Relief, euphoria and limbs: Arsenal Women knock out Chelsea to reach Champions League semi-final
Marc Ollington’s journey with Arsenal Women continues, and that’s fantastic he writes in this must-read piece from the Stamford Bridge away end
Bridge of Noise, Nerves and Nonsense
I was fortunate enough to be at Stamford Bridge last night for Arsenal Women’s Champions League quarter-final and, as it turns out, this is my promised 400 words for The Gooner.
Having bumped into Layth (your esteemed editor) at the game last night, he asked me rather nicely that I needed to start writing for the fanzine again. So here we are. It’s like the late nineties all over again!
I’d actually reconnected with Layth more recently at Steve Ashford’s wake. It was, of course, a sad occasion, but like so many of these moments, it brought people back together. I’d only met him a handful of times over the years, but always liked him (!), and I adored what he had done with the women’s version of The Gooner.
That, in turn, made me reflect on my own journey into the women’s game on the train home after the match. It really started with my daughter. I’d taken her to a few men’s matches – she enjoyed them, but they could feel a bit overwhelming. Then we tried the women’s team. She was hooked almost instantly. The players became her heroes overnight, and over the past couple of seasons we’ve become regulars – Emirates, Boreham Wood, and plenty of away days.
Last May, we went to the Champions League final in Portugal together, one of the best experiences I’ve ever had. Since then, we’ve gone all in. This season alone, I’ve probably been to twice as many women’s games as men’s, around 20 compared to 10. And now, even when my daughter can’t make it like last night, due to dance commitments (!) I still go. That’s how invested I’ve become.
So I arrived at Stamford Bridge with a fair amount of trepidation. Chelsea, in any context, bring a certain dread. I wasn’t confident not even with a 3–1 lead. I’ve always been glass half empty.
Continuing the theme of reconnections, I’d also bumped into Tim Madgwick (another old Gooner alumni) at the wake, someone I used to have the odd pint with at The Bailey 20-odd years ago. We’d already reconnected at Leuven away earlier in the season, and with both our kids absent last night, we ended up watching together united in our appreciation of the women’s game, and increasingly united in our disbelief at the officiating.
Because, frankly, it was baffling. The Katie McCabe incident will dominate the headlines, but it felt part of a wider issue.
Decisions consistently seemed to go one way, as though the referee was trying to manage the game rather than officiate it. From the away end, it was infuriating. I’m fairly certain I burst at least five blood vessels.
This Arsenal side though has something about it.
Since Christmas, they’ve grown into themselves again, and the resilience is undeniable. That was tested even with a minute to go when Chelsea pulled one back late on. There was no resolve and just chaos.
When the final whistle went though, the away end erupted. Relief, then euphoria. Limbs everywhere.
That’s what I’ve come to love about this team and the women’s game more broadly.
The connection, the passion, the sense of being part of something. And, standing there at Stamford Bridge, I couldn’t help but wonder if this is what I had been missing for football for years?
The connection I have with this club and these players is something I haven’t felt since I was 16. I am now nearly 50.
A semi-final now awaits.
And my journey with Arsenal Women continues, and how fantastic is that?