We May Have To Fight Our Way Out Of Here

Let me set the scene.

A quiet wintry afternoon in Toronto aka final site of my seemingly endless North American Christmas vacation. At least a hundred sp*rs supporters are rammed into what tends to be my local watering hole for trips to Canada.

It's 2.45pm.

There is a Gooner (Tom) to my immediate right and two others on the far side of the bar suggesting that most Arsenal supporters in Toronto are gainfully employed and unable to find a way to this rare bar in Toronto that allows for both Setanta broadcasts and a "welcome" sign for dozens of English sp*rs supporters.

The bar is literally packed. On a Wednesday afternoon. With apparently underemployed sp*rs supporters.

I'm on holiday. Still. Ta Dave. Yes, that is a "ta" for you Dave.

The pre match banter is friendly enough. An English sp*rs supporter asks Tom if Arsenal had a supporters club in Toronto (I happen to know that there is http://www.arsenalcanada.com/ please visit if you're interested... they just got a grant from BMO to run the site/club) because of the fact that we were sat in the official sp*rs Canada supporters bar.

Tom didn't know so I chipped in that like North London, the Arsenal Canada supporers club should simply move into THIS bar and take it over... noting of course that the bar would obviously then require a much more substantial trophy case.

And then the match started.

Arsenal are nervy early in the match and Senderos and Toure are giving the impression that they have never met before. Spurs score from a Berbatov free header as three Arsenal defenders and one Spanish keeper are statue-like in front of goal.

Kolo meet Swiss Tony. Swiss Tony meet Kolo.

The bar goes mental. Lots of mouth breathing histrionics. Blue shirted arms flailing about. Unemployed men delirious with joy.

I am absolutely unconcerned.

Yes, our teenaged midfield (ok Diaby has just turned 20 but Cesc is 19, Denilson 18 and Walcott is 17... thats 18.5 on average... or 18 and a half fingers and toes if you support sp*rs) has early problems with Huddlestone and Zokora and the sp*rs first team. I note that Diaby on the left is an odd choice. We look a bit imbalanced particularly when Lennon is on the ball and running at Diaby/Traore (17).

Denilson goes shoulder to shoulder with Tony Blair favourite Steed Malbranque and Steed rather easily lets the little boy knock him over. "There was absolutely nothing in that" I shout over the throng of sp*rs support. No one disagrees. But Greame Poll does and sp*rs line up a free kick.

And they score again.

Or rather, Julio Baptista gifted sp*rs a second goal with an extraordinary finish.

The bar goes mental. Apparently heterosexual men in white and blue dry hump each other with girlish squeals of ecstatsy. Beer is spilled on unemployed men with names like Keane and Berbatov proudly emblozened their backs in wild attempts to lubricate the humping.

2-0 sp*rs. At home.

And the banter starts. Geez. A little song begins letting Brazilian International and 2005 £24m sp*rs *transfer target Julio Baptista know that he is "not very good" as images of a contrite Beast flicker in the darkened bar. Freshly lubricated men begin slating Arsene Wenger and openly wondering how sp*rs will line up against Chelsea in the final.

I am absolutely unconcerned.

Tom notes this.

I explain to my Canadian Arsenal supporter friend that this is sp*rs. sp*rs have long mistakenly believed they are a big club and can sign the likes of Ronaldinho, Kaka, Pirlo and Baptista (note above). They also have a very big tendency to be mouthy well in advance of it being safe to do so (please see 2005-2006). 20 minutes of football have been played in a two leg semi-final.

Baptista misses pretty much the same chance he scored an own goal with at the close of the first half. He is once more "not very good" and his late miss ensures a half time of unfortunate banter and planned trips to Cardiff. At least my Richards Red tastes good.

Second half.

Rather than the change Tom and I wanted to see made at half time of Hleb replacing Diaby, Wenger stands pat. Cesc begins to marshall things in midfield and I find myself repeating "This is better" on several occassions. Fabregas is everywhere and doing everything. We are much more threatening but the banter continues.

But then Baptista scores.

My first pumps and I run across the silenced bar. "Get in!!"

I sit down and note the deathly silence of the bar. I ask openly to my blue *friends "Why has the bar gone so quiet?" Many look over at me but no one answers. Baptista stops being "not very good". My Rickards Red tastes better and I can now clearly hear the commentary which I enjoy. Also, my match comments now seem to hover over the bar. I like that.

I openly note that Baptista is on a hat trick. Tom ruefully laughs. I like Tom.

Baptista scores again. A pin could drop in the bar and you would hear it. I criss cross the ball with my arms aloft. I settle back at my table but without sitting lean over the throng of sp*rs support and helpfully note the away goals rule.

And then Arsenal really kick on. With Eboue, Hleb and Flamini on (Flamini on much later than I would have hoped) Arsenal spend the final 10 minutes running the sp*rs first team ragged and threatening to win the match.

And then I saw the most remarkable thing. Previously yappy sp*rs supporters begin to leave the bar with 5 minutes left in the match. At home. The match drawn. I seriously couldn't believe it.

Tom notes that a man in a heavy fur coat behind us is giving us evil looks. He tells me that we may have to fight our way out of this bar. I tell him I hope so. Hehe. And don't even look back. Because in all seriousness, sp*rs know their place. The truth is for all the bluff, bluster and yapping at half time they expected an Arsenal comeback every bit as much as I did. Why? They are sp*rs. That is their place.

sp*rs

And so ends another Christmas in Toronto. The 2007 bit was fanastic but I could have done without the Sheffield United result and the moronic yappin of the random Liverpool lot that watched that one with me. My "good luck in the cups" surely still echoes though.

Back in London for Bolton on Sunday. Can't wait. Fat Sam needs a smack. And I think the Emirates will give him a nice welcome.