The Sky Sports advert for the 1997-98 season is a masterpiece of absurd pomposity. The actor Sean Bean, the concept of keeping it real in human form, strides relentlessly towards the camera while giving a breathy speech about the meaning of football. “It’s ecstasy, anguish, joy and despair,” he says. “It’s theatre, art, war and love … It’s our religion: we do not apologise for it, we do not deny it … They’re our team, our family, our life.”



The pay-off is plea of authenticity. “Football. We know how you feel about it. Because we feel the same.”

With the exception of the original Alive and Kicking advert, it’s probably the most memorable Sky football promo. It did its job superbly – yet it was trumped towards the end of the season by an unscripted, unofficial advert for football. There was no speech, no pulsing music, no Sean Bean – just an Arsenal fan going feral with happiness.

He wasn’t celebrating any old victory. Twenty years ago on Wednesday, Arsenal won 1-0 away to Manchester United through a late goal from Marc Overmars. It was the first time they had even scored at Old Trafford in the Premier League era, never mind won there, and it gave them tentative control of the title race. Arsenal moved six points behind United with three games in hand. More than that, the slick authority of their performance against a nervous, injury-hit United made everyone connected with the club think something magical was happening.

At the final whistle, as Arsenal celebrated around Overmars, the camera cut to a thin man with curly black hair, stubble and a black leather jacket. He was wild-eyed, clenching both fists and growling “YES!”. Barry Ferst is a laid-back, softly spoken man, but sport is one of the few areas of life in which happiness is demonstrated through aggression. It brings out the Danny Dyer in most of us.

Ferst was in a car on the way back to London when a friend called and told him he’d been on TV. “I’ve got naturally curly hair and I’m quite distinctive, so I just thought I was easy to spot in the crowd,” he says. “I had two or three more phonecalls but didn’t think much of it.”

By the time Match of the Day came on that night, he was at home with his girlfriend, sharing a bottle of wine and reliving Arsenal’s win. “When they showed the Overmars goal and there was nothing,” he says, “part of me was a bit disappointed.”

He didn’t know the clip was at the end of the match rather than after the goal. His 15 seconds of fame were soon repeated. “My girlfriend said: ‘Oh my god!’ Even I was a bit like: ‘Jesus Christ!’ But I wasn’t really surprised by how intense I looked. The things I’m passionate about, I’m very passionate about. I was caught in the moment.”

Barry Ferst celebrates the final whistle at Old Trafford. It was only when he got home that evening he realised he had become something of a celebrity. Photograph: YouTube

Life was different in 1998. Although some people had mobile phones, communication was slower and more relaxed, with no culture of text messaging. The internet was a curiosity rather than a societal addiction. It took a while before Ferst realised his life had changed.

“I thought a few people would say something and that would be it,” he says. “It’s not like I’d scored a goal or been dropkicked by Eric Cantona. It started to dawn on me the next day, when I was getting recognised in local shops, that things weren’t normal. I used to work at Barclays Bank in Hammersmith and I went in as usual on the Monday. There were a few cracks about it at work. On the way back to the station that night, a three-minute walk took me about 20 minutes.”

Sometimes people ask you to do the face. If I’ve had 10 pints I might try, but it’s a bit weird when you’re sober Barry Ferst

Arsenal’s next home match was against Sheffield Wednesday two weeks later. Ferst bought a copy of the Gooner fanzine as usual – except this time he was on the back, with a picture of his celebration accompanied by the words ‘This Is What It Meant’. The usual three hours of pre-match drinking at the Gunners pub went by in a blur as people started asking for a handshake – often, not entirely hygienically, in the toilet – a photo or an autograph. “The autographs were especially surreal,” he says, “because they don’t know your name, so you’ve got to introduce yourself. ‘Should I put my name underneath…’”

When he left the pub he was chairlifted to the turnstiles. “I wasn’t exactly doing a royal wave but it was a bit surreal. I was really self-conscious. When they were still showing the clip on TV a few days later, I thought: ‘I hope we do win the league now or I’ll look a right prick!’”

They did. The win at Old Trafford was the second of an unprecedented 10 in a row, during which Arsenal played some extraordinary football. It culminated in the euphoric afternoon at Highbury when they clinched the league by walloping Everton 4-0. A fortnight later they beat Newcastle 2-0 in the FA Cup final to do the Double in Arsène Wenger’s first full season.

Ferst went on his honeymoon to the US that summer and was even recognised in a Las Vegas casino. In May 2002, when Arsenal won the title at Old Trafford, he was interviewed on Sky before the game. They picked him out during it, too; this time he knew what was coming and his celebration was far more restrained.

The chances of Overmars ever walking into the Gunners pub on the day of the match are minimal. Ferst, who is part Dutch himself, is the next best thing: he became an instant cult hero, the enduring, angry face of one of Arsenal’s happiest seasons.

He still gets recognised 20 years later, even though he has long since shaved off his beard. In 2013, the Bleacher Report website put him second on a list of iconic facial expressions in football history, sandwiched between Paul Gascoigne at Italia 90 and Roberto Baggio at USA 94. “There hasn’t really been any downside to it,” he says. “Sometimes people ask you to do the face. If I’ve had 10 pints I might try, but it’s a bit weird when you’re sober.”

Ferst’s celebration showed what it was like to see your team win the biggest game of the season. You wonder whether, in 2018, a TV director would pick him out. There is a greater focus on banners and banter; contrived passion and outrage. Ferst had no idea anyone was looking at him, never mind a million people on Sky TV. His naked passion was totally authentic. You didn’t need to be an Arsenal fan to understand. We all knew how he felt. Because we’d felt the same.