An open letter to Thierry Henry

Dear Thierry,

Welcome home, maestro. When your plane lands in London and you step out into that chilly winter breeze, another piece of the Henry jigsaw will fall into place. And when you walk into that Sky Sports studio, you can be sure that Gary Neville and Jamie Carragher will shift uncomfortably in their seats, perhaps remembering the days that saw you revel as foes.

Players often find that their careers tune into sharp focus when all is said and done. When you wake up one morning to find that there are no more training sessions to slave through; no more diets and workouts to religiously adhere to, no more of the chanting and screaming of passionate crowds. And you begin to relive the moments that have been buried down for so long by the weight of future expectations, the promise of another season too much to truly appreciate the past.

What will you miss the most, I wonder? Somehow, the Gooner in me wants to believe that you have known for a long time now that the Arsenal shirt is the answer to that question, and perhaps I am right. You have stated on more than one occasion your intention of returning to the club, to return, in your words, “home”.

Indeed, most of us consider your assignment with Sky Sports to be a way for you to get away from it all while remaining in London. So that you can enter into the scheme of things at Ashburton Grove with a fresh mind, and maybe one day we will see you in the dugout, imploring your team to fight.

But I also know the Thierry Henry that noted journalist Philippe Auclair talks of. Your biographer has, naturally, a vivid understanding of the man behind the goals, and his insights have only strengthened my affection for you. It’s almost as if the hero that enthralled me when I was growing up was now a man – Auclair coloured in the areas that you cannot see in the slow-motion montages they make of your goals.

Perhaps he is right in saying that your personality would not be compatible with the demands of management. When they ask you what was going through your mind as you scored this or this, your response has always veered toward your “instincts”. That it “felt right” in that moment for you to do what you did, the puzzling look on your face almost defiant, as if you could not understand how one could not grasp the concept of instinct.

Lesser mortals do not have the privilege of understanding the plane you have ascended to as a footballer, and I fear your forays into management may well teach you this truth.

Diego Maradona resorted to hand-wringing and all manner of histrionics in his time in the dugout. His reign in charge of the Argentinian football team saw him announcing that he would run naked through the streets of Buenos Aires – and thus scar the residents of the famous old city for life – if Argentina managed to lift the World Cup. Somehow we cannot see our suave Frenchman resorting to such antics.

You have shied away from praise, preferring to keep yourself grounded – perhaps not with any inert sense of humility, but with the burning desire to win; knowing that dwelling on past accomplishments serves no purpose.

But they will rain down on you now – tributes and homages to one of the best the game has ever seen. Better words than mine will chronicle your rise to a footballing colossus. They will talk of your days in Monaco and of that glorious World Cup win in ’98. That move to Juventus and your resurrection at Arsenal. They will call you the final piece in Guardiola’s puzzle at Barcelona, and then the man who brought a rare touch of class and grandeur to the MLS.

But to me, Monsieur, you will forever remain a Gunner. Your rise to become the most feared striker of your generation coincided with my own rather nondescript discovery of the Beautiful Game as a teenager. The elegance and ingenuity of your game had me spellbound, as that Arsenal team proceeded to become the most feared attacking unit in recent memory.

Along the way, you taught me a number of lessons. Your old friend Auclair has offered an interesting insight into Thierry Henry, the footballer – you always required irrefutable proof that you had achieved your goals and that proof lay in the statistics. At the end of each season, you would assess these statistics to prove to yourself that you had done what you expected of yourself.

It’s as if the sheer beauty of your game was not enough, as if the joy you brought to millions was a consequence – not a reason – of your dedicated focus. You seemed determined to stick to your single-minded devotion to your craft, honing it to perfection, so that when we saw you effortlessly side-foot that ball into the corner of the net, we would think it was the easiest thing in the world. Our efforts to mimic you, needless to say, resulted in glaring misses and unfortunate injuries more times than I can count.

But to suggest that you were a cold-hearted assassin who just did his job would be another glaring miss, and I do not intend to miss the target on this occasion. The Thierry Henry we saw was a Gooner through and through, and perhaps we have forgotten what that means today.

You arrived as a winger of some repute, even if after that World Cup win, you had fallen out of favour with the national team. The boss was, in your words, “able to see things no one else could”. In Wenger’s own words, your youth and pace made it easy to shift you out on to the flanks, where you “lost the appetite” for scoring goals. It was something that Wenger had seen when you were all of 17 and a half years old; yet another promising youth player, but still, nothing more.

It was the appetite that Wenger brought back to stunning effect – and born from that vote of confidence was your deep-seated belief to never let the boss down. You immersed yourself in the great history of this club, understanding what it meant to be an Arsenal player. Captain fantastic Tony Adams put it this way – understanding “who you are, what you are, and what you represent”.

And you thrived. In the heat of the battle, you grew to be the leader of the team that will now forever be known as The Invincibles. You produced one of your finest performances in an Arsenal shirt that season.

It was Easter Monday. Liverpool were in town. We had just been knocked out of the Champions League quarterfinals by Chelsea, and the shock in the stadium was palpable as the visitors took a 2-0 lead.

The Cloak of Invincibility seemed to be slipping, but then it seemed like you had made it a personal mission to win this game, all on your own if you had to. This goal will live long in the memory of Gooners everywhere, and your hat-trick on the day ensured that we had enough belief to go through the rest of the season without any hiccups.

The goal you scored on your return here was even more enjoyable, for us and for you, because, as you said, “This time I come as an Arsenal fan”.

When you scored against Real Madrid in the Santiago Bernabeu, the commentator said it best – “He’s scored! He’s scored for Arsenal in the Bernabeu. Thierry Henry, Arsenal’s Gunner Galactico….” And he was right – your own exorbitant talent, coupled with your passion for the club, made you our “Gunner Galactico”. And we never let anyone forget it.

One of your personal favourites is the one that left Jamie Carragher on his backside (which should make for an interesting topic of conversation in the studio). That goal holds a special place for you because it came against Liverpool, and, of course, Carragher was left in a rather embarrassing position. For us, it was just another classic Henry goal.

Being an Henry fan, my personal favourite is this one against Sparta Prague. It was a goal of outrageous quality; the first touch, the swing of the right boot, the way the ball curled into the back of the net from a position of no immediate danger.

And this is where I think we differ in our love for Arsenal FC (or Henry – to talk of one is to talk of the other) – I see the beautiful, aesthetic Henry who was capable of extraordinary things. You are the fierce competitor who enjoys landing a defender of Carragher’s repute on his backside. What I fail to grasp, or rather appreciate less, is that it is this competitiveness that lets your artistic “instincts” thrive.

It is this ruthlessness in that team that culminated in Arsenal’s Golden Premier League trophy, as recognition for the Invincible season.

And it is this ruthlessness that Arsene Wenger’s team lacks today. Wenger has always done his best to let his team’s footballing intelligence grow and thrive on its own; doing just enough to make sure his team has a game-plan. It was a strategy that worked wonders when you and your mates were strutting their stuff – and one that this group of players cannot pull off.

With Steve Bould not really making his presence felt in the dressing room, you remain one of the few names whose say has any real weight. Your footballing knowledge – staggering, even for a professional footballer – would be invaluable as a member of the coaching staff. And I feel you will have some strong words for the inferiority complex that creeps into this team when the stakes are highest.

What I wish to say is that this is not the end of our journey – all the signs point to a club legend driving his team on once again, albeit in a different capacity. I do not think that this is asking too much of you in the wake of your retirement, in a letter that is supposed to commemorate your career. You are one of us, an identity that has grown to represent the club even after your departure. And you will remain so, regardless of what you choose to do with your life from here on.

And as you hear the Arsenal fans chant your name when your club Arsenal takes on your former employers Monaco in the Champions League in the New Year, you will perhaps then allow yourself a moment of contemplation. You will perhaps truly understand how yours is a career that is as rare as they come in the footballing world. And that your bond with your fellow Gooners is rarer still.FromA passionate, emotional Gooner