Arsenal vs. Man City

On Friday Sept. 11, I left Metz headed for Manchester via London to see Arsenal vs. Manchester City. I began my trip on the 6:02 bus to the train station, planning to get on a TGV to Paris, and then another to Calais on the Normandy coast, where I would transfer seamlessly to a ferry, cross the English channel, and board a train to London. It was the first weekend of my Eurail pass and unfortunately, the TGV has much more room for high-paying commuters than high-paying Eurail pass holders, so I was obligated to pay full fare, or else blow up my itinerary and potentially spend even more money. I was also forced to commit to a full first-class fare for the return from Paris, making this my most expensive trip yet and I hadn't even left the country . I made it to Calais, where I got off a stop too early, but happened to hear the conductor on the loudspeaker mention that there was one more stop left, and I reboarded. The Calais Ville train station seemed not too far from the port according to google maps, so I began the walk, a 3 kilometer tour of Calais' industrial parks. The ferry complex was humongous, and catered mostly to passenger car and freight operations. I was one of about 25 foot passengers. We passed through customs where the agent tried to throw me off guard and asked, among other things to see my soccer match tickets, which I didn't have yet. The ferry was a massive mall of dining and shopping. I shied away from the ferry food, and took some pictures of the Normandy coast and later the cliffs of Dover, napping in between.

The Calais beach was inviting. The windsurfers and kitesurfers made me jealous.

Cliffs of Dover from Ferry

The Cliffs are beautiful, but they haven't been travelling since 6AM.

View from Dover

I took a train from Dover to London. The British rail system, including London's Underground was outstanding, in my opinion. The tickets I bought were good for any train all day long, and there were plentiful timetable options. Twelve hours after I started I was in London, walking from the Victoria station to my hostel in the Bayswater area near Hyde Park. I didn't get to see much of London, but did grasp the size of the city, based on the hour and a half journey to the hostel.





Before the sun rose on Saturday, I was at London Euston station, boarding a train to Manchester. The industrial northern city was surprisingly modern and well kempt, with a major, modern shopping district near the Picadilly station. I passed through the shopping area, stopped for a dense breakfast, and made my way to the Museum of Science and Industry. The museum seemed designed for ages 3-12. I checked out the steam engines, antique automobiles, and aircraft along with dozens of happy elementary-schoolers and their parents. The museum, a likely destination for K-5 field trips was more relevant to my education than ever; my thermodynamics course covers the basics of steam engines, while my history course on technology involves the early automobiles and bicycles found at the museum.

Tri-Plane Replica

This exhibit taught the mechanics of jet engines. I was excited to see the material statistics charts, similar to those I used in my materials science course last year.

Is it a good or bad sign that the museum coincides so nicely with my current curriculum?

Working steam engines

Around noon, I crossed town again, hoping to get onto a map I had printed that excluded my current location. On the way I spotted this beautiful building.




Soon after, I began to see baby blue jerseys -Manchester City colors. I picked a group and followed them, hopeful that they would lead me to the stadium. Ten minutes later they ducked into the most discreet of bars, up some narrow steps. I wanted to join them - it looked like a cool place - but thought better knowing I couldn't blend in with the Man City fans. Heading back toward Picadilly, a location definitely on my map, I crossed the path of a man in an Arsenal jersey, walking with purpose, and a map of his own, so I began following him. I lost him twenty minutes later, and still not on my own map, asked a passerby where the stadium was. He was a fellow Arsenal fan, an Irishman named Andrew, who had flown in for the game. We walked together and chatted - he's a fish farmer and makes it to a few games each year. The stadium was in sight most of the way, and finally directly in front of us - a new, modern, hunk of steel and concrete splashed in blue banners. I retrieved my tickets without any sort of ID and returned to the visiting fan entrance. Only then did I put on my Arsenal jersey. Andrew explained earlier that he doesn't wear jerseys to away games if he is travelling alone in case he meets the wrong group of opposing fans. I felt the same way, but kept mine in my backpack. Inside, I checked out my seat in the second-tier, front-row with a completely unobstructed view. After a cider, I watched warmups - the players really push themselves and get a good sweat going before the game. Soon after, the teams lined up, posed briefly, and kicked off the game, at which point the batteries in my camera died and the replacements were duds.

Crowd control was neccessary today

The riot happened in the bottom right corner of the screen.

The players were incredibly skilled. In fact, it bothered me when they messed up not because they made a mistake and hurt the team, but because they were so good that it seemed irregular or out of character that the players would err. The Arsenal fans were boisterous from the start. They sang songs loudly and continuously. When their players did well, the fans serenaded them, and when they didn't, they were cursed out. Man City scored first and the stadium, a 47,000-person sellout - exploded. The concrete structure shook, and the roar left my ears ringing into the next day. In the second half Arsenal leveled the game, and my section turned insane. I joined a three-person hug with some complete strangers and screamed at the top of my lungs. In the second half, Man City scored twice and the Man City fans were in full song for the rest of the match.

Arsenal seemed to dominate most of the 2nd half with their pretty passing, and careful buildup, but Man City's counter-attacks were lightning quick and proved more effective, netting 3 more goals. Arsenal added a goal in the 87th minute and had a few more chances, but there was too little time.

Emmanuel Adebayor, a former Arsenal player who, Arsenal fans believe, quit on his former team mid-season and later made a money-grab transfer to Man City was making his first appearance against Arsenal as was another more beloved ex-Arsenal Gunner, Kolo Touré. Arsenal fans made it a point to boo Adebayor and cheer Toure during player introductions, and sang songs ridiculing their former star all game.

The game took a dramatic turn, not for its scoreline, but for Adebayor's antics with Arsenal players and the crowd. He stomped an Arsenal player in the face after that player made an aggressive tackle. After scoring, Adebayor ran the length of the field and slid in front of the Arsenal fans, who rained trash on him and began a small, but feisty riot in the section below mine. I definitely got the full experience, and, as Andrew explained, the Arsenal fans who had made the trip were the hard-core boisterous ones.

I took off my jersey and tried to blend in with the crowd as I exited. There was still some smack-talk and violence to be found, but the Man City fans were upbeat. I boarded the next train to London and returned to my hostel. Trying to avoid another huge fare from Paris to Metz, I spent four fruitless hours investigating new options, but alas, bright and early, I began the return trip via train and ferry to Metz. On the ferry, I met a friendly, chatty Malaysian man, and we took the same train to Paris. I helped him with the train transfers and he gave me some chocolate in return. He thought travelling to Paris was quite the adventure, and was eager to get back to Britain where, he explained, everything is better. He and his wife were scared off by the scent of a homeless man, who, with a gleam in his eye, got up every so often for no apparent reason. Later, I was joined by a French schoolteacher who taught English to middle-schoolers, and got some language lessons. First class on the TGV means a slightly larger headrest, but I took full advantage, sleeping the entire way to Metz.