Lots of beer, spread across Tuesday afternoon and evening made for a good preparation. Because fans were spread out all over Paris, there didn't seem to be huge concentrations in the city centre, in any one place at least. Montmartre and the red light district of Pigalle was a predictable place for drinking Gooners, and we based ourselves there for much of Tuesday evening and Wednesday afternoon, before eventually taking the sardine-packed Metro to the stadium, with those £1,500 pieces of paper in our pockets.
Approaching the I got into the ground, through the predictable 2 turnstiles for thousands of Arsenal fans. The turnstiles looked quite easy for ticketless fans to storm if they wanted, in fact it would probably have been harder to vault a London Underground barrier. The police were an obvious deterrent, but there were stories of some groups trying to rush the gates. Once inside the turnstiles, Stade de France is one of those stadia where the actual stadium building itself is still a short walk away, the kind of ground you don't see often in England (Twickenham as an exception). I'd been before, but getting into my seat reminded me what an impressive place it is. Then, we endured about 45 minutes of hysterical buildup over the PA, followed by a frankly bizarre "opening ceremony", before the players arrived.
When the teams came onto the pitch, the visual display from the Barcelona fans was incredible, it must have looked better than Arsenal's (admittedly good) effort of yellow and grey t-shirts for everybody. The Arsenal and Barca badges that were raised up into the air here also looked really impressive, and the whole thing finally made it sink in what a very big occasion this was.The full story of how the game unfolded is here. Watching in the stadium, it was utterly hellish. I don't really subscribe to the view that Arsenal were robbed though, unlike much of the media, and unfortunately many people in the Arsenal camp as well. If your keeper commits professional fouls like that, he generally gets sent off. The referee in general was too keen to blow his whistle and stop play throughout the game (and probably in Barca's favour on balance) - I'd like to see more flowing games than he was willing to allow. Having said that, during the match-defining incident, he could have played advantage, allowed the goal, and then gone back and sent Lehmann off for the foul as well, so it could actually have been worse for us. The free kick for our goal was not a free kick, and the 2 goals we conceded were terrible goals for any goalkeeper to let in. So, robbed, no. Not helped out much by the referee and other circumstance, but if Almunia had stopped 2 simple goals, it was all in our hands to win the game.
The goal was celebrated like a gift from heaven, completely unexpected, and against the odds even with 11 men, let alone 10. For the rest of the first half, Arsenal clung on, and the half time whistle (after 5 minutes' injury time!), was greeted like the full time whistle, it was that much of an achievement. The second half started, and the target was to get to 50 minutes, then 55, then 60, and so on. Between 60 and 70 minutes, although we were still weathering a storm, and clearly starting to tire, 2-0 looked as likely as 1-1. Henry, Hleb and Fabregas could all have scored on another day, with good chances.
But then, with Arsenal 14 minutes away from winning the Champions League, Barca scored. Eto'o possibly slightly offside, but they all count, and the finish was good, even if Almunia shouldn't really have conceded at the near post. Bizarrely, it felt like something of a relief when we finally conceded. We had all waited about an hour for the inevitable, and like a sick animal, many were relieved that we had finally been put out of our misery. The drop in energy when the goal went in, both from fans and players, was obvious, so the second goal 5 minutes later was not terribly surprising. It was an incredible effort to have got that far, and most were incredibly proud of the players for their performance. It had been raining for most of the second half, with really ominous thunder and lightning overhead. When Barca equalised, the rain got noticeably and immediately harder. When they went ahead, it got harder still - something sinister was definitely going on!
At the final whistle, the players sank to their knees, and most fans felt like copying them. A good number stayed to clap the players and to see the presentation of the trophy, before we all trudged off back to Paris, via the stupidly crowded Metro, to drown our sorrows.
I went to Paris with little expectation that Arsenal would win the game - although we had a chance, Barcelona were rightful favourites. No expectation equals no disappointment, and I had already prepared myself for us losing. But what actually happened was possibly even more cruel than that - against all the odds, we went ahead, then held on, almost to the point where people were starting to believe that we might pull off one of the most amazing victories ever. Then it all fell apart. I suspect that, once Lehmann was sent off, victory was never really there for Arsenal. But it definitely looked like it might be, until, like a mirage, it all seemed to disappear as we were getting close enough to grab it.
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