Down....but certainly never out

The Stadium of Light is a long old schlep and after an exhausting week, if I’m entirely honest, if Saturday’s game had been live on the box, I might’ve been sorely tempted to stop at home with my feet up, instead of spending a gruelling 12–hours at the wheel of my motor, only to endure 90 minutes in the wind and rain at a North-East encounter, which hardly held the promise of being a particularly scintillating affair.

But then until such time as the Irish Examiner feature is renamed “Recliner Armchair Rabbit”, instead of “Terrace Talk”, I’d feel too much of a fraud if I didn’t make the effort and as every travelling fan knows, a failure to ‘pay one’s dues’ at the Premiership’s least tempting profferings, can often prove the sort of fatal mistake that will inevitably guarantee one misses out on the game of the season.

I would’ve also thought that most travelling Gooners would know better than to give up the ghost on this Arsenal side. After making the 500-mile round trip trek, I pity the many poor souls who made a disconsolate dash for the exits on 85 minutes, the moment Leadbitter’s speculative shot nestled in the back of Almunia’s net. I know it’s an almost instinctive, ‘not our day’ type reaction to want to escape the scene of one’s misery, after having the rug pulled from beneath our feet, with what was the epitome of a smash & grab, 3-point robbery (considering our almost total domination of possession).

However after travelling all that way, how gutted must these Gooners have been to have missed out on the highlight of our afternoon and the gleeful celebrations that greeted Cesc Fabregas’ equaliser, as the young Spaniard salvaged not just a point, but some self-respect, by avoiding our worse start to a season in umpteen years. I imagine most will be too embarrassed to admit it, but I simply can’t imagine my last Arsenal memory, before a six hour return trip in the pouring rain (and a two week International break) being the sound of the eruption in the stadium behind me, which would’ve been loud enough to indicate a goal, but not sufficiently sonorous to suggest a second for the home side. What a sickener!

Sadly by and large, the game itself lived up to its unappetising billing. Although I doubt it’s a paucity of entertainment that’s responsible for the large swathes of empty seats at the Stadium of Light, as the pictures on MOTD of sparsely populated terraces elsewhere and the perimeter advertising, offering reduced price season tickets would suggest that Premiership football is fortunate to have obscene amounts of TV money, to cushion the adverse effects of the credit crunch.

Still the recent proliferation of the Irish tri-colour on scarves and flags around the ground would suggest there’s no shortage of punters willing to travel from the Emerald Isle to support the Quinn/Keane revolution on Wearside – who could’ve possibly predicted that such a hostile relationship would eventually develop into wedded bliss (although the cynic in me might conclude that it’s only a matter of time before this analogy arrives at its inexorable conclusion, involving deceit, divorce and customary disputes over illegitimate offspring!).

Saturday’s match was evidence of the contrasting levels of expectations between the two sets of supporters. As with most clubs who’ve endured yo-yoing between the top division and the various incarnations of the far less glamorous lower league, you get the distinct sense that Sunderland fans are simply grateful to retain their invitation to the Premiership party. Whereas an Arsenal home crowd would scream their disgust, if Wenger dared to employ Roy Keane’s negative tactics, getting ten men behind the ball for the entire 90. Nevertheless, Arsène should be more than used to opposing managers paying us this sort of respect and he should be aware that any sort of “park the bus” griping is likely to sound like sour grapes.

No, Sunderland must be commended for the well drilled way in which they stuck to their manager’s gameplan and as frustrating as it proved for anyone associated with an Arsenal side, tasked with breaking down what basically resembled an attack v defence training ground exercise, if any criticism is due, it should be directed at our own lack of dynamism.

Mercifully the miserable weather abated during the second half, just long enough for a football match to break out. It’s all well and good for the best teams to be patient, but when all efforts fail to pick a path through the ten bodies blocking ones route to goal, the obvious answer is to employ a sufficient burst of pace to deny the opposition time to get back into position, facing the ball in two impenetrable banks of four, lined neatly across their area.

I can only recall two instances where the Gunners managed to change down a gear, to attack at sufficient speed for Sunderland to have only five men tracking back into their box, still facing their own goal. One resulted in Van Persie forcing a decent save from Gordon and the other resulted in the ref disallowing a perfectly good goal (at least from my close proximity Walcott prevented the whole of the ball from going out of play). Whereas for the majority of the rest of the match, for all our possession, it was the home side’s rare forays forward which proved more threatening, as our attack lacked the necessary incisiveness.

To my mind, considering Sunderland’s lack of ambition, Alex Song was superfluous as a midfield enforcer. In a contest with the obese and the infirm (an overweight Andy Reid and a positively pensionable Dwight Yorke) which wasn’t particularly physical, the more cerebral ball skills of Samir Nasri might’ve proved more successful in picking the Black Cats lock.

At least Cesc’s determination to get his head on the ball at the death meant that we didn’t head home feeling too deflated. But having blown 8 of 21 points to date, to continue with the feline analogy, I can’t help but feel that it is a bit early to have already nixed the majority of our nine lives. Although I guess we must be grateful to our North London neighbours, as by joining Newcastle as the Premiership laughing stock, Spurs have ensured that all such trivial setbacks are put into proper perspective.

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To Err Is Human, To Forgive Is Divine

...and in contrast to our neighbours continued capitulation, I think we can afford a little forgiveness?
Nuff Love
Bernard
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From our seats in the lower, we had the perfect view, directly in line with Geovanni and Almunia’s goal, so that almost from the instant the Brazilian’s wonder strike left his boot and arced its way into the top, far corner of our net, I knew it was a Goal of the Month (if not Goal of the Season) contender.

Nevertheless, although there was nothing for it, but to graciously applaud the “worth the entrance fee alone” quality of Hull’s equaliser, the way in which the Gunners’ defence positively invited the Tiger’s midfielder to take his phenomenal potshot, by failing to exert the slightest pressure on the ball, was symptomatic of the sort of complacency, some might even say arrogance, that was responsible for Saturday evening’s upset. Doubtless this was the reason why Wenger was left spitting feathers, to the extent the he felt his team had afforded “too much room to West Brom”!

I can accept getting turned over by the better team on the day, but after satisfying victories on the road against Blackburn and Bolton, getting beat at home by Hull was a bitter pill to swallow, knowing we’ve the ability to give Premiership’s latest arrivistes a good hiding.
Sadly we once again witnessed the lack of that killer instinct that’s cost us dear in recent times and the absence of which could well prove to be the decisive difference between us and our principal rivals. It’s hard to imagine Chelsea or Man Utd letting Hull off the hook in a home game, after going a goal ahead and we were more than capable of killing this match off as a contest, after McShane helped the ball into his own net early in the second half, with Hull having finally been undone by one of Theo’s blistering bursts of pace.

Yet where against Sheffield Utd. the previous Tuesday night, Arsène’s young protégés had scored with gay abandon, almost every time they strode forward, on Saturday our more experienced players reverted to the same old allergy of wanting to walk the ball into the back of the net, seemingly lacking the youngsters carefree hunger and determination to grab the goal scoring responsibilities with both feet.

All credit to Hull, their fans and their manager. Even if Brown does look a prize plonker with his radio mic attached to his ear – I’m always half expecting him to break into a Boyzone song & dance routine and he very nearly did when the Tigers took a shock lead. Yet while their fans maintained a raucous racket throughout the 90, I sensed that their team couldn’t possibly sustain the same levels of commitment seen during the first-half, for the entire duration and was hoping our superior ability might begin to tell as fatigue set in.

However as it turned out, we failed to really test the Tigers fitness, as our own intensity dropped once we’d taken the lead and instead of going for their feline throat, we reverted to producing pretty passing patterns, as if we’d a divine right to achieve a two-goal cushion. It was bad enough that we were all gob-smacked when fate gifted our guests with such a humdinger of an equaliser, but when more slipshod marking saw us concede a second from yet another shamefully defended set-piece, there was a side of me that couldn’t help but feel that the vast majority of 60,000 present, who’d been sitting there in silence, expecting a perfunctory 3-point return to the top of the pile and the lackadaisical players who’d been found severely wanting for sufficient focus and concentration, had received exactly what they deserved, as these Premiership upstarts went and rubbed our faces in our elitist arrogance.

I mistakenly assumed that despite the tender average age of this Arsenal squad, there should be enough seasoned campaigners to appreciate (especially after our Craven Cottage wake-up call!) that there are no “gimmes” in the Premiership fixture list nowadays. Sure ourselves and a couple of our competitors might be blessed with sufficient talent to get away with giving less than 100% every now and again, but eventually you will get found out, in the fiery cauldron of a competition, where entire careers are on the line game by game. With the margin for error having become so slight in recent seasons, there is absolutely no room for complacency and ultimately the team that takes the ribbon in the Premiership marathon is invariably the outfit that’s best equipped to cope with this crucial fact.

Meanwhile if it’s true that “to err is human, to forgive is divine”, we Gooners will all be a little closer to G-d if we put things right against Porto, even if those of us of the Jewish persuasion should be praying in a different temple altogether on the occasion of our New Year. Although after spending Saturday morning fretting about making it to the match, whilst delayed in Dublin airport, I doubt my pal’s son Danny was feeling too forgiving, when he returned back to school in Kildare on Monday morning, to face a barrage of scorn from the Man U brigade!
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Whaddabout those kids eh!

Considering James Beattie was being touted as the new Alan Shearer not so long ago, while the goal scorers tonight will doubtless steal all the glory, I think we must also give plenty of credit to the likes of Djourou and Song for not giving Sheffield a sniff (did Fabianski have a save to make?)

These two performed particularly well as a CB partnership and I am increasingly impressed by Djourou the more I see of him. Aside from having that Rio Ferdinand type confidence on the ball, which makes him equally happy to be steaming into the opposition's penalty area, the Swiss lad has some massive cahones, as he's incredibly cool under pressure

In the past I've wondered if perhaps Johann was a little bit too cool, in the sense that I thought he might be guaranteed to end up getting caught out attempting a dragback on the edge of our own area and losing out, with only the goalkeeper to beat. Nevertheless I admire the confidence that has him believing he's good enough to get away with it and I have to admit that I am a lot happier having someone with his apparent composure under fire, than the sort of frantic defending that we are all too often in the habit of practicing.

And big respek to everyone else. A couple of Carlos' goals were absolute peaches and young Jack Wilshere went a long way to enhancing his burgeoning reputation. Even though he's still such a schnip of a lad, apparently it's not a problem with his low centre of gravity, even against the Sheff Utd bruisers and old warhorses like Gary Speed (isn't Speed old enough to be Wilshere's dad - how embarrassing for him must that have been!)

Whilst I am at it, anyone know what the connection is between Wilshere and Sheff Utd's Chris Morgan, as the two of them had a long exchange after the final whistle and looked to be very close?

Finally the hole in the wall at Highbury House had been emptied of cash and so I didn't end up getting a program, but from what I read of Wenger's notes in a copy I borrowed at half-time, Arsene appeared to be making the point, so that there should be absolutely no confusion, that he will be keeping faith with the youngster's, no matter how far we progress in the competition. And I for one am glad he's come out straight away and quashed any suggestion that he should start introducing more experienced players in the latter stages, as at least this way there should be no prospect of him being put under pressure by fans and media, merely because of supposedly being desperate for a sniff of some silverware

Personally I have always believed it's correct to play the same team that has got us there and when you start throwing in the odd experienced player, they become a team of strangers anyway. For my money, you can't betray the kids who will hopefully get us there and start suggesting that you don't have sufficient confidence in their abilities, certainly not for the mere reward of this Mickey Mouse trophy. Besides on current form, I'd be perfectly confident of this lot giving the neighbours a good hiding

Big Love
Bernard

Can We Play In Lancashire Every Week?

It wasn’t so long ago that there was an inevitable sense of foreboding about our outings to the North-West. Even on Saturday, as I strolled towards the Reebok, admiring its pleasant rural setting (if you ignore the ubiquitous adjacent retail park) in the late afternoon sunshine of our Indian Summer, considering our long trek back from Kiev in midweek and the news that Van Persie and Theo had been left on the bench, I have to admit that I would’ve been happy to accept a draw.

I don’t think that under the stewardship of messrs Megson and Ince, the manner in which their respective sides attempt to shackle the Arsenal’s silky skills is any less robust. Thus it would appear that we are learning to cope with these more muscular encounters, without getting rattled. What’s more, with our impressive form of late, the physicality of our opponents is only really a factor at set-pieces. In open play, for the majority of the time the pace of our passing is so rapid that strength just doesn’t come into it, if they simply can’t catch up with the ball.

The more inappropriate the “don’t like it up ‘em” sobriquet becomes, the less our opponents focus on tying to kick the crap out of us and as we’ve witnessed in the last couple of games, in a straight contest of ability, there’s only likely to be one winner. In fact, compared to the uncompromising, route one footie we’ve grown accustomed to from the Trotters in recent times, I can rarely recall a Bolton display that was more pleasing on the eye.

However, with the Gunners having been galvanised by going a goal down, we should really have been home and hosed by half-time, as we were all hypnotised by a positively breathtaking half hour spell, during which we virtually laid siege to Jaaskelainen’s goal, weaving scintillating waves of the very best of Wenger-ball. But there was no disgrace upon the home side in this demonstration of the huge gulf in class. Bolton, Blackburn and most other Premiership sides are likely to find that resistance is futile, when we’ve all guns blazing in such a fabulous fashion.

Meanwhile, considering Clichy was left to hobble home on crutches, I think it’s safe to assume that the likes of Davies and Nolan are hardly practicing for their Boy Scout badges in hospitality! Don’t get me wrong, in the words of Mark Lawrenson, I don’t want to see football turned into a game for “Jessies”, as to my mind (as a former full-back in my all too dim and distant youth), it wouldn’t be nearly so beautiful without a balance between the physical contest and the fleet footed artistry.

Doubtless I’m in the minority, but with Davies seemingly totally focused on the ball, I felt it was merely a typically committed, “let them know you are there” type full-blooded tackle, with no apparent malice involved. However while our manager’s acerbic comments might not be entirely without motive (since Arsène is obliged to seek any advantage by focusing officials’ minds on offering us more protection), it’s perhaps not so surprising that we remain a tad irascible, with the images of Eduardo’s dreadfully distorted limb still fresh in our minds.

Perhaps it’s their fading memories of former glory but something seems to inspire Davies and Nolan to raise their game against the Gunners. In our centre-backs’ shoes, these bellicose Bolton stalwarts would probably be two of my least favourite opponents as they invariably prove to be such a handful. Then again, watching the replay of Bolton’s goal on the big screen at half-time, Clichy appeared to be somewhat culpable. We might have kept a clean sheet if he hadn’t strayed from his post.

Although it could just as easily have been all-square at the break, if it wasn’t for Kolo’s goal saving tackle, where I had to marvel at how he managed to avoid conceding a penalty. But it’s both a compliment and a criticism, as where our main competitors might have the defensive composure to avoid getting themselves into such a pickle, Touré and Gallas are all too often forced to use their pace and their ability as a frantic “get out of jail” card, for a situation which shouldn’t have been allowed to develop in the first place.

We rarely appear as secure at the back as Man U or Chelsea, but unlike all those who feel our centre-backs lack sufficient height, I tend to believe the solution lies in a keeper capable of dominating his area. Almunia performed well again on Saturday and as a shot-stopper, I’ve absolutely no complaints. But against a team with Bolton’s aerial strength, the key to defensive composure lies in the centre-backs having complete confidence in a keeper who’s going to come barrelling out to use the 3 foot advantage of their arms, rather than timidly being blocked off on their line.

I found myself chuckling as we serenaded Ewood Park last weekend, with a sarcastic chorus of “You’ve only come to see Eboué”. Whereas a reprise of the same ditty on Saturday was both amusing and accurate, as even the biased Northern pundit on BBC Radio Manchester admitted at the break that our Ivorian hothead had run the show up until then.

However trust the Arsenal to fail to capitalise on their dominance, leaving us without the comfort of a two-goal cushion to luxuriate on second half. Instead of which, as the intensity of Eboué and his teammates diminished after the break, the tension on our terrace behind the goal increased, knowing we were only a hoof up field, or a set-piece away from being knocked off our top of the table perch.

Neither Sagna nor Djourou looked particularly comfortable playing out of position after Clichy’s departure. Moving Gallas to left-back seemed the more logical solution, but what do I know? All credit to Bolton, buoyed by their drummer boy, their crowd maintained a relentless racket, inspiring the home side to continue to chip away at any frailty on our flanks.

Thankfully Le Prof produced our “pocket rocket” with 15 minutes left on the clock. Theo’s injection of energy and dynamism eventually resulted in Denilson slotting home the “get this party started” third goal, enabling us to give vent to all that second half tension, by way of a lusty last five minutes “top of the league” chorus.

Obviously you win nothing in September and it remains to be seen how the depth of our squad stands up to the test of the winter months ahead. But there was little in Sunday’s big clash at the Bridge to suggest we have anything to be scared off (apart perhaps from the lack of solidity required to grind out 1-0 wins). In the meantime, hopefully all the pundits will continue writing off our prospects, as we continue to savour just about the most enthralling entertainment in the country. And for all their millions, we have the advantage over Man City of a Premiership table with North London bookends that has rarely looked more satisfying!

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e-mail to: londonN5@gmail.com

Let's All Laugh At Tottenham

Hi Folks

I thought I'd better get this sent out before Spurs sneak a result against Villa and start to soar to the heady heights just out of the relegation zone! I refuse to buy the News of the Screws, because I abhor their infamous "agent provocateur" efforts to create their own scandals. However it doesn't stop me glancing at the back pages when Ro occasionally comes home with a copy. There was a piece about Theo Walcott in Sunday's edition by Andy Dunn which made me chuckle, where in reference to Theo's new contract Dunn writes:

One England team-mate - well, squad-mate - would apparently urge him to think twice before signing it, if his comments of six months ago still stand.

"If he is not getting the minutes at Arsenal, Theo is going to have to look elsewhere. You want to play football and you want to make money as well," said David Bentley, now of bottom-of-the-table Tottenham.

Of course. Heaven forbid you might want to study under the most intelligent, most creative manager in the Premier League.

After all, what is the point of becoming a supremely accomplished player - and learning a style of play that thrills and inspires - when you could be making a pot of dough at a comedy club?


Peace & Love
Bernard
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I’m not sure if it was my imagination, but as I studied the players through my binoculars when they trotted out at Ewood Park on Saturday, I sensed a distinct difference in Theo Walcott’s demeanour. As he received the grateful applause of the Rovers fans, the somewhat diffident teenager who’d departed the pitch at our place two weeks back seemed to have been transformed into a cocksure star, with the sort of confident swagger of a player who’s suddenly realised he has the potential to put the fear of god into any opposition.

As far as I’m concerned the International breaks are an annoying interruption to Arsenal business, but I was nonetheless chuffed to bits, to see our boy wonder bag his England hat-trick and receive all the plaudits, from those same pundits (eg. Hansen) who’d only recently expressed their doubts as to whether Walcott was the real deal.

Frankly they were not alone, as Theo’s ability and his blistering pace have been evident from day one, but aside from the odd cameo role, coming on as an impact sub, his inability up until now, to live up to our massive expectations, meant that the vast majority of Gooners had begun to wonder whether there was a vital missing ingredient. Walcott’s all too frequently suspect decision-making had even caused me to question whether he possessed the necessary footballing brain.

However, where our patience might have worn thin with another player, there was never the slightest chance of us giving up on him. He might only have been at the club a couple of seasons but Theo feels like one of us. I recall seeing a kid wearing a Walcott shirt at a motorway service station a while back and my pal pointing out that the youngster was accompanied by Theo’s dad. I can’t picture the parents of too many Premiership players schlepping all over the country, supporting their progeny, along with the rest of the travelling hordes?

As ever, confidence is the key and instead of the customary groan of frustration as Theo galloped down another blind alley, there was a buzz of anticipation at Blackburn, every time he touched the ball. Two weeks back he’d have taken on one player too many, but with his jinking run only 8 minutes in, ending in a perfectly timed and weighted pass to set up Van Persie for our first, this was further evidence that events during his time in Capello’s camp had resulted in a metamorphosis, from a timid chrysalis into a bold and beautiful butterfly. Never mind caffeine saturated soft-drinks, in Walcott’s case it would appear that a hat-trick against Croatia has given him wings.

Meanwhile it was Manny Adebayor’s turn to fill his boots against Blackburn, with another 3-goal haul that went a long way towards repairing his fractured relationship with all those Gooners, who’d previously bemoaned “Greedy-bayor’s” efforts to hold the club to ransom.
Like everyone else, football players need to feel loved and prior to playing Rovers I’m sure that our ambivalent attitude towards Ade must’ve had some impact on his performances. Whereas Saturday’s chest-thumping, badge-kissing goal celebrations demonstrated quite how delighted he was to hear the entire terrace behind the goal resounding to the tune of our Togolese striker’s song.

Adebayor’s control and his first-touch continue to leave a lot to be desired. Nevertheless, for some inexplicable reason, far from hindering him, Manny’s ungainly efforts somehow seem to assist in his prolific goalscoring feats. Saturday’s hat-trick also put paid to any one season wonder apprehension and waylaid concerns that we might’ve been better off cashing in on him.

The 27 passes which concluded with Denilson’s pinpoint cross onto Manny’s head for him to head home our second, just before the half-time whistle, was vintage Wenger-ball and virtually killed Rovers off. Yet few present will disagree that the final 4-0 scoreline was just a tad flattering.

It was the Beatles who sang about the 4000 holes in Blackburn Lancashire. Much to my consternation, more than a few of these were to be found at the heart of the Gunners’ defence. Observing our lack of composure in dealing with set pieces, if I have one principal grievance about Gallas as our captain, it’s that neither he (nor anyone else!) appears to take command of such situations.

In his ability to unsettle centrebacks, Santa Cruz reminded us why there was so much interest in him during the summer. But ultimately Rovers failure to take advantage of our defensive insecurity provided Le Prof with the luxury of handing Ramsey and Wilshere (the Arsenal’s youngest ever) brief league debuts, as Wenger tries to break-in more young starlets, before the relentless 2 game a week schedule begins to take its toll on our squad.

It’s a great time for these young Guns, as they’re likely to be afforded plenty more opportunities over the next 4 months, for them to prove our manager’s parsimony in the transfer market correct, so that Wenger might avoid the aberration of a cash-splashing readjustment come the January window.

One only had to consider the host of unfamiliar names lining for all the other sides on MOTD later that night, to appreciate quite what a lonely course Arsène has plotted, compared to most of his peers. Doubtless the “told you so” crew will be queuing up to crow, the moment our campaign begins to go off the rails. Yet with 3 clean sheets and 11 goals to show for our last 3 outings and with our big-spending neighbours languishing on the bottom, for the moment at least, le gaffer continues to look more genius than crackpot.
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Will Arsène Be Sporting Kevlar PJs, or The Emperor's New Clothes?

Hi folks,

Apologies to any subscribers to the Arsenal Mailing List, as some of you might have already read much of the following because I've ended up regurgitating much of what I wrote in a couple of posts to the list.

But then it's never easy to conjure up Arsenal content (or I should say, original Arsenal content) during an International break and I must admit that I was in a bit of a rush to get my piece for the Irish Examiner written, so that I could concentrate on Andy Murray's vain attempt to subdue Roger Federer at Flushing Meadows, as sadly, after the physical and more significantly the mental exertions of the past couple of days, he struggled to rekindle the sort of fire I'd witnessed in an amazing quarter and an even more astonishing semifinal.

In fact I'm not sure if it's a reflection of how engrossing the tennis was, or how disinterested I was in events from Barcelona, but Andorra v England was such an unappetising prospect that when I got in the car on Saturday night to drive to a family do, I was actually gutted to discover that I could only find live coverage of the footie on the radio, when all I wanted to hear was how Murray was faring in his tie-break with Nadal.

I guess the answer is either for Capello to get a more alluring performance out of his England squad pronto, or for me to get a new motor - one with a digital radio, where I could've listened to the coverage of the tennis on Five Live Extra!

Meanwhile those of you who sometimes find my missives a little too long-winded, will be relieved to discover that I'm so cream crackered from commuting to Kent and back, working for the ballet, that I'm desperate to hit the sack. So without further ado.....

Nuff Love
Bernard
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Any feint hopes I might’ve had of the Arsenal flashing up on the Sky Sports News ticker, during that frantic last day of summer transfer business, evaporated when I flicked over to watch the stiffs play live on Arsenal TV. Mind you that’s a misnomer nowadays, if ever I heard one, considering the tender average age of our current crop of reserves.

While other managers were busy studying YouTube videos of the few remaining mercenaries left on the market, our glorious leader was sitting in the stands at Underhill, maintaining a keen interest in the progress of his young prodigies, against a Chelsea reserve side that included Drogba.

Then again we’ve all heard since how Mark Hughes was supposedly working on his golf handicap, when his club smashed the British transfer record (where’d he find a floodlit course?). Yet in contrast to the current trend at most other top-flight clubs, ever since the fractious departure of David Dein, the Gunners have been without the matching shirt & tie set, sort of slippery businessman to conduct all the shady, behind closed doors negotiations.

Thus until Wenger is able wash his hands of the more squalid and in recent weeks, somewhat obscene side of the beautiful game and the Gunners eventually get around to employing someone with an endless supply of Type “O” to keep the leeches of the footballing world, the unscrupulous agents satiated, it’s obvious that unless Arsène is at his desk (or at least on the blower), the Arsenal aren’t doing any transfer business.

It’s true that I might continue to covet a truly world class keeper and I might’ve been happier if our midfield had been fortified with an experienced enforcer (or two), rather than having to count on the kids being able to cut the mustard, when injuries and suspensions inevitably begin to take their toll on our first XI. Nevertheless I wasn’t disappointed and even felt an inexplicable amount of hubris, as the club I love maintained a dignified distance from the sensationalist shenanigans that have rocked football to its very foundations these past couple of weeks.

Obviously I might feel a little different if I’d suffered the ignominy of being a long-suffering supporter of an outfit that's lived in the shadow of it’s immediate neighbour for nearly half a century (City or Spurs?), or who’ve spent almost an entire lifetime hankering after a slice of the glory. However I was listening to radio host Danny Kelly drawing some interesting conclusions the other day.

The bombastic bearded old goat, Ken Bates drove Chelsea so close to the precipice of financial ruin, in his vain pursuit of a lasting legacy, that he was forced to flog the club for the princely sum of a quid. Similarly, allegedly the Arsenal supporting billionaire from Abu Dhabi focused his attention on Man City, a club that was fraught with financial trouble after Thaksin’s somewhat dubious fortune had been impounded by the Thai government. Therefore according to Kelly, the moral of the story would appear to be that in order to make oneself more attractive (than a relatively sound organisation like the Arsenal) to a sugar-daddy with seemingly bottomless pockets, clubs would be best advised to recklessly spend their way to the point of oblivion!

As Uzbek oligarch Usmanov has discovered, the depth of ones pockets doesn’t make the buying of the Arsenal any easier a business, with so many of the club shares in private hands. What’s more, I for one am quite happy that the Arsenal are so reluctant to sell their soul to the devil, but whatever your feelings about a billionaire backer, we Gooners can forget it in the immediate future, as our club would appear to be guaranteed a relatively stable short-term destiny, by nature of the lockdown agreement between all of our major shareholders, preventing them selling their interest to outside investors until 2012.

David Dein’s oft quoted metaphor about the Russians parking their tanks on the lawn and firing fifty pound notes at us, seems ever more appropriate. I’m fairly certain that Arsène would’ve added to our squad if he’d been able to do the deals he wanted, at the price he was prepared to pay, to offer some cover to ensure he isn’t forced into throwing inexperienced youngsters to the lions in any crunch games. Yet if one thing is certain, it’s that our manager is nobody’s fool and if he’s flying in the face of the opinion of virtually every pundit on the planet, I’ve got to believe he has good reason. Steve Bould believes there are 7 or 8 kids amongst his current Academy crop, including the likes of Jack Wilshere, who are capable of making the grade.

It seems evident to me that Arsène has sufficient faith in an exciting vintage of homegrown produce that he’s convinced they offer the protection of a pair of Kevlar PJs which will be impregnable to the mercenaries ammo, enabling the Arsenal to put the welcome mat out for all comers (tanks and all!). Should le Prof be proved correct, our success will taste all the sweeter, knowing the rest of the footballing world is dining on humble pie. And even if we fail, aside from all the entertainment we are guaranteed along the way, compared to the short term aspirations of those all around us, we'll be safe in the knowledge that le gaffer’s determination to play the long game is destined to foster a team spirit that might reward us with a successful dynasty, instead of putting all the club’s eggs into a single, increasingly elusive silver pot.

So long as we don't all end up suffering a severe bout of influenza due to the revelation that the boss is actually coming to the door, wearing nothing but the Emperor's New Clothes!

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He Who Laughs Last.....

The benefit of Saturday’s 5.30 kick-off was that it enabled the Kerry couple and their two kids to do the rounds of the museums, before meeting up with me. Three of the four were Man Utd fans and while Mum and the eldest boy were heading back to the hotel, the definition of devotion was demonstrated by Dad, who was taking his Arsenal supporting youngest to his first ever live game.

It wasn’t the wonders of the Science, or Natural History museums but the bizarre displays at Ripley’s Believe It Or Not Museum, which were the biggest hit with the kids. And for a while there on Saturday, they could’ve been forgiven for wondering if they were still amongst some of the planets strangest phenomenons, as they experienced the unprecedented sound of the more fickle members of the Arsenal faithful, begrudgingly singing the praises of Manny Eboué , after the Ivorian hothead had set up our second goal with his perceptive backheel.

Moreover, as we savoured a reassuring taste of the sort of entertaining entrées that we Gooners can hopefully look forward to gorging on as the season progresses, while basking in the warmth of the balmy early evening sunshine, there was a sense that the golden orb was taking one welcome last bow before its premature winter retirement, specifically to light the stage for the minor miracle that is Arsène’s Arsenal.

I doubt Wenger will thank his director, Danny Fiszman for alluding to the size of our war chest in the media in midweek and as I write, it remains to be seen whether he actually ends up spending any of the ALLEGED £30 million available to him. Le Boss is a stubborn bugger who certainly won’t be buying players merely to pander to media and fan pressure to bolster his squad. Nor will his pride allow him to be held over a barrel by any selling club and I suspect he’d rather walk away, than be forced to pay over the odds.

Yet if last week’s woeful effort at Fulham was a wallet loosening exercise, I wonder if Saturday’s victory might have the opposite effect and unless the player(s!) he’s interested in is available at the price he values them at, Arsène will have absolutely no qualms about sticking to his guns and continuing to swim against the tide of Premiership opposition, who’ve managed to convince the guardians of their respective purse-strings that they can spend their way into contention.

Ask me again, after awkward consecutive away games at Blackburn, Kiev and Bolton, if I concur with le gaffer’s philosophy, as I’m not going to get carried away, merely because we made hay with our mazy passing patterns, against Keegan’s Toon. Some might consider it naïve, but unlike many opponents they never come to our place intent on merely shutting shop and this usually results in the sort of open contest, which often encourages the best out of us.

Cesc Fabregas’ midweek return against FC Twente was the perfect cure for our Craven Cottage hangover as our little Franco restored the fluency, which had been so sorely missed until then and with the resulting four goals, we welcomed back the all important feelgood factor.

Then on Saturday we were aided and abetted by Rob Styles’ award of an 18th minute penalty. It helped to extinguish any remaining ambitions of the Toon team that had done us the favour of denying Man Utd 3 points at Old Trafford and any remaining Arsenal butterflies were banished as Robin Van Persie emphatically banged his spot-kick into the back of the net. With the sun on their backs and a goal to the good, the Gunners began to relax sufficiently for the natural quality of our sumptuous passing game to shine.

Even Van Persie, who’d been waiting far too patiently for the perfect goal scoring opportunity to come a knocking in the opening couple of games, was transformed into an influential contributor, intent on making things happen. The whole stadium held its collective breath as the Dutchman hobbled off, hoping against hope that this timely reminder of his class wasn’t about to be interrupted by yet another injury.

Nevertheless, nothing was going to put a dampener on what ultimately proved to be a good day to be a Gooner, as Carlos Vela came off the bench to offer a cameo display of his Eduardo like abilities. Minutes earlier Wenger was making like the proud dad, applauding on the touchline as Denilson iced the cake with the Arsenal’s third, capping a lavish flowing move with his debut league goal.

I’m yet to be convinced of the Brazilian’s ability to impose himself as Cesc’s midfield partner. It worries me how often he allows opponents to get goalside and ends up conceding free-kicks, when forced to tackle from behind.

It feels as if it’s become almost obligatory for an International fortnight to be timed to coincide with the Gunners hitting good form. However, signings or no, hopefully the three games on the road when we reconvene will prove to be the boarding ramp for us all to begin sharing Arsène’s unshakeable belief in his squad.

Much like the lad from Kerry, you have to admire the strength of such conviction, as the less well-trodden path is often the loneliest. Yet just as I imagined the youngster gleefully returning to their hotel to “give it large” to his big brother, I pray that it’s le gaffer having the last laugh come May.

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“Arsène Get Your Cheque Book Out”

(if you’ve no need of my couple of thousand word cure for insomnia, please feel perfectly free to skip my overly loquacious preamble, by scrolling all the way down to my diary missive)

Hi folks,

Having pandered to a mid-life crisis by purchasing a motorbike (courtesy of the same tax rebate from HM Customs & Revenue that rescued us from the annual nightmare of coming up with two grand for our season ticket renewals), this was my first opportunity to take advantage of my new toy to travel to an away game (ideal for an unsociable bugger like myself!). A couple of holiday rentals apart, I haven’t ridden a motorbike since turning my right elbow into a jigsaw puzzle and busting up my left shoulder, in an extremely painful life lesson as boy racer 16 year old.

A mate let me take a spin on their relatively fast motorbike proper and I was so blown away with the adrenaline rush of all the horse power, compared to the speed restricted limitations of my puny moped, that it wasn’t long before I ended up splattered on the kerb. Unfortunately, despite the fact that the crash was the fault of a car driver who failed to stop, sadly my injuries weren’t the only punishment, as the old bill went to town on me and the resulting prosecution for no license, no insurance, no L plates ended up with me acquiring penalty points before I even had a license proper!

Consequently as a result of my contretemps with the concrete some 30 years back, I’m understandably more than a little timid driving on two wheels again, especially on sections of road like the Westway flyover on the A40, where I find myself hanging on for dear life, as every gust of wind scares the crap out of me. Hopefully I will begin to relax in time, as the bike is an absolutely a blinding means of getting to games which don’t involve too long a drive.

Where in the past I would’ve inched my way along Fulham Palace Road with all the other football traffic, on Saturday I sailed down the outside, arriving for once in my life, with loads of time to spare. Having just avoided a parking ticket when I returned to the bike the other day, just as I was about to be penalized for parking on the pavement, I’ve become a little paranoid about parking, not really knowing what I can and can’t get away with.

As a result I spent ten minutes trying to decide whether I dare leave the bike beside a block of flats within spitting distance of the stadium, before bottling it and heading away from the ground and stopping 3 more times before I felt sufficiently comfortable that I’d found a safe pitch. However I felt a little foolish on a 15 minute trot to the ground, having failed to take proper advantage of my two-wheeled transportation and even more idiotic when I eventually stopped to read one of the parking restriction notices in the streets immediately adjacent to the stadium and it dawned on me that these had ended half an hour before kick off. But at least this meant that I ended up returning to the bike and actually making the most of it by eventually driving to a legal parking pitch that would’ve been the envy of all my Gooner pals, who are so competitive about finding the closest parking that it often feels as if this achievement is more important that the actual result of the game!

In recent times Fulham has fast become one of my favourite awaydays. Aside from the relatively short hop from Highbury, which ensures that several thousand Gooners make the trip, traversing the capital from north to west, the stadium’s suburban setting is reminiscent of THOF and I invariably get a nostalgic pang, on strolling up to the few remaining examples of the Premiership’s traditional stadia. Unlike all the glamorous modern grounds, there’s no escaping the sense of walking in the same footsteps of generations of footie fans.

In his programme notes Fulham’s new chief executive writes about it being “a friendly, family oriented club” and I sometimes wonder if they’re shooting themselves in the foot by being so friendly. Perhaps they’d struggle to flog the seats otherwise, but it occasionally feels as if they are forfeiting their home crowd advantage, by gifting visiting fans the entire Putney Stand behind the goal, as we’re able to create such a great atmosphere at the Cottage that I sometimes can’t help but wonder which of the two sets of fans is more likely to afford their team that 12th man advantage.

Don’t get me wrong, as I wouldn’t dream of suggesting that the suits at Fulham, or at any other club where they trumpet affordable ticket pricing policies, have a greater social conscience than the Arsenal board. Reduced prices for kids probably wouldn’t be available in all areas, if they were guaranteed of flogging them all at full whack.

However, whatever the motivation, compared to the apparent pensionable age of the majority of fans at our gaffe, it was a welcome sight to see so many dads & sons (mothers & daughters) combos in the crowds outside the Cottage, when so many Gooner parents are denied the pleasure of indoctrinating their offspring with the joys (or the curse!) of an addiction to regular live footie, either because they can’t cope with the military planning required to gain access to reduced price tickets in the family enclosure and/or they simply can’t afford to pay through the nose for full price tickets for their kids on more than a once a season, special treat.

Meanwhile, it’s an argument I’ve made several times over the years, but I’ve always contended that even from a strictly financial and unemotional point of view, it makes sound economic sense to constantly rejuvenate our crowd with a younger audience, rather than suffering 60,000 of us rapidly ageing regulars all growing old together!

With revenues through the turnstiles (for regular seats at least, as opposed to corporate and club level) supposedly accounting for an ever decreasing slice of a football club’s overall income with each passing season, the reduction in gate receipts from offering child discounts would surely be more than offset, for example by the merchandising sales of a new replica top every couple of seasons for each new youngster introduced to the Arsenal faith. Not to mention that each one might become a potential season ticket purchaser, at some point in the future.

Quite frankly I was disgusted by the club’s apparent effort to con us into believing there’d be more reduced price tickets at our new home, when in fact they’ve continued to restrict kids tickets to a family enclosure which only accounts for a marginally larger proportion of the new place, than the old enclosure at THOF and which I’m led to believe is only slightly less impossible to obtain a ticket in there as a result.

When I was asked about Newcastle tickets the other night, I was somewhat taken aback to discover that tickets for our next home game were still on sale on the Arsenal web site. I’ve always believed that the novelty of our new stadium might wear off after a couple of campaigns, once the “I want what I can’t have” Gooners who couldn’t get into THOF, begin to realize that it’s no longer quite such an exclusive club

While I certainly wouldn’t wish it upon us, this effect would only be magnified if successive fallow seasons result in us beginning to shed all the glory hunters. Doubtless no matter what transpires on the pitch, the club will continue with their fairly pointless, 60 thousand plus attendance announcements (when the empty spaces all over the place are patently obvious to all present). Yet should silverware continue to elude us, the only up side might be that the sight of so many empty seats will force a the club into a rethink on their ticket pricing policy?

Meanwhile it was also only a few nights back that I offered to eat my hat, when Róna told me that she was chatting to a Gooner online who suggested we were about to sign Mikael Silvestre. On occasions when I’ve seen Silvestre play, I’ve always felt that the French defender was Man Utd’s defensive weak link. Considering Arsène is so tight with the club’s money that one could believe it was his own wedge, I simply couldn’t imagine he’d want Fergie’s sloppy seconds.

Then again, as a Gooner pal of mine contended, surely Silvestre (or anyone!) was better than us having to rely on playing Senderos against the likes of Drogba, or any striker who seems to have the lumbering Swiss defender’s number and who leaves poor hapless Phil looking like he has the turning circle of an oil tanker.

But then only this evening I received a text message which I assumed must be a piss take, on reading that the Swiss stopper was apparently having a medical at AC Milan. I want some of what Carlos Ancelotti is on, as it surely must be something special to have left the Italian so out of his mind that he believes Senderos can hack it with Kaka and co. in Serie A

Nevertheless, as much as I’ve had to accept that big Phil is a liability, I’d be sad to see him go, if only for that fact that he’s been the only person at the club in recent years with the sort of personality of what I’d call a proper club captain. Sadly personality doesn’t count for much unless it’s matched by an adequate level performance.

Who knows, hopefully this attempt to get some other mugs to pay the centre-back’s wages, is a book balancing exercise in advance of Arsène adding some much needed maturity to a bench, where on Saturday the Arsenl kit man, Vik Akers could’ve been forgiven for wondering if anyone’s nappy needed changing in the event of their introduction!

Meanwhile mercifully there’s always supporters who are worse off than oneself and at present it’s all the more amusing that it’s mob down the wrong end of the Seven Sisters Road who are in meltdown mode. I assume the disparaging tone of my Tottenham pal’s phone call was related to the picture in the Sun of Berbatov doing a Paul Ince, autographing a Man Utd shirt whilst passing through the airport in Sofia.

For all we know this scene was staged by the slieveens who sell their soul for a byeline in the “Currant Bun”. But it was funny nonetheless and according to my mate, it’s indicative of the shambolic conduct of the club’s affairs by the bozos on their board. It must be a record, as even before Saturday’s first home defeat of the season against Sunderland (one game into the season), my pal has convinced himself that he won’t be renewing his season ticket next term!

Having mentioned Paul Ince and while I attempt to bring this far too long-winded preamble to a swift conclusion (is that a phew I hear, or is anyone actually still with me?), with sufficient time to encourage the Arsenal reserves to score an equalizer for Pompey against Man Utd, I couldn’t help but notice whilst watching the Rovers manager’s home debut on MOTD, that I couldn’t spot a single non-white face anywhere in in the Ewood Park crowd (or at least the bits of it we saw on the box).

In light of the multi-national make-up of the Premiership, a black Premiership manager is testament to the progress in a sport, where positions of authority were previously a white anglo-saxon bulwark. But sadly, what does it still say about the not so beautiful game, when a club in such a cosmopolitan county as Lancashire is one of the few remaining bastions of an all white domain?

Finally as I write with one eye on tonight’s live game, a repeat of the sort of incident we witnessed on Saturday, where at the Cottage the home fans were braying for us to kick the ball out, in order that their player could receive treatment, but where the responsibility now lies with the referee, in accordance with the “Get On With The Game” initiative, I’m all for leaving the fraudulent malingerers rolling about on the ground.

Hopefully they’ll soon start getting to their feet (and might not be quite so prone to hitting the deck in the first place), once it begins to dawn on them that the game’s not going to get stopped. But surely the authorities need to issue some very public guidelines, confirming that it’s no longer contrary to sporting etiquette not to kick the ball out, otherwise it won’t be long before the terraces erupt when someone scores a goal with an opposing player on the deck and in the words of the Kaizer Chiefs “I predict a riot”!

Come on you Reds
Bernard
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“Arsène Get Your Cheque Book Out”

It didn’t occur to me until Saturday that the seats at the far end of the Putney Stand at Craven Cottage, afford visiting fans the opportunity to contemplate the gently lapping waters of the river Thames and the pleasure craft and wildlife serenely cruising by one of the Premiership’s few remaining old-fashioned stadia. Doubtless the Arsenal estate agents would ramp up the prices for seats with such “exclusive riverside views”.

It’s easy to appreciate why Fulham have been fending off the property developers these past few decades and why their charismatic chairman has tussled with his own instinctive tendencies to want to turn a profit. Unfortunately the “landmark developments” that were intended to offset our massive debts (up until “the credit crunch”!) do not offer prospective investors the benefits of anything like such a highly desirable location.

The nearest one gets to nature at our new gaffe is an adjacent patch of waste ground, laughably known as the Gillespie Park Nature Reserve (considering it’s smaller than some people’s back garden). Driving past Islington’s somewhat more modest answer to Whipsnade almost daily, I was vaguely aware of its existence, but it only impinged on my consciousness when it became a troublesome thorn, in the side of the club’s convoluted efforts to obtain planning consent. This tiny island of green aside, there’s nary a blade of grass to be seen poking up amongst the surrounding sea of concrete that includes the recently completed apartment blocks, running along almost the entire length of one side of Drayton Park.

As the displaced former occupants, I also seriously doubt that rats and assorted other scavengers rate a mention in the ubiquitous glossy brochures, advertising “luxury living”, in an area that was previously a nondescript industrial estate, only known to local residents as the site of the nearest rubbish dump!

Meanwhile, as I pondered the contrasting settings of the two London clubs, I should’ve realised that the depressing reality-check of a defeat was on the cards, considering the Arsenal’s utterly anaemic inability to impose themselves (in one of our least intimidating away trips!) wasn’t even engrossing enough to prevent me from drifting off with old Father Thames, every now and again.

Sadly I wasn’t alone with my momentary lapses of concentration, as our captain switched off for the set-piece that gifted Hangeland his goal. But then such sloppy play was symptomatic of a first 20 minutes, where we were second best all over the pitch. I can forgive anyone an off day and it certainly doesn’t bode well when the remarkably consistent Bakari Sagna starts giving the ball away. But I simply cannot stomach an Arsenal team failing to turn up, with the sort of focus and intensity that’s essential to overcome most every Premiership opponent nowadays.

The kick up the arse of going a goal down shouldn’t be needed to remind the Gunners that there are no easy games and the one thing we have a right to demand in return for their obscene wage packets, is that they at least work their socks off when required, rather than strolling around in expectation that superior natural ability will out. Usually I'd be up out of my seat, screaming my head off, mentally kicking every ball, in my anxiety to encourage my team to get back onto level terms. Yet it felt as if my Arsenal mojo had gone AWOL, along with all too many of our players, as even going a goal behind seemed to fail to put a match to the Gunners canons.

In truth, after savouring the absolute privilege of two tremendous weeks watching genuine athletes who’ve spent years, literally slogging their guts out, in pursuit of their Olympic dream and the pride of winning a relatively worthless bit of tin, I feel little sympathy for the Premiership’s mollycoddled prima-donnas. Similarly the “citius, altius, fortius” (faster, higher, stronger), tenacity of the competitors in Beijing has been so inspirational that it might take a few more matches for me to rediscover my Shankleyesque “it’s more important than that” enthusiasm for the beautiful game.

Our poor performance against Fulham was hardly the torch needed to ignite this flame. I can’t imagine there’s a Gooner on the planet who’ll have predicted we’d be starting the season with Denilson and Eboué as Arsène’s chosen midfield pairing. Their lightweight display only reaffirmed our dependency on Fabregas. Aside from having a mare, sadly to date Denilson doesn’t appear to possess the necessary genius to unlock the opposition with one game changing touch.

Equally frustrating is Arsène’s apparent continued aversion to natural wing-halves who would offer an alternative to the proliferation of players who’s instincts are to try to plough a far from lonely furrow through an all too congested middle.

I wouldn’t have wanted young Jack Wilshere to come on as a sub and promptly sink without trace, in the manner of Alex Song a couple of seasons back, when the burly Cameroonian’s rehab took many months, after he bore the brunt of the blame for our last and far more costly lapse at the Cottage. Thus Wenger couldn’t have wanted for a more patent demonstration of the obvious limitations of an entire bench that’s not only lacking in the experience of a 5 o’clock shadow.

It occurred to me that Almunia’s pre-season form might’ve convinced le Gaffer that he need not break the bank to bring in a replacement for Lehmann. Similarly, with the transfer window rapidly sliding shut, if Wenger has been vacillating about dusting off his all too under-employed cheque book, a win at the weekend would’ve only encouraged his belief that, unlike all the competition, the Arsenal can get away with putting all our eggs in the emergence of youth basket.

Saturday’s defeat might prove a blessing in disguise, if it comes with a silver lining that sees le Boss cured of any such delusion, just in the nick of time!

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New Season, Same Old Story

G'day fellow Gooners everywhere,

Here we go once again, gripping the roll bar on our red & white carriage, as we begin to loop the loop on the madness that is the eight month Premiership rollercoaster ride.

Mercifully I managed to avoid the Irish Examiner's pre-season preview a couple of weeks back(which is another hair-raising tale all together!). However there was a silver-lining to this cloud, as it means that I also avoided the much despised pre-season predictions and come next May there will be nothing in writing to disprove my seer-like "told you so" claims concerning all the winners and losers.

I habitually omit the Arsenal from any such predictions, as a matter of course, in my superstitious efforts to avoid putting the kibosh on out season before it's even started. But in this instance I was never more relieved, as prior to last week's competitive KO, I imagine there will have been few Gooners who would've fancied staking their reputation on where we might end up finishing this season.

Thus there was an abiding sense of relief come the final whistle on Saturday, as no matter that we made much harder work of West Brom than should've been necessary, we at least discovered that Samir Nasri's no shrinking violet and I'm sure I wasn't alone in being delighted to witness an immediate return on at least one of Arsène's four summer addition's to the squad.

I wondered when I read of four additions in Arsène's programme notes on Saturday and so for anyone else who's similarly bemused, in addition to Samir Nasri and Aaron Ramsey, after investing £2.5 mill. in Carlos Vela at 16 and loaning him out in Spain for the time needed for the Mexican striker to obtain an EU work permit, we've already seen ample evidence in pre-season as to why Wenger decided to bring 19 year old starlet back from a loan spell at Osasuna, where his 12 goals helped to stave off relegation. In his words, Wenger is "taking a gamble" on his 4th addition Amaury Bischoff, a 21 year old French midfielder, signed on a free from Werder Bremen after a two year injury nightmare.

After the early excitement of Nasri's debut goal, I was hoping the floodgates would open up and if we'd managed a second they might well have done, as the Baggies would've been forced to chase the game, rather than hanging on in there, for a momentary lapse of concentration or a stroke of good fortune of the sort that very nearly gifted the Midlanders an equaliser.

Instead of which we witnessed an all too familiar tale of an Arsenal team failing to capitalise on our dominance, as we squandered several good chances to put the 3 points to bed (albeit perhaps not the sort of proliferation of goal scoring opportunities that we've enjoyed in the recent past from a fully fit, on song Arsenal XI). It would've been great to see the Gunners give the newly promoted side a confidence inspiring pasting, of the sort that saw a soft-centered Pompey blown away at the Bridge. Then again I suppose we could've just as easily dropped a couple of points, as our "friends" from the North did in Sunday's live game and at the end of the day, when has it ever been the Arsenal way to make life easy for ourselves?

So on reflection, considering the Premiership opener is invariably a potential banana skin, I'm more than grateful to get past the weekend with the points on the board without playing catch up from the start and with a clean sheet to boot (even if a little fortunate).

Should you require any more convincing, just imagine how we'd be feeling if Arsène had broke into the boardroom safe (the same safe which seems to have remained unopened for so long, that I'm beginning to wonder if David Dein was the only person who knew the combination - and I'm not convinced that the Photoshopped picture of a bloke standing beside it with a stethoscope is anything to do with Keith Edleman's resignation :-) and had gone on to fall flat on his face, after spunking up 40 million quid on a bunch of mercenaries who failed to turn up at Boro. Managers go and managers come, but as the line goes, for our poor unfortunate North London neighbours "the song remains the same" and life as we know it just wouldn't be the same if we were denied our inevitable annual "Let's all laugh at Tottenham" moment
:-)

Meanwhile, having torn myself and my goggle-eyes away for far too long, it's back to my all night Olympic vigil
Come on you Reds
Big Love
Bernard
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New Season, Same Old Story

Prior to Saturday’s Premiership prelude, there was hardly a surfeit of the sort of optimism that usually abounds amongst most other footie fans, at the start of a new season. For long-suffering supporters of less successful sides, this is often their one and only opportunity to fantasize about a summertime transformation, from a schlemiel of an ugly sister, into a silverware chasing Cinderella, in advance of a ball being kicked in anger and the customary crash landing of these annual flights of fancy, the moment their keeper plucks the first ball out of the back of an all too easily breached onion bag.

Whereas there seemed to be a prevailing mood of diffidence, amongst perplexed Gooners gathering around the ground for our first game, with the majority of us praying that le Prof’s sleeve still contains 2 or 3 aces, to be played before the transfer window closes, which might yet address those deficiencies that were all too evident when last season’s fruitless campaign faltered and which haven’t exactly been helped by the subsequent departures of Hleb and Flamini.

The “party line” from the suits at the club concerning the robust health of Wenger’s war chest, rings ever more hollow. Strolling to the ground, I passed the building site of the soon to be completed Highbury Square development - a hotch-potch design, which in my humble opinion, has failed miserably to incorporate the grandiose (listed) art-deco facades of the East and West stands of the old stadium, with modern brickwork buildings that have more of a council care home appearance, than a millionaire’s paradise – followed by the umpteen empty blocks of flats, lined along one entire side of Drayton Park, which need to be occupied before they add any income to an alleged £90 million return from the old stadium.

I know it’s traditional for clubs to take advantage of the mug like gullibility of their fan base, but we Gooners would require the mental capacity of an amoeba, if we were to believe that in the current precarious economic climate, the club’s ability to cover it’s annual £24 million mortgage repayment on our luxurious new gaff was not the least bit affected by the downturn in the property market. We’re not that stupid and despite the board’s best efforts to dress the stadium build up as a profitable venture, with absolutely zero impact on the playing field, we all knew that there would be a price to pay.

Modern day disclosure regulations have denied them the ability to play this particular hand out with all their cards clamped firmly to their chest, as would’ve undoubtedly been the case in more secretive days of yore. But instead of this almost embarrassing pretence, which has been responsible for so much false hope of Arsène splashing serious amounts of cash these past two summers, I think we’d all have been a whole lot less perturbed and the majority of realists amongst us would’ve been perfectly happy to accept that in spite of the board’s best efforts to finance the building of our magnificent new stadium with ambitious property projects, there were always going to be inevitable ramifications and the resulting belt-tightening would mean that it would be X number of seasons, before the increased matchday income would be reflected in the provision of a serious transfer budget.

It’s obvious that if we’d remained at Highbury, we’d have no chance of competing with the spending power of our opponents, now, or in the future. Whereas as a result of the move, even if we have to suffer treading water for 2 or 3 seasons (and mercifully the evidence of le Gaffer’s astounding ability to maintain a competitive squad in recent times confirms that there’s no better manager on the planet for making a mickle out of a muckle!), we can at least rest assured that our time will come.

Meanwhile, considering le Prof’s customarily enigmatic reticence, Arsène’s post-match comments after our first pre-season friendly against Barnet back in July, were as close as he’s ever likely to come, to actually confirming that there were transactions in the pipeline. Yet more recent expressions of contentment with his squad might lead one to conclude that these plans failed to come to fruition.

Whatever the case, Deco’s stunning strike for Chelsea and the Toon’s two new Argie defenders might’ve demonstrated the benefits of being able to strengthen one’s squad, but if the opening round of games served one purpose, it was the £40 million reminder that money alone does not maketh a winning team, as Lilywhite dreams were dashed on the rocks at the Riverside. While Ramos ponders his new jigsaw, Spurs fans are forced to wait for their “one day”!

If the Baggies should end up being battered 8-0 by Man U, it will put our single goal victory into some perspective. In the meantime you won’t catch me moaning about 3 points, with the added bonus of a clean sheet. Yet this only came courtesy of a goal-line clearance and I suspect that our continued inability to put patently weaker opposition to the sword, promises another tense season, with hearts in Gooner mouths, spending far too many matches perched on the edge of our seats (perhaps we should request a discount?).

Sadly I continue to dream in vain of us breaking the bank for a world-class keeper, with the sphincter twitching sort of stature and presence that Almunia lacks, who would solve our defensive frailties. But Saturday’s match was a reminder that in Clichy and Sagna, we’ve two of the best full-backs in the business and with Fabregas fit, on our day, our first XI remains a match for anyone. Moreover Nasri’s seamless competitive debut makes an absolute mockery of the patience demanded of us, to allow foreign players months to adapt to the physical demands and the pace of our game. Assuming Samir’s immediate impact wasn’t a flash in the pan, perhaps Alex Hleb will end up looking like an ineffective show-pony by comparison.

To my mind, Alonso is an older, more jaded version of Fabregas, with little to prove. Perhaps he’s merely angling for a move because his missus is bored of Merseyside and wants to hang out with the “up town” wags in Browns, or spend his money on Bond Street, instead of Primark? The Spanish midfielder is definitely not the answer for the Arsenal, especially now that Rafa has ensured that he’s cup tied in Europe. Still I’m sure I wasn’t alone in pondering the addition of Alonso’s certain brand of genius to the Gunners squad, whilst savouring his audacious attempt to beat Craig Gordon from 60 yards at the Stadium of Light on Saturday.

We’ve only seen a glimpse of him to date, but hopefully in Coquelin, Wenger has uncovered yet another rough diamond, to be polished into a midfield partner for Fabregas, as a replacement for Flamini in the holding role. The pundits might clamour for Arsène to add experience to his teenage troops, but unlike the sort of established star who’s only motivated by the moola, with a dressing-room disturbing ego to match the size of his wage cheque, Coquelin arrives at the Arsenal from the French 2nd division with everything to prove. Thus he’s likely to be so incredibly grateful for his big opportunity that I imagine we’ll see him grafting his socks off, sweating blood for the cause, compared to the Bertie Big Bollix type star who believes they’ve a god given right to be on the pitch and who expect the game to revolve around them.

Then again I wouldn’t have complained if Wenger had tried to blend in some more experience with such a youthful team, to ensure there isn’t too much pressure on likes of Aaron Ramsey and Carlos Vela to perform at the highest level, right from the off. And as excited as I am by the latest “great white hope” to roll off Liam Brady’s Academy production line (apparently Brady was raving about 16 year-old Jack Wilshere at the tail end of last season - from what we’ve seen so far, with his low centre of gravity and his willingness to run with the ball, he’s a ringer for Joe Cole), along with the likes of Randall, Simpson Lansbury etc, I’d be feeling a lot more confident if the emergence of Wilshere this season was a bonus, rather than a pre-requisite for success.

Nevertheless the all-important blend of personalities in the dressing room is an extremely delicate business and judging by the early season turmoil, amongst some of the competition, I can appreciate le Gaffer’s reluctance to tinker and risk a burgeoning team spirit, merely for the sake of appeasing the masses by bringing in big name buys. It’s a big ask to expect Wenger to once again work the oracle on a shoestring, as all around us opposition squads are strengthened (?) by multi-million pound imports. Yet such is our faith in our manager that nervous Gooners everywhere continue to trust that “Arsene Knows”

Anyone For Tennis?

Howdy folks

You will have to forgive me but I completely forgot to post last week's final missive of the season after our trip to the Stadium of Light and it was only when Wednesday's Irish Examiner arrived in the post on Saturday and I was thumbing through their end of season Premiership supplement, that I saw my piece and realised that it had slipped my mind.

I also wondered what exactly I had missed, when I noticed Usmanov listed amongst their top ten list of richest chairman and directors!!

Doubtless the following is somewhat outdated by now but having written it and since it is probably my last posting for the next couple of months, I thought I should at least get it posted, prior to digging out the sawn-off and the stocking mask, as once again I begin to fret about finding the renewal cost of our season tickets. I suppose if I can't find a suitable bank to rob, I could always shoot myself :-)

I enjoyed Saturday's FA Cup Final, if only from the point of view that it made a change that for once it appeared to be a "fans' final" without the usual large proportion of seats occupied by all those liggers on corporate jolly ups. Although I would've at least liked to have seen Cardiff score just to have given their loyal faithful something to get excited about. As for this weeks Champions League final, in another end of season questionaire for the Observer, I suggested that deciding who I wanted to win this match was almost as bad as choosing between Boris and Ken for London mayor.

Man Utd wining a double would be absolutely insufferable but it would go completely against the grain to want Chelsea to win anything. Then again, considering the way in which the Blues fans continue to belittle the ability of their own manager, in this one respect, it would be quite amusing to see Avram bring home the (kosher) bacon. Coming from an Israeli society which runs largely according to "the one who shouts loudest, gets served first" principles, the Chelsea fans should really be counting their blessings that their mild mannered manager appears to conduct himself in a manner that's contrary to this obnoxious stereotype and it would indeed be interesting to hear whether they will still have the gall to slag him off so badly if he leads them to a European title. Moreover with the final being in Moscow, you can't help but wonder if the script has long since been written, with it being such a fitting setting for Roman to see some return on all that investment.

Doubtless I will be watching on Wednesday, like a masochistic moth drawn to a footballing flame, but I'm sure that along with most other Gooners, as far as the winner is concerned, I couldn't really care less.

Having fortunately remembered to book a seat online on Saturday, to see the Gunners play Juve and Real on the 2nd and 3rd of August, before they all sell out, personally speaking, the summer can't fly by quick enough as far as I'm concerned, as I'm already eagerly anticipating the day when the riveting roller-coaster ride begins anew. Until then....

Big Love
Bernard
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With about ten minutes left on the clock at the Stadium of Light on Sunday, the couple of thousand Gooners gathered behind one goal broke into a chorus of “we love you Arsenal, we do”, which we went on to repeat ad infinitum, relentlessly, right up until the ref blew the final whistle on the 2007/08 season.

I’m sure that even the boisterous Black Cats’ fans must’ve been impressed, as this was their party after all. But the home fans’ opportunity to show their appreciation for a season, where success was defined by their ability to maintain their Premiership status, would come after the final whistle. In the meantime our incessant repetition of this chant saw it develop into a sonorous mantra, inspired by some sort of spontaneous, deep-seated desire to invoke the footballing gods.

Despite, or perhaps because of our lack of any tangible reward for all our efforts, as one, we all grasped this last opportunity to pay proper homage for such a wonderful season, in the only way we know how, with a vocal display which served as an indisputable reaffirmation of our faith in the Arsenal football club and more importantly, the Wenger way.

In truth, for many of us it was merely a good excuse to jump up and down, in order try and get some feeling back into limbs, after we’d all made the mistake of travelling to the North-East attired in the sort of shorts, t-shirts and sandals that befitted the balmy weather conditions in the capital. I’m unsure about the Fog On The Tyne, but the fog which came rolling off the Wear into the Stadium of Light was bloomin’ freezing!

I was actually pleasantly surprised to see so few empty seats at our end of the ground, after most of us had bid the boys adieu during the lap of appreciation at our last home game. I suppose if we’d been beaten and the Toon had suffered a 4 goal drubbing at Goodison, the Black Cats could conceivably have ended up as top North-Eastern dog. Moreover a potential £1.5 mill difference in Premiership prize money was not to be sniffed at. But nevertheless, it remained a relatively meaningless match and a particularly healthy turn out, compared to the huge swathes of empty terracing down the road at Boro.

Then again, with Premiership football have coming so far from its region specific precursor, it’s evident nowadays, from the range of accents other than Cockney that one hears, that any slack in away match ticket sales is usually picked up by those geographically challenged Gooners who are grateful for any opportunity to see their Gunners play live. Additionally there were plenty others present on Sunday, who contrary to my own last minute lifestyle, had planned their trips months in advance, booking flights way back when we’d all been mislead into believing that the last match of the season might prove to be the positively umissable moment of our crowning glory!

I’m unsure how game I would’ve been if the last competitive match of the season had involved a tortuous 10 hour coach trek. Mercifully my mind was made up when a mate offered to use his air miles to fly the two of us to Newcastle. The metro ride on our return to the airport confirmed the impact of the Keane/Quinn double act on Sund-Ireland. In addition to the smattering of jet-setting Gooners, the train was packed with two plane loads of red & white striped Paddies flying back, both to Dublin and I assume all those with the broader West Country accents were heading home via Galway.

We witnessed more evidence of the ever increasing international appeal of the Premiership product on our arrival, as my pal flogged his spare ticket as we strolled into the terminal, to an Arsenal supporting Pole, who was hoping for an opportunity to cast an eye over our somewhat slight in stature, reserve keeper, Fabianski.

There were momentary interludes in our end of match mantra, in order for me to confirm the fates of all the other clubs, via my terrace tranny. Thankfully the survival of Fulham compensates for those of us travelling fans who consider promotion/relegation issues solely from a mileage perspective, but despite the additional schlep to the North-East, I am delighted Sunderland beat the odds by staying up. The Stadium of Light might look like a poor relation, compared to the grandiose glass and steel aspects of our new gaff, but what goes on inside a stadium is far more relevant than mere aesthetics and with everyone on one level, Sunderland’s ground is often far more atmospheric than most.

Sunday’s party mood ensured that we all enjoyed the merriment, entertained at one stage by a huge line of Black Cat fans conga-ing along the concrete walkways. One is invariably greeted by a genial vibe on Wearside, amongst fans who truly appreciate such aristocratic footballing fare and who definitely don’t take their highly-prized Premiership status for granted.

As the metro ride from the airport became ever more cramped on approaching the stadium, the conversation turned to the extremely pertinent subject of ticket prices. Aside from far more affordable season tickets, Sunderland fans doubtless benefit from the trend for categorising matches, while we Gooners invariably have to pay a premium. But then I guess that according to the modern day credo “you gets what you pay for”!

No sooner has the season ended than I’m already panicking about finding the two grand required for our renewals, prior to the looming 1st June deadline. Yet despite our lack of trophies and increasing concerns about Hleb following Flamini out the door, the demand for a seat at the Arsenal will be no less intense.

Like fans of every club, we started out this season brim full of renewed hope but with few actual expectations. Our subsequent sense of “so close, but no cigar” disappointment stems from the fact that we were mislead by the period spent straddling the Premiership summit, into believing that we had already reached the Promised Land.

It wouldn’t be football if we were all in constant agreement with Arsène’s actions. Many might contend that splitting our centre-back pairing and playing Touré at right-back was the cause of our agonising Champions League exit. I prefer to think of it as evidence of Sagna’s importance and the cost of his untimely injury. There are others who simply cannot fathom our manager’s continued reliance on Eboué at right-wing, as the ill-fated Ivorian has become everyone’s favourite boo boy.

Along with every other footie fan, most of us would love to see Wenger break the bank and spend big, namely on a keeper, a centre-back and perhaps a winger. But ultimately, for the vast majority of us, our faith in our manager remains constant and we all know this isn’t Arsène’s style. With a relatively small squad compared to some, if it wasn’t for long-term injuries to the likes of Van Persie, Rosicky and Eduardo, it might well have been a different, far more successful story. Myself I rest assured that with a minor tweak, here and there, Arsène’s young squad will start next season and continue on an upward cycle that holds the promise of great things to come.

Meanwhile, while I might moan constantly about the mercenary “show me the money” nature of many of our modern stars, I now have my faith in their feeling for the club renewed, after it was revealed to me that Adebayor spent an entire afternoon going through Gooner memorabilia, amongst the huge collection at the home of one particular Gooner. So bear this in mind, the next time you read in the media that the Togonator is taking his boots elsewhere!

--
e-mail to: londonN5@gmail.com

We're By Far The Greatest Team.....

G'day fellow Gooners,

I guess with one more diary piece to come, with the Irish Examiner wanting a "that was the season that was" reflection next week, this is my penultimate piece (for the eighth consecutive season!). I have to admit that it was a bit of a wind up receiving an e-mail from the Sports Editor detailing the end of season arrangements for deadlines. Aside from missing out on a few quid for a couple of extra missives, it really brought home what a wind-up it's going to be for us not to be playing a part in any of the end of season party pieces.

If I'd known then, what I know now, I would've been grateful to have gone to Tenerife with the missus, where it would've been so much easier to avoid all the media ballyhoo in the climax to the Premiership and the build up to the Champions League final. It's almost as bad as having to decide between Ken and Boris in the London mayoral elections!!

Mind you I would've probably slept right through the last home game of the season if left to my own devices. I sold Ro's ticket to a chap on the mailing list late on Saturday night, assuming it was a 4pm kick-off and I only ended listening to a phone message from Neil at ten past one on Sunday, discovering that to my horror, that I only had twenty minutes before the game actually started. As a result, instead of a relaxing Sunday afternoon, it all proved a bit of a rush, especially knowing I had someone waiting for me and with it being their first game at the new ground.

Come the final whistle, when the team trooped off the pitch, I started feeling guilty about the dog, as I didn't have a chance to take her out beforehand and I was worried Treacle would be sitting cross-legged by the front door. If I'd known they were going to come back out without delay, I probably would've hung on, but as it was, I have to admit that I was a little gutted as I heard the cheers of appreciation just as I was walking up Aubert Park. However I hope I'll get to show my appreciation after the last game, at the Stadium of Light next weekend (assuming I manage to get up there).

Walking up the hill away from the ground, I wondered whether all the other Gooners around me had similar excuses, as the majority of them certainly won't be travelling all the way up to Wearside next weekend and so it was hard to understand why all of them were in such a hurry to get away, considering it was probably their last footie game for a good couple of months. I simply don't understand the mentality of those supposed Arsenal supporters who can't be bothered to take an additional five, ten minutes, on a warm afternoon, to show their appreciation for all the player's efforts to entertain them this season and I sometimes wonder if such ingrates get the success (or lack of it) they deserve!

Meanwhile judging by the volume of noise coming from the stadium, it was great to hear that so many fans did stay to acknowledge the squads efforts, as it would've been a pretty poor show if they'd been left wandering around in an empty stadium.

And for the few foolhardy Arsenal fans who've been venting their frustrations in Arsène Wenger's direction over the last few weeks, I hope they were watching Inside Sport on the BBC this evening, where in a great interview with Neil Warnock, the Crystal Palace manager expressed his love for our manager, stating that no one has done more for English football over the last decade. I like Warnock if only because he wears his heart on his sleeve and hope his Palace side succeed in the play-offs, as with WBA and Stoke winning automatic promotion, it will be great for us travelling fans to have at least one London team. Then again Watford would be much easier, as it's almost like a home game, whereas getting to South London is almost a more arduous trip than the Midlands. Warnock's final remark about the Gunners was that he would love to buy Arsène a centre-half, an English centre-half, as according to Neil, we would then be unbeatable.

Then again, it really would be time for Wenger to call it a day when he starts needing advice from the likes of Neil Warnock

Until next week
Peas & Love
Bernard
____________________________________________________________________

We're By Far The Greatest Team.....

Any last hopes of a miracle were crushed on Saturday with West Ham conceding 3 in the first 30 minutes at Old Trafford. Although I must admit that when Nani stuck his head in Lucas Neill’s face, for a moment there, I envisioned the sort of mass brawl that might result in a three-point deduction! Moreover, any hope of pipping Chelsea to second place evaporated in Toon Town, thereby condemning us to an unwanted Champions League qualifier and I guess the premature curtailment of the Gunners summer break

With so much resting on these Champions League qualifiers and with there always being the possibility that they could throw up extremely awkward and highly motivated opposition, at a time when most top class pros are still struggling to get their game head back on, after their break, they can be extremely nervy affairs.

I’ve an opportunity to attend a Q & A session with Arsène Wenger this week and amongst the many questions I’d like to put to Le Prof, I wonder to what extent playing these crucial qualification matches affects our pre-season training, as perhaps it was the case this season that our August encounters with Sparta Prague helped us to hit the ground running in the Premiership. But if as a result, he was forced to ramp up the fitness regime that much earlier, could this have been a factor in us falling short and running out of steam, at the business end of the season?

Then again, if we’d been blessed with the same strength in depth as the Blues, Man U and Liverpool, Arsène would’ve been better placed to offer Fabregas and the other essential figures in this Arsenal squad enough of a breather, to ensure that there was no chance of them feeling a little jaded, by the time it came to the last few hurdles.

Although this sounds a little hypocritical, coming from someone who always advocates playing our best XI. Far be it from humble old me to question the great man, but how often have we’ve seen Arsène attempt to rest players, only to be forced to bring them on, when we’ve been left chasing games. Obviously it’s easy to opine with the benefit of hindsight, but it’s often appeared patently clear that we’d have been better off starting with our best XI, in the hope of being able to secure the two goal breathing space that would allow him to be able sub 2 or 3 of our most leg-weary stars.

Meanwhile the beautiful game is such a professional business nowadays that with modern fitness regimes, in theory there should only be marginal differences between the comparative fitness levels of the elite squads. The modern breed of managers might look to science to try and give them an edge, as with the rumours about Wenger’s use of Creatine supplements some years back, or the investment in oxygen chambers to speed up the healing process of injured players.

Yet in practice, we’ve witnessed this season the remarkable effect Ramos had on the Spurs squad. Martin Jol was a genial enough character, but on the evidence, for example, of the dramatic change in the physique of Tom Huddlestone, it seems glaringly apparent that Jol was missing a trick. It’s perhaps not so surprising that the likes of Teddy Sherringham lasted at Spurs so long, with such a leisurely fitness regime in the past.

However for the successful sides, the crucial games come so thick and fast as you approach the finishing line that with everyone playing on empty, they are just using their down time to try and recover. Under these stressful circumstances, where players are required to call on their reserves of adrenaline every three days, mental strength becomes by far in a way the most critical factor.

There’s two sides to this particular coin. Some might believe this young Arsenal side suffered this season, compared to squads that have a backbone of players who’ve been there, done it and bought the t-shirt. But while experience might lend an air of composure, enabling a team to remain patient at 0-0 with only ten minutes to play, unless our young players have become too spoilt, hunger should be an equally important ingredient. I would hope that come this time next season, with everything still to prove, the Gunners might have an edge over those rivals who’ve already amassed a decent medal collection. While the opposition are struggling to drag their weary frames to the well once again, hopefully we’ll be drinking long and hard, after dashing to it for the first time?

In a game that had a decided end of season feel to it, there was evidence of just such enthusiasm with the introduction of Traore against Everton on Sunday. Young Armand was like a breath of fresh air, as “hell for leather” is the only way the French lad knows how to play. With his pace and his apparent crossing ability, perhaps the conversion of the full-back into a winger will prove the answer to the Arsenal’s obvious lack of natural width.

And Traore is not the only option available to Arsène as an alternative to dusting off the Arsenal cheque book. Although Wenger has had his fingers burnt when spending big (Jeffers, Reyes), I tend to believe his reluctance is more related to a desire to maintain the delicate status quo in the dressing room, rather than the prospect of having to deal with the disturbance caused by the introduction of any huge egos.

I can fully appreciate Flamini’s desire to squeeze as much as possible while his star is at its zenith (I don’t imagine AC Milan knew who he was before this season). With our £50k per week offer supposedly falling so far short of his £70k demands, I can neither blame the player for looking after his best interests, nor the club, for not allowing themselves to be held over a barrel.

However while I was whinging that it will cost so much more to replace the Flamster, it was pointed out to me this could provide Diaby with an opportunity to fulfil all his early potential (as Abou’s certainly not a wide man). Alternatively I’ve been saying for some time now that I’d like to see Kolo Touré given an opportunity in centre midfield, as I’ve always felt his talents are somewhat wasted at centre-back.

It was great to see Arsenal fans give Jens Lehmann such a great ovation on Sunday. As frustrating as I’ve found Jens’ tendency to be distracted by petty squabbles, instead of focusing on the job at hand, the German keeper has been a good servant to the Gunners and definitely deserved his moment in the sun.

With Fabianski still looking some way short of the finished article, this is definitely the one area where I would dearly love to see Wenger make a statement of intent, by spending big on a world-class keeper with the sort of presence capable of putting the fear of G-d into opposition strikers. Since Spunky’s departure, it’s been no surprise that Arsène’s efforts to pay peanuts has resulted in goalkeeping monkeys and I remain convinced that a consistent keeper would solve many of our defensive ills.

A goalie capable of dominating his area might even achieve the miracle of making Senderos look good. Although when you consider the Arsenal’s tradition for a surfeit of centre-backs, this is perhaps the other area of our squad which most requires attention.

But where I believe Fabianski only had the one save to make on Sunday, if I was a little disappointed, it was because Theo didn't make more of an impression on the game. I'm sure Theo will eventually hit the sort of heights that we are all expecting of him, but the more I see of him play recently, I'm afraid the more I find myself worrying about the lad. I had really hoped that with the pressure off in these last three matches, Theo would relax and really begin to impose himself, grabbing his opportunity with both feet and forcing Wenger into giving him a regular berth in the starting XI next season.

While it's obvious that Walcott is blessed with a surfeit of pace and natural ability, he has yet to demonstrate (to my eyes at least) that he has the sort of football brain necessary to succeed at the highest level, of the sort that affords a player that instinctive spatial awareness of what's going on around them and enables one to know when and where to make the run and when and where to pass instead.

Up until recently, Theo's rare appearances left one feeling that he was so desperate to make his mark, that perhaps he was a little too anxious to make something happen absolutely every time he received the ball. As a result, I was hoping that his inclusion in the starting line-up for these last few games might give him an opportunity to perform without so much anxiety and that this would perhaps bring the best out of him

Unfortunately this wasn't the case against Everton, as for the most part young Hibbert had Theo in his pocket. Moreoever, the ability to perceive the right option with the ball is not really a trait which can be learned on the training ground, as you are either born with a footballing brain, or not! Hopefully Theo is still suffering from the fact that he was an out and out striker up until his time at the Arsenal, who only ever had to worry about being on the end of an attack and finding the net, rather than being part of the creative work force and being able to pick a pass.

His ability to hold his own against Premiership opposition has definitely improved, but he's still a little too easy to muscle off the ball. If the club can develop his upper body strength and his ability to become an immoveable force in the penalty box, he might begin to fulfill his potential as an out and out front man. By which time hopefully he'll be demonstrating a dramatic improvement in his decision making as a result of serving his apprenticeship out on the flank and then much like his hero, Henry, we might be able to rely on Walcott not only for those vital 20 plus goals a season, but also for a high proportion of assists?

With Liam Brady touting the likes of young Jack Wiltshire as our latest “great white hope”, most of us are eagerly looking forward to putting the excruciating disappointment of this season behind us and getting on with our next campaign. In light of the fact that we’ve experienced a succession of agonising results in recent weeks, primarily at Anfield, but also at Stamford Bridge and Old Trafford, it was great on Sunday to see the majority of Gooners linger for the lap of appreciation in order to show their gratitude. It would appear that aside from small minority of success spoiled fools, most of us are able to view our efforts over the past eight months from the perspective of the extremely fine margins between success and failure and the fact that, in truth, we’ve vastly exceeded expectations.

Without any tangible reward by way of trophies, the media might do their utmost to talk up the pressure on Le Prof. But while we are relishing some of the most entertaining footie on the planet (and Spurs are still celebrating the sort of cup that they give away for free with every ten gallons of petrol), our only real worry is whether we can afford our season ticket renewals. Is it any wonder then that the last thing I heard before leaving for the game on Sunday was Arsène commenting on Sky “I’d be happy to be starting the new season tomorrow”.