Arsenal Rejects’ Support Club

By Daniel Cowan
In Arsenal
Jul 5th, 2015
1 Comment

The man stood stock still and surveyed the building in front of him. It was indescribably plain, the sort of place you would walk right without the merest of glances let alone a second one as it merge with every other identical building on this street. This probably worked in favour of the purpose it served. He didn’t want people to know why he was here – it would be scandalous.

He sighed deeply and reached out for the handle of the iron gate. He froze, fingers hovering delicately in front of the gate. Something gnawed at him. He wondered if this was actually going to help. Was he just wasting his time?

A voice snapped him out of his musing.

“Hey, stop hanging about. Get in, quickly, before someone sees us”.

He stared blankly at the newcomer for a full five seconds before recognition wiped the blank look from his face. “Yes, sorry. Of course” he spluttered before pressing down the dirty, tacky, black painted handle.

The gate opened with a mournful creak. He smiled ruefully to himself, the noise was a fitting match for the melancholy he felt in the fit of his stomach. His companion following him he stepped down the cold, echoing stone steps to a dim basement porch and stood in front of a grubby door with peeling paint.

After a quick glance at his watch – 2 minutes to the start – he pushed open the door and stepped into the dank hallway. “We’re the last ones, put the latch up to lock the door” said the second man running his finger down a sign in sheet. There were no names on the sheet, a fail-safe should the information fall into the wrong hands, but instead a collection of ticks next to printed code names.

He put the latch up with a click as his friend marked them off the register. His codename was Brock, he never liked it much, and his friend’s was “Eddy” – another stupid moniker. The group leader wasn’t very inventive.

They both walked down the hallway further distressing the already threadbare carpet. This place hadn’t been decorated in years. The walls were lined with cork pin boards plastered with flyers and laminated print-offs, which looked crudely assembled by someone who had just passed their ECDL and was showing off their ‘abilities’ with WordArt.

Brock entered the room with Eddy close behind him. It was a large, sparsely decorated room with a few more flyers, some motivational quote posters and a serving hatch which opened into a galley kitchen. An assortment of cups sat in the opening of the serving hatch accompanied by a pot of boiled piss, or at least that is what Brock likened it to.

In the middle of the room a small circle of plastic chairs had been arranged, three remained empty. Eddy took the one closest to the door and Brock cursed internally. He preferred to be as close to the exit as he could be and now the only seat remaining was the one next to the group leader, the pretentiously named ‘Conan’ – the other seat had the same piece of paper emblazoned with “RESERVED FOR CRICK” placed in the middle that it had for the last 10 sessions.

Brock wondered when Conan was going to stop putting Crick’s old chair out as he took his seat without a word or a glance to the rest of the group. He slumped forward and stared down at his shoes. Something caught his eye – is that….. chewing gum? Brock inspected the splodge on the sole of his shoe and concluded it was chewing gum. He swore loudly in his head. A dry, self-important cough close to his ear made him sit up. Conan was about to begin the session.

“I’m glad you could all make it. We’re making great progress but it’s now the summer and it can be one of the hardest times of the year for the members of this group so I propose we try to meet more than once a month” said Conan.

Brock sighed. He could barely find the motivation to come once a month but he had promised his wife he would give it a go. He tuned back in to what Conan was saying and just caught him saying subs were due for the tea and coffee.

“Now that’s out of the way” began Conan, smiling around at the group “let’s move on with group share. Squall, do you want to carry on from last time?”.

Squall nodded. He was an averagely build man with a partially shaved head and immaculately styled quiff. He opened his mouth and began to speak with a soft, delicate voice. “Things are going well. Better than for Eddy anyway”. Eddy shot him an icy look.

“It’s been almost four years and at first it was a gentle lament but in the last two years it has been stronger. Almost like regret.” Squall blushed as he spoke the last three words. Conan reached out and patted him on the shoulder.

“And what about you, Eddy?” asked Conan. “Have you mastered your regret yet?”

“No” stated Eddy simply.

“You will learn to. As soon as you take the cathartic step to say something negative about your former employers you will feel better” Conan said conversationally.

“Squall hasn’t needed to” protested Eddy. “That’s because I’m still convalescing from the backlash from my ‘only thinking about money’ comment. I don’t want to make it worse. I still cringe when I think about it” retorted Squall.

“Okay, okay.” said Conan. “Let’s move on. JK, why don’t you share next?”

“I don’t like that codename. I told you, I want to be Lion” complained JK. “I don’t even watch Jeremy Kyle!”

“We’ll talk about it another time. What do you have to share?” pressed Conan.

“I am still suffering many personal issues and the money I receive from my employers is not enough to quell the ignominy of wearing their uniform. This was very bad advice you gave me” JK ranted, gesticulating wildly in the direction of Conan.

“My advice to you was to make them hate you. Hate is a powerful emotion. When they hate you, you hold the power. Do you feel powerful?” Conan inquired.

“You are powerful, master” simpered a small man with the face of an effeminate squirrel. “Silence!” barked Conan. “JK?”

“I sometimes feel powerful when I am doing what you said and am antagonising them but afterwards I feel cheap and dirty. I feel like I have sold my soul. What good is this power if I am never to feel pride in my old age?” cried JK.

“You can hold this power for the rest of your life. You can ensure they never forget you. They do not forget me. I can ignite fury amongst them, set them fighting among themselves with a few choice words. Their equanimity is in the palm of my hands. It is on the tip of my touch. In my very fingers. They cannot be happy whilst I still breathe.” hissed Conan. “I am the destroyer of their happiness. I remind them of reality. I obliterate their senses until all they can see is a desolate future, hear is the jeers and catcalls of their more successful rivals, smell is the rotten stench rising from the decomposing corpse of their once great history, taste is the bitterness of their failures and feel the cold sting of their salty tears at the inescapable inevitability of their mediocrity”

Conan tossed his head back and laughed maniacally. “Is this a healthy way to deal with your pain?” asked Brock, speaking for the first time since he entered the building. “Is this why you told JK to join them? Crick to go there? To cause pain? It’s not really worked. Look at them. They’re on the up and we’re all on the way down.”

“Is there something you want to say, Brock? Are you finally ready to share with the group?” said Conan.

Brock stood up. “Yes. I’ve been coming to this group for a year and a half now and it’s all stories about regret, suffering and revenge. Never is it about penance. We all made our choices and now we have to deal with it.” said Brock, fire burning in his eyes.

“Not all of us made that choice. Some of us were left with no choice.” spat Conan.

“Give it a rest, Stew.” sighed Brock. There was a loud, simultaneous intake of breath and a pulse of shock ripple through the room.

Conan exploded with rage. “HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO SAY NO REAL NAMES?!…. Robin”. There was another shared gasp.

The two men stared at one another. Brock spoke first. “This group hasn’t been working for me and I think I know why. You don’t belong here. You’re all about anger and revenge. We want to stop the pain but you want us to use it as a tool. Crick doesn’t come here any more because of you. You wanted him to spout vitriol and incite anger.”

“Crick doesn’t come because I CURED him.” Conan returned, triumphantly. Brock laughed a single, sarcastic ‘HA!’. “Cured him? Why reserve him a seat every session? Do you think he’ll be coming back?”

“He’s a reject, like me, like you, like all of us. He’ll always need support”

“I’m not a reject. I’m the rejected. We all are, except you. That’s why we’re here. We’re not the Arsenal Rejects Anonymous. We’re the Arsenal Regret Anonymous. You don’t belong here.” said Brock, staring down the man in front of him. “I think you should leave now, Stewart. Or should that be Conan?” Brock put as much disdain as he could as he emphasised the last word.

Stewart looked around the room with murder in his eyes. A vein throbbed on his forehead guiding the sweat beads from his shining, flushed head down the side of his brow masking the solitary tear that had made its way down his cheek.

“I started this group. You can’t do this to me. I’ll make you pay.” roared Stewart.

Sagna laughed at him. “What are you going to do? Write about us for TalkSPORT? Give us more silly nicknames like Steady Eddy? It’s Mr Consistent to you”.

“Yeah, consistently on the bench” giggled JK. “Says a man kept out of the team by Harry Kane” retorted Sagna.

Robin cut across them “We’ve all got our issues, leave it for now. Just go Stewart. You’re not wanted here. Right guys?”. “Right” they replied in unison.

Stewart gave them all one last scowl before turning on his heel, marching up the hall and slamming the door on his way out of the building.

“So what now?” asked Sagna. “We start afresh” said Robin. “We start a new group where we help each other deal with the regret of our decisions. We cannot change the past. I cannot change what I did to get my move. I can’t make Van Gaal want me any more than Cesc could make Wenger want him. I will always regret forcing my way out of Arsenal. I’ll never be a legend at either club and that hurts but who can I blame but myself? Who can we all blame for the silly things we have said and done?”

The group shifted uncomfortably in their seats. They all looked at one another, all trying to figure out what the others were thinking. The silence stretched into minutes as they struggled for words.

Sagna broke the silence. “What will our purpose be? What about Stewart’s 5 steps to happiness? Do we have to replace them?”

“We should replace them” said Adebayor. “I never liked number three – ‘piss them off at all costs'”

“Yes” agreed Robin. “We will have one purpose – to serve as a warning for others where we ourselves did not heed the warnings before us. We will have one mantra and this will be it…” Robin told them all what their motto would be. The words that would symbolise their struggle and the penance they must pay to make amends to themselves and their own fractured legend.

“Are you guys ready?” asked Robin. “Yes” came the reply.

As one they stood and made a circle in the middle of the room. Solemnly they raised their mugs, now full of lukewarm tea and chanted in unison “Remember Hleb”.

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About "" - 509 Posts

I am a South London born Gooner now living in Leigh-On-Sea, Essex. I'm a husband, daddy, podcaster, trainer enthusiast and aspiring author. My work is my passion and for that I will always be grateful. Here is where I write my thoughts and views on Arsenal Football Club, the greatest team the world has ever seen.

One Response to “Arsenal Rejects’ Support Club”

  1. Masereka Robert Lumanda says:

    Lovely

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