Arsenal North Bank Terrace: What's Your Favorite Gunners Memory?

The installation of the North Bank Terrace, situated a mere stone's throw away from the still-gleaming confines of the Emirates Stadium—now in its sixth season of use—marks the latest initiative by Arsenal to allow supporters the chance to etch their names into the club's core.

One could call it a Hollywood Walk of Fame—in London.

After witnessing the huge success of the Armoury Square development, which followed the same vein of thinking, supporters now have the chance to "create a unique and personalised memento," Arsenal.com reports.

The North Bank Terrace, a supporter-based initiative that factors into Arsenal's commemoration of its 125th season as a club, will be located on the steps of the Ken Friar Bridge outside the North Bank. It will be built upon a foundation of memory, so to speak.

Granite stones are available for purchase, upon which supporters can inscribe their chosen message. The stones range from £50 to £999. Replica stones are a cheaper option, starting from £37.50.

This undertaking will add to the supporters' tributes already lining the stadium's lower cores, along with a number of special flags perched along the upper tiers—the latter a salute a specific group of fans.

While most Arsenal supporters may not be able to participate in this commemorative gesture, it still begs a fascinating query.

If you were pressed to come up with one single memory concerning Arsenal Football Club, what would it be?

Hundreds inevitably float to the fore, each seemingly as potent and powerful as the next. But then, that's part of the fun—you have to choose one.

Perhaps my favorite example listed on the site is:

ARSENAL IS MY
LIFE, JUST ASK
MY WIFE! (Mike and Lisa Graham, Essex)

Were I to take a stab at my own commemoration, I'd have to launch back upon the tide of recollection to when I was just eight years old. I'm not blessed with wit or a wife (yet), so memory will have to suffice.

Back in 1997, I'd just begun playing soccer competitively. I had joined a local traveling team on a trial basis, and was attending practices and watching matches from the sideline.

Basketball had always been my first love, but I was slowly but surely growing more fond of this new venture. Soccer breathed in a manner wholly different than basketball. It required different skills, a different sense of vision. I was steadily and readily becoming hooked upon its specific drug.

I love immersing myself in the history of sport—I watched endless hours of NBA highlight videos as a kid, learning of the legends of Larry Bird, Michael Jordan, and Magic Johnson, the first and last of that fabled triumvirate having played before my time.

I had yet to launch myself upon soccer's tide of history, but it turned out that cable television could do just that for me. The fact that I didn't have cable, a potential stumbling block, was erased by the simple fact that my friends did.

One day at my buddy's house, we were cycling through the nether regions of cable television (those channels can stretch on for what seems like infinity) before an image splashed across the TV that caught my eye.

There was a Premier League review show on Fox Sports World (which has since become Fox Soccer Channel.) I told my friend to keep that station on.

The highlight show was replaying several matches from the previous English Premier League season. It just so happened that Arsenal's 1996 match against north London rivals Tottenham at Highbury was one of the featured games.

This was '97, mind you, and I was a kid in America. I had no idea who that blond No. 10 forward was for Arsenal, who stamped his impact upon the game with such regal authority. But I could appreciate, even then, his incredible technique and superb vision.

Those that truly understand the game exude a sense of quiet confidence. Often times, you can just tell—it might be Zidane flicking a pass forty feet across field, or Ronaldo (the Brazilian) picking out the top corner of the goal and sending his shot within millimeters of that destination, as if it were a cruise missile.

The Arsenal No. 10 was immense that night, and he had that same sense of savoir-faire. The naturals just know.

The game itself proved a dogfight. Tied 1-1 in the closing stages, defender Tony Adams crashed a goal in for the host Gunners in the 88th minute. I found myself on the edge of my seat, revelry flooding my senses.

Game signed, sealed and delivered. Right?

Wrong. This No. 10 guy wasn't going to leave well enough alone. He wanted to send Spurs down even further.

Ian Wright, scorer of the first goal on the night, muscled away from his defender on the right flank with a brilliant turn, then burst past with a furious injection of pace before sending a searching ball across the face of the Tottenham goal, six meters past the far post.

There, the onrushing No. 10 was waiting. I felt as if I'd been transported to a spot in the stands just behind that goal, watching with tens of thousands of Londoners, wondering what bit of brilliance might ensue.

This Dutchman proceeded to uncork a feat of genius I would think back upon less than two years later, when he would send Argentina crashing out of France '98 with a comparable bit of play.

His control of that Wright cross was immediate—taking the ball with his left foot, he proceeded to drag that first touch across his body, shirking his defender in the process with consummate ease. He didn't need any more invitation to fire a shot with his right, which flew past keeper Ian Walker into the Spurs net. 3-1 Arsenal.

Finally, I head this man's name. Well, it was hard to miss with Martin Tyler screaming it. "...And he's crossed for Bergkamp...brilliant play from the Dutchman. Wonderful goal!"

What more could a youngster ask for. I was as impressionable as the next kid, and I worshiped my sporting heroes, admiring their talent, revering the dedication they showed to their craft.

And here was Dennis Bergkamp, a maestro on the pitch. That goal cemented my already-burgeoning love for the beautiful game—one which would continue to grow in strength over the years.