Arsènal

There is a fork in the road where Barnet Lane intersects with Totteridge Lane in north London. Habitually, the silver Mercedes bears left past the church heading for home a few hundred yards further on. Today, though, the driver takes the slip road on the right towards Mill Hill and a couple of minutes later pulls into the driveway of his destination.

David Dein is still reeling from his, in his own words, “brutal” dismissal earlier in the day – out of the blue he had been handed a letter terminating his directorship at the club he loved after 24 years. Whilst foe and friend alike were dumbfounded by the abruptness of the sacking, in the words of one of the latter, “David was an accident waiting to happen.” Emboldened as ever by the belief which transformed itself into a mantra over the years, to justify contentious decisions – “I would never do anything to harm Arsenal: I would always act in Arsenal’s interest” – he had walked a tightrope ever since the move from Highbury had been prioritised over team building.

Stepping outside his specific responsibility for the playing side, his increasingly independent actions had brought him into conflict with the rest of the board. Haunted by the spectre of being overwhelmed by the huge spending power of Chelsea, Manchester United and Liverpool and his European rivals, especially Real Madrid, Barcelona, Milan and Internazionale, he was determined to ensure that Arsène Wenger had a comparable war chest. Unfortunately, his search for a wealthy benefactor, especially his clandestine wooing of the American sports entrepreneur, Stan Kroenke, was an irrevocable step too far for his colleagues. His Arsenal role had enabled him to secure an executive seat at the FA, UEFA and G14 and in his favour he encompassed the broader view that those responsibilities entailed. To the regret of the football authorities, at home and abroad, if not his fellow Arsenal directors, he was now yesterday’s man. And to add to the ignominy, like a miscreant he had been forced to clear his desk and receive an escort from the Highbury House office building adjacent to the Emirates Stadium.

It was the answer Wenger must have been hoping for. Only a few weeks before, he and his wife, Annie, had decided to stay in London (though in fact it would be some months before he would eventually get round to renewing his contract) and had settled on the new school where their daughter, Léa, would begin her secondary education. Besides, he could sense a conclusion to the most exasperating time of his Arsenal tenure. Never allowing himself to luxuriate in the euphoria of victory, it was always onwards and upwards to meet the next challenge. For the fact that, despite having the personnel capable of doing so, Arsenal had never retained the Premiership title or even once won the Champions League, Wenger blamed himself. He felt he had failed; he had certainly failed to live up to his own high expectations.

He was unconcerned about leaving a legacy. Certainly, titles and cups had been won with panache and the innovative training ground and superb playing facilities in the new stadium had been developed according to his precise specifications. But he regarded them only as a means to an end – to facilitate the chances of perpetuating the winning habit and to do so with a flourish. What mattered most was today, the next match, this season.

Paradoxically, limited in how much he could spend on wages and transfers, Wenger had been forced to concentrate on what he enjoyed above all about his job – finding and developing young talent. Now, as the 2007/08 season beckoned, anticipated revenue from his club’s new home, for the first time in over two years, would give him money to sprinkle on a star or two to add to the precocious squad he had assembled.

The timing appeared propitious. He could only be optimistic, certain that the new season would see definite progress with the following campaign bringing probable fulfilment. If he left now, there would always be the nagging doubt of what might have been.