“Come to see the Arsenal … you’ve only come to see the Arsenal …” The refrain continues, as it always will, repeated in the treasured memories of watching Arsène Wenger’s fabulous team with my father, Ray, in their glory years. But we’re not singing along. Ray is most likely succeeding in not showing his delight after another goal is rattled in, while sharing a knowing look with my brother, Adam, and I. Meanwhile our poker faces will have undoubtedly left a little to be desired. How we basked in the choir’s production, almost silent partners muddled in with hapless home…
