Never Mind Being Put Out To Grass Me'thinks Arsène Much Prefers Chowing Down In His Technical Area

Hi folks,

I just wanted to thank all those who were kind enough to send me birthday greetings last week. I was hoping to let the anniversary of my half-century slide by with as little ado as possible. Fat chance of that in the Facebook and Twitter era! :-)

The Irish Examiner were also good enough to give me the weekend off (with no domestic competition and the big story being the Boys In Green's qualification for Euro 2012), which is. the reason I've been so taciturn these past two weeks. But much like the mighty Gunners, I'm back with a vengeance, looking forward to my midweek trip to Piebury Corner....I mean the Emirates.

I'm still not sure if I was having my leg pulled on route to Carrow Road on Saturday, with the tale that the local council have renamed a street in the vicinity "Letsbe Avenue" and while I might have indicated below that "Harry's going down" was the ditty of the day in our corner of the Jarrold Stand, if I'd repeated details of Gooners relentless references to the locals tendency towards incestuous behaviour, such remarks would've only ended up on the sport's editor's floor at the Examiner (obviously due to their impropriety, rather than any suggestion that it might be thought of as being close to the bone in the West of the Emerald Isle :-) . In truth our constant chants only left me contemplating the ugliness of East Anglian sheep and I assumed our taunts were all made in jest, until we were given a lift back to the motor by a kindly local, who alleged that it's not that uncommon in a classroom of 15 kids for 10 of them to be related!

Nevertheless such suggestions of a limited Norfolk gene pool don't go very far in explaining why the XI who turned out in yellow on Saturday all appeared to have left feet

COYG
Big Love
Bernard

____________________________________________________

I imagine the more morbid amongst us might already be donning their sackcloth and ashes, if any of them are gullible enough to accept as gospel, the incessant reams of “redtop” media claptrap. Having prematurely sounded the Arsenal’s death knell earlier in the season, these low-brow seers would now have us believe that our manager will soon throw the towel in, accepting top billing with our last remaining world class talent, in the Arsenal’s remake of the Exodus.

Benjamin Franklin got it wrong, death and taxes are no less inescapable than the fact that nothing in football exists in perpetuity. Yet despite the looming inevitability (with each passing season) of the dawning of the day when Arsène Wenger eventually decides to hand over the reins, or the dreaded moment when Robin Van Persie finally hangs up his red & white shirt for the last time, why bother brooding on such perturbing permutations in the future, when there’s so much to savour in the here and now?

With its participants never more than the width of a post, or one bad tackle away from greeting fortune or disaster, with each passing appearance, never mind about next summer, the beautiful game is such a capricious creature that it’s impossible to predict what will come to pass next week. In the decade since Fergie made the mistake of announcing his impending retirement, he’s added a Champions League trophy and 5 titles to his insatiable haul of baubles. While many a lesser man might have long since succumbed to the unrelenting pressure of Premiership management, much like Fergie, I can’t quite envisage Arsene being ready to tend to his roses just yet.

Qualification for Champions League football might be a minimum requirement in le Gaffer’s mind, but following our early season wake up call, the only essential obligation for most Gooners is that we finish above our own increasingly noisy neighbours. As demonstrated by Saturday’s amusing ditty of the day at Carrow Road. “Harry’s going down”, why worry about the Gunners future, when we can revel in the Schadenfreude of Spurs fate, with them caught between a rock and a hard place. If Redknapp wriggles his way out of his upcoming prosecution by the Inland Revenue, he removes the stain on his reputation barring his route to becoming the next England manager (at least until another bone slips out from amongst all the skeletons in Harry’s closet!).

We need look no further than our first outing to Norwich in 7 years for a rationale as to why it would be pie in the sky for us to be aiming too much higher. The last time I needed my sunglasses to curb the glare of Canary yellow, Henry, Bergkamp and Pires were on the scoresheet. Theo Walcott might’ve begun to offer the odd glimmer of hope that he’s discovering the sort of consistency, which might finally enable him to live up to all the teenage hype. Yet the fact remains that at this precise point in time, the class of 2011 is a pale shadow of the star-studded Invincibles of yesteryear.

Losing Jenkinson and Gibbs to long-term injuries that leave us with the Brazilian laughing boy, as our solitary recognized full-back was a bit of a body blow (especially in light of Santos’ bizarre interpretation of his defensive role!). Nevertheless I felt a lot less anxious at the weekend with Koscielny standing in at right-back, rather than Djourou. Despite our lumbering German’s costly dalliance on the ball, it was hard to believe we could end up blowing this match, so long as Walcott, Gervinho and RVP continued to tear the Canaries apart at will. Although I must admit that after Norwich had profited from their first and only first-half effort on goal, there was a point when our umpteenth effort failed to find the back of the net that I begun to wonder if the curse of ref Dowd was destined to continue.

While the numbers turning up for treatment, instead of training at London Colney continue to increase at such a disconcerting rate and with no viable substitute for Van Persie, one can’t help but wonder if Messrs. Henry & Pires might end up being invited to do a little more than merely maintain their fitness with the lads? And it doesn’t help to hear that Mancini was able to leave the likes of Silva & Dzeko with their feet up on the bench, as they set about truncheoning the Toon into submission!

Perhaps we’ll have to wait for the African Cup of Nations to take its toll on City’s squad, but I’m confident they’ll hit a blip at some stage. I only hope this happens before all the media bluenosing results in them becoming completely wrapped in a cloak of invincibility. It would be too much to bear if the Quataris end up buying their way to beating our own prestigious record.

Still with Man Utd making such heavy weather of their trip to Wales and with both Chelsea and the Scousers vying for least likely contender, so long as the spirited likes of Vermaelen and Sczczny can continue inspiring the lads to grind out the wins, whilst we attempt to rediscover our rhythm, or the return of the likes of Wilshere aids this renaissance, I remain optimistic of the return to top billing on Match of the Day, which would signify that the Gunners might yet play a significant role in the title shake-up, even if it’s only to poop Mancini’s party.

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

Is The Sun About To Shine Out Of Our Annus Horribilis?

Hi folks,

It's likely to be a regular theme from now on, as I delay sending out my weekly missive after writing it on a Monday, due to the unavoidable feeling that I left far more out of my meagre 650 word offering to the Irish Examiner than I've been able to include (when one takes into account my overly loquacious tendencies!). However, as ever, procrastination remains the thief of time and since it's already Thursday and I've not got around to tapping out a long-winded preamble, I'm betting that the fact that I attain the grand old age of 50 on Friday, just about guarantees that if I don't post this out now, it's never going to see the light of day.

Hard as I tried, Róna refused to allow my half-century to slide by unceremoniously and it's only just dawned on me that I'm going to have to be showing all due enthusiasm for a family outing on Friday evening, instead of watching Estonia v Ireland. At least the game is live on Sky, so I can record it and mercifully, it's unlikely that they'll be hordes of green-shirted fans, whooping and hollering, to give away the result in the streets of St John's Wood, where we're going for our grub. So there's a good chance that I'll be able to make it back home without knowing the result.

What's more, it could be a whole lot worse and I guess I should be counting my blessings that my birthday didn't clash with a Gunners' match. But then after all these years, my missus would know far better than to book a seat anywhere else but at the Arsenal, when Van Persie & co. are appearing. At least not without expecting me to absent myself from my own party! After all, one has got to get one's priorities right.

And if you're wondering what to get me as the perfect present, I'll take three points at Carrow Road next weekend, thank you

COYG

Bernard

______________________________________________________

Is The Sun About To Shine Out Of Our Annus Horribilis?

I suppose it’s some reflection that normal service has been resumed in London N5, now that I’m back to feeling seriously pissed off about another needless interruption this weekend. When only a few weeks back, perhaps for the first time ever, the previous break for Internationals, following our Derby Day defeat at the beginning of October, came as some welcome relief from our woeful start to the season.

However the Arsenal have barely put a foot wrong since this much needed respite and as a result, we really could’ve done without the threat of a flurry of International friendlies, putting a spoke in the wheel of our recent fine run of form. We may already be a quarter of the way through this campaign, but in some respects, with the trees shedding all their leaves and the first hint of winter drawing nigh (albeit no excuse for all those nancy-boy footballers who’ve already taken to protecting their pinkies in wooly gloves), it feels as if the Gunners are only just getting warmed up.

Well we’ve at least achieved the minor feat of a positive goal-difference for the first time, after our perfunctory disposal of West Brom on Saturday. If I’d been amongst the couple of thousand fans who travelled down from Birmingham, I’d have been particularly perturbed, as Roy Hodgson’s side were thoroughly unrecognizable as the same Baggies outfit who put us under the cosh on their previous outing at the Emirates and who produced a shock result by outplaying us on our own pitch.

The only surprise on Saturday was the complete absence of the all too familiar air of anxiety, in an Arsenal win which was never in doubt from the get go. The up side to a season of such unpredictability and a schizophrenic Gunners squad, where Dr Jekyll is doing his utmost to contain Mr Hyde’s lunatic tendencies, is that we now go to games never truly knowing what to expect. Least of all the prospect of being able to sit back and savour a comfortable triumph, totally devoid of the customary, edge of the seat spills & thrills that we’ve come to associate with the Arsenal’s kamikaze football.

But then on the basis that it took Hodgson’s hamstrung Baggies until the 87th minute to force a save from Sczczny, I suppose it would be a mistake to use such lame opposition as any sort of litmus test of the remedial work to shore up the Gunners leaky ship. Nevertheless, considering our defence has been the target for so much derision in recent months, it’s ironic that the biggest bone of contention now concerns the pleasing selection quandary at centre-back. You simply can’t leave a player with Vermaelen’s presence on the sidelines, but on current form, neither Koscielny or Mertesacher deserve to be dropped.

Evidence of the Gunners’ progress is reflected in a more relaxed mood on the terraces (or at least those which remain populated!). We’d have been threatening blue murder for our Brazilian full-back’s tendency to desert his defensive duties earlier in the season. But recent signs of some long-awaited durability and a renewed resolve have resulted in us being able to laugh off Koko the clown’s antics on our left flank, so long as Santos continues to compensate for his unorthodox impression of a full-back, with his attacking prowess.

Perhaps Kieran Gibbs’ glass-like frame will have been strengthened sufficiently in a fortnight’s time and needless to say, (based on past experience) all such defensive dilemmas will have been resolved in the meantime, due to those who will doubtless end up crocked whilst playing for their respective countries. But while we Gooners spend the days ahead on our knees, praying for Van Persie to be kept out of harm’s way, whilst channel hopping as we endeavour to keep tabs on the fate of the remainder of our multi-cultural hotchpotch, in truth there’s only one encounter of any real import. Come on you Boys in Green!

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

A Load Of Refreshingly New Bull

Hi folks,

Saturday scintillating encounter was the sort of match that was a complete and utter privilege to attend, for all the reasons I've explained below (and more!). Whether it's likely to prove some sort of watershed, remains to be seen in the weeks ahead.

Personally I tend to believe it's just one more step, in the process of rebuilding of this Arsenal side as a force to be reckoned with (albeit a slightly bigger one than the more mundane home wins against Sunderland and Stoke). As inclined as I am to want to shout about our credentials as the capital's top dogs, after such an emphatic triumph on enemy soil, I'm loathe to get too carried away on all the euphoria, because as we've witnessed all too frequently in the first quarter of this season, all competitors involved are only one bad day at the office away from serious humiliation.

If I'm honest, I was full of dread from the moment I arrived at the Bridge, on discovering that we were still relying on Djourou for defensive cover, as to my mind Johan looks such a fish out of water when playing at full-back that he's an accident waiting to happen.

However I was left questioning Andre Villa Boas' credentials as a tactician, as I would've thought it would be patently obvious to anyone who's seen us play in recent weeks that it was worth targeting our right flank and Johan's lack of positional nous in this position. But instead of which AVB appeared to have opted for the other side, judging by the number of times Chelsea played the long diagonal ball, perhaps believing Santos could be done for pace by Sturridge.

Admittedly Andre struggled first-half and it was the source of most of the Chelsea threat, as both Mata and Sturridge gave our Brazilian full-back a hard time, but where a younger head might've gone to pieces, Santos showed the benefit of his experience, eventually seeing off the challenge of the over-hyped Chelsea youngster.

Having got ourselves back onto equal terms by taking the game to the opposition, I was devastated when we conceded a second, only seconds before the break. Although I have to admit to being a bit preoccupied at the time, with our fate tempting taunting of John Terry, who sadly responded in the most painful fashion to our vociferous chorus of "Simon Cowell shagged your missus" (thankfully we were to have the last laugh at JT's expense!). In contests against Chelsea in the past (where we've been physically dwarfed), this might well have proved decisive.

Plenty might point the finger of blame at Per Mertesacher, but personally I believe this goal was purely down to the sort of defensive disorganisation that is almost inevitable when you've got players who aren't familiar with their duties. Under normal circumstances Bakari Sagna would've automatically occupied a position guarding the near post, which would've prevented this goal going in and instead of which we had Arteta aimlessly wandering about, right in the middle of the posts, making more of a nuisance of himself to Sczczny than the opposition, with Miguel seemingly unsure which post to position himself on.

To my mind these are the exact sort of defensive nightmares that could be ironed out by the type of regimented drilling which would have everyone instinctively aware of their responsibilities at set-pieces, without a second thought. But then for the want of a vocal outfield defensive general, we can at least take comfort in the fact that Sczczny appears to be growing into a leadership role, judging by the way in which he was man-handling his team-mates into position in a set piece later in the game.

Who knows if Mertesacher is hindered from taking charge by his limited command of the language, but on current form there's absolutely no justification for Arsène dropping Koscielny in favour of Vermaelen, as Laurent is just about the most dependable and consistent component of our all too porous back four. Perhaps Vermaelen would be more comfortable than Djourou at left-back (let's face it, that's no great ask!).

Although in truth, despite the fact that he's likely to come a cropper occasionally because of his lack of experience, I'd be far more happier with Jenkinson playing there than Djourou because it is at least his natural position and besides Carl's crossing ability (with both feet!) offers us so much more going forward than Johan. Then again, if Theo's going to bring his crossing boots to the party every week, in the same way as he did on Saturday, then we might no longer be starved of decent ammunition into the box.

Going into the break 2-1 down, it was patently obvious that the next goal was going to be crucial. I don't think there'd have been any way back from 3-1. But we started the second half with some real intent, with Santos deciding that the best form of defence was attack. In the best traditions of Winterburn and Silvinho, from the moment Andre spanked home (beating Cech at his near post for the first of three times on Saturday!!), you just had the feeling that something special was on.

In the past I've always felt that Walcott had a little too much respect for Ashley Cole (about the only person on the planet who does!), or perhaps for Cole's reputation as the country's no. 1 full-back. But it was as if Theo finally discovered some real belief on Saturday, suddenly realising he's was capable of leaving the greedy little emperor looking as bare-naked as the day Cashley had the misfortune to be born. Now if only Theo could reproduce the same sort of hungry display on a more regular basis, he'd soon win me and his many detractors over.

Despite Alex Song's desperate lunging efforts to effect a block on Mata's shot, I'm sure I wasn't alone in fearing the worst as the Spaniard made it 3-3. When the myopic ref Marriner ignored the intervention of the brick shithouse that is Lukaku, as he eased Santos out of the way in the build up, it felt as if the Gunner's valiant efforts were to go unrewarded yet again, by dint of another bad decision. But the very best was yet to come.

Arsène was still apoplectic with rage, giving the 4th official an ear-bashing, when Malouda attempted his heavy-footed backpass. At first glance, I thought Terry had thrown himself to the floor, realising Robin was already past him. But on watching the replays (which I haven't stopped doing since!), it would appear that fate intervened to pull the rug from under JT's feet.

Such misfortune couldn't have befell a more deserving specimen of human "drech" as far as I'm concerned. Nevertheless, I'm sure many might disagree, but I can't help but be amused by the entire overblown Terry/Ferdinand racist saga. While all those in the media shout down from their high horses about the England and Chelsea captain setting such a deplorable example, where exactly are all these high-priests of political correctness when far worse racial epithets are being bandied about like confetti on football pitches up and down the country every Sunday.

I find it so laughable that we look down our noses at the Neanderthals responsible for racism elsewhere in the footballing world, while patting ourselves on the back for merely brushing such intolerance under the carpet in this country. The fact that there aren't too many numbskulls like Terry getting caught on camera trading insults in their efforts to wind up the opposition, are we really so naive as to believe this means that such behaviour does not occur?

Perhaps not the most delicate metaphor under the circumstances, but personally I prefer those who call a spade, a spade, in order that we are at least able to recognise bigotry where it exists. In some respects it is at least far more honest than existing in an overtly PC world, with the pretense that all is sweetness & light, when the exact opposite is patently obvious to anyone who's dared dipped their croutons into our multicultural bouillabaisse.

All those who sit / stand on the terraces every week can confirm that the fact football fans have desisted from the disgusting habit of throwing bananas at black players, this doesn't mean to say that the multitude of racists who once populated the most obvious breeding grounds for the right-wing Nazi parties such as the NF and BNP, they haven't simply evaporated into thin air.

It might be understood that such overt racism is no longer acceptable, but all the engrained prejudice remains to a greater or lesser extent, amongst everyone, even those whose best friends swear otherwise! In my most humble opinion we are far better off recognising this fact and making continued efforts to combat such intolerance, than we are slaughtering a single public figure for their (in Terry's case, inevitable) failure to live up to the fantasy standards of our perfectly PC society.

Perhaps I'm better off sticking to the footie, anyone for Laurent's Frog's legs soup on Tuesday :-)
COYG
Bernard

__________________________________________________________

Obviously I would’ve much preferred to have avoided all that early season agony. Yet our suffering was almost made worth it at the weekend. The majority of us would’ve bitten your hand off for a draw at Stamford Bridge, as we traversed London on Saturday, merely hoping to avoid further embarrassment.

Therefore the distance travelled from pessimism to the positive euphoria of our 3-5 triumph, ensured that the satisfaction quotient was off the scale, compared to all those recent encounters, where we’ve been expected to give the Blues a run for their money. Not since Kanu’s hat-trick in ‘99 can I recall a more ecstatic outing to the Kings Road.

Admittedly, arriving late as ever, we could’ve been 0-2 down before I even found my seat on Saturday, as the Blues came out of the traps at a canter. However for all Abramovich’s covetous efforts to introduce a manager capable of injecting more verve into his functional Chelsea side, in recent seasons the Blues have grown far too accustomed to achieving results against us, without really have to work at it. They’ve been able to sit back and soak up our tippy-tappy football, patiently waiting to be presented with an opportunity to tear us apart on the counter at their leisure.

It should really have been 2-2, by the time the initial burst of adrenaline of Saturday’s lunchtime KO had begun to subside, with the Gunners proving equally profligate in front of goal. I seriously believed we were going to rue our own wastefulness with such gift-wrapped opportunities, as you don’t expect to be offered many more, by a defence that has in the past proved to be so parsimonious.

However perhaps this is a Chelsea side that’s wobbling between two stools, with a young manager intent on laying down a marker in the Premiership, with a team that can win games with style, but whose ageing combatants remind me of the ancient joke about the old bull, who contrary to the instincts of a young calf that wants to run down the hill and service a heffer, he prefers to stroll down and service the entire herd.

Thus after the match had settled down, following the madness of those opening minutes, Chelsea reverted to type, inviting the Gunners on to them, in the belief that we’d be the architects of our own downfall. But aside from the absence of our customary nemesis, in the form of the suspended Didier Drogba, perhaps the most crucial factor is that mercifully the “men against boys” physical differences that were patently obvious in so many recent no-contest encounters, are no more!

Just as reports of the Arsenal’s demise might’ve been somewhat premature, in a season that’s throwing up such anomalies each week, so are any suggestions that a single, albeit sensational, triumph over Chelsea, is confirmation that the Gunners are back to our best. Who knows, we might be brought back down to earth with a bump on Tuesday night, by a Marseille side intent on revenging their last-minute misfortune in France.

There were too many incidents to mention in Saturday’s match, which highlighted the gossamer thin margins between success and failure – few more poignant than the poetic justice of JT’s oopsy-daisy. Nevertheless, it was something far less tangible which gives us Gooners most cause for optimism, in the sense that even if we’re set to endure a season-long scrap to claw our way back into contention, with a squad of players who might struggle to reproduce the same precision artistry that we’ve been spoilt by in seasons past, the Gunners fall from grace might just be the making of us.

Our bullish determination to respond to all those detractors who’ve written Wenger’s team off has manifested itself in the sort of burgeoning spirit which has been markedly absent up until now, epitomized by Walcott scrambling back to his feet to burst through and score; or in the willingness of Koscielny, Song & co. to put their bodies on the line, in safeguarding our goal at all costs.

Sure we're still some way off strutting our stuff as composed, genuine contenders, Yet in setting out to prove we’re far from being a waning force that’s there for the taking, we’re witnessing the sort of passion and commitment that inspires renewed faith on the terraces that perhaps it’s not just the size of their wallets that matters, but the size of the Gunners' hearts that's fuelling this revival.

Having been so enthralled by such an emotive display, I'm sure few would’ve moaned if (as expected) ultimately we’d failed at the Bridge. But Saturday’s success tasted so much sweeter with it having been earned on the back of the sort of ardour that I for one will continue to revel in, win, lose or draw.

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

Winds Of Change

Hi folks,

Sincere apologies as I didn't get around to posting out last week's missive. Limiting myself to 650 words for the Irish Examiner is an impossible target, since they've reduced the size of our columns this season; especially when you consider that I've been struggling for a decade or more to confine myself to less than a 1000 words. As a result, I invariably end up feeling that I've left out more than I've included and so I delay from posting my piece online, thinking that I will expand on my thoughts, in a typically long-winded preamble. However, as happened last week, I don't get around to doing this and then another game comes along and leaves my missive looking decidedly out-dated, as you will see below, with Ju Young Park making me eat my words, with his composed finish against Bolton on Tuesday night.

Still I've written it, so I might as well send it out, so I can get on and add all the comments that I've been forced to leave out of this week's missive. After all, it's not exactly every day you beat Chelsea 3-5 at the Bridge and to find myself restricted from spouting forth on such an auspicious occasion is positively criminal :-)

Feel free to read or ignore last week's ravings as you so choose and hopefully, in somewhat atypical fashion, my impressions of yesterday's events won't be quite so tardy.

With three home games in such quick succession, I have to admit to suffering some withdrawals yesterday, deprived of a trip to Piebury Corner. You are probably thinking I've got shares in the place by now, but I'd be a liar if I didn't admit to looking forward to tomorrow night's match, if only for my stomach's sake.

One thing is for certain, if I continue gorging on pre and post match pies with such regularity, no matter where the Gunners end up this season, I'll definitely have something to show for my efforts. But then when it comes to trophies, I'm not sure a pot-belly counts!

COYG
Big Love
Bernard

_______________________________________________________

Arsène’s desire to protect Van Persie is perfectly understandable. But ironically, in attempting to overcome Pullis’ uncompromising Potters with our Robin reliant parked on the bench, le Prof only managed to prove quite how impotent we are without him.

In fact the Gunners’ attack appears so lamentably goal-shy with Chamakh standing in for our captain, that after RVP had come on halfway through the second half for his crucial two-goal cameo performance, in Wenger’s shoes I’d have been tempted to take him straight off again; to be able to wrap Robin up in cotton wool, rather than to risk him for a second longer than absolutely necessary, in the sort of roughhouse environment that is de rigueur in the presence of Shawcross and co. (just how crap can our Korean striker be, if our Morrocan misfit continues to keep him out of the team?).

After enduring more than our fill of all that “8-2 be an Arsenal fan” mirth, we also enjoyed the mouthwatering ‘what goes around, comes around’ irony of Man Utd’s simultaneous humiliation against City on Sunday. Although, I said at the time that perhaps the biggest embarrassment of our worst defeat in living memory, was that it transpired against such a mediocre Man U outfit (with the exception of an on fire Wayne Rooney). And so while I certainly don't mean to dissuade Gooners from the sweet revenge of giving their Man U mates all the stick they deserve in the days ahead, in truth it hardly reflects well upon us that we were so severely ravaged, by the same Utd outfit that rolled over against City.

Meanwhile hopefully our midweek ‘smash & grab’ in Marseille and 3 points from one of the bi-seasonal banana skins of Stoke’s kick (or chuck) & rush, spoiler football, are further small steps in the total rebuild required, following the utter decimation of both our team and our confidence during the most disastrous start to a campaign in the Wenger era.

Doubtless Arsène remains confident that we can recapture the fluidity that has seen the Gunners find global favour. Perhaps it will come in time, but I’m not convinced that the current incumbents are capable of reproducing the same stylish patterns of play for which we were formerly renowned; at least not without crucial missing ingredients.

Sure we can conjure it up in fits and starts for the odd breathtaking goal. Yet while we appeared in control for the majority of Sunday’s encounter, what was obvious from the Potters’ relentless efforts to discomfort us, was that in Wilshere’s absence, we’re devoid of the sort of rare talent who refuses to be panicked into gifting the ball back to the opposition, or who has the speed of thought to preempt such problems, by moving it on at pace.

After we’d established a 2-goal cushion and with the visitors having all but given up the ghost with only 8 minutes left on the clock, there was a brief spell when the “olés” echoed around the Emirates, as the Gunners risked a clattering with our contemptuous control of possession. Although this actually felt more like a fond remembrance of times past because the majority present were only too aware that in the heel of the hunt, sadly we are no longer capable of maintaining such composure.

Thus the Potters’ fans “we’ll play how we want” chant could also be perceived as ironic, when you consider that in France, only four days prior, the Gunners were grinding out a win, with a performance which, in effect, was no less negative than Pullis’ brand of anti-football.

Am I bovvered? The artistry of the beautiful game that we’ve enjoyed this past decade has been an absolute privilege. But right at this precise point in time, I’d willingly sacrifice the casual style, for more committed substance. If only Arsène could locate the button to release the handbrake that’s been holding us back for so long, resulting in a transformation to the sort of “win at all costs” mentality that motivates his team to work their socks off for one another, you won’t catch me moaning.

There were some anxious glances amongst the Gooners on our plane, as we waited for take-off from Marseille airport on Thursday morning, with Le Mistral gusting away outside. Apparently it’s known as a wind of change and it needs to blow away some of le Boss’ preconceptions on success, if he’s going to stem the ever decreasing number of bums on seats.
--
e-mail to: londonN5@gmail.com

Pie In The Sky?

You might think that I'd have quite a lot more to say, after having a week off for the International break and the truth is that I could probably prattle on ad infinitum, if allowed. However with the Irish Examiner having confined our (myself, Man U, Chelsea, and Liverpool fans - guess they are soon going to have to find a City fan!) contribution to a smaller section of the paper, I've had to struggle to restrain my overly loquacious tendencies even more than usual. Sighs of relief....surely not :-)

Keep the Faith
Big Love

Bernard

Pie In The Sky?

Regular readers won’t be surprised to hear that I contrived to miss Van Persie’s 29-second opener on Sunday. At least I had a good excuse for my tardiness, as I’d been tucking into a delicious pie. In fact it’s an appropriate reflection on our miserable campaign thus far, that the absolute highlight to date has been the discovery of Piebury Corner close to the old stadium.

Time was when I’d be dashing around to the Arsenal to savour the footballing delights; whereas these days I’ve found some grub on offer outside the ground that’s far more enticing than the sort of uninspiring fare that we're fast growing accustomed to inside the stadium, which of late has been as bland (and as overpriced!) as the burgers.

Mercifully on Sunday our Robin reliant set out almost singlehandedly, to serve up an aide-memoire of the sort of sumptuous feast of artistry, from the days when the Gunners would’ve been guaranteed to mullah Steve Bruce’s badly bruised Mackems. Although combined with a second-half cameo display from Arshavin, after the diminutive Ruski was sent on to try and rescue a result in the last 20 mins, such brief interludes of brilliance seem only to serve as a reminder of quite how far the mighty Gunners have fallen, when contrasted with the mediocrity of the majority of our present day play.

However, having been forced to come to terms with the fact that we’ve been completely written off as a force to be reckoned with in the Premiership, it might be sacrilege to admit it, but I’m not nearly as outraged as so many of my neurotic Gooner mates. If I’m entirely honest, after six angst filled seasons of tearing my hair out in frustration with such a talented Arsenal side’s perennial failure to fulfill expectations, there’s something quite refreshing about going to games, fully prepared for the worst from such a weakened squad, only to be pleasantly surprised when they actually produce the goods.

I guess that the evidence of so many empty seats and the fact that tickets are on general sale are signs that we’ve begun shaking off some of the glory-hunting chaff and there’s nothing like a spell of adversity to forge the “us against the world” sort of unifying spirit, which has been on the missing list since the Gunners became everyone’s favourite purveyors of ‘the beautiful game’.

There may come a time down the road when this squad finds its feet and a return to fitness of some of our most vital components results in Arsène finally being able to field his best XI. But until then, I suspect that we’re going to have to fight tooth and nail for every point, while on the terraces we’ll be praying that our talismanic red, red Robin, keeps bob, bob, bobbing along.

No longer can we afford to sit back and wait for fatigued opposition defences to part like the waters of the Red Sea, mesmerized by our mazy passing patterns. Aside from handing out written invitations to the requiem for Wengerball, with our recent inability to retain control of possession, the perception of the Arsenal as an accident waiting to happen is only going to encourage all those sides, who in the past would’ve limited their ambition to defending in numbers, merely hoping to escape our place with their dignity intact.

Carl Jenkinson is a case in point. The young full-back is a long way from the finished article and there’s little doubt that the lad is going to need rescuing every now and again, so long as his trade learning efforts include such regular roastings. However, unlike Theo Walcott, who can be found aimlessly wandering around the Emirates pitch with a bewildered puss on, which suggests he doesn’t believe that grabbing games by the scruff of the neck for a struggling Arsenal side formed part of his original job description, I adore Jenkinson’s committed attitude and his willingness to run his socks off up and down the flank. Never mind Walcott giving the boy a bollicking for dereliction of defensive duties, Theo should be begging Carl for some crossing lessons!

Meanwhile we’re off to Marseille, for what’s fast beginning to feel like the Arsenal’s farewell European tour. Schlepping around the Continent for so many successive seasons takes such a toll on the finances that I’ve been forced to be more circumspect about following the Gunners through the procession of the group stages. But I’m glad I had the foresight to throw caution to the wind this season, so as to be able to make the very most of our Champions Lg campaign.

On the basis that our efforts to ensure an encore haven’t exactly been auspicious thus far, here’s hoping Arteta and co. can do likewise, with a tour de force in the Velodrome on Wednesday night?

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

Hats (or Helmets) Off To Spurs

Apologies for pinching a few lines from my previous post, for my piece for the Irish Examiner below (I couldn't resist repeating the image of Arsène as our very own Pol Pot!)

I'm not sure if our ability to compete in yesterday's game was due to an improvement compared to our recent lamentable form, or the fact that the home side had an off day. Perhaps it was more a case of Spurs not being able to adapt from their former mindset, where traditionally they are accustomed to going into these Derby games as outright underdogs? Their fans were undoubtedly nervous, as few of them have ever experienced the feeling of encountering the Gunners as favourites for a win and perhaps this was reflected in their team's apparent timidity for much of the first-half.

Yet while we might have controlled much of the possession for the first 45, the principal difference between the two sides was that Spurs two efforts on goal were both on target, while we failed miserably to test Brad Friedel, with the Spurs goal gaping for Gervinho.

I was particularly disappointed with the dreadlocked Frenchman, as he all too frequently failed to remain on his feet, in his contest with Spurs' lightweight schnip of a left back. His was a strangely hesitant performance, considering he's capable of creating such havoc with his directness (even if he rarely looks to be in full control of the ball). I was equally discouraged by Walcott's display. Contrast Theo's reluctance to run with the ball and his overall lack of involvement, to that of Gareth Bale when he was allowed to build up a head of steam!

In fact based on his contribution (or lack thereof) in recent weeks, quite frankly I'm surprised Walcott's earned another England call up. To my mind Theo's body language suggests he's not overly enamoured to find himself playing in a struggling side and when we most need the likes of Theo to be racing off with the ball down to the other end of the pitch, you get the impression that he didn't sign up for a role in which he's obligated to spend much of the match tracking back.

And if Walcott is disillusioned with the Gunners lack of success, it's hard to imagine Van Persie wanting to put pen to paper, to commit himself to several more seasons surrounded by such mediocrity.

It wasn't all bad, as Francis Coquelin certainly did himself justice, putting in a decent shift. But the French youngster is positively naive, compared to the wilyness of the likes of Scott Parker and his ability to snuff out a flame before the outbreak of dangerous fire. Yet while the Gunners looked up for the battle early on, what bothered me most was that there where 17 minutes left on the clock when Spurs took the lead for the second time and where once we might've laid siege to the Spurs goal, in our efforts to ensure that we came away with our pride intact, on this occasion it felt far more likely that they were going to score a third.

At one point you had the bizarre scene of our lumbering "big f***in' German" standing on the halfway line, while our centre-forward dropped back to defend a corner and it seemed to me that our failure to conjure up a single effort on goal during that final 15 minutes, reeked of the Gunners lack of self-belief.

I'd love to be able to put a brave face on yesterday's game, but while the sacrifice of three points might not be such a big deal in the great scheme of things, I fear the long term loss of the unsung Sagna might be!

Keep the faith
Bernard
_________________________________________________

The best thing about the short trip to Tottenham is that I can get there (and back) on my motorbike in no more than 10 minutes. Arriving at White Hart Lane on Sunday, I had to ask a small firm of Spurs fans to move, as they were standing, sinking a few tinnies on the last parking pitch on the pavement.

Having parked up and attached my crash helmet to the lock on the side of the bike, I stood there shooting the breeze, in the hope of ingratiating myself sufficiently to dissuade them from doing any damage. But it was a daft mistake to admit my Arsenal allegiance. After they’d jokingly put the thought in my head, I spent the remainder of the afternoon fretting about the prospect of returning to find they’d left a nasty present for me in my crash helmet!

Now that really would constitute “taking one for the team” if the Gunners had managed to turn Sunday’s encounter around to achieve a result, only for me to have to suffer a return journey with my head jammed inside a urine soaked helmet! Unlike the cliché shots of friends and family sat side by side in red & blue shirts, enjoying the Merseyside Derby, unfortunately, in modern times, we’ve invariably experienced a decidedly loathsome edge to the North London equivalent.

In the past I’ve often believed we’ve had karma on our side, whenever the Spurs Neanderthals have resorted to their paedophile taunts of Le Prof. But on Sunday I had to stop myself from joining in with the Gooners beyond the pale chant of “shot in Angola, it should’ve been you” aimed at Adebayor. I was fearful that we were only providing the Togolese Judas with added motivation to let his feet do the talking. But it was hypocrisy in the extreme to hear Harry Redknapp castigating us Gooners, when en masse, his own fans have been incessantly guilty of equally vitriolic and racist abuse.

Redknapp might’ve managed to rejuvenate the lanky front-man for the moment, but I will be amazed if this renaissance continues on into the bleak mid-winter. Harry will have to prove himself a better man-manager than any of Adebayor’s managerial predecessors, if he isn’t to end up tearing his hair out, when the lazy striker’s initial enthusiasm begins to wane and he’s left loafing around on the halfway line.

Mercifully Adebayor failed miserably to live up to all the pre-match hype. Yet I suppose it was only fitting that an individual performance didn’t steal the show, on an afternoon when Spurs proved the advantage of having a more well-rounded squad. Although, in truth, considering we rolled up there in absolute dread of the sort of rout experienced by the Scousers, I imagine most Arsenal fans were pleasantly surprised to see us dominate possession for large periods of this match. However in the end, this only made the eventual outcome so much more depressing, knowing we weren’t that far from a result that might’ve rescued me from my fate of several months worth of gleeful mickey-taking from my Spurs mates.

As the single most consistent and reliable defender in our squad for many seasons, probably the most significant outcome of the afternoon was the tragedy that befell Bakary Sagna. I adore Carl Jenkinson’s committed attitude, but he lacks both the experienced nous and the pace of Sagna and our reliance on such a callow youth over the coming months is only likely to add to Arsène’s woes.

It’s no great secret why the flakiness of a backline that’s beset by injuries is being exposed week after week. In the past the Arsenal have been able to compensate for such inadequacies, with our ability to retain control of possession for such large periods. So it stands to reason that so long as the current ensemble insists on gifting the ball back to the opposition, as they struggle to orchestrate the same tippy-tappy, mazy passing patterns that have so frustrated opponents in the past, our porous defence is bound to come under that much more scrutiny.

Le Prof finds himself cast as the Arsenal’s very own Pol Pot, presiding over the dawn of day one in an entirely new Gooner calendar. Perhaps this squad will begin to gel as the new boys find their feet and Arsène eventually settles on his best XI, but at present the Gunners appear to be an entirely different creature to the one we’ve grown accustomed to in recent times.

In the absence of Wilshere and unless Arteta is to discover the energy and the same third-eye perception of his predecessor, perhaps we need to drop our former soubriquet as “the entertainers”, so we can rapidly develop the required resilience, which will enable us to make up for what we now might lack in pure artistic flair, with honest graft, commitment and team-spirit?

Meanwhile how times have changed. I always used to despair at the annoying interruption of International breaks, whereas nowadays I’m grateful (I’m guessing as is le Gaffer) for the welcome relief of some respite.

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

Once More Into The Breach Dear Friends

Hi folks

My brother-out-of-law was over from Dublin on Thursday, for the Spurs v Shamrock Rovers, Europa Cup encounter. I was hoping to be able to accompany him to the game, but after juggling work to ensure I wasn't late getting back for our game against Olympiakos on Wednesday, I wasn't particularly confident of being able to make it home from the ballet's stores in Marden, Kent, in time to make it to White Hart Lane the following evening. Fortunately for once, things worked in my favour, but if I'm entirely honest, after sweating my cods off in the balmy heat all day and then dashing home, I wasn't feeling nearly so enthusiastic about rushing off to Spurs and I was half regretting my decision to commit to asking Con to get me a ticket earlier that afternoon.

However having made the short hop from Highbury on my motorbike and arriving in plenty of time for KO (only because I mistakenly assumed it was a 19.45 start :-), I was absolutely delighted that I'd made the effort to join Con, as the craic was positively up to 90 amongst the thousands of Hoops fans who travelled over for what turned out to be a thoroughly entertaining evening. One of my Spurs mates admitted after the match that if it wasn't for the atmosphere created by the incredibly vociferous Irish support, White Hart Lane would've been completely dead.

Amongst his assorted TV & radio obligations, Con is the front man for RTE's Monday Night Soccer show, which is the League of Ireland equivalent of MOTD. Despite his unbiased and supremely professional endeavours, as a wonderfully congenial host (which always leaves me questioning why he's not raking it in, giving all the Muppets on the box over here a run for their money!), he gets plenty of stick for his partisan allegiance to the Hoops.

It seems that moving the League of Ireland from winter to summer has proved a big success and Con tells me that it's great to see so many kids, who would've previously been running around Ireland in the colours of their favourite Premiership outfit, now proudly sporting replica shirts from their local team. Apart from the prestige of seeing their side compete against high-profile foreign opposition in the Europa Cup, this competition is an extremely big deal because relatively speaking, the €70,000 on offer for every point earned in the tournament could prove a massive shot in the arm for sides like Rovers, who have to survive on a shoestring budget, compared to the obscene sums washing around the game on these shores.

Myself I was delighted to have an opportunity to don my green Ireland shirt (a present from Con after he drew me in the Murphy clan's Kris Kringle last Xmas) and obviously I was a Rovers fan for the night (even before I heard them winding up the home crowd, with their chants of "Arsenal, Arsenal, Arsenal"). For a while there, when the Hoops went 1-0 up, it looked as if a shock result might be on the cards, as everything seemed to be running their way, including a couple of timely interventions from the crossbar.

Perhaps if they'd taken the lead a half an hour later, things might turned out just a little more interesting, as a subsequent five minute spell in which Spurs scored three times, ruined our hopes of a fantasy result . Nevertheless Rovers were no pushover for a Spurs side that included the likes of Defoe. Lennon, Corluka etc and as has been the case in various other European contests this past week, the Hoops ably demonstrated that no matter how vast the gulf in comparative resources, a well-organised and seriously committed outfit can make life extremely hard for opposition of any calibre. In light of our own recent dramatic reining-in of expectations, this is a lesson that the Gunners might do well to heed!

There was cause for optimism in the performances of the likes of Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain and perhaps Per Mertesacher and Andre Santos in midweek - although while Santos may have scored on his Champions League debut, the jury is a long way from making any decision as far as his defending is concerned!

It wasn't so much that Alex achieved the title of the club's youngest ever Champions League goal scorer that pleased me most about our latest Road Runner from the South Coast production line, but it was in the chance that Chamberlain missed that I sensed most promise, where one on one with the keeper on such a massive stage, Alex had the composure to try and chip the onrushing goal minder, which is something I'm not sure we would have witnessed with the rush of blood to Walcott's head, in similar circumstances.

As for our German behemoth, he made some impressive interventions and perhaps, given time, Per will grow into a more pivotal role. But, although there's something of the Tony Adams in some of his physical traits, I have to admit to being a tad disappointed that we've yet to see anything from his personality on the pitch, to demonstrate that Mertesacher has the potential to develop into the sort of vocal defensive general that we've been craving for a decade or more.

In truth, I felt it was most fortunate that we scored so early on in this match and that we were two from two, with a two-goal cushion after only 20 minutes. Otherwise these precious three points could've proved a far greater struggle, in what was quite frankly, an encounter against a Greek side, which would've previously been perceived as a bread and butter, six points, in previous perfunctory group stages.

However the abiding sense I have from Wednesday night's victory and the draw with a Dortmund side that was so easily disposed of in Marseille and who probably would've beaten us in Germany, if they weren't quite so profligate with all the possession we gifted them in the final third, is that without a substantial improvement in our current form, I fear the Gunners might struggle, when we come up against any seriously decent opposition.

Never mind Le Prof, the evidence of recent weeks suggests that Arsène finds himself as our very own Pol Pot, presiding over the dawn of day one in an entirely new Gooner calendar, because to date, this team is so far removed from the Arsenal side that we've grown accustomed to in recent times. Perhaps I'm being harsh and we might start to gel, as the new boys begin to find their feet and Arsène eventually settles on his preferred choice of a starting lineup. Yet at present, with a defence that changes from game to game and a fluidity in most other positions, as we discover who provides the best fit with one another, the Gunners have taken on the appearance of an entirely different creature.

On Tuesday night Bayern Munich produced a damn near perfect representation of that old adage about not being able to lose a game, so long as your team retains possession of the ball. Once they were 2-0 up, Bayern saw off Man City with a masterful display in how to close out a European encounter, moving the ball around and barely giving Mancini's mob a sniff, as City spent the remainder of the evening chasing shadows.

In the past the Arsenal have been able to compensate for our frustrating failure to be able to pass the ball into the net and for our defensive frailties, with our ability to dominate possession for large periods of the game. The insecurities of Almunia and co. weren't too frequently exposed, so long as we retained control of the ball (hands up all those who sympathized with the Hammers when they heard news of our timid keeper's loan move to East London?).

On Wednesday night we had a Frenchman, a German, a Cameroonian and a Brazilian, playing in a defensive formation that has never played with one another before. I wasn't so concerned about Alex Song, as many seem to have forgotten that the midfielder started life as a centre-back, but it did occur to me to wonder exactly what language this International melange used to communicate with one another?

Arteta is undoubtedly a cultured player, but as yet I've seen little evidence of the sort of third-eye perception of his predecessor, of the sort that previously allowed Fabregas to know, without having to look up, exactly where all his team-mates are on the pitch and to appreciate the spaces they were about to occupy (or that the opposition were about to vacate), even before Cesc received the ball and which enabled him to retain possession, with a pass to a red shirt, no matter how many opponents were bearing down on him.

Who knows, perhaps Aaron Ramsey is destined to come to the fore, but as yet and in the long-term absence of Jack Wilshere, we don't appear to have anyone capable of picking up this baton and being able to orchestrate the tippy-tappy, mazy passing patterns that have in the past so frustrated the opposition, to the point where they eventually tire of running their socks off in vain and begin to wish that they had their own ball to play with.

To the contrary, recent opponents have forced us into conceding possession of the ball so frequently and far too cheaply for my liking, that their success has encouraged them to play a pressing game, closing us down in pairs. And it stands to reason that the more frequently we make such a casual gift of the ball, the more often our defence will come under scrutiny. Unless this can be rectified pronto, it seems to me that we might have to dispense with our soubriquet of "the entertainers", so we can rapidly develop the required traits of resilience that might enable us to make up for what we now lack in pure artistic flair, with honest graft, commitment and team-spirit?

Writing this on the eve of our trip to White Hart Lane, I'm sure that like most other Gooners, I am as apprehensive as I can recall being in many a moon, prior to a North London Derby. I know that all my Spurs mates are looking forward to this match with great relish, their mouths positively drooling at the prospect of finally usurping our position as North London's big cheese, in the case of many long-suffering Lillywhite fans, probably for the first time since they had the misfortune to make their entrance on this mortal coil.

And when I compare the proposed teams on paper and our respective recent form, it's hard not to admit that the home side are likely favourites for a win. However, mercifully football retains its perpetual propensity for reminding us that (in the words of the White Hart Lane hero) "it's a funny old game" and as we all know, form should go out the window, when it comes to a Derby game. So for all my trepidation about tomorrow's short trip to Tottenham, in light of Spurs faithful's certain conviction that their time has finally come, I can't help but anticipate just how delicious it would be, if we were able to put a massive dampener on this dream, with anything more than a draw (to be honest, I'd bite off the hand that offered me a boring 0-0 right now!).

David Moyes' Toffees might have lost their last two fixtures, but for an hour or more of the contests I've watched with Man City and Liverpool, I saw plenty to admire in Everton's efforts to stem the tide of what Arsène has labelled "financial doping", with honorable sweat and toil. If the Gunners can demonstrate similar focus and work-rate, in denying the likes of Adebayor, Bale and Lennon (hopefully Shamrock Rovers will have done us a favour by at least seeing off Lennon with a groin injury) the time and the space to do any real damage and thereby proving their willingness to fight for one another, I for one will be satisfied, no matter what the result.

What will really depress me is if AW sends out a team of individuals, who in their eagerness to point the finger of blame at one another, are only portraying their readiness to roll over, in a match which will have been lost mentally, even before they take to the pitch. So long as the Gunners demonstrate the sort of fortitude and resilience that indicates their understanding of what this game means to us and hopefully thereby avoiding the sort of embarrassment we've had to endure of late, I guess it will have to be deemed a result and who knows, if I talk our chances down with sufficient conviction, perhaps fate will intervene and leave me with egg on my face, after a resounding victory?

Come on you rip, roaring Reds
Bernard
--
e-mail to: londonN5@gmail.com

Something For The Weekend?

Hi folks,

it made a change today, when instead of the piece I'd filed for Wednesday's Irish Examiner being outdated by subsequent news, it seemed as if the disastrous revelation that Jack WIlshere will be absent for 4-6 months, has lent weight to the comment I've made below about the contentions of those concerning the competency of the Gunners' medical team. Perhaps the reluctance to operate on Jack's troublesome ankle was merely a gamble that has gone disastrously wrong. But on the face of it, it seems a major ricket that they didn't opt for surgery sooner, instead of wasting so much time, hoping for Jack to heal while wearing a medical boot.

Whatever the case, the news comes as just another major blow, from which it's likely to prove a mighty task to bounce back. So long as the return of Wilshere and Vermaelen remained somewhere on the horizon, if we could keep plugging away, there was always hope of this bright, shiny light at the end of the dark tunnel we now find ourselves in. But with this being snuffed out by today's news, without Wilshere it's hard not to fear for a long hard winter!

I ran out of room to mention the glimmer of optimism from Oxlade-Chamberlain in last week's Carling Cup win, but this was tempered by my disappointment with the one off-target effort that seemed to be the sum total of Ju Young Park's contribution in our Korean striker's decidedly unimpressive debut. I adore these Carling Cup encounters, where the drastically reduced price tickets makes for an entirely different (more high-pitched) vibe, compared to the aging "audience" at most matches. But personally I prefer to see Wenger select a team full of kids, rather than the mix-and-match of youth and experience that appeared against Shrewsbury.

Perhaps the fact that le Prof wasn't prepared to risk an immature side making a premature exit from the competition is merely a reflection of Arsène's increasing desperation for a glimmer of any silverware whatsoever. But then you are at least guaranteed an enthusiastic and thoroughly committed performance from a side full of kids, who all have something to prove; whereas last Tuesday I couldn't escape this sense of ignominy amongst some of the more senior players, as if being made to perform in this Mickey Mouse tournament was some sort of punishment.

Considering there's an urgent need for this Arsenal side to be able to compensate for the deficit in flair and finesse that we've suffered with the loss of Fabregas, Nasri and now Wilshere (at least for the majority of this season!), we badly need to make up for it in our togetherness and spirit. I was late for Saturday's game because I was watching Man City v Everton and despite the fact that the Toffees lost 2-0, for the first hour or so of this game, I was seriously impressed by the way in which they were prepared to graft like Trojans for one another, closing down Man City's mercenaries in twos and threes all over the park.

Ultimately it proved a disappointing and almost inevitable case of the irresistible force of Mancini's mob eventually shifting Moyes' immovable object, with Man City's almost limitless reinforcements from the bench. But what I would only give for some evidence of just a little of this sort of team spirit, in an Arsenal side, where never mind them all being close friends, there's many an occasion where they appear as if they're only playing with one another on sufferance!

Keep the faith
Come on you Reds
Bernard

_____________________________________________________

Heading around to Saturday’s game, contemplating the positively unthinkable, looming spectre of finding ourselves rock bottom of the Premiership pile on Saturday night, if we were to lose and the match at the Hawthorns ended in a draw, Owen Coyle’s combative Trotters wouldn’t normally have been top of my list of ideal opposition for a crucial, confidence restoring encounter, in advance of our trip to White Hart Lane. A Derby clash that’ll undoubtedly be billed as the litmus test of any shift in the North London status quo.

However with Bolton having lost in 9 or their last 10 outings, they weren’t exactly brim full of belief and it was a very pleasant surprise that this below-par Bolton proved to be the perfect foil for our bomb damaged Gunners. With Arsène’s side perceived to be on its knees, at present the majority of teams would’ve arrived at the Emirates intent on capitalizing on our current plight, by shattering the brittle shell that’s been so badly cracked in recent weeks.

I fully expected Bolton to attempt to do likewise, by probing all those defensive frailties, which we’ve seen exposed in virtually every match thus far, with a bombardment of high balls into the box. But with our customary nemesis, Kevin Davies, only coming on from the bench after lone front-man Ngog limped off , this typified the limited ambitions of a Bolton side that was principally focused on snuffing out our threat, instead of any gung-ho quest for all three points.

In light of our lamentable recent plight, on paper, a 3-0 win and a clean sheet to boot, looks to be the perfect pick-me-up. Contrary to the 60k full-house crowd stats, there was evidence of empty seats all over the shop. Amongst those Gooners present, I’m sure there’ll be plenty who’ll admit that this result might be somewhat misleading.

The seriously underwhelming form of Dalglish’s Scousers since their first league victory in an epoch at our place, Blackburn’s slapstick defending and the hard work we made of a Swans outfit, who are likely to prove such easy meat for others, all this seems a far more accurate barometer of the Gunners rapid descent towards mid-table mediocrity, than a home win against Owen Coyle’s beleaguered bullies.

If not for Sczczny’s heroics, it might’ve been a different story, as we would’ve been behind before I’d even reached my seat on Saturday - but then at least I wasn’t included amongst all the Emirates tourists, who having stood queuing for halftime refreshments, failed to make it back in time to see the all-important first goal immediately after the restart.

Prior to this we endured a dreadfully disjointed first-half, where, playing in front of our back four, Arteta was easily smothered, causing a disconnect between him and all those in more advanced roles. My neighbour commented “what price the frustrations of pleasing on the eye, ticcy-taccy football, compared to this staccato fare?”

Mercifully it finally seemed as if the Gunner had begun to find their mojo during the second-half. Obviously we were aided by the dismissal of Bolton’s centre-back, but even before this, it felt as if Wenger had found the right buttons to press during the break, to turn on some style.

Although he might lack the control and composure of a more cultured talent, without the millstone of Walcott’s timidity, Gervinho’s willingness to run with the ball is akin to putting a dreadlocked rooster in the opposition’s hen house. On the face of it, the depressing news about Wilshere’s prolonged absence appears to lend weight to the contentions of those who question the competency of our medical team.

Without Wilshere and Vermaelen, an injury-prone Van Persie is arguably the only player left in the current team who’d be coveted by all the cash-rich competition (perhaps along with the unsung Sagna?). Yet with each passing week you can sense the rising frustration in Robin’s demeanour, with his team-mates repeated inability to look up and pass to the unmarked striker. Unless this squad clicks and this situation is rectified pronto, we risk another Arsenal captain requesting his P45, as we can’t expect Van Persie to endure our squad's inadequacies in perpetuity.

Thankfully, on one of Theo's better afternoons, he was able to find Robin on Saturday. But then some might argue that even a broken clock is right twice a day, especially the ever-increasing army of Arsenal fans who are convinced that our misfortunes of late are evidence of the ebb tide of Arsène’s long tenure. Myself I believe Wenger has easily earned the right to prove himself capable of turning the tide. Ask me again after Sunday!

The margins between success and failure are nothing more than the width of a post. If a win against Olympiakos is followed by a famous Derby triumph at White Hart Lane, the clamour will be “crisis, what crisis?” But under the circumstances, rest assured my trepidation is such that I’ll be making the short-hop along the Seven Sisters Road on my motorbike, just so I’ve an excuse to bring my crash helmet.
--
e-mail to: londonN5@gmail.com

The Times They Are A Changing (but surely not the Totts!)

(apologies, as I didn't get around to posting last week's diary piece and when my thoughts were superseded by Tuesday's Carling Cup triumph, I really wanted to write something different, but having not got around to it, I thought that unlike the Gunners, I could at least maintain a consistent record, even if a tirade about zonal marking hardly seems so relevant after beating Bolton 3-0 and keeping a clean sheet against Kevin Davies and co. in the bargain - then again, I'm sure that most who witnessed this afternoon's encounter will freely admit that the fact that Sczczny's goal wasn't breached all afternoon, was more a reflection upon the failure of Owen Coyle's mob to get the ball in our box, than, sadly, any indication of some miraculous improvement in the Gunners' lamentable defensive organsiation, but my musings on these events to follow)

After 11 consecutive seasons of my weekly ravings in my diary missive, it's not exactly an uncommon event for me to find myself staring at my laptop on a Sunday night, with the flashing cursor in the corner of a blank screen, a constant, irritating reminder of my struggle to think of anything original to say. Last night was a little different because it's hardly as if I'm short on material, considering the Gunners recent woeful plight.

To the contrary, a run of bad form is invariably always much more inspiring, offering loads more material than when the Gunners are on song and I find myself scouring through my well-thumbed Thesaurus for adjectives that I haven't used a hundred times before, to depict the same act of the ball hitting the back of the net. Sadly my struggles to put a novel slant on yet another successful Arsenal display have been all too far and few between so far this season.

But while I was left with plenty to whinge about after a gut-wrenching weekend of more Gooner disappointment, I really didn't want to join all the other rabid, spoilt Arsenal ingrates, who are positively foaming at the mouth at present, indignantly demanding that they deserve to be watching a more successful side, as if it was our G-d given Gooner right. With the pond scum of the Red Tops media seemingly revelling in their role as the gravity, giving downhill momentum to the snowball that is the supposed perception of the Arsenal as a club in crises, I certainly didn't want to play any part in adding grist to this particular mill, with yet another heat-of-the-moment tirade slaughtering our manager.

We all know Wenger has his faults and sadly in recent weeks our manager's weaknesses have become increasingly impossible to ignore. Personally speaking, his preference for zonal marking at set pieces is my biggest bugbear, as I've yet to encounter anyone who has been able to provide me with an acceptable explanation of the supposed advantages to a zonal system of defence. I accept that a zonal system might possibly work, when adopted by an extremely well-drilled defence, amongst players who have been playing alongside one another for so long and so consistently, that they have the sort of intuitive understanding between one another, to know exactly where the boundaries of their responsibility lie.

However IMHO this still doesn't prevent them from being susceptible to the opposition getting the jump on them, when attacking the ball in the box and converting forward momentum into vertical height, compared to someone who's competing with them from a standing start. But in a defence where the combined effects of rotation, injuries and suspensions inevitably result in a fairly constant change in the starting line-up and where we have squad members who've only been playing with one another for a matter of weeks, where some of whom barely speak the same language, there cannot possibly exist the sort of understanding between them which would allow a zonal system to flourish.

To the contrary, it seems to me that to continue with a zonal system is a recipe for disaster and it's likely to be the cause of the sort of finger pointing which will inevitably have a detrimental impact on team spirit. At least when a defence adopts the more traditional man marking option, players are tasked with responsibility for containing a specific opponent and there's no room for argument, if said player escapes the attentions of his marker to head the ball in the back of the net. Whereas in a zonal system when an opponent rises in the box to head home, completely unchallenged, they are all left staring at one another and blaming each other for failing to protect their zone.

Nevertheless, as much as I fear for the Gunners fate, should we persist in this patent "zonal" madness and as much as it makes me wonder whether Arsène does indeed "know best", I'm not about to defect from the AKBs, to climb on this futile AMG (Arsène Must Go) bandwagon because such disunity can only be more damaging, at a time when as "supporters" our help is most required, to present a united front, in the face of the most serious threat to the Arsenal's esteem (lest we forget Wenger's remarkable achievement of the perception of the Gunners as a force to nbe reckoned with in world football) that we've endured during le gaffer's long tenure.

Keep the faith
Big Love
Bernard

_________________________________________________________________

You know the Arsenal must be in big trouble, when even your Spurs pals begin commiserating with you. No matter how tiresome it’s been in recent seasons, playing the bridesmaid, never the bride, we’ve always been able to take great comfort in the fact that things could be a lot worse, supporting the no-hopers at the wrong end of the Seven Sisters Road.

However with Tottenham trouncing the same Liverpool side that beat us at our place a few weeks back and with Redknapp’s squad suddenly looking a far more viable shout for a Champions League berth than our shell-shocked troops, we find ourselves having to come to terms with the possibility of the shoe being on the other foot. After having grown accustomed to lording it over our neighbours for so long, such a grave fall from grace is too much to bear for many Gooners!

All I know is that we badly need a result against Bolton next weekend in advance of our trip to White Hart Lane and rest assured that I’ll be travelling there on my motor-bike, so I’ve an excuse to wear a crash helmet. If Wenger is under pressure now, it’s likely to be a positive cake-walk, compared to the sort of flak he’s going to come in for, should the swing in our respective fortunes be ratified by an embarrassing defeat against our fiercest rivals.

Yet as we well know this funny old game of ours is a fickle mistress. Blackburn fans would still be calling for Steve Kean’s head on a plate, if it wasn’t for the Gunners generously propping up his managerial career with the gift of two own goals on Saturday. I like to kid myself we were merely looking out for one of our own, by helping to keep his assistant, John Jensen in gainful employ.

Perhaps I’m as stuck in my ways as our pig-headed Gaffer, but for all Arsène’s apparent faults and despite even his positively suicidal preference for zonal marking, I refuse to join the growing legions of Gooners who’ve lost complete faith in our not so glorious leader. At least not until someone convinces me of the availability of a more capable alternative.

In the meantime, in spite of Arsene’s drastically reduced odds in the sack race, as far as I’m concerned, any such speculation is pointless because he’s far too honourable a character to give up the ghost willingly and walk away whilst still under contract and none of the nodding-dogs on the Arsenal board have demonstrated themselves to be in possession of the sort of cajones necessary, to be capable of kicking such a giant of world football out on his ear.

So for better or worse, a quickie divorce is not on the cards, at least not until the corporate boxes become vacant and the tills in the Club Level eateries stop playing such a profitable tune. It’s not our position in the league table but its impact on the balance sheet which matters most to the Arsenal’s beancounters and so only when the income begins to evaporate would they be forced into pushing the panic button.

Unfortunately Arsène appears equally detached from footballing reality. A more visceral boss might’ve been more inclined to appreciate that an inclement outing to Blackburn was no place for our new Brazilian left-back’s debut. But Wenger has his head stuck so far up his statistics, that he’s completely out of touch with such intangible instincts. Likewise, the purchase of a new centre-back shouldn’t have been dependent upon the same sort of value for money quotient of someone considering cosmetic surgery, ie. how many additional inches per million pounds spent; when what was really needed was a “money is no object” acquisition of a player with the force of personality to knock our defence into some sort of shape. We might have a team of titans by now, if only strength of character could be measured on the same Excel spreadsheet our manager uses to compare pass completion rates!

I won’t exactly be recommending dull as ditchwater Dortmund as a holiday destination and with their 88th minute equalizer the Krauts hardly sent us packing with the most endearing keepsake. Yet on the back of our serendipitous triumph against the mighty Swans, there was much talk of the Gunners getting our season back on the rails, after grinding out a draw in Germany. Truth be told, our defending was no less shambolic than at Ewood Park and it could’ve been an equally disastrous start to our Champs Lge campaign, if It wasn’t for Dortmund’s profligacy in the final third.

I guess we’d better hope for an outbreak of a mystery illness in the Barca squad, as right about now our only prospect of qualifying for the competition next season would be by winning the bloomin’ thing! As for me, with the required expectation readjustment, I’m focusing on the Carling Cup. Then again, the way Wenger’s luck is going, by the time you read this Shrewsbury Town might’ve already spoiled our best hope of a trophy for yet another season!

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

Second Class Stamp

Hi folks,

As I'm heading off to Dortmund in the wee hours, I just wanted to add a couple of things which didn't make it into my weekly diary missive "Meet The New Boss, Same As The Old Boss"

My neighbour at the Emirates commented on Saturday that the worst thing about Joey Barton's move to QPR was that we've got the misfortune of meeting Barton at least two more times this season. Yet while there might be many Gooners who would contend that the only thing wrong with Alex Song's infringement up at St James Park was that Alex should've at least stamped on the nefarious little thug's nut, it seems outrageous that Song should come in for such serious retribution as a three game suspension, when Phil Bardsley's stamp on Mata at the Stadium of Light on Saturday barely even rated a mention!

I don't know about anyone else, but while Gary Neville might have plenty of interesting comments to make as a regular Sky pundit, his nasal Mancunian drawl gets right on my tits and puts me off listening to him. They were discussing Newcastle's impressive start to a season on their Monday Night Football program. Those of us who were present for the opening match of the campaign can confirm that even before they lost Barton to QPR and Enrique to Dalglish's free-spending Scousers, Pardew's Toon outfit were little more than mediocre.

In my most humble opinion, the Geordies elevated status is just another indictment of the potential damage of producing league tables from matchday one. Myself I would much prefer a return to a time when league tables didn't appear until something like six games in, as this might help to alleviate the fall-out from the sort of the early season anomalies that have resulted in panic-stricken hysteria in North London and everywhere else, where teams have struggled to get out of the Premiership starting blocks; or the agony for all those fans who are brought down to earth with a bump, when for example, the bubble of the Toon Army's inflated hopes inevitably ends up being burst.

It seems to me that League tables at this time of the year are just another example of the lies and damn lies that are statistics. With his expert mathematical brain, I'm sure my neighbour at our gaff wouldn't agree and doubtless he'd get on with le Gaffer like a house on fire, but on Saturday he also came out with a statement about the much maligned Gunners defence apparently being responsible for conceding the least number of shots on goal last season.

Such information must come from the same studious folks as those who informed us that Denilson completed more passes than anyone else. It may well be bona fide statistically speaking, but it's the sort of information that can be used to misrepresent the stark contradiction of the evidence of our own eyes.

No one is guiltier of this crime than le Gaffer, which is why I've referred to his ability to put a positive slant on a nuclear holocaust. In Saturday's programme notes, he points out "if you compare this season to last, game on game, we have only one point fewer against the same teams", as if this fact alone should convince us disconcerted Gooners that there's little reason to fret!

I just pray that this is merely Arsène's customary way of attempting to reassure the faithful and bolstering his pilloried troops and that he hasn't been staring at his spreadsheets for so long that he's actually blinded by such an obvious delusion?

Talking of delusion, as I trotted around to the ground on Saturday, the commentator on Radio 5 was referring to the "separated at birth"traits of Arteta in an Arsenal shirt and Cesc Fabregas. Although it's true that Mikel does look strangely familiar in that central role in our midfield and that he does possess the sort of ball control to be able to provide the fulcrum around which our ticky-tacca football can rotate, it remains to be seen if he can develop the intuitive relationship with his team mates to reproduce the same incisive moves of his predecessor.

Alan Green was a little more disparaging (as is the cynical old git's embittered custom these days), suggesting that it wasn't bad business on Bill Kenwright's part because Arteta isn't the player he was two years ago. I'm not sure I agree, as, injuries aside, there's not usually any real physical deterioration between the ages of 27 and 29 but if Arteta wasn't as naturally gifted as Cesc back then, he still isn't now and I think it's a little harsh of us to hold the poor geezer up to the incredibly high-standard of one of the greatest players on the planet, as that way lies guaranteed disappointment.

I'm glad Coquelin got a run out as a sub on Saturday, as I felt quite sorry for the French lad at Old Trafford. While most of his team mates played as if they'd received our manager's tacit instructions about having written off the match before a ball had been kicked, at least Coquelin was charging around (even if it was with a passing impersonation of a headless chicken) and so it was good to see him get an opportunity to get this game out of his system.

However, with most Gooners turning up desperate to catch a glimpse of the new guys, I am sure that like me, many struggled to understand why on earth Wenger bothered bringing Chamakh on for the last ten minutes. Then again, perhaps even Marouanne is going to show some signs of benefiting from the increased competition for places. Not only did I have to do a double-take to make sure it was the Moroccan who managed a header on target at the death, but I felt inclined to offer him a Kleenex for his potential nosebleed because from what we've seen of him in recent times, I can't ever recall our reluctant centre-forward getting that high up the pitch.

Meanwhile I'd better get some kip if I'm going to make my crack of dawn departure to Dortmund. I've been vacillating between thinking I must be a masochist sucker for punishment for stumping up for trips to Dortmund, Marseille and Athens and being glad of making the most of such Champions League jollies, while we still can (considering we're so much further from being able to take qualification for granted!). However I'm led to believe that Borussia's stadium is something special to behold, so I'm glad to be going (assuming I don't oversleep :-)

Keep the faith
Come on you Reds
Bernard

Meet The New Boss, Same As The Old Boss

If we were picking teams in the playground, I’m not sure any sane captain would select Arteta & Benayoun over Fabregas & Nasri. Yet compared to a couple of weeks ago, when Arsène was left with nothing to choose from but the last knockings of his squad, I’m certainly not moaning about our manager’s uncharacteristic last minute shopping spree.

In fact our humbling at Old Trafford couldn’t really have been better timed to rip our obstinate leader’s blinkers off, before it was too late. Traditional advice suggests that it’s best to get straight back on the horse after such an abysmal fall. However for once I was glad of the break in domestic matters, enabling the Gunners’ gaggle of national team captains to restore some much needed confidence while on International duty.

Thus we all rocked up to the Emirates on Saturday, eager to cast an eye over our new arrivals and bristling with a reinvigorated enthusiasm, in the hope that we might’ve turned the page, after our mauling in Manchester and that we were about to witness a performance against lowly Swansea which might announce the Arsenal’s golden new dawn.

In this respect I guess we were always riding for another anti-climatic fall. Such false hope was perfectly understandable, after the sort of flurry of transfer activity that we Gooners have not experienced in umpteen years. Instead of which, we’ve merely discovered, like the fans of so many other clubs who’s managers have a preference for a more frequent turnover of players than their underpants, that an ‘off the shelf’ panacea for a side’s deficiencies is an onerous task and is unlikely to manifest itself overnight.

What bothers me most is that Arsène had to be backed into a corner, before seemingly being forced to break all his rules. But if the 4-year contract offered to an aging Arteta, had been on the table for the likes of Gilberto, Gallas, or any of the over 30s who’ve exited the club in recent years, the Gunners would’ve never been left grounded in such an unbalanced boat, crying out for more experience.

Moreover, as pleased as I am by le Gaffer’s efforts to beefen up our gossamer thin squad, I can’t help but suspect that he has focused on the sort of players who might be capable of improving our Champions League prospects. But on the evidence of our disappointing domestic opening blows, the Gunners have got a job on their hands just achieving the upper echelons of the Premiership. Experience of the big stage will be of little benefit to us should we fail to even reach its apron!

As a result, in light of Keiran Gibbs error strewn display against the Swans, instead of having the likes of Santos biding his time on the bench, familiarizing himself with our more frenetic brand of football, I can’t help but wonder if we might’ve profited more from Kenwright’s fire-sale, by procuring the more industrial likes of Leighton Baines.

Perhaps Baines isn’t destined to set any fires on the European stage, but he’s a battling “do a job defender” of the sort that could’ve come straight into the side and provided the instant return necessary to recapture our rarified top four status; before being encumbered by the sort of ‘soft target’ perception that’s likely to result in a tense, season long struggle to elevate ourselves beyond the Europa Cup also-rans.

Mertesacher might be a big, immobile lump of a centre-back but he appears to have that economy of movement of an experienced old pro, with his Tony Adams like intervention of a timely extended limb. Coming from the Bundesliga, hopefully a bedding-down period won’t prove necessary and he’ll exude the air of composure that can influence the kids around him (rather than him being infected by their panic-struck mien!). But similarly, it might be argued that we’d have been better off with a player who’s more familiar with the Premiership course and all it’s idiosyncratic prat-falls?

Wenger would undoubtedly find a statistical ruse to put a positive slant on a nuclear holocaust. Yet in truth, in the absence of Wilshere and Vermaelen, you only have to consider how few of our players would be coveted by the competition, to fully comprehend quite what a struggle lies ahead for us to cling onto their coat-tails.

Frimpong’s misdemeanours appear to have left him playing with the handbrake on, which is tantamount to castration of our virile young midfield moose. He even had Shava on his case about his marking on Saturday, with the diminutive Russian returning from Moscow utterly unrecognizable from the disaffected Gooner who departed these shores. Shava might start to win us over, if he can maintain this level of commitment at Ewood Park and beyond?

Yet with Park and Benyoun swelling the ranks of those familiar with the responsibility of wearing the armband for their respective countries, it’s ridiculous that leadership should remain an issue within this Arsenal squad. When I watch the breathtaking way in which Fabregas is flourishing for Barca, I almost feel guilty that we deprived the lad of his pitch on world football’s most talented stage for so long.

We can but hope that for all we might’ve lost in artistic flair (at least until Wilshere’s return), we can compensate with the sort of guts, graft and determination that was all too often on the missing list, so long as we were perceived to have such an advantage. As someone grounded in the Bertie Mee’s boring Gunners, you certainly won’t hear me complaining if we can roll our sleeves up and grind out a run of prosaic encores to a good old-fashioned “1-0 to the Arsenal”.

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