Dear Steve,
I grew up in NC, but now reside in London. As a lifelong Arsenal fan, drummer, and Black Crowes fan, I’ve always felt a certain connection with you, man. Thanks for kickin out that inimitable groove for all these years. Love the new album…
Can you please recount the tale of when you decided to become a Gooner?
Football/Soccer is not always the most appreciated sport in the States. What originally got you into it?
Best wishes,
GoonerTom from London, In Arsene We Trust
GoonerTom
It’s a pretty simple tale.
As a soccer mad young lad in a small Kentucky town in the late 70’s (thankfully attending the only school in the region to field a soccer team) the only resources for insight on the sport were my coach, who had spent time in Europe and was therefore, to me, infallible in the ways of soccer, and PBS’ “Soccer Made in Germany”. Coach Vaughn taught me to love the Total Football of the Dutch National Team, and Toby Charles taught me to say things like “that shot was high, wide, and not very handsome!”
Believe me when I say it – that was more than enough to ignite some serious passion. Information about the beautiful game came very infrequently, and in very small doses. The slightest tidbit about any development within any team on earth would keep me going for months.
Around this time, the NASL blew up quickly and died just as quickly – but in between many of their games were nationally televised, and through the focus on the international players in the league, I learned a little about the different powerhouse clubs throughout the world.
My father took a business trip to the UK at some point (’77, I believe) and returned with three scarves – an Arsenal scarf, a Chelsea scarf, and an England scarf. He told me and my two brothers (let’s call them Chico and Harpo) to decide amongst ourselves who got what scarf.
As a Beatles fanatic, I remember being disappointed that Liverpool was not represented. Had there been a Reds’ scarf, I would have been done from that moment on. But, fate had other plans.
I immediately ruled out Chelsea, as I had seen an episode of The Goodies (also on PBS) where the term “Chelsea supporter” had been used as a debilitating insult. (That’s a debt I could never possibly repay The Goodies, come to think of it.) Chico grabbed the Chelsea scarf without thought or hesitation, as was his way.
The Arsenal scarf leapt out at me – that cannon was undeniably badass!
But Harpo grabbed it before I could, and as he was four years older than me I had no chance of overpowering him for it.
That left me with the England scarf. Which was still, make no mistake, pretty cool. But I knew right then and there that the Arsenal scarf would be mine one day. I commenced plotting Harpo’s demise immediately.
Ultimately, as older brothers do, he went off to college…and didn’t pack the scarf. The screen door had barely hit his ass on the way out, as they say, before I procured it from his room. The years spent waiting for it only made it that much more important to me. By the time I hung it on my own wall, there was no looking back. I was gonna live and die with Arsenal.
At some point in the early 80’s, I found out that Arsenal was in London (who knew?) and that apparently they really, really liked to beat people 1-0. Again, that was enough to keep my fan flames well ignited.
By the time the 90’s rolled around, and I found myself touring in Europe every couple of years, I was finally able to satisfy my longtime desire to see world class football in person. I started taking in games whenever and wherever I could. I didn’t care who was playing, or what country I was in. If there was a match in town, I was there.
My first trip to Highbury was obviously the all-time highlight, though. To see the team in person, on such hallowed ground, was both moving and spectacular. Years of anticipation crashed into a jet-lagged hangover head on, but it still made for a wonderful, blurry memory.
Shortly thereafter, when Bergkamp signed on, it felt like destiny was looking out for me. One of the great Dutch players of the age playing for Arsenal! It was awesome! The first time I found myself singing/screaming “Walking in a Bergkamp Wonderland” with thousands of other similarly afflicted gooners was about as good as life gets.
What else?
Let’s see…Thierry Henry and I share a birthday. How cool is that?
Cesc Fabregas is a distant relative. (Not really.)
I could go on and on.
Well, I guess I just did.
So, there you have it.

Highbury!

Arsene's chair!
Cheers!
GoonerSteve from Kentucky, In Arsene We Trust