Ordinarily, I am the type of supporter that does not put too much stock in individual players or their personalities. The cult of footballer’s personality is one that confuses me greatly. I mean, honestly, does anyone care who Wayne Rooney or John Terry are putting their winkles into? Why is it anyone else’s business but their own? I also would like to think I grew out of having a favourite player at the first strains of puberty. I am still aghast that balding 40-year-old men can sport a replica shirt with 19 WILSHERE emblazoned across the back of it without a hint of shame. There is the flipside to this phenomenon too as all too often Arsenal supporters have hobby horses; red and white clad voodoo dolls upon whose pin-pricked shoulders they lay the blame for all of Arsenal’s ills. Recently, Almunia, Song, Bendtner and Eboue have all taken turns to be publicly flogged for the shortcomings of an entire squad of men. When one chooses the lifelong occupation of supporting a football club, then the interest in solitary players that you may or may not have taken a shine to causes my eyebrow to arch north. That said, I have something of a confession to make: I have a real soft spot for Andrey Arshavin. Few would dispute that he is one of the most talented players in our squad, capable of winning games with a drop of the shoulder or a caress of the boot. However, Arshavin also bears the brunt of supporter agitation due to his, ahem, shall we say “liberal” attitude to tracking back. I realise this should be an anathema to the modern, super fit Premier League footballer. I also realise that Arshavin occasionally exposes Gael Clichy through lack of cover. I am aware that Arshavin’s penchant for pointing at a player two yards away from him, instructing a team mate to run over and mark him must be incredibly frustrating for the other players. Yet curiously, these quirks add to my avuncular affection for the little Russian. Don’t tell me you too haven’t day dreamed about ruffling his hair and pinching his cheeks when another one of those ill-fated back heel attempts doesn’t come off? We live in an age of media trained, robotic footballer clones that mumble mealy mouthed platitudes about “the lads” and how everything’s “great for the supporters, like”. In a time when all traces of footballer idiosyncrasy have been hoovered up to the point they leave a vacuous shell upon which a parasite would starve,

We’ve got ArshAvin…

In an age of dull, bland superstars, Andrey Arshavin is out on his own,

writes Tim Stillman

Arshavin brims with individuality and personality. He even looks faintly ridiculous, with his mop of unkempt hair, hangdog expression and diminutive stature. You can spot him a mile away. I have a strong admiration for the way that Arshavin appears completely impervious to the impressions of others. So even when another one of those ill fated back heels does see us cede possession, I like the way that the audible disgruntlement of the crowd does not prevent him from trying it again. Arshavin is not a chestthumping, badge kissing fraud. He simply doesn’t pretend to be a dyed in the wool Arsenal man. Indeed,

why should he be? He spent the first 28 years of his life in

St. Petersburg. It seems to me football supporters,

much like women, would rather hear a flattering lie than a slightly uncomfortable truth. Arshavin is real in the way that most footballers today just aren’t. It is this sense of authenticity that pervades his character that perhaps allows me to forgive his flaws. Arshavin found that his website, in which he candidly answers readers’ questions, came into cult status. He gives genuine, sometimes witty, sometimes very surreal answers to even the most oddball questions. Speaking of a recent assist at Villa Park for Samir Nasri, he told an inquisitive reader: “I saw my team mate looking bored and on his own on the edge of the area, so I decided to cheer him up.” His first soundbites upon his arrival

6 into England included a tirade against women drivers and his distaste for the English tax system. I can’t say I shared either of his meditations on the two subjects, but I enjoyed the fact that he fearlessly expressed an opinion with which many would disagree. A true breeze of cool air in a game that has become humid with blandness. Despite the increasing press demand for Arshavin titbits, he again remained unimpressed by his popularity. Whereas Ian Holloway now tries too hard to live up to his reputation as a Dadaist raconteur on the game of football, Arshavin has not looked to cultivate his reputation. He is reassuringly comfortable with who he is. I think this translates into what he does on the pitch too. On the pitch, while he is no Ray Parlour-style workhorse, he is the type of player that you pay your money to watch. I think every team has room for one wayward, mercurial, frustrating genius. The kind of player that can leave you wondering what the hell he has been doing for 89

It seems to me football supporters, much like women, would rather hear a flattering lie than a slightly uncomfortable truth minutes, before popping up with a delightful piece of inspiration. Many point to his laziness, but he is a smart player. Look at how many goals he scores in the dying minutes of games, able as he is to puff out his chest and manage that little piece of acceleration or strength to evade his marker. For such a small player, he is freakishly strong on the ball. When he runs with the ball at his feet, he has this eye-catching penchant for driving his shoulder into his marker and nudging their advances away. Quite simply, nobody in the current Arsenal squad can beat a player as well as Arshavin can. Try and think of how many times you have seen him genuinely muscled off the ball. For a small, featherlite creative genius in the hurly burly of the Premier League, it is incredible that you are never left with the impression that he has been roughed up. He is a delight to watch. At the outset of the article, I mentioned that I was apathetic to footballer personalities. Maybe I make an exception in the case of Andrey Arshavin, because he demonstrably has one.

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