Gooners stories of May 26th 1989: St Michael's day

• Peter Spencer: GG threw him the cup!
• Mick Winnett: Anfield dignified in defeat
• Colin Young: a field in the lake district
• Neil Lach-Szyrma: in the Kop
• Nigel Samson: injured in the line of duty
• Ian Thompson: turkish delight
• Richard Mays: a boy called Thomas
• Richard Roberts: old ladies outing

My mate and I decided sometime in the April that come what may we were going to the last game of season 88-89 at Anfield. Trouble was that, living in Dublin, the only way to get a match ticket was through a local travel agent running a trip to the game. It wasn't until we later received the tickets and itinerary that we found we were actually on the official Dublin Liverpool Supporters' trip!

Despite that, the flight to Mankchester airport and the coach journey to Liverpool were uneventful. We arrived outside Anfield around midday and we two were the only ones who stayed on the coach while the rest went into the Liverpool shop to buy their scouse tat, including several who got flags with "Liverpool - Double Winners 1989".

The coach eventually deposited us at the Moat House hotel around 1pm so we proceeded to the bar and after a couple of pints went looking for a decent curry, stopping at the hotel shop to complain that they stocked red or blue scouse gear but no Arsenal. After a very memorable curry (washed down with a couple more pints), we headed back to the hotel to enjoy a few hours' banter with the Dublin scousers, which was thirsty work so loads more pints got demolished.

Eventually the coach returned to bring us to the ground and I remember saying we'd be lucky if we could see any of the game after all the beer. We found our seats, which were in the main stand right in line with where Smudger later headed the first. Right in front of us two scousers had jackets with "LFC - you name it we've won it" on the back. We picked one each and simultaneously whispered in their ears "European Cup Winners Cup!" I would have added "Quizball" but they didn't look old enough to know what I was on about and anyway I wasn't sure if they had won it. (It was a naff TV quiz show for footy players in the 60's. The ONLY thing Arsenal won in the miserable 60's. Ure Ian was a better quiz contestant than he was a footballer!).

I also vividly recall the two of us chanting "Boring boring Liverpool" when they were playing keep-ball toward the end. This is not something I'd normally recommend two Gooners doing in the main Liverpool Stand but we were so well anaesthetised we wouldn't have felt it at all if anyone had hit us. But all that happened was that one of the "you-name-it"s turned round and grumpily mumbled "you'd be doing the same".

Anyway, eventually Mr T did his thing and we shouted, jumped, hugged and generally lost it, just like the rest of the Gooners behind the goal over to our left. The trophy was presented to TA and all the players, GG and the staff were posing for snaps over the far side where all the other Gooners were. We quietened down long enough to realise we were just about the only ones left in that Stand so we decided to try and get a closer look. We walked down the front and over a very low wall onto the running track and round behind the goal. On the way we shook hands with Spider who was leaving the pitch in tears and Brian Marwood who hadn't played that night but was the last player on the pitch. Brian was overjoyed.

The only Arsenal person left on the pitch was GG posing with the trophy for the photographers. We thought "why not?" so we just walked over and shook his hand and mumbled something daft and then stepped back a few yards as we were expecting to get chucked out any minute. Next thing we know he shouts "Here, catch!" and throws the trophy over to us!!!!!!!!!! Luckily my mate was alert enough to catch it so the two of us were just standing there totally gobsmacked on the pitch taking it in turns to kiss, stare at and lift up the most beautiful thing that I ever saw in my life.

Eventually (it seems now like about 2 seconds but was maybe longer) we gave it back to him and decided we'd better get outta there as an official type was heading towards us. He shouted "Are you with the Arsenal?" so trying to be funny and as he was old enough to get the "joke" I said "No mate, We're with the Woolwich. The Woolwich Arsenal!!!". (At the time "We're with the Woolwich" was a Building Society TV ad punch line). He just smiled and as we were almost out of the ground by then let us go.

Later on the Dublin Scousers' flight back that night there was free champagne. For some reason we were the only takers and the only talkers! Our fellow passengers just sat there speechless with their sad little "Double" flags. A Spurts work mate later told us he'd prayed our plane would crash on the way back as he knew we'd be unbearable. He was dead right!!!!!!

I tried all the Sports Photographic agencies afterwards to see if anyone had snapped us with GG and the pot but nobody did. "We don't bover wiv the punters mate" was one response. We should have offered one a few quid I suppose but just didn't think of it at the time.

So now we have no proof it happened and some people don't really believe us. But we know it wasn't a dream, just the ultimate Gooner dream come true. Though to this day we do still ask each other if we did dream it when the topic comes up!

For many years I had been travelling to all away games with two mates, Roy and Steve, from Essex, whom I'd first met on the North Bank, as we regularly stood in the same place, on the Avenall Road side, half-way up, to the left of the goal. In those days we often went to matches with the travel club, usually trying to slip away from the escort on arrival, and find a local pub to grab a couple in before the game. Mostly the travel club ran trains, with Paul Johnson the organiser, and Fat Andy dishing out cheese and ham rolls and cokes from the goods wagon at the rear, but for anfield 89 we were to travel by coach.

I still have a photo on the wall in front of me now of myself and two mates that my wife took as we waited to get on the bus for Anfield that day, with our Arsenal scarves on, standing by one of the old red wooden doors of one of the turnstiles in the Old North Bank. I was in a different coach to my mates, and ours followed theirs, up the Holloway Road to the M1. Around Birmingham the coaches got bogged down in very heavy trafic, and soon the driver announced that he knew a short-cut that would cut out a long stretch of motorway, and save some time. So he pulled off onto some A road that wound through fields and villages, and was nearly as jammed as the motorway. Eventually he got completely lost, and drove up a narrow lane, where he had to do a U-turn in the tightest of spaces, and after some more meandering, we re-joined the M6, and found ourselves stuck in a jam behind the same coach we'd been stuck behind before our little diversion.

As we got nearer to Liverpool, and kick-off time loomed, we became more anxious, urging the driver to get a move on. At the junction, the police pulled us over into a lay-by where a couple of other coaches were already waiting, and then made us wait till all the other coaches had caught up with us.

The game was delayed for fifteen minutes but we still missed the first 20 minutes, but at least we were able to see most of the first -half, though we only found out later that the Arsenal players had come out before the game and given flowers to the Liverpool fans in a gesture of respect to the recently deceased at Hillsborough. Paul Davis (and I think Niall Quinn) were sat a couple of rows in front of us, as there was not room for them in the dugout, and they were just as delighted as we, when Alan Smith glanced the first in the second half. We could clearly see the smear of mud on Smudgers head that had obviously come off the ball, so we couldn't understand why the Scousers were complaining, still we were tremendously relieved when the ref ran back to the centre circle.

I had never expected us to do it, but Liverpool seemed strangely subdued, and it really was "up for grabs". Michael Thomas missed one chance to score, and I seem to remember Steve Bould heading wide, then we saw Steve Mc Mahon in front of us, indicating "one minute" then, as we muttered silent prayers, Mickey was charging through the middle, suddenly he just had Grobelaar to beat, then Bedlam! absolute mayhem, leaping around hugging anyone and everything, fans, stewards, policemen, whatever! All of us yelling "yes! we've f**king done it!"

After the game (Hillsborough was very fresh in the memory) Some Liverpool fans came down the pitch and stood in front of us holding Arsenal and Liverpool scarves, and all the Arsenal fans sang "You'll Never walk alone" all the way through, and in the Scouse fashion, with all the proper words, out of respect for the Hillsborough fans.

About half the Liverpool fans stayed behind and (bitterly disappointed though they were,) applauded the Arsenal team on their lap of honour, I've never forgotten their conduct that night, and I noticed that it wasn't commented on in the media afterwards, (sadly it always seems to be the more immature fans who command the medias interest.)

When I left the stadium I got grabbed and kissed by two rather attractive Scouse girls, but I had to tear myself away to get back on the bus. All the way back we watched the video, and endless replays of THAT GOAL

We got back to Highbury at near 2 in the morning and the streets were full of celebrating gooners, I was exhausted, and went home to watch the video AGAIN!

My wife had gone down to Highbury around 10 to drop off the car for me. She was listening to the match on the car radio, and as the match drew to a close, with a few minutes left, she sadly concluded that we were not going to do it. She locked the car and walked down Gillespie Road to the tube station. Suddenly there was a huge roar, and doors all along the street burst open, and people came running out screaming hysterically, punching the air, and leaping up and down and hugging each other. She figured something had happened and went back and listened to the car radio to hear the after-match reports. She was there to meet me when my coach arrived, now _that's_ what I call true love;-)

The next day I drove up to the bookmakers opposite White Hart Lane, with red and white ribbons all over my car, to collect the 280 quid that I'd won, after betting on the league on the day we played Spurs, at 14-1. I got some very ugly looks from the local punters, as I collected my large wad of notes, but surely, I thought, life doesn't get better than this!

As ya know, the game was rescheduled 'cos of the Hillsborough disaster (R.I.P. you good folks), So, many gooners and scousers alike will have made plans to be somewhere else on the day, it being almost summer and all (was it a bank holiday?).
So it was with me. A mate of mine (gooner) and both of our girlfriends had pre-booked a week in a cottage in the lake district to start the day before the (later rescheduled) big match.

Bummer, we thought.

So, taking the decision that we would rather still have girlfriends than not, we up and went to this tiny hamlet called Appleby in the middle of nowhere. Disaster! The cottage had NO TV! This would not do. There was a 'pub' if you can call a room about the size of your average khazi with a porthole for a bar a pub. Unfortunately, it had NO F***ing TV. This just couldn't be happening. Both of our girlfriends HATED footie about as much as we love it, so taking a drive into town (any town) to catch the game on a pub TV was out of the question - instant divorce and all that.

Sooooooo, we had the bright idea of getting to know the neighbours, you know, just being polite and all that.

Maybe, just maybe one of them would be a footie fan and invite us round for the game. Errr, ever seen Withnail and I?, not only did they not have TV's but they weren't even aware of the game's existence. We might end up listening to the game on the radio in the CAR! In order to ensure this was possible, we discovered that we had to drive about half a mile up the hill to get a clear enough reception - might as well drive into town. A ridiculous state of affairs. As kick-off time approached and supper came and went, the tension was beginning to mount, HARK! There was a knock on the door.
A young couple, up from London on their own holiday, had a bit of a problem with their motor caravan and wondered whether we had any knowledge of reciprocating doohickies or whatever it was. Luckily we did, and we promptly went to sort out the problem. In gratitude for our mechanical knowledge and kind assistance, our party of four was invited for a beer session around their campfire but would we mind terribly if we watched the game tonight? >cough< pardon?

Turns out they were both gooners and had taken the precaution of bringing a portable color TV with them to watch the game. Stroke of absolute genius! So there we were! On a beautiful sunny evening in a field with a couple of gooner campers and a generator powered color TV in the middle of no-where watching THAT game (the girlfriends couldn't possibly refuse the invitation to come along, now could they? No they couldn't.)

Naturally we all made an unholy racket from the first whistle. We were audible for miles around no doubt.

As the game progressed, first one villager and then another and then another came over to see what all the fuss was about and got caught up in the general atmosphere. It would, I suppose have been impolite to support any other team than the ones their 'guests' were supporting, so all the villagers became instant gooners for the evening. After a while there were about 15 people which basically meant the entire population of the village all screaming at a telly in a field with the firelight reflecting demonically off all of us- BIZARRE!

After the game finished we all marched, or lurched to the pub/shack and got VERY F*CKING DRUNK on Newcie brown ale (it's the little details you remember, eh?)'til about 4 in the morning (no adhering to the licensing laws in Appleby that night). I had some perplexing bruises in places I didn't even know were places the next morning.

One of the best nights of my life. Unforgettable if a little unusual.

As for today, the girlfriends are both fading memories but the events of that night are set pretty much in stone. Thomas! Charging through the midfield! It's up for grabs NAAAOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWW!! Thomas, right at the end!!!!!!

'The tickets go on sale next week - do you want me to get you one ?' It was my mate on the phone from Liverpool. He was studying at the University. Knowing I had little or no chance of obtaining a ticket through Arsenal , of course I said 'YES,YES,YES'. If he'd been there in person I'd have bitten his hand off!

So on that fateful Friday, 10 years ago, I travelled up on the train in the morning.

I wasn't too optimistic of us getting the result. You may remember most of the media telling us we had no chance. I thought we could draw, but win ? By 2 clear goals ? This was Anfield we were talking about. This was Liverpool at home.

When I arrived we went to his house for some lunch. I asked him whereabouts the tickets were in the ground, thinking , or rather hoping, that we might be fairly close to the Away fans. When he replied 'In the Kop', I almost fell off my chair ! Oh well, I thought , at least I was going to be there for the end of a great season, and I probably wouldn't have anything to celebrate anyway...

The afternoon passed by, (far too slowly for me !) and we got ready to leave. There were 4 of us going to the match : me, my mate, his girlfriend, and his psychotic flat-mate.

All of the others were supporting Liverpool, basically because they lived there at that time. My mate actually had a scum scarf and a Liverpool scarf in his bedroom. (I knew the feeling, while studying at Portsmouth for 3 years, I went to see them a few times, including a delightful victory in the Milk Cup over the Scum !)

For some reason we went straight to the ground (we may have had a pre-match beer somewhere but my memory has selectively chosen not to retain that info, given the importance of what happened later !). It was a strange feeling climbing the steps onto the Kop. Part of me was thinking what a great moment it was to be on one of _The_ great terraces, for such a momentous match. Another part of me couldn't help looking across to the Away end (which seemed so small) and wishing I was there, joining in with all the singing.

As kick-off approached, the Kop became more and more packed. When the delay was announced, you thought it couldn't get any worse, but still people seemed to be arriving at the back, increasing the pressure on those of us lower down (I was about half-way down to the right of the goal). Eventually, with one arm on the bloke in front's shoulder, my feet barely touching the ground at times, we seemed to be just one huge swaying mass.

And so to the game. People have often said how nervy Liverpool were that night. How they sat back for much of the game. The mood on the Kop reflected that. I really can't recall a great deal of singing. It was certainly much quieter after we scored ! I smiled to myself and shook my head (more for mock despair for those around me) when Smithy's goal was eventually given by the ref. Could we really do it ? For a while it seemed likely as Arsenal poured forward for the second goal. The scousers around me became frantic at their team's unwillingness to attack. The atmosphere was far from friendly - during a rare corner for Liverpool at the Kop end, someone behind me spat on the back of my head because he couldn't see ! And he didn't even know I was an Arsenal fan !

But as the minutes ticked by , and the likelihood of a second goal seemed to disappear, the Kop started to celebrate ('One minute, one minute'). That is, until Mickey Thomas made the words of their songs stick in their throats. I can still picture him charging up the pitch and poking the ball home, even if I wasn't sure the ball had actually gone in - the silence apart from the away end going absolutely potty was a bit of a giveaway ! 'Oh my god, he's done it, he's scored, we're gonna win the leagueeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!'. Those were of course my thoughts. My only physical action was to drop my head and close my eyes ! Heaven.

I glanced round at my mate a few feet back - he gave me a funny half-smile - then back to the pitch and carried on celebrating in my head (!).

As the trophy was presented and carried first towards the Kop, I made my way down the almost empty terrace to the front. I applauded MY team with a huge grin on my face. Some of the players probably wondered why a Liverpool fan was so happy !

I lingered as long as possible watching the celebrations at the far end. Then walked out of the ground , past a sobbing female scouser and back to the pub.

So I was stuck in Liverpool for the night, but I was determined to celebrate. We went to a small nightclub where I ordered a bottle of champagne. (The barmaid said 'You're not Arsenal, are you' - I just grinned inanely). The champers wasn't even chilled but I took it back to the table with four glasses. Nobody else wanted any (the psycho just scowled at me) so I drank the lot ! I still have that bottle now.

Unforgettable.

Before I start, yes I was only 16, yes I was in a pub in Canterbury, yes I was drinking (I needed a few stiff ones by 9.52 p.m, I can tell you!) and yes, consequently I was breaking the law, along with many of my schoolfriends.

At the time I was "going out" with the - by common consent - most beautiful girl at school, and had been for a couple of weeks, so it was obviously SERIOUS. There was also one of the infamous school discos going on that evening, and I was expected to be there. But there was no way I was ever going to end that evening either head-banging to bon Jovi (I know, I know) or smooching away to some dodgy tune from a Coca-Cola advert off the telly.

There was only one place I was going to be that fateful Friday night - the Two Sawyers pub in Canterbury City Centre. Me and my Arsenal-supporting pal Rob made our way along there to meet our other friends, and found ourselves considerably outnumbered by Scouse lovers. At that time, all the kids supported the team that won everything . . . the names and ideas may change over time, but the basic premise stays the same I guess.

Small Portable TVs were dotted around the pub, which by now was packed to bursting point with lads from school, and the game kicked off 15 minutes late amidst a Kentish-accented chorus of "You'll Never Walk Alone". A loud and proud chorus of "Georgie Graham's Red & White Army" was somewhat lost in the incessant noise of the wannabe-Scousers.

Banter ensued throughout the first half, only pierced by shouting at the odd half-chance we had, kickng towards the Kop. Uncle Bouldie's header which just cleared the bar has always stuck in my mind. The beer flowed, the game flowed and as the 2nd half got underway, Rob was filled with a sense of foreboding. We were supposed to meet our lady friends outside the school hall at 8 o'clock. His missus was a stroppy bint at the best of times and was not going to be amused at us watching the footy. but this was a night not to be missed.

Then suddenly Smudger nipped in and glanced the ball past Grobbelaar. 1-0. Or so we thought. The Scousers, despite Big Al's muddy mark on his face, protested that he hadn't touched it. I think I actually didn't breathe for about 90 seconds, until the ref ran back to the centre circle. The Canterbury Scousers Fan Club was somewhat subdued as Arsenal pushed on, but Rob & I feared that when Mickey missed a golden chance with 15 minutes to go, that was it. Loads of people had gone up to the disco now but there was no way I was leaving the pub before the end. Girlfriend or not.

Even a lot of the Liverpool fans had left the pub to go up to Barton Court school to meet their pals, "safe" in the knowledge of their victory (remind you of any teams nowadays??), and when Rico went down injured, even I, in my own mind, conceded defeat. But what a defeat. the most glorious of defeats. The Kings Cross Kerb-Crawler David "KC" Pleat was giving it big ones on the TV about "poetic justice" and other guff like that. I think in my mind I gave up, looking down at my shoes thinknig what might have been.

Then Rob punched me in the shoulder and said "Nige, look at this!". As I looked up I saw Steve McMahon going round all the Liverpool players signalling "1 minute" to them. That was it. On my feet (considerably the worse for wear), I was joined by Rob in a chorus of "Good Old Arsenal" and "GG's Red & White Army" to try in vain to lift our spirits. No cheeky bastard like McMahon was going to get me down.

Then it happened. One of the most perfect moments of my life, to date. Johnny's throw to Lee, the long ball forward, the clock ticking up to 91:47 on the screen (long before Sky ever "invented" it), Smudger flicking the ball onto Mickey, that ricochet off the Liverpool defender and then him clean through on goal. The world stopped for an instant. All I heard was Brian Moore shrieking "its up for grabs now!!!!!!!Thommmmmmmmmmmmmaaaaaaaasssssssssssss!!!!!!!!!!!!" as the ball was dinked by Mickey into the corner of the net. Delirium took over the Two Sawyers. I was on the floor with about 15 people on top of me. Lager everywhere. Glasses everywhere. Unbridled emotion everywhere - even from some of my more drunken "football-hating" friends. I still bear the scar of the gash on my back I got from falling onto a pint glass in the meleé, and am proud to tell people how I received it - "in the line of duty".

Its the little details that tend to stick in the mind, like Bouldie's first-half header, like the goalscoring mark on Smudger's face, like Rico down for at least 2 minutes injured, like Nutty running across the 6-yard box after Mickey scored towards the Arsenal fans before doing one of his customary goal celebrations, like Mickey dribbling the ball back to Lukic in the dying seconds, like Niall Quinn running onto the pitch to celebrate the final whistle, GG telling Bouldie and everyone else to calm down and stop celebrating so much, and like Aldridge refusing to let David O'Leary pick him up after the final whistle and pushing him away like a spoilt brat.

Needless to say I was dumped the next morning by Julia Miller, and Rob by his girlfriend Amanda. We turned up at the disco, me covered in blood from my cut, and proceeded to have a huge row, during which she said "if Arsenal are more important to you then that's that". To which I replied "Well, it is". Well, I was 16. Even if she was the most popular and beautiful girl in all of Canterbury. I had Arsenal. And that night that was all I wanted.

Both girls are nowt but faded, dusty old memories stored away in the attic of my mind. I don't know where Julia is now - the same goes for Rob's girlfriend. Rob and I are still good pals, both engaged to football-loving lasses, and will always have the memories.

It still remains (up until when my first child is born later this summer) THE most emotional night of my life. Thank you Rob. Thank you Mickey. And thank you Arsenal. Sometimes you may let me down but I will always be there for you if you're there for me.

I missed the game live. I was on holiday with my wife in Turkey. Normally we wouldn't dream of taking a holiday abroad but obviously there were different circumstances that year.

We were travelling back from Bodrum town to our hotel in a dolmus when I noticed two lads in front of me sadly discussing the football. When I heard one of them say something like "the bastards won 2-0" - he had rung his father to get the result - I jumped up and cracked my head on the roof of the bus. Back at the hotel we had a couple of bottles of wine and went happily to bed.

The next morning I had our waiter translate the report in the morning paper for us. "Arsenal miracle" was the headline, and indeed it was.

My father had taped the game for me and I watched it as soon as we got home. Tears were running down my face after Michael Thomas scored the winner and sometimes still do whenever I think about it. I can remember back to the first double but still think that this championship was our greatest achievement in the years I have followed the Arse.

What a team.

Absolutely the best day of my life! For two reasons the first being obvious, but the second was because my wife told me she was pregnant, earlier that day, therefore I was quite relaxed before the game, thinking that I'd already had a good enough day to satisfy anyone. I didn't expect us to win 2-0. Perhaps 1-0, but Liverpool hadn't conceded a goal at home since the turn of the new year and had been all but invincible since.

I watched the game in the Wheatsheafs pub at Islington Green. In the final minute of the game, with Richardson laying on the floor with cramp, I remember turning around to one of may mates and telling him that even though they hadn't won the championship, that I had never felt so proud of them. Bought a pint took one mouthful, then bedlam! I didn't even watch the rest of game, but ran out of the pub rolling about on the pavement. One young lady, who must been going home from work saw us, and turned the other way only to see more groups doing the same. Didn't see what happened to her after that.

I had never been overcome with emotion before, but broke the duck by spending the next three hours crying and laughing at the same time.

Returned to the Wheatsheafs the following week, only to be confronted by the landlord, who told me that when Thomas scored, the beer I had just bought went flying across the pub, I didn't ask him who it landed on. The landlord looked around for me and saw my feet sticking out from under a pile of bodies. He eventually got to me and told me not to throw beer glasses around, but it was pretty obvious that I didn't know what planet I was on. I don't remember a thing about it.

On Feb 5th 1990 my wife gave birth to a boy called Thomas. After the birth I though when he popped out I should have shouted "It's up for grabs now!"

Strangely enough I never tire of telling people this tale.

There were 12 of us going so I set off to hire a minibus in Cheshunt, and I remember them giving me the third degree about it's use, "yes old ladies outing, definitely", but my ears pricking up as they mentioned the game on the radio in the background at the garage. Luckily this wasn't spotted.

Having successfully duped the hire place, it was onto Waltham Cross station to meet the train which they were all supposed to catch, no doubt someone would have missed it, but no they were all there, something was in the air.

We had left early, packed some kit and some balls as we wanted to play a game against some Liverpool fans when we got up there, to show some support for what had just happened at Hillsborough, we are after all the football family. However I remember being stuck forever on the motorway around Birmingham, with all the other drivers fascinated with our absolute belief that we would get the result. They wanted us to win, but no-one expected it, and we were quoted 40-1 for a 2-0 at some Brummie bookies we stopped off at whilst we picked up more supplies.

Anyway we arrived at Anfield only to be stopped by some copper, who announced that we were the first Arsenal fans he'd seen, as the coaches had all been delayed, so when I asked him where we should park, he took us along to the full car park next to the ground, opened the gates and let us take the spot right in front of them, on the premise we came back to the bus straight away (no doubt while the Liverpool fans were celebrating), so we didn't block anyone in.

It was a surreal atmosphere at the game, it seemed to be daylight throught the whole match. We were stood in the corner with the official party, and got to half time, having missed a couple of chances without Liverpool really threatening.

I remember them singing about winning the league at half time and it did feel as though it was drifting away, then Smudger scored, and we celebrated, then hesitated, whilst the referee did his stuff, but from our angle the ball was clearly touched, we never found out what the arguments were about until the next day.

The game went on, we played with urgency, then Mickey got through about 15 minutes from the end, and missed. I remember thinking that must have been it. We hadn't been watching the time, but knew there couldn't have been long to go once the stewards and police started to line the pitch, then the Liverpool fans really started to let rip, as they started to celebrate, "We're going to win the League" and "You'll never walk alone" never sounded this passionate, as they were doing it for the 96 Hillsborough victims as well as their team. You couldn't begrudge them this title, not after what they'd been through, I remember thinking, how long before we get this close again. One goal short of winning, I remember saying to my mates Trevor and Charlie.

Then, almost in slow motion, John throws the ball to Lee Dixon, who plays it onto Smudger, who flicks it inside, and it seems as though its a dream, but there is Michael, still in slow motion and the ball is lifting, and going to... and the things in the back of the net...Pandemonium. I remember the build up, everything perfectly, in fact for a moment I thought I was watching a replay of Mickeys earlier miss in my mind. But no this really had happened.

I don't remember the final whistle or anything, just a massive party in our corner of the ground.

I then remember shedding a few tears, as my Uncle Charlie who took me to the games for 15 years as a kid, had died that season, I remember looking up at the sky and saying "Thank You, Thank You".

On leaving the ground we bumped into some guys who we always stood next to at Highbury and have since become great friends of with, and then the police were escorting us to the car park when this guy, the biggest skinhead I've ever seen, with his full Liverpool kit on, burst through the police cordon and walks right up to me, and I'm thinking, this is it, but he puts out his hand and shakes mine and says "Well done mate, you deserved it, best team on the night by a mile", I duly thanked him and continued to the minibus, only to realise the full horror when I get back to it, we'd blocked all the Scousers in!!. They weren't happy, and we copped our fair share of comments about cockneys. But we were first out of the car park!!

On the motorway we drove into the first petrol station as we wanted to celebrate, but out of respect for the Hillsborough fans, didn't want to rub any Liverpool fans noses in it around the ground, so we pulled onto the forecourt, and there are 200+ Arsenal supporters there having the party of their lives, funded by the garage, as the staff had become so overwhelmed, they just gave everything, including a full mini bus tank of petrol, away. I still treasure the pictures we took on that forecourt.

I remember arriving back in London at daybreak, and running indoors to watch the video, to relive the magic moment. SO I watched the second half, see Smudgers goal, found out what the fuss was about, then with about 10 minutes to go the bloody tape ran out because of the delayed start!!.

I borrowed a video of the game from Trevor's dad, in fact I've still got that tape with me here in Melbourne where I now live (sorry Trevor's dad), although I do make 7 or 8 games a season still. In fact I think I'll go and watch it now.

Richard Robert's