bang for our buck today by guiding Arsenal's Carling Cup match into overtime. This bonus really only benefits Jack who gets at least another round of booze out of his game-time patrons. For a game like this though, I would have bought and consumed a bottle of Jack had he suggested it.

Why? Cause the sucker-punch that was Arsenal's Carling Cup 1/4 final match seductively started as a blowout, turned into a comeback before morphing into a brawl, a hopeless fight for survival, and a torturous siege which somehow culminated in a glorious victory. Only in the beautiful game.

Anywho, I was deserted by my normal entourage (Jakes, Ward, Devo) whose pitiful reasons included "politics", "family" and "being on another continent". Heading solo (thus Fan of the Match), I enlisted the aid of a 99 Miles Cheesesteak (the only decent one in town) and a goblet of Bass. Jakes did his fashionably late thing and the rest of the afternoon went well. In the photo he is smiling for Arsenal, but more so because I have stopped choking him with frustration. Mt. Sinai and her posse (loyal fans ever) showed up in ones and twos till we had a nice core group. I think we even sang a song for the kids. Jakes left on a new excuse of "teaching the under privileged", leaving me lonely and without anything to do till the Supporter's Night Open Bar at 7, so I cashed it in. 

Hate to miss an open bar; but there will be others.

Next I will post about "Arsene Wenger's 3-Man Army" 

Hleb Changes Everything

I have so many Gunners in my heart. Fabregas, Henry, Bergkamp, Toure, Ljundberg and even poor Jens Lehmann, but Alexander "the Great" Hleb is my man now and forever. His score against Fulham not only put Arsenal's whole season on track, but it saved my drunken morning. Short of Arsene Wenger leaping from the touchline, ripping off his sensible suit and tie combo, and launching a vicious, yet strangely sensual, bicycle kick into the Old Trafford net, no goal could get me more excited than this. Let's watch...

 

Look at this bastard

"Grendel" is a fantastic novel about the existential struggle of a monster caught in a world which provides him no inherent meaning nor any outlet for the brilliance found within even the lowliest and most accursed of creatures.

But the cover art also looks alot like this...

What are you saying Mark? That Wayne Rooney is like the mythical monster of Beowulf, who feeds on the blood of righteous men knowing no compassion; ever thirsting to perform deeds of unspeakable horror for his own sick pleasure?

No. No, no, no.

Well...

Yes.

Think about it.

Premiere League #17 Chelsea Till I Die

Which almost happened today as it often does when we foolishly take a 1-nil lead. Have my Gooners not learned that they always play better when they start down by a goal? We love the comeback, and it’s far more satisfying than the 45 minutes of sheer terror which I endured today as The Boys in Red and White held off Chelsea despite making every effort to cause me violent spasms of frustration.

            But enough of that. This isn’t about the game, but rather, the experience we cross-pond Arsenal fans have in our quest to witness the “beautiful game”. Today was actually a great example of the Nevada Smith Crowd's stalwart dedication to fighting both  the morning and the winter’s worst onslaught

            I got about four hours sleep. Booyah. The rude awakening was doubly cruel because I was mid-thrust in a fascinating dream where we drew Barca in Champions League. Ward secretly believes that were this to actually occur, Thierry Henry would rip open his shirt mid game revealing his old Dreamcast Jersey and stun the “Spanish Armada” with an own-goal defection in Arsene Wenger’s greatest act of substitution ever. This won’t happen. Sad.

            I got four hours sleep. 

It was cold. Marky didn’t want to get up. My typical battle cries from the night before of “We got to get there soooo early!” were followed by my even more typical failure to leave my home until all my fellow chums were at Nevada’s. Waiting in line. In the freezing rain.

Sorry guys. Thanks for saving me that spot. 

 It is worth pointing out that Ward, ever the master of clutch bar seating, found and secured the corner of the bar down at the far end which is as prime as seating gets. We set up next to a man who referred to RVP as “the white Pele”, a Portuguese fellow full of great stories and Chandler, the girl with the custom Wenger shirt, who I definitely slapped in the face while attempting a drunken high-five. Good Times.

            Ward, Fan of the Match, handed me a free rogue beer and we got to work. The game was great. We won. It should have been 2-nil but I think the official was so stunned by Adebayor actually being onsides for once that he had to call a foul to stop play and fully comprehend the miracle. Also, you all should be filling out thank you cards to Manuel Almunia for saving all your collective lives several times. The next person I hear say “I’m still not sure about him” gets sent to the basement. No question.

            One thing bothers me though. Ashley, Cashley, Trashley, Bangers and Mashley Cole. Yeah, he’s rubbish, and he punched my Spaniard, but let’s honor his choice to sell out by never giving him a second thought. Booing him is so classless. Calling him Cuntley isn’t even clever, and making gay jokes about him is just plain embarrassing (you know the song about men going to bed with Ashley). It amazes me that the people who spawned Oscar Wilde could be so homophobic, and more disturbingly, lacking in eloquence. On a hypocritical note, Martin Jol’s mother remains a whore; and I have no problem with that. Who is perfect anyway?

            Also. I believe that one thing that defines the Nevada’s experience is that we have mutual respect for our foes. The Chelsea fans, bastards though they are with their 2 ½ songs, did a fine job of staying behind and singing for their team after a tough defeat. Hey, you watch futbol in a bar for a reason. If you win, you’re in a bar. If you lose, you're in a bar.

            But as the wisest man I know said “none of this matters”, because Devo was actually at the game! No I don’t mean at Nevada’s. He was in England, in London, at the Emirates, with tickets he bought (read: murdered a man for) the night before! He and his faithful Margaret no doubt made sweet love somewhere in the upper deck that cold British afternoon, and good for them. Good on you Devo! I hope you sire a child tonight and his name is William, Manuel, or Arsene.

            Blackburn on Tuesday. Carling Cup games are like watching the 2010-2011 season, when we are, apparently, also top of the league.

P.S. I had hoped that we would all get snowed into Nevada’s on this wintery day. We would be forced to eat those meat pies, huddle for warmth with and settle our differences with Chelsea fans, and listen to Jack’s tragic stories of why he can never return to his native England.

And this is what he said...

First off: What is this?

Is it a Blog about Arsenal? Kind of.

Is it a Blog about Premiere League Football? No.

Is this a Blog about the loyal Americans who live and die by the Royal Arsenal and their beautiful game at Nevada Smiths? 

Yes indeed.

It's a story that needs to be told, and told it shall be. But it is important to remember that this isn't a blog of analysis but of celebration for the rowdy, drunken choir which packs our favorite bar every weekend in their desperate need of Arsene Wenger's sweet fix. Go Gooners! Go Exiles!