The Ghost of Arsenal Past?

We’ve had such a miserable time up at the Reebok in recent seasons that after the extreme disappointment of the defeat at Stamford Bridge last weekend, it was perfectly understandable that there were plenty of Arsenal fans who thought better of revisiting this annual masochistic ritual.

Indeed, if my piece for the Irish Examiner was entitled “Armchair Talk” and I didn’t feel some responsibility to the readers, or to my travelling companions, I myself might have rolled over, when the alarm eventually pierced my consciousness on Saturday morning. After a long, hard week’s work, it took every last ounce of my loyalty to the Arsenal cause, to drag myself from far more pleasant dreams in the land of nod, to the unappealing reality of a rain-sodden, four hour schlep up to the North-West, for another laborious encounter with our Lancashire nemesis.

It was a shame the weather was so awful, as the convertible BeeMer we drove up in would’ve really come into its own with the roof down. But then my mate was nervous enough as it was, of incurring the wrath of his missus for misappropriating her motor, while she was sunning herself in Spain. We couldn’t travel in the people mover, as would normally be the case because apparently his wife had taken it. But this was the source of some amusement, when I enquired in utter astonishment as to whether she’d driven the Previa all the way down to Malaga, only for him to reveal that it had merely been used for the more modest trip to Luton airport.

With the fistful of spare tickets that my mate had been given by other Gooners, we wandered around the Reebok on arrival, in the hope we might be able to return them at the Box Office. I thought Blackburn was the only Premiership club where this was possible, but what with Rovers having such poor attendances, apparently even they’ve become pissed off with having to refund substantial sums of money, originally paid to the Arsenal.

In the hope of us making it all the way to Moscow, apparently there are plenty of Gooners trying to improve their prospects of getting a ticket for a European final, by bumping up their away match credits. But this must be proving an expensive business, as Bolton certainly weren’t giving any money back at the Box Office and there was little point lingering outside the turnstiles, with all those Gooners who were struggling to give away spare tickets.

The flyer I was handed for the forthcoming Amir Khan fight at the Bolton Arena promised more entertainment than anything on offer at the Reebok this season, as evidenced by the proliferation of posters around the stadium, offering season ticket holders additional tickets to see Wanderers play West Ham for only a fiver! Once inside, a glance at all the empty seats confirmed the need for these sort of ridiculously reasonable marketing deals and is further evidence that while the Premiership’s top half dozen clubs continue to rake in the readies, it’s not all roses elsewhere in the league.

Mind you it’s about time football fans started voting with their feet and it’s just annoying that I happen to support a southern club, with such an affluent fan base, that the Arsenal appear to be somewhat immune to the economical climate. I know full well that if I refuse to pay my thousand quid renewal (x two!), there’s a massive queue of fans eager to take my place. My Ma was telling me that a mate of hers is taking her to the Old Vic theatre tonight at a cost of 78 quid for the two of them. It’s patently obvious that something in society is ass about tit, when an activity widely perceived as a toffs past-time, is almost half the price of a sport which was once an affordable weekly working class pleasure!

Meanwhile it seems somewhat crass talking about money, following 90 minutes of the sort of entertainment which you simply can’t put a price on, where with hindsight many of those misfortunate Gooners who made the mistake of not travelling, might give up half a years salary, to have not missed out on what turned out to be the most thrilling away game of the season.

As an example of a relatively modern arena, the Reebok is a stark reminder of quite how sumptuous our new stadium is by comparison, with every (albeit expensive) seat in the house having the same luxurious amount of leg-room. By contrast, as one attempts to tiptoe along the cramped confines of even the more costly upper-tier rows at the Reebok, like a club-footed tightrope walker (especially after a few bevvies!), where inadvertently crushing the toes of ones neighbours is far more preferable to the prospect of a dangerous fall down the steep incline on one’s other side, I am always mindful of how much more dangerous these all-seater stadia would inevitably prove to be in the event of a fire, or some such similar emergency, than a standing terrace, where the seats wouldn’t be the greatest obstacle in getting everyone out in good time.

It’s hard to have sympathy for the precarious predicament of a club that didn’t have the good sense to hang onto their one and only regular goal scorer and I'm certain that there won’t be too many Gooners who’ll be disappointed if we don’t ever have to go back there again. But if this should prove to have been our Bolton swansong, it was one helluva way to bow out.

In the absence of Kevin Nolan (with 5 goals, their highest scorer after Anelka), you’d imagine that even the Arsenal’s leaky defence might hold firm against a team that hadn’t scored in 360 mins of footie previously. However as much as I adore Kolo Touré, he’s been playing at centre-back for so long that he’s bound to lack some of Bakari Sagna’s instinctive defensive tendencies at full back, as evidenced by the way in which Taylor managed to get his head on the ball for Bolton to take a surprising lead, from their only meaningful attack of the game.

However, to my mind, it was Diaby’s somewhat slothful demanour which was most to blame. But then once again we’re left having to ‘make do’, as Abou neither has the build or the instincts of a left winger. Aside from the fact that we’re deprived of ammunition from the left flank, because he needs to cut in on his right foot, I felt it was Diaby’s failure to track back which left Flamini with even more work trying to protect Clichy and provided Steinsson will all the time and space required to put the ball on a plate for the scorer.

After that, having failed to capitalize on any of our goal scoring opportunities, it seemed as if it wasn’t to be our day. Where Bendtner’s shot had deflected wide, just about Bolton’s second effort on goal was diverted into the net. But in the meantime Foy probably did us a big favour by sending Diaby off. No matter whether it’s us or the opposition, I hate seeing refs reach for the red card so robotically. I appreciate the need to try and prevent dangerous tackles, of which there can be little doubt Diaby’s was a prime example. But personally I don’t believe you can stamp them out completely, not without making football a less committed, not so full-blooded and thereby a far less thrilling spectacle.

The efforts to over-protect players are symptomatic of this whole nanny state culture and to my mind the authorities have a much greater responsibility not to tinker with the beautiful game because it wasn’t broke in the first place (and no I wasn’t the hypocrite who was calling for Martin Taylor to be banned a couple of weeks back!). I find it utterly infuriating that this strict rulebook mentality has been forced on our referees, to the point where week in, week out the automaton in the middle is making decisions, which all too often ruin the event as a contest for all the watching millions. You couldn’t wish for a more blatant example of the tail wagging the dog.

Mind you, the Arsenal have a habit of performing better with ten men than the full compliment and combined with the two goal deficit, Diaby’s premature exit served to force Wenger’s hand. Usually le Prof will leave his side unaltered until the last 15/20 mins, but with half an hour remaining Arsène rung the changes, which proved to be the catalyst for an astonishing comeback.

I sneaked out at the break to console myself, by sucking on a cancer stick on the stairwell. At that stage I was so pissed off that I joked with my pals that I might get lucky and an orange-jacketed anti-smoking nazi might do me the small mercy of slinging me out and save me from the second half!

Considering that Bolton looked far more likely to score a third after the restart with a rapid succession of corners, if I’m honest our remarkable revival was probably more a mixture of some long awaited good fortune, combined with the home side’s implosion, rather than any really dramatic turnaround in the Gunners form. Fabregas’ passes were still going astray and be it with banjo or football boot, Van Persie was still struggling to hit the proverbial cow’s arse (and under such circumstances, all credit to Robin for stepping up for the penalty).

I hate having to reduce a 90 minute performance in a team game, down to an individual mark out of ten, but I am often obliged to do so for the Observer's "Match Verdict" column and it was only when it came to doing so on Saturday that it dawned on me that in spite of the amazing turnaround, there weren't any really outstanding individual performances. In the end I gave Theo an 8 for his considerable impact, along with Willie and the Flamster (although even Matty was not without fault, especially in the lapse in concentration that led to Bolton's second) and virtually everyone else a 7, except for Van Persie and Diaby who didn't really deserve more than a disappointing 6. However if I had my way, sod the points for artistic style, I would've given the entire team a 10 out of 10 for application and effort.

What's more, I’m pretty much convinced that the sparkling form we've been so patently lacking in recent weeks, will come with the restoration of a little confidence. Far more important on Saturday was that in the sort of torrential conditions which would’ve seen many a lesser team give up the ghost, we showed the sort of ‘never say die’ mettle which meant that we made our own luck.

The TV pictures suggested it was a stick-on penalty, but from behind the goal, I was fairly certain there was some pre-meditation in the way Alex Hleb invited the challenge. There were those around me who were subsequently knocking Walcott’s naivety, when Theo stayed on his feet instead of hitting the deck. But Foy was never going to give us another pen and personally I quite like the idea that a youngster is too focused on possession of the ball for the intrusion of such felonious thoughts.

With a Man Utd slump looking more and more unlikely, in the end Saturday’s result might only prove important in terms of a much-needed boost to morale, prior to Wednesday’s big game. Although considering the amount of effort involved, I can’t help but be a little concerned which of the two teams will line up without the disadvantage of some residual lactic acid in their weary legs. Then again, no matter what transpires during the remainder of the season, we might have enjoyed plenty of matches where the football was on a different planet to Saturday’s somewhat mediocre fare, but there will be few present who will forget their memories of such a magical afternoon.

There’s often some precious moments of mutual appreciation after such an exceptional encounter, which involves the sort of bonding both between the players and the fans that is beyond your humble correspondent’s descriptive abilities. I know the badge-kissing is an overabused cliché and is usually the precursor to a guaranteed summer exit, but no-one who witnessed the thrill on the faces of the likes of young Fabregas can question that there’s a commitment to the club, which transcends the size of their weekly wage packet. Whether the spirit of togetherness that was engendered by events on Saturday afternoon will prove sufficient to take us all the way to Moscow is another matter. But it sure won’t do us any harm and it is encounters such as these, which can forge an ethos whose effects might last long beyond May.

As an almost ever-present this season, it remains to be seen whether Sagna’s absence for this titanic trilogy with the Scousers will prove crucial. In truth it only confirms my belief that Arsène needs to be bold by putting our home advantage to good effect by playing two strikers. Even with Sagna I wouldn’t have had much confidence in our ability to maintain a clean sheet, especially with Torres on such a hot streak. As ever, our success will depend on our ability to outscore the opposition. While I may not be nearly so confident as I was prior to our meeting with AC Milan, I am hopeful that if we can contain Torres and co. to no more than a single goal, we can go to Anfield with everything still to play for. Then again if Fabregas rises to the occasion and Robin finds his shooting boots, perhaps we'll make Liverpool look like Premiership also-rans, rather than Champions League contenders?

In the car on the way back from Bolton, I pooh-poohed the lad in the back when he suggested he fancied the Toon to turnover Spurs. "Not at White Hart Lane" I rebuked, but then who could've imagined that the Lilywhites new messiah (in a long line of dodgy deities, whose water walking acts didn't quite work out!) would make such a tactical ricket, according to Lee Dixon on MOTD2. But then I guess Ramos has discovered that it's traditional at this time of year for Tottenham's squad to be more focused on which beach they'll be spending their summer on, than on their opposition. I certainly won’t be complaining if my predictive skills prove equally fallible come Wednesday and we kill the tie in the first leg!

Lee Dixon and Tony Adams as the pundits on Match of the Day 2, now there's a win double act if ever I saw one. With TA having had the piss taken out of him for apparently having holes in his shoes on his last appearance, he revealed that his patent leather pair on his "plates" on Sunday were a present from Alan "Smudger" Smith. It felt like a bit of an Arsenal love-in which made me somewhat nostalgic for the days of yore, when the Gunners were a long way from the sophisticated outfit that we've become under Arsène Wenger (albeit playing football to match!).

However I am sure even Tone and Lee would've been proud of Saturday's performance and it left me with a little hope that some vestige of the Arsenal spirit as we've always known it, still lives on, even in these far more mercenary times.
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e-mail to: londonN5@gmail.com

Wenger's Walked On Water.....So For His Next Messianic Trick?

Escape to the country - I've only included this pic, as of all the bloomin' games, my payment for the match at Old Trafford was refused and so I had to walk around to the ground on Saturday with a letter asking them to represent the payment. On my way back with the dog, I decided to wander into the tiny plot of land which I believe was the cause of so much aggro in the development of the new gaff, with it being some sort of nature reserve. Well let me tell you, photos do lie, as it's a somewhat dilapidated patch of grass, which isn't even big enough to let Treacle off the lead for a run, where for example a feature such as the "herb folly" was true to its moniker, as despite the pretty plant pictures on the board, there wasn't a single herb to be seen!
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It’s been a traumatic couple of weeks, watching the life-force drain from the cancer ravaged body of a mate of mine, day by day, until Laurie eventually departed this mortal coil in the wee hours of Thursday morning. Consequently it was a welcome relief to be able to lose myself in a crunch weekend of football.

Saturday’s results were a bit of a wind-up, with the likes of Sunderland, Reading and Blackburn making a mockery of the plaudits previously lavished on their opponents for taking points off the Gunners, with performances which now look to have been more a reflection of our own impotence than any inspirational resolve of these lesser lights. After such a lacklustre run against lower league opposition, “Grand Slam Sunday” couldn’t come quick enough, as far as I was concerned.

I even set the alarm on Sunday morning, which would normally be sacrilege on the one day a week when I like to wake at my leisure. But I had this wholly unrealistic notion that I might head off early to West London, so I could plot up in a pub near Stamford Bridge and watch the previous game in full, before a casual stroll to the stadium, rather than stopping at home and inevitably struggling to tear myself away from the TV and being left with a stressful dash across town, risking all sorts of stealth tax type fines, as I set off any number of the myriad of ‘Big Brother’ traffic cameras, in my efforts to try and make kick-off.

Inevitably I couldn’t kill the shrill sound quick enough. Jesus might have risen on Easter Sunday, but for me it was an excuse to roll over and be seduced back into the arms of Morpheus by the delights of that dreamy half-sleep, where everything is possible, even Theo Walcott scoring the winner in Moscow. It was a couple of hours later when I eventually stirred and ventured a big toe out from under the duvet, to discover I might as well have been in Russia. The temperature was more thermals and longjohns, than the customary t-shirts and shorts one hurries to dig out of the wardrobe at the first hint of Spring.

Ròna probably would’ve lit a fire, but there was heat enough for me emanating from the TV, as I sat back to enjoy the afternoon’s calorific hors d’ouevres from Old Trafford. Skrtel v Rooney said it all, as far as I was concerned. Yet while I wasn’t expecting the Scousers to pull off a minor miracle, I felt that their momentum of the past couple of weeks, meant that a draw wasn’t impossible.

If Fergie wasn’t, I’m sure Wayne might have been kicking himself at half-time for not falling over and earning a penalty in the opening moments. But as a lover of football, I had no choice but to admire an incident which epitomised Rooney’s entire performance. It’s nothing to do with being an “honest player”, as if he'd half a brain, Wayne would’ve hit the deck. The slow-motion replay portrayed a study in concentration, where good sense wasn’t about to impinge on Rooney’s utterly blinkered focus on putting the ball in the back of the net.

Steve Bennett might’ve given me license to leave the house at half-time for a more leisurely trip to Stamford Bridge, as all hope of Liverpool doing us a favour left the field with their diminutive Argentinian, but I wasn’t about to thank the over-zealous official. Who would’ve thought Ashley Cole might put a spoke in our title prospects in such an abstract fashion? As for Mascherano, he bore little resemblance to the relaxed pre-match interviewee, who referred to the potential contest with his close pal Tevez as “only a game”! There’s little doubt that in the current climate the feisty midfielder was a mug, but for my money his sending-off ranks along with the subsequent booking for Drogba’s goal celebrations at the Bridge, as a slightly more extreme case of the game’s tinpot tail wagging the football dog.

I’m awfully tired of hearing rugby practices cited as a model for the sort of example professional footballers should be setting for the youth of today. It is the passion that football inspires which makes it the world’s most popular pasttime (behind fishing?) and it’s the inevitability that our volatile sport will boil over from time to time which is part and parcel of the thrill of the beautiful game.

To my mind Alan Hansen had it right with his belief that Bennett should’ve been able to warn Gerrard to put a leash on their Argie Jack Russell, as I’m of the opinion that intent to harm a fellow professional is just about the only legitimate justification for the ref to ruin such a spectacle for the watching millions. Sadly the authorities fail to grasp the fact that the punters should be their primary focus and a red card should be a tool of last resort.

If we really wanted a staid, sanitised sport played by responsible adults, we’d all be watching rugby and while it’s true that kids tend to mimic their idols, surely we’re not so naïve as to believe that the game at grassroots would be all sweetness and light, if only all our professionals were to mind their Ps and Qs?

I recall that rapidly abandoned experiment in the late 80s when they miked up Elleray for a Millwall v Arsenal match and we all heard Tony Adams calling the Harrow schoolmaster a “f***ing cheat”. By those standards, a zero tolerance policy on dissent would’ve left more officials on the pitch than players.

Meanwhile I was still sitting at home watching events at Old Trafford when Fergie made his substitutions, with 15 mins left on the clock. If Man Utd should go on to take the title, you only had to look at Sunday’s squad to appreciate their principal advantage with their bench crowded with players capable of having an impact on a big occasion, compared to a selection of inexperienced youngsters who might have a tendency to be overwhelmed.

It was more by luck than judgement that I made KO at the Bridge. Thanks to empty Easter Sunday roads, I’d traversed London and was parked up in 25 minutes. But a single jam on the Westway and I might just as easily have missed the entire first-half! I took my seat beside a bold young Gooner, spitting fire and brimstone, accentuating the absence of my own bellicose fervour. Then I suppose it would’ve been more surprising if the tragedy that’s been played out these past couple of weeks had not had some impact on my customary ‘life & death’ perspective. Win or lose against the Blues, it hardly rated as significant, compared to the thought of a two year lad who would never get to kick a ball with his dad! But then like all the best drugs, I was soon comfortably numbed by familiar footballing themes and within a few minutes of lambasting Ashley Cole’s alleged telephonic proclivities, nothing else mattered but this ‘must win’ match.

Despite Almunia being the busier keeper first-half, there was no mistaking the air of confidence amongst the Gooners gabbing on the concourse during the break. Didier Drogba seemed to be the only serious danger, standing between us and the possibility of inflicting Chelsea’s first home defeat in donkey’s years. Considering the Blues have managed to drag themselves back into contention, there was much half-time merriment at our end of the ground, at the revelations over the PA that Chelsea remains a small town in Fulham. The announcements about all the tickets available on general sale for so many of the remaining matches in the run-in resulted in an amusing chorus of “buy one, get one free”

Although sadly it was Chelsea who had the last laugh and Avram Grant in particular, as they scored twice within ten minutes of the home fans’ “you don’t know what you’re doing” tirade at the Israeli’s substitutions! Anelka’s appearance might have given our defence more to worry about than Drogba alone, but in truth it was the muscular Ivorian who was the main difference between the two teams.

On his day Drogba is an incredibly potent force, who, with his pace and physicality, is capable of ruffling the feathers of even the most composed centre-back. It was obvious how hard Kolo and Gallas were having to concentrate to contain him. If the ball hadn’t got away from Drogba when he got goalside of Gallas in the first-half, or without the pressure of a last ditch tackle early in the second, he would’ve likely found the back of the net a lot sooner.

At least we enjoyed the all too fleeting euphoria of taking the lead. Yet the gradual erosion of our confidence in recent weeks, left us looking like we didn’t know what to do with it. Forcing home our advantage isn’t one of our strongest suits, but an Arsenal side on song and in the habit of winning, would’ve at least made Chelsea work their socks off to rescue something from the match.

Having had our entertaining tag rubbed in their faces all season long, obviously the Blues were understandably ecstatic at ramming it back down our throats. Our passing game can earn all the plaudits on the planet but it all amounts to nought without the points.

Who knows what possessed Adebayor to agree to such a radical makeover of his barnet while on such a hot streak, as he hasn’t been able to hit a barn door since he lost his locks. After such a long layoff, Van Persie still needs more game time to regain his sharpness and the ever-willing Flamini apart, our our midfield failed to demonstrate the sort of urgency that one would expect in this ‘do or die’ encounter.

I was hoping this would prove the perfect stage for Fabregas to return to his sparkling best and that Cesc would be inspired to grab the game by the scruff of the neck. Instead of which, sadly we witnessed the continued absence of the drive and dynamism of the Arsenal side that is an irresistible force. I actually can’t remember the last swift counter where we carried the ball from one end of the pitch to the other, without stopping on the edge of the area to exchange umpteen passes and perhaps a chat about the weather which is just long enough to allow the opposition to regroup.

As a result we appear sufficiently ponderous and predictable that thwarting us has become merely a matter of getting enough bodies behind the ball. Undoubtedly, we'd begin to regain the dynamism with a couple of wins under our belt, but the most common complaint during our worst run of form in 9 seasons has been the absence of bodies in the penalty area whenever we advance. It stands to reason that you can’t play the ball forward without a team mate in front of you and it’s hard to recall the last time we saw the likes of Hleb, Fabregas and Flamini all advance past the edge of the opposition area, making late runs towards goal with the sort of drive and determination to beat the most obdurate of opponents to the ball.

I headed along the Kings Road afterwards to SW London’s best kebab shop, so that at least my outing wouldn’t be a total loss and as I stood queuing for my lamb schwarma, I pondered the likelihood of the resurrection of the Arsenal’s season. The choice of chilli or barbecue sauce on my kebab was a more perplexing dilemma than whether I’d be prepared to sacrifice Sunday’s points, for success in a potential Champions League semi-final. Not that it should be necessary, but the prospect of such sweet revenge should prove an added incentive to overcome the Scousers.

Perhaps being written off as title contenders will prove the perfect tonic but as Arsène undoubtedly turns his attentions towards that elusive European prize, it mustn’t be to the exclusion of domestic affairs. As unlikely as it may be, I will be devastated if Utd do slip up and we aren’t in a position to take advantage!

e-mail to: LondonN5@gmail.com

Let Us All Pray!

I guess I should be grateful that Arsène Wenger’s team is considerably more tenacious than the Arsenal’s not-so faithful, or else the entire 60,000 crowd might as well have joined the premature evacuators, taking their leave with ten minutes left on the clock on Saturday. Almost as disappointing as the prospect of dropping more, potentially crucial points, against yet another patently inferior outfit and the likelihood that Man Utd were about to leapfrog us, was the mood amongst our crowd when Middlesborough took an unexpected lead, with just about their one and only worthwhile counter-attack during the first 45.

It winds me up something rotten, when the same fans who sit on their overpriced seats, silently waiting for victory to fall into their laps, without being prepared to work for it (sadly, much like the majority of our team), suddenly find their voices, in order to vocalize their utter and all too ugly contempt, for the very same players who’s arses they were prepared to kiss only a couple of weeks back.

Usually the one good thing to come from the feelings of injustice about the perceived incompetence of the officials is that it is often guaranteed to stir our somewhat somnolent crowd into stoking the atmosphere up a good few notches and thereby giving the Gunners some momentum. But as we grew tired of taking our frustrations out on ref Mike Halsey, it disheartened me to hear some of the more fickle Gooners turning on our own.

I was no less angry at the way in which we’d been passively prodding the ball around the edge of the Boro penalty area during the early stages, expecting an opening to be offered on a plate, with Matty Flamini just about the only Arsenal player demonstrating the sort of drive and intensity necessary to force the issue - it was therefore no surprise that the Flamster earned the most money for Sport Relief this weekend, covering more ground than any Premiership player, as the league’s most industrious grafter! However I’ve never believed in balling out our own players. Part of our remit as “supporters” is to try and inspire those in the red & white to sweat blood for the Arsenal’s cause. Whereas I hardly think that some of the disgusting racist drivel hollered in their direction on Saturday was likely to provoke a positive response.

And when you consider that a team which was written off before the season began, as the team most likely to slip out of the top four, is still clinging to a title challenge (albeit by our fingertips) and in the quarterfinals of the Champions League, we Gooners can’t really grumble. Besides, as far as I’m concerned, individual culpability is not really appropriate for what appears to be a collective malaise.

I never imagined too much self-belief could be a problem, or perhaps we’re seeing a touch of complacency, or arrogance raising its ugly head. But despite our domination of possession in much of the past four games, we’ve appeared somewhat impotent until we’ve gone a goal behind. For some reason we seem unable to apply ourselves from the opening whistle, with the same sort of fervor we’ve witnessed in the closing stages, when we’ve grown increasingly desperate to avoid dropping points.

It will be no surprise if we end up sharing the spoils in a nervous contest next Sunday, with both teams too afraid of losing to risk too much – a flagrant fate tempting effort to ensure I’m proved entirely wrong, by a thoroughly successful goalfest! I’m confident we’re capable of raising our game and more than holding our own at Stamford Bridge and Old Trafford.

Yet for us to continue to have a say when it comes to the Premiership prize-giving in May, Arsène needs to find a means to inspire the sort of vim and vigor from his troops, to be able to subjugate the lesser footballing mortals from the first minute to the last, by bringing their San Siro style ‘A’ game (where A stands for application), to more mundane encounters against the likes of Bolton, Everton and Sunderland. They need to display the same sort of desire that drove John Terry to be first to the ball, to head home the Blues goal within ten minutes of the start, rather than waiting for the clock to tick down before pulling their collective fingers out.

In addition to the inappropriate outbursts of the fickle few, what I found equally annoying was that as Saturday’s game wore on and it began to appear increasingly likely that the title race was slipping from our grasp, instead of joining me, as I jumped incessantly from my seat to urge our lot not to accept our apparent fate, it was as if the entire stadium was enveloped by an air of resignation.

I don’t know how anyone can leave before the last kick of such a delicately balanced contest, especially when we were going for it with ‘all guns blazing’. The trickle, which rapidly develops into a torrent of those trying the beat the queues at the death, isn't particularly encouraging. You can’t help wondering if they know something we don't. But then we've witnessed enough last gasp goals this season to know better.

Mind you, it was my missus’ first game back since a worrying bout of pneumonia. With Róna still being somewhat fragile, she thought it best to avoid the crush at the end and ironically she was halfway along Highbury Hill, when Kolo eventually conjured up an equaliser. Naturally I was straight on the phone to her after, to moan that if I'd known her exit was the precursor to an Arsenal goal, I would have kicked her out ten minutes earlier, so there was time enough for a winner!

I adore these demonstrations of our side’s “never say die” qualities and I only wish more of our fans were equally inspirational. If the swings and roundabouts theory holds water, then we must be storing up a positive avalanche of good fortune for some unfortunate victim/s in our remaining fixtures.

I was at the hospital bedside of a dying pal during the week. The doctor didn’t expect him to survive after he took a dramatic turn for the worse and a female priest who appeared on the ward asked if his wife wanted her to say a prayer. Laurie’s condition was so critical that it felt more like the Last Rites. But I will never again pooh, pooh the power of prayer, as I was flabbergasted by the miraculous way in which he’d rallied the following day.

However I was a little gutted, as if I’d known the nun had a direct line to the Almighty, I would’ve asked her to put in an increasingly necessary good word for the Gunners!

What's a jewish princess' favourite wine?

"I havent got a thing to wear", whereas for Arsène Wenger........

You couldn’t wish for a more stark contrast between a sexy, midweek Champions League encounter, amidst the glamorous Milanese environs of the San Siro and a murky Sunday afternoon mudbath, on the brown field bog of the JJB. But before siding with Le Prof, in laying all the blame for Sunday’s bore draw on the unsatisfactory circumstances, we might do best to look a little closer to home for culpability.

I can well recall sliding about on similarly sticky and far worse playing surfaces in my youth. In fact, as a left-back, I actually relished such conditions, knowing I could win the ball with a well-timed slide tackle, without risking a nasty grass burn on the bum. However in the event of playing on such a boggy pitch, you didn’t need to be Einstein to appreciate the value of a coach’s advice to avail oneself of the few remaining blades of grass out on the flanks.

Quite frankly I find it utterly unfathomable how we’ve ended up challenging for honours, with a squad that doesn’t appear to include the option of a single natural winger within our ranks. Moreover I know not whether Arsène was remiss in his neglect of such a schoolboy strategy, or the likes of Hleb and co. were naïve (perhaps to the point of arrogance), but it was agonisingly painful having to endure their frustrating efforts to plough a somewhat impenetrable furrow through the mire, as they remained steadfast to twinkletoes principles, instead of adapting their tactics to best suit the less than ideal conditions.

In these high-tech agricultural times, you’re likely to find a more predictable playing surface on Hackney Marshes than the JJB. Yet up against our superior passing outfit, the home side were hardly going to profit from a snooker baize like pitch and when you consider that there were only 4000 less through the turnstiles at Wigan Warriors last rugby league home game, than the 19.5k present on Sunday, for a club with limited resources, the economic argument for a groundshare becomes glaringly obvious.

As they say, the conditions were the same for both teams and with the Steve Bruce expressing his gratitude to his managerial mentor across the weekend media, it was a pity that the favourite “whine” that was offered in return, proved to be of the corked sort, which only lends credibility to the archetypal image of the Southern Softie, fair-weather footballers who can only produce the goods playing on a pristine pitch, preferably with the sun on their backs!

Wenger has been manager long enough to know that part and parcel of winning the Premiership marathon is the ability to produce a side with sufficient mettle, not merely to survive in the face of adverse circumstances, but a steel-chinned team capable of flourishing, no matter how many haymakers fate has to throw at them.

It doesn’t feel right having a pop at the lads, in a week when we’ve positively revelled in one of the most peerless European performances it’s ever been my privilege to witness. Perhaps a somewhat subdued “after the Lord Mayor’s show” lacklustre display was inevitable, from players who’s adrenal glands had been working overtime to fuel last Tuesday’s highly-charged triumph.

No matter what twists and turns are to come in the climax to this campaign, the memories of our magical night in Milan will endure, undiminished. The Gooner invasion of the bars around Il Duomo left me commenting on the fact that I recognised so few regular awayday faces. However aside from the obvious attraction for a few glory-hunting liggers, the inter-continental mélange of accents around me only underlined English football’s global fan base. In addition to a few mates who’d travelled from as far afield as Texas, Cairo, Holland and Germany, the 5000 strong contingent was comprised of Gooners from all points in between.

Considering how many of the day-trippers had enjoyed an extremely long day, supping a traditional liquid diet, it could so easily have turned ugly. But one of the most pleasing aspects to the party mood, was the sense of a common bond between the two sets of supporters, with us both being such aficionados of the beautiful game. Despite enduring what was basically a season-ending defeat, the home fans not only had the good grace to express all due appreciation to the victors, but a Gooner pal who remained in the city the following day told me that they were shaking his hand, to compliment “il grande Arsenal”.

The San Siro’s turrets are one of the most striking features of this imposing stadium. I could’ve done with an oxygen cylinder on the seemingly eternal march up to our seats in the gods. But on eventually being allowed to depart, the red & white procession winding it’s way down the spiral walkways, with the “you’re not champions any more” chant, echoing out from these endless concrete chambers, is a sight which will live long in the memory.

I was hoping such a majestic performance might give us the sort of momentum, whereby a swaggering Gunners display would leave a lowly Wigan trailing in our wake. However where I can accept one bad day at the office, maybe even two, three in succession is a trend that suggests something is definitely amiss. While we might not have left our chin exposed, the evidence of recent Premiership encounters might lead one to some worrying conclusions about our beloved club's soft underbelly?

In spite of the widespread recognition for all he’s achieved and the fact that Wenger walks on water as far as most every Gooner is concerned, you can’t help but feel that it will take the affirmation of a Champions League title for Arsène to be truly inducted into the managerial hall of fame alongside the likes of Fergie, Clough and Shankly.

Another memorable image from Milan was the sight of Fabregas leaping into le Gaffer’s arms to celebrate his goal. Never mind all the paper talk of a preposterous pay rise, it’s evident that theirs is a far more cerebral relationship. Thus I can’t help but wonder if, on some level, the signals that Arsène sends out are responsible for the sort of marked increase in intensity that we witnessed against AC?

A British spine certainly hasn’t enabled the Scousers to recreate the European magic on a sufficiently regular basis in the Premiership and perhaps it’s merely a fact of modern day football life that the ‘galacticos’ not only attach more kudos to the big-eared European prize but that they simply can’t replicate the same increased levels of fervour for the relentless demands of domestic footie.

From my part, having staked such a well-earned claim for a major role in the run-in, with our efforts over the past eight months, it would be criminal to put all our eggs in the Champions League basket and merely let the Premiership race get away from us, at the sound of the last lap bell. Especially when you consider quite how influential the fickle finger of fortune can be in any two-legged Euro contest.

Assuming we can apply ourselves sufficiently to beat Boro and unless Gary Megson can favour us with a minor miracle by taking points off Man Utd in midweek, we will be a point behind Utd by the time we travel to Stamford Bridge. Messrs Gerrard and Torres appear to have hit the sort of purple patch which should present Man Utd with a stiff examination and it might well prove to be a decisive afternoon.

I’ve no concerns about us raising our game against our principal rivals. Yet no matter how well we acquit ourselves, I rather fancy we’ll all end up taking points off one another over the coming weeks. It might sound a little glib but ultimately football is a simple game and the Premiership silverware will be deservedly earned by whichever side is most motivated to prevail in ten successive cup finals. On recent evidence, our lot rapidly need to get the blinkers on!

Written Off At The Media's Peril!

It's funny, as when I sunk into my seat on the plane at Bergamo airport late last night (or early Wednesday morning), before slipping off into a satisfied sleep, to dream of quarter final trips to warmer climes, I turned to the bloke sat beside me to smugly pronounce that I'd got it spot on in the missive I'd written the previous day.

However it was only on reflecting on matters this afternoon, that it occurred to me that while I might have filed my piece to the Irish Examiner on Monday, for their Wednesday sport's supplement, in my haste to get everything sorted before leaving for Luton airport, I'd neglected to post it to my blog, or mail it out to anyone else. So to ensure it's not just readers in Ireland who realise quite how perceptive I am, I have tagged it on below. But then on the basis that I've been writing this column for seven seasons now, I suppose the law of averages demands that I've got to come good once in a blue moon :-)

Having stayed up on Monday night because I was too paranoid about going to bed, for fear of not waking up in time to make the 5.30am check-in, if I'm entirely honest, there was a point about half an hour before I'd planned on leaving, when I was hardly thrilled to be travelling to Milan. In fact I actually turned to the missus and said that in some respects I was actually dreading the prospect of such a tortuous trek.

If I could've teleported to the San Siro for the match, there wouldn't have been any such hesitation, but after so many years of following the Arsenal around Europe, the thought of leaving in the middle of the night for a match at 8pm the next day, with virtually everyone predicting a dismal outcome, I couldn't help but feel somewhat ambivalent about what was likely to be an utterly exhausting outing.

Needless to say, one of the first of many texts I received, as we savoured our majestic triumph in Milan last night, whilst being kept in after the match for a typically inordinate amount of time, was a message from my missus, to remind me of my reluctant mood on departing, as Ro enquired "bet you are glad you went now!"

And she was right, as in truth I wouldn't have missed it for the world. Although I'd told everyone that I was quietly confident, knowing that on our day we had absolutely nothing to fear from AC and that to the contrary, it should be Milan who ought to be bricking it (and didn't they play like that!), I knew very well that there was always a possibility that this might've been 90 minutes of football that wasn't destined to go the Arsenal's way.

Nevertheless, although I've not been able to afford to travel to any of the Champions League awaydays so far this season and only managed to make it to Milan courtesy, believe it or not, of a Spurs mate who owed me a few quid and although I couldn't really justify losing out on what proved to be two days wages, instead of one (since after arriving back at 4am, I literally conked out on the sofa and woke up at 11am, still wearing my coat, when I was supposed to have been working down in Kent!), along with five thousand other Gooners who turned up in Milan from all four corners of the planet, by hook, or by crook, there was absolutely no way I was going to miss the opportunity of being there in person to see if the Gunners could be the first English side to put one over the European Champions in their own back yard.

I always felt that victory in this game was in the Gunner's heads, as on paper, it seemed patently obvious that we should be able to prove ourselves younger, fitter, hungrier than the majority of Milan's has-beens. However I don't think many of us could've predicted quite what an incredible performance Le Prof was about to pull out of the old magic hat. It's hard to recall quite such an accomplished 90-minute display from the Arsenal since we beat Real in the Bernabeu. A Gooner pal of mine who remained in Milan after the game told me that he had AC fans coming up to him today, to shake his hand and offer all due respect to "il grande Arsenal".

In fact one of the most enjoyable aspects to yesterday's outing was to see AC fans showing their appreciation to the Arsenal, applauding both the team off the pitch and with mutual gestures of appreciation between both sets of fans, in a spirit of great camaraderie. Considering how many Gooners has spent a long day drinking in the centre of town, it could've easily been a completely different and somewhat uglier story.

Meanwhile we couldn't let the evening pass without reminding everyone what had just taken place and I am just pissed off the battery on my mobile died before the night was out, as I would've loved to have videoed the scene, when they finally let us out of the San Siro and all five thousand of us wound our way, round and round, two or three of those concrete turrets, marching all the way down from the gods on the same interminably long walk we'd made getting up there earlier in the evening. Albeit that at least this time it was downhill all the way, with all the pre-match nerves and stress having been replaced by the sort of unbelievably satisfying feeling that left everyone grinning from ear to ear. It made for an amazing sight, as umpteen spirals of the concrete walkways echoed to the tune of "you're not Champions any more" and naturally "we're on our way......."

For me, the spirit in the Arsenal dressing room right now, was summed up by the wonderful way in which Cesc leapt into Arsène's arms to celebrate his goal. I only hope we don't experience any sort of "after the Lord Mayor's party type hangover, at the somewhat less glamorous surroundings of the JJB on Sunday, as if we can carry the triumphant mood and the undoubted confidence boost into the title race, hopefully, as they say, we'll be running round Stamford Bridge/Old Trafford with our willies hanging out (although my own grandad ensured that the second line of this little ditty doesn't apply to me - apparently prior to being a first class gentlemen's cutter, he used to circumcise elephants in the African jungle, where the wages were terrible, but he didn't half get big tips :-)

Come on you Reds
Bernard

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Apparently there’s little point in me travelling all the way to the San Siro on Tuesday, nor schlepping up to the JJB this weekend, as according to much of the footballing media, we Gooners might as well throw the towel in! Well personally I’m never happier than when everyone else is writing the Arsenal off.

Admittedly it was somewhat demoralising to be a goal behind at home to Villa on Saturday and to hear the news that 2-0 up at the Cottage, Man Utd had brought on Rooney and Ronaldo. Its hard to deny the evidence that on paper, the strength in depth of the squads of our two principal competitors sees them better equipped to cope with the relentless pressure of the run-in.

You only have to look at Gael Clichy, who's been a model of consistency all season long and who, along with the likes of Sagna and Flamini, have been the unsung heroes of our campaign so far. And yet in the past couple of games Clichy has been guilty of the sort of uncharacteristic errors, which might lead one to conclude that the youngster could do with being left out for the odd game, in order to recapture the sort of verve and focus that made him such a potent force in the autumn. However we all endured the disastrous consequences at Old Trafford a couple of weeks back when Arsène tried to leave out this crucial triumvirate.

Nevertheless, if winning trophies were merely a matter of amassing a suitable number of players, surely Liverpool wouldn’t be languishing in 5th, 15 points off the pace. So while it might prove a factor, Man Utd’s ability to be able to rest their star players doesn’t necessarily make Fergie’s side the sort of sure-fire certainties for the title that many in the media would have you believe.

For my money, the most decisive factor is momentum and while it can’t be disputed that we’ve faltered in recent weeks, if we can triumph in the San Siro on Tuesday, it could prove to be just the sort of springboard that would get out title challenge back on track.

However it's going to require a marked improvement on Saturday’s somewhat lacklustre display, if we're to succeed against the wily Ancelotti’s campaign hardened veterans. Our encounter with Villa was always likely to be an awkward proposition and even against an Arsenal side on song, there was a possibility that we might drop points against them.

Arsène suggested that we were still suffering from a hangover, after the tragic events at St Andrews last week and I sincerely hope that he’s correct, as from where I sat, I was concerned that it could be a touch of complacency, or even arrogance that was perhaps the principal cause of our failure to force Villa onto the back foot. Reading our captain’s programme notes at half-time, I couldn’t help but wonder if we were perhaps suffering from the distraction of Tuesday’s trip to Milan. There were periods early on in the game where, instead of pressurising the opposition and denying them time and space on the ball, we appeared to be guilty of standing off them, as if we were just a little too certain that our superior ability would eventually win the day.

Yet self-belief counts for little, unless it is matched by the necessary application and there’s enough quality in Martin O’Neill’s team for Villa to create problems against any opposition, let alone one that’s lacking 100 per cent focus. It would be laughable to suggest that I’m a xenophobe, with my own Heinz heritage (57 varieties), but when it comes to this stage of the season, I have to wonder if we’re not disadvantaged by the possibility that some of our players attach a good deal more kudos to the Champions League than the Premiership and that as a result, they might be far more inspired by the prospect of proving themselves on the glamorous European stage, than they are by the unrelenting demands of a title challenge?

Meanwhile it would be an injustice not to give O’Neill’s side the credit they deserve, as the Irishman’s tactics on Saturday only reaffirmed the respect I have for him. The vast majority of Premiership managers come to our place with decidedly limited ambitions and by playing with a lone striker, they invariably end up inviting the sort of pressure that has been a feature of so many of our home games. By contrast, with the brick sh*thouse that is John Carew and lightning pace of Agbonlahor, Villa had a sufficiently potent outlet both to enable them to retain the ball going forward and to prevent us from being too gung-ho, as we were forced to chase the game.

In fact, I am sure I wasn’t alone in thinking that the longer the game went on and the more we were forced to throw caution to the wind, considering how little we’d troubled Carson, I felt Villa were far more likely to score a second from a swift counter, than we were to equalise.

Whereas I’ve no such respect for the Villa fans, who provoked an understandably outraged reaction in our corner of the ground, with a distasteful chant about Eduardo walking like Heather Mills! Although in some respects I wish they’d have been more vociferous, as aside from my belief that such reprehensible behaviour invokes bad karma (as I’ve always felt whenever I hear the paedophile chant), I’m sure our players might’ve been stirred into a similarly concerted response, if they’d actually been able to comprehend the Midlanders, nasal Brummy drawl – I immediately knew what they were singing about from the vehemence of the response (until his progress was blocked by half a dozen burly coppers, one particularly incensed, doubtless pissed up Gooner charged around the perimeter, intent on taking them all on singlehanded) but even sitting in such close proximity I couldn’t make out the words of their unseemly ditty.

I hope they were all suitably shamefaced when within a few minutes we showed them how to behave, as Davies was stretchered off the field, to a refreshingly sporting round of applause.

Meanwhile this wasn’t the only lesson meted out on Saturday afternoon. In response to the groan from behind when the official held up the board showing 3 mins of injury time, I turned around to suggest that we could continue all night without getting an equaliser. However if my head had given up the ghost, my heart was screaming otherwise and I simply couldn’t believe how many of the 60,000 crowd were heading for the exits, apparently having already accepted our fate.

I’ve given up hoping that some of the less committed Gooner faithful might learn from this last-gasp lesson but I just can’t imagine how it must’ve felt to have endured 90 minutes of frustration, only to miss out on that incredibly intense moment of euphoria because of trying to beat the queues at the station?

Myself I was thinking of my Corkonian pal, who had brought his lad for his first pilgrimage to the Arsenal and I was merely relieved that instead of heading home with his head on his chest, the youngster’s trip had been made complete in one magnificent instant.

From the sort of fortitude we’ve witnessed several times this season, if Wenger’s young Guns have demonstrated one thing, it is that you write us off at your peril!

Win For Eduardo, We're Gonna Win It For Eduardo!

Caught between the devil and the deep blue sea is the ideal expression to describe Paul Burrell’s situation last Sunday, as I heard the dulcet tones of the Arsenal’s stadium announcer (as opposed to Lady Di’s butler), echoing out from the Wembley tannoy at the Mickey Mouse Cup Final. Then I guess that much like me, most Gooners were struggling with the dilemma of having to choose between the insufferable smugness of their Spurs mates, should they manage to secure their first silverware in 9 years, or the unbearable thought of the Blue scum bagging yet another, albeit trivial tin pot.

Mercifully I was otherwise occupied, driving my nephew Shane to Heathrow to catch his flight back to Dublin. But judging by how tepid an affair the first-half sounded on the car radio, if I’d been sat at home on front of the TV, my problem probably would’ve been solved by me nodding off and snoozing through the somewhat livelier latter stages

Shane and I shared a celebratory bear-hug when Theo Walcott's second strike hit the back of the net at St Andrews, but we parted company at Heathrow with the sort of typically awkward embrace that always seems to occur between male relatives, who are never quite certain what passes for suitably affectionate protocol. I did my best to reassure him that he must come back again soon, but he headed off to the terminal wearing a sullen expression, as though he personally bore the entire weight of what’s been labelled “a miserable week for the Gunners” across his young shoulders, perhaps wondering if actually I was glad to see the back of him.

Doubtless it would’ve been best if we’d both kept schtum as we strolled home from 0-0 draw with AC Milan last week and Shane recalled his last disastrous Gooner pilgrimage. Of all the glorious games he could’ve seen during our Invicible 03/04 league campaign, the poor kid had the misfortune to come over for our FA Cup semifinal defeat to Man Utd, swiftly followed three days later by our ignominious Champions League exit at home to Chelsea!

I’d completely forgotten about this trip, as I was under the misconception that Shane had the unblemished track record of a lucky mascot and I jokingly suggested that he might not have been invited back, especially for this particular match, if I had remembered. What’s more, having encouraged him to extend his stay, so he might be initiated into the more fervent atmosphere of the awayday experience, I couldn’t resist yanking his chain, teasing him that he’d hardly be top of my list for future match tickets, if his copybook was blotted by a failure to beat Birmingham at St Andrews on Saturday.

In truth I was relieved he wasn’t returning to Dublin straight after the anti-climax of the 0-0 draw with Milan. Shane was only a wee bairn when he joined the majority of the Dublin contingent, in their conversion to the Gooner faith. Having been largely responsible, it gave me a warm fuzzy feeling to see the look of awe on his face, as he caught his first glimpse of our magnificent new arena. He was even more aghast as we took our seats and his brilliant live view of our beloved Gunners and the visiting footballing royalty of Kaka and co. began to sink in. It took me back to the thrill of my own childhood, as I enjoying the vicarious buzz of hearing that the hair on the back of Shane’s neck was standing to attention as the two teams entered the arena.

However, although it will have undoubtedly been a night to remember, I couldn’t help but feel that Shane had been somewhat cheated, with him having been denied the euphoria of a goal celebration. I was therefore delighted that he would at least have a second opportunity at St Andrews on Saturday, to make his trip feel complete. If I was fretting, as the weekend approached, about Shane getting an opportunity to enjoy seeing the Arsenal score, after our exchange a few days prior, poor Shane must’ve been positively planking it, thinking his prospects of ever seeing the Gunners play live again, might rest on the outcome of this one game.

I’ve been expressing my concerns about our lack of sufficient a ruthless streak for much of the season. It seemed obvious to me that our inability to kill teams off might eventually cost us dear and sadly this account finally fell due on Saturday. Never mind Gael Clichy’s last gasp act of hari-kari (or Flamini’s failure to clear our lines), our 5-point cushion would’ve still been intact, in spite of this momentary lapse in concentration, if we’d managed to force home our advantage.

Mind you, at half-time I was mightily relieved, as in truth McFadden should’ve scored a second, when one-on-one with Almunia, in just about City’s only other attack of the game. My relief was multiplied tenfold when Theo managed to pop up with an equaliser so soon after the break, finally giving Shane something to celebrate. Naturally I’d have preferred for the euphoria to have been a little less fleeting, but when Theo found the back of the net for a second time, I am sure Shane enjoyed the sort of highly intoxicating rush that makes committed addicts of the rest of us live football fanatics.

It was all the sweeter for the fact that we were sitting in seats that were directly adjacent to the home fans and we’d endured a non-stop stream of vitriolic stick for the entire first 45. As a result, we didn’t hesitate to return the compliment, in spades! However our proximity to the home fans meant that it was all the more painful when they had the last laugh. And with the traumatic details of Eduardo’s horrific injury having trickled down across the terrace during half-time, we were all the more distraught, as only minutes earlier we’d been trumpeting that “we’re gonna win for Eduardo”!

I am glad that le Gaffer retracted his somewhat rash, post-match comments. Admittedly we were a long way from the incident, but if I’m honest, I actually groaned when Mike Dean produced a red card. I initially thought it a fairly innocuous tackle and for the second time in a week, I was gutted to see a ref spoil a match for the watching millions in the opening minutes. Aside from the fact that there is so little space behind the ten men’s concerted efforts to defend in numbers, often as not the ref will spend the remainder of the match attempting to redress the balance by booking everything that moves.

With hindsight perhaps Taylor did deserve to go, but I remain unconvinced that there was any malice involved and if it wasn’t for the recent crackdown on ‘over the top’ tackles’ or perhaps the awful sight of Eduardo’s distorted limb, Dean might not have been in such a rush to send him off.

Coincidentally I happened to have the TV on late on Saturday night, whilst waiting to watch the worst World Heavyweight Championship fight it has ever been my displeasure to witness (where an earlier fight involving Irishman John Duddy was the only redeeming factor). Immediately before the boxing, they were showing one of those "Classic games" involving Man City’s 4 goal fightback against Spurs in the 4th round of the 2004 FA Cup. Joey Barton appeared to try and take out Michael Brown, with a very similar looking tackle. The only difference being that luckily for him, Brown appeared to anticipate the challenge and so his standing leg went backwards as Barton collided, thereby ensuring that he avoided the full brunt of the collision. Barton not only avoided a red card, but wasn't even booked!

Unless we want to see the beautiful game turned into a non-contact sport, the fact of the matter is that sadly, such tragic incidents are inevitable from time to time, especially with the stakes being so high in the modern game. If anyone is culpable, it’s probably Alex Mcleish, as you can be sure that the most common pre-match instruction issued to teams competing against this gifted Arsenal squad is to “get your foot in early on, just to let them know you are there”, as many sides attempt to make up for any perceived deficiency in their ability, with their physical commitment.

It doesn’t benefit our team for our manager to be adopting a victim mentality and Arsène’s hard done by attitude obviously doesn’t endear us to the rest of the footballing world. Beside which, it comes across as somewhat hypocritical considering the malicious way in which our own players went after Nani only last week at Old Trafford (although to be perfectly honest, I’m sure I would’ve tried to kick Nani up in the air, with a similarly hot-headed reaction). The physicality of many of our opponents is the price we (or tragically in this case, Eduardo) pay for having such a marvelous team and it is in fact a compliment to the Arsenal that this is the only means many sides have of trying to stop us.

As a result, was relieved to hear that Wenger had retracted his "heat of the moment" response. Aside from the fact that I am sure the footballing media were lining up to offer their scornful reaction to Arsène's ridiculous insistence on a "life ban", I can't help but wonder if, on reflection, le Gaffer realised that by climbing on such a high horse, he was only making a rod for our own back, the next time one of our own makes a rash challenge. Of all people, Arsène should be able to appreciate that you simply cannot legislate for this sort of tragedy, in a modern game that's played at such a frenetic pace, in a pressure cooker climate.

I’m truly gutted for Eduardo, especially since he was only just in the process of establishing himself as a force to be reckoned with in the Premiership. I was also somewhat shell-shocked as we exited St Andrews, wondering how on earth the Gunners had failed to offer up the three points as a tribute to their team-mate. Not to mention being a little bemused as to why on earth Adebayor had to go and upset the gods of superstition by having his barnet cut and where on earth Alex Hleb has left his shooting boots!

Initially I felt we’d been complacent after taking the lead, over-confident that a third goal would eventually materialise by right. Strangely enough, there were several instances where, instead of moving the ball on, in what has now become traditional one and two touch Arsenal fashion, we seemed to dally on the ball, showing too much of it to the opposition, as if teasing them into making the challenge, in the belief that they'd be left looking foolish when sleight of foot had ensured the ball had disappeared long before the opposition attempted their challenge. And so while I am not in any way attempting to condone any resulting clatterings, in some respects, it seemed to me as if we shouldn't be surprised if, as a result, the opposition were antagonised into trying to take us out.

However having seen some of our players ashen-faced reaction to Eduardo’s injury later that same night, I guess if ever we should be able to cut them some slack, it was after this sickening event (even to the extent of giving our captain a break, after his downright barmy reaction).

Meanwhile I pray that the loss of Eddy's goal scoring contribution doesn’t prove too costly to our title challenge and that our Brazilian striker proves to be as determined a little bugger off the pitch, as he is on it, thereby enabling him to make a record breaking recovery without any complications I also hope that there is no permanent psychological damage, as players are often affected by such a devastating injury, to the point where it subconsciously affects their game. While they might get straight back on the horse, unfortunately it often proves to be the case that they can no longer play at full pace without touching the brakes.

As I see it, there are only two possible scenarios. Either we are about to crack under the pressure and our campaign is suddenly going to be derailed, as our season heads south over the course of the next couple of matches, just as winter turns into spring. Or alternatively, Le Prof is truly going to have to earn his corn, by inspiring the troops to prove they are made of stronger stuff and instead of using Eddy's awful injury as an excuse, it will turn out to be the catalyst that encourages us to kick on from here, thereby ensuring that Eduardo's career threatening injury wasn't in vain and instead of grapes and flowers, come May they can cheer the Brazilian striker up by brightening up his bedside with a dazzling array of silverware!

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e-mail to: LondonN5@gmail.com

Here's Hoping Cesc Is Saving His Sweetest Music For The San Siro

I could've killed my missus when we got home tonight and I'd discovered she'd changed channels on the TV in the living room. The last thing I said to her was that she shouldn't turn over because I planned on rewinding the Sky Plus gadget when we got home to watch the highlights.

Thinking she was doing me a favour, when Róna walked in the living room and found the TV switched off, she turned it on and changed channels over to the Sky Sports channel covering the Arsenal game, not realising that it had purposely been left on Sky Sports 1 because that's the channel that reviews all the games.

Still at least I was able to inflict the painful act of masochism upon myself, reviewing those last few minutes of injury time. In the stadium, I along with every other Gooner, hollered in agony when Ade's header bounced off the cross bar. I think we all thought he had missed a sitter but I have a little more sympathy for him after having watched the replay, as it wasn't anything like as easy an opportunity as I'd first thought. The cross was hit with such pace that it made it a much more tricky task to redirect the ball than it appeared to be when watching live.

If anything, I am more upset with Manny Eboué for curling his second-half shot wide of the far post, when he should really have at least hit the target. What's more, I am sure I'm not the only one who would have much preferred for him to have stayed on his feet and tried to create an opportunity, instead of diving to the ground in a blatant effort to con the referee. Unlike some, I do think the Ivorian youngster has sufficient natural ability to be worth persevering with, but Wenger rapidly needs to knock some sense into him and force Eboué to grow up, as he has such an infuriatingly immature attitude that if Arsène doesn't 'fait attention' Manny could soon become the Gooner boo-boys favourite target.

I was gutted when I arrived at the ground tonight and saw us line-up in a 4-5-1 formation, with Eduardo out wide and Hleb allegedly supporting Adebayor. Personally I've always felt that playing at home and especially in a game of such significance, with a lone striker, is far too timid an approach and is throwing away home advantage, as it kind of suggests to the opposition that we are more concerned with thwarting them in midfield, than scoring ourselves.

Arsène used this same formation and I have to admit, to good effect, earlier on in the season. Although back then, with Van Persie injured and Eduardo and Bendtner having yet to establish themselves, it was kind of excusable because AW didn't really have many other options.

However as we once again saw in the first-half this evening, Hleb just doesn't have the pace, or the attacking instincts to be able to support a lone front-man and although Adebayor worked like a Trojan as usual, he struggled for much of the evening with his first touch and looked far too isolated for pretty much all of the first 45.

You only had to see the post-match interview after the Blackburn game to appreciate how unsuited Alex is to a role supporting the striker. Whilst presenting Hleb with his man of the match champers, the commentator asked Adebayor about his goal and Ade said something to the effect of "well when I saw Alex with the ball in front of goal, I knew he was NEVER going to shoot....!"

I was delighted to see us start the second half, having raised the intensity of our play several notches. It lifted the crowd and created the sort wave of relentless pressure, of the sort that all too often we only see in the last ten minutes of a match, where we desperately need a goal (when it is often all too little, too late). So I thought that in this instance, at least we were giving ourselves plenty of time to "give it a real go".

However in truth, we really needed to score during that first fifteen minutes of the second half and to make our dominance count. Without the all important goal during that period, the intensity of the crowd eventually began to wane and with it, our lifeforce on the pitch slowly began to fizzle out.

For my money, Eduardo should have joined Ade up front from the start of the second-half, to really turn the screw and test the Italian side. As it was, with the Togonator on his own, we rarely got into the situation where AC Milan's defence was stretched, as by the time our midfield had caught up with the play, they were invariably able to get enough men behind the ball to make it impossible for us to find an opening.

Meanwhile there were plenty of positives to take from the game and although I imagine the bookies will have the Rossoneri down as favourites to go through from the second leg, I still quite fancy our chances. Aside from the quintessential elegance of Kaka, I saw very little to fear from this AC Milan side. Until Messi arrived on the scene, Kaka was my favourite non-Arsenal player. There's a grace about the way in which he plays the game which reminds me of Dennis Bergkamp at his best. Like all great players Kaka always seems to create time and space on the ball where none should exist at the heart of such a frantic fray.

At his best Clarence Seedorf  was a formidable box-to-box player, but his best is some way behind him and although he remains a threat when he's on the ball, he no longer has the legs to effect the influence he once had at both ends of the pitch. And so a flagging Seedorf was replaced on 86 minutes by another old man, Emerson, who has what my old man would call a "wavy" hairstyle, as in waving goodbye!

With such an aged side, I was disappointed to see Arsène bring Theo on with only a minute left on the clock. I can't imagine what a wind up it must be for a player to hardly be given enough time to get over to his position. I guess it's the footballing equivalent of a p**** tease! What was the point. Although I guess the answer to this question was seen in the way Theo very nearly created a goal!

But if he really wanted to test Theo's pace, against legs that were rapidly filling with lactic acid, Arsène should've at least have given him 10/15 minutes, to actually give Theo a chance to make some impact. Then I suppose Theo did more in his all too brief time on the pitch than Milan's new young striking prodigy, who hardly got a look in all game. Personally I have never been that enamoured with Milan's striking alternatives, as I've always seen Inzaghi in the Robbie Keane mould, in as much as he wastes far more chances then he scores. And Gilardihno doesn't exactly strike the fear of g-d into me and so I really don't think we have anything to fear when we travel to the San Siro.

Then again, the Italian's are the past masters in soaking up the pressure for much of the ninety minutes and then hitting teams with a single sucker punch. Yet at least playing at home they should be obliged to show a little more adventure, which will hopefully mean there will be some space for us to exploit, which wasn't the case this evening.

As far as I'm concerned, it is all down to Fabregas. We badly need Cesc to have a big game in the return leg as it seems to me that the Arsenal only ever really begin to tick when Cesc is on song, which wasn't really the case this evening. I believe Gattuso is only just back from injury, but "Growl" was quite inconspicuous tonight. However I would guess that this could be one of the key battles in the San Siro, along with the Flamster keeping Kaka quite.

The other positive for me was the performance of Senderos. I imagine Phillipe must have been bricking it when Kolo limped out so early. A couple of months back, few would've fancied our chances against Milan if we had to rely on Senderos instead of Touré, but Big Phil has produced a few, very near faultless performance in Kolo's absence and he seems to be gaining (or regaining) more composure with every passing game. 

Sadly Senderos still doesn't appear to have that Tony Adams like quality (which is purely down to experience) of being able to cope with much pacier forwards, by allowing himself a yard of space to accomodate the striker's superior acceleration.  That would be my main worry with Senderos playing alongside Gallas in the second leg, as AC Milan seemed to spend much of this evening attempting to test our two centre-backs, by putting balls behind them for the nippy Pato to run for.

Pato may not have troubled us tonight, but there were a couple of instances where he looked to have the legs on Willie in a straight race for the ball. Hopefully Kolo's knock won't prove too serious. It looked innocuous enough, as he appeared to hurt his knee when the ball hit it?

But if we do end up relying on Senderos, I for one won't be in nearly such a flap as I would've been a few weeks back. Although I do get frustrated with Philippe, as when I have seen him play for the Swiss national team alongside Djourou, Senderos seems to wreak havoc in the opposition's area at set-pieces, whereas I've rarely ever seen him get his head on the ball for us.

Meanwhile Flamini, Clichy and Sagna were all magnificent tonight and reminded us exactly what we were missing at Old Trafford last Saturday. Whereas those who were selected but who patently failed to turn up on Saturday, in my mind they still owe us big time for such an embarrassing debacle. Here's hoping they settle this debt in the San Siro, as I'm certain if Cesc is on song, we'll all end up singing a victory tune

Even If Half-full, Our Gooner Glass Won't Be Of Any Use Cracked

Such a bizarre suggestion might sound bonkers barmy, but I can’t help wondering if the outcome at Old Trafford might have been different, if my butterfly of a missus had been bothered to beat her wings down to the doctors for a flu jab before the onset of winter. If Róna had been immunised against some of the awful lurgies currently doing the rounds, she might not have ended up laid so low on Saturday that I was forced to stop at home and don my apron and cap, in order to take care of her with my best Nurse Ratched impersonation.

Considering the only other away trip I’ve missed was the defeat up at Boro (where, having travelled up to the North-East to see us drop two points against the Toon in midweek, I couldn’t make it all the way back up to Teeside four days later), I guess I should hold my hands up and accept full responsibility for our embarrassing cup exit. Or perhaps my missus should, but then it was hard not to feel a little grateful, since the one good thing to come out of her being so poorly was that at least my misery on Saturday evening wasn’t compounded by the prospect of a four hour trek back down the dreaded M6, with my humiliation being made complete, listening to all the callers on the radio phone-ins.

As hard as it might be to focus on the bright side, considering how badly the Gunners let us all down on Saturday, I would guess that with a track record of two games missed and two defeats, my newly acquired lucky mascot status should mean that I won’t be short of an offer of a lift to the remaining away matches. I would’ve been even more gutted if Monday’s draw had gifted Man U a proper FA Cup quarterfinal outing to the likes of Bristol, Barnsley or Cardiff.

I’ve very fond memories of travelling to Oakwell towards the end of the ’98 Double Season. The Tykes fans were long since resigned to their all too brief sojourn in the top-flight and were determined to savour every moment. It proved to be a mutual love-in, as we revelled in a triumph that took us one step closer to the title and they relished witnessing incredible entertainment, of the sort that they are unlikely to have enjoyed before, or since (not unless they're as long in the tooth as lugubrious Barnsley 'boy', umpire Dickie Bird). The home fans heartfelt display of appreciation at the final whistle will live long in my memory.

Some suggest that the oldest knockout competition on the planet has lost much of its lustre, ever since managers with more important fish to fry, began to rest some of their stars and use the tournament to bring on some of their youngsters. And yet I honestly don’t see how it can be such a bad thing, if the upshot is to enable the likes of the Tykes fans the rare opportunity to live the sort of dream of their deliriously happy day out at Anfield.

However there's a downside to Arsène’s approach. On the basis that momentum is everything, I would’ve thought that Wenger might have learned his lesson from events last season, which showed that we simply can’t afford to treat these cup competitions in isolation. No matter that we might be meeting AC Milan this week, I’ve always been a firm believer in playing our strongest side against our principal rivals because I don’t think it’s a good move to have gifted the likes of Utd the sort of psychological advantage, which might well prove crucial as we approach "squeaky bum" time in the run-in.

Moreover with Man U’s season having stalled against Spurs and with Man City doing the double over them, for the first time in many Mancs lives, they were always going to be desperate to bounce back. It’s easy to envisage the sort of Churchillian tones of Fergie’s teamtalk. By contrast, Arsène could hardly come across as a hypocrite, by trying to inspire the troops to play as if their very lives depended on this result, when in truth everyone in the team knew he was more concerned with keeping many of our walking wounded fit for Wednesday’s clash.

In reality, all that was required was for us to run our socks off for the first half an hour, silence the Theatre of Snores and prove themselves worthy of the opposition’s respect. Instead of which, in the absence of Ronaldo, Tevez, Giggs and Scholes, we passed up a perfect opportunity to finally put a sock in the mouths of all those pundits who’ve been expecting the Gooner bubble to burst and who’d begrudgingly begun to admit that perhaps they’d been wrong about Utd eventually proving their superiority.

Admittedly Arsène’s was decidedly hamstrung in his selection decisions by our long list of injuries and the fact that a number of the alternative choices have been allowed out on loan. Nevertheless, in my humble opinion our line-up was neither one thing, nor the other. There weren’t enough second string players for this mauling to be meaningless, but even if the first-teamers hadn’t embarrassed us so badly by their failure to turn up, without the influential contributions of Clichy, Sagna and Flamini, we never really had a hope.

If Arsène truly didn’t give a stuff because he feels it unrealistic for us to be able to maintain our challenge on three fronts, then to my mind he should’ve been bold and gone the whole hog, rather than hedging his bets by putting his big guns on the bench. It defeated the object to send them on for the last 20, as they will have ended up back in the dressing room having expended just as much energy and no less demoralised than those who played the entire 90.

I believe many of us were quite prepared to be disappointed on Saturday, as in truth it should come as no surprise that Wenger’s prioritisation of the Cup competitions should be reflected in the attrocious attitude of some of our players. After all if Arsène doesn’t deem the FA Cup important enough to warrant playing his best team, the likes of Fabregas and co. are hardly likely to feel inclined to run their bollix off!

But despite our depleted squad, I’m sure that along with most other Gooners, I would’ve rather watched our U13s wear their shirts with pride, going down with all guns blazing as they gave of their all, rather than end up feeling so ashamed of the utterly flaccid display of players who quite patently weren’t at the races.

Our heroes are so detached from their fan base nowadays, that they obviously don’t appreciate the sacrifice of the 9,000 Gooners who stumped up at least a hundred quid to be there. Otherwise I’m sure someone like Cesc (who’s proved himself to be a “mensch” in most other circumstances) wouldn’t dream of showing such flagrant disregard for our feelings. Moreover, with no-one but themselves to blame, I wonder if they've the slightest inkling quite how maddening it is for us (not to mention potentially ruinous for our future prospects) and how much stick we have to take, when they refuse to take their medicine, with anything like the good grace that is a given amongst all the greatest sporting icons.

Sure I want them to hate losing with the sort of passion that has my heart soaring when Adebayor chases back the length of the pitch to try and regain possession. But we could well do without that sinking feeling, on seeing our captain lash out in the sort of petulant frenzy, which could result in Gallas serving a three-match ban. Myself I felt it would’ve been far better to applaud Nani’s ball-juggling, rather than belittle themselves, by seeking retribution for his transgression of the unwritten code of conduct by trying to break his legs. The Gunners are far better than that and the best answer would’ve been to take the mickey back.

Meanwhile it remains to be seen whether the ramifications of this depressing result will cause the derailment of our campaign, or whether we can bounce straight back with the sort of performance necessary to restore some much needed pride. As far as AC Milan are concerned, I can’t quite see this aged Italian side having sufficient energy to cramp our style for 90 minutes. As far as I’m concerned, if the Gunners are sufficiently shamefaced about Saturday’s debacle, then they’ll demonstrate their remorse by bringing their ‘A’ game along on Wednesday.

From a glass half-full perspective, IF our confidence hasn’t been eroded, then hopefully while Man Utd continue on the road to Wembley, we'll be running away with the league. Although we're going to need to make the most of any matches played while Utd are otherwise distracted, as the ‘no fear’ approach I would’ve expected on our return to Old Trafford in April, is now likely to be replaced by more than a little trepidation!

Talk about a party pooping spoiler

Just as in seasons past it has seemed as if weary Arsenal performances have been a direct product of Le Prof prattling on about fatigue in his programme notes, I guess it can come as no surprise if Wenger's "prioritisation" of the FA Cup has resulted in a less than committed performance from some of the principals, who's attitude, quite frankly, stunk! In some respects this was the worst case scenario. If Arsène had selected all the Carling Cup kids, no matter what the outcome, we would've at least witnessed a hungry, passionate performance. Whereas with Fabregas, Hleb and co. on the pitch for such a comprehensive cave in, the psychological impact on the rest of our season could well prove to be significant.

Up to now Adebayor might have stolen all the headlines, however this defeat highlighted quite how dependent we are on the less lauded likes of Clichy, Sagna and Flamini. Hopefully Traore will learn from such an agonising lesson, but I can't make such allowances for the likes of Hoyte and Gilberto, who simply can't be included amongst this squad's other interchangeable components, not without us suffering such alarming consequences.

It's said that you learn a lot more about a team's spirit in defeat than in victory and we're certainly going to have to prove our mettle, if our entire season isn't going to start heading south against Milan on Wednesday

I was well prepared to expect the worst today, but it was the manner of our capitulation that was so unacceptable, with there being such a complete and utter absence of pride in this piss poor performance. AW is sure going to have to earn his corn building this back up before Kaka and his compadres come a calling

Big Love
Bernard

Fantashtik

Watching Fergie masticating like an angry Mad Cow, as he marched off down the touchline after Sunday’s Manchester derby, I immediately envisioned him brooding on the defeat in his armchair later that evening and being unable to resist picking up the phone and giving a pep talk to one of his former prodigies, to ensure Mark Hughes sent his Blackburn side out, suitably fired up to play the Arsenal the following night.

Admittedly derby days are a completely different kettle of fish and up front for City, Sven had added Benjani to the bouillabaisse. Even so, I don’t think any of us could have dreamed that a positively impotent City side, who rolled over and played dead at Eastlands eight days prior, were capable of opening the door to the possibility of a potentially crucial five point cushion, by pooping Man Utd’s Munich anniversary tribute

Such is Darius Vassell’s reputation for being the epitome of unfulfilled potential, that there were Gooners behind the goal at Eastlands last week who were actually cheering when Sven brought the burly little striker on. One bloke behind me was so certain of his ineffectiveness that he was constantly urging the Sky Blues to give Vassell the ball!

And yet aside from the fact that City demonstrated an admirable resolve not to show their derby rivals anything like the respect afforded to the Arsenal last weekend (as displayed by their willingness to defend from the front), to my mind the Sky Blues success was more indicative of Man Utd’s failure to live up to a script, which demanded the sort of flamboyant display, which might do justice to the ghosts of Old Trafford past.

It was quite nostalgic seeing the players appear at the Theatre of Snores in the old-fashioned football kits. I’d forgotten quite how stylish the players looked, in the days before they became walking advertising hoardings. It might have been a different story if Man Utd had been playing Liverpool but in these particular circumstances, all the pre-match hullabaloo seemed farcical, as it felt highly unlikely that anyone was going to embarrass themselves, in a coming together that did the football family proud.

The handing out of 76,000 old-fashioned scarves provided for a marvellous spectacle. Albeit that I couldn’t escape this inkling that the whole event smacked of an air of hypocrisy. It seems to have been conveniently forgotten that many of the survivors and the families of the victims spent 40 years following the Munich tragedy, feeling incredibly bitter. At least until the benefit match in ’98, the likes of hero Harry Gregg was driven “by a burning sense of anger at the treatment of people after the crash, which fell so far short of the United myth”

Perhaps it was the weight of the occasion which fell heavy upon the shoulders of Fergie’s babes. But there was no such excuse for a similarly vapid display at The Lane last week (at least according to the highlights).

All season long I’ve been making covetous comments about our rivals more direct, more incisive, four-pronged front line (mainly in the hope I might be left licking all that egg off my face!). Yet despite ol’ Red Nose having pandered to the punters desire for fancy-Dan football by bringing in a whole bevy of ball jugglers (although I have to begrudgingly admit to being impressed by the dreadlocked Anderson), against staunch defensive displays these past couple of games, their attack seems to have floundered, for want of a focal point, in the absence of the sort of centre-forward play previously provided by Horseface. For all Utd’s depth of talent, unless Saha is about to step up to the plate, Fergie might rue the fact that none of his roster appears capable of filling the role of an out and out front man.

Meanwhile Man City fans and us Gooners alike will be clamouring for a repeat of this ceremony every season if it’s a guarantee of such a lacklustre Utd display and along with the snore draw at Stamford Bridge, it made for the perfect Sunday. In fact there were a couple of extremely insipid contests over the course of the past weekend, which made a mockery of the preposterous 39th match proposals.

Sadly something of this ilk is likely to be inevitable eventually, as the money men attempt to milk the Premiership cash cow for all its worth. However I pity the poor foreign football fans who end up saving up their shekels, only to be lumbered with such an anticlimactic encounter as the sort of bore draws the punters endured at the Boleyn and the Bridge.

As I explained to all my workmates who were prematurely congratulating me on Monday morning, Sundays’s results were only going to be significant provided the Gunners didn’t end up looking such a gift-horse in the mouth (an abstruse expression, if ever I heard one?) by blowing it against Blackburn.

With us rapidly approaching “squeaky bum” time in the Premiership run-in, superstitious fans like myself start seeing omens in everything. For example there’s a mural by the graffiti artist Banksy on a building directly opposite our new ground. There was a delightful irony earlier in the season, when some rapscallion tagged it and the council subsequently removed the graffiti from the graffiti. But I was devastated to discover that the entire mural had been defaced on Monday and I couldn’t help but wonder if this was ominous.

My Ma was straight on the phone after the match. As usual, she monitored our progress via Teletext and being more aware than most of my time management woes, she was worried whether I’d made it to my seat in time to see the opening goal. Although the Gunners were straight out of the traps like a greyhound, demonstrating their eagerness to take advantage of the situation, we should really have put the three points to bed during this first15-minute Blitzkrieg.

Not for the first time we were guilty of a lack of ruthlessness. It was almost as if, once we’d established our superiority, we took our foot off the gas, waiting for an invitation to walk in the all-important second goal. Mark Hughes side was hardly likely to be quite so accommodating. Although we looked extremely comfortable and Lehmann had little to do all evening, the longer the game went on, the more stressed out I became about the threat of Santa Cruz getting on the end of one of Bentley’s crosses,

I’m sure along with all the other pessimists present, by the 85th minute, I was convinced that it was going to be one of those nights, where Rovers would conjure up the one single counter-attack, which might leave us ruing our failure to make the most of all those early opportunities. Thus on and off the pitch, the entire stadium erupted with a euphoric wave of relief when Adebayor eventually brought it on home. However it has to be pointed out that if we continue failing to kill off games whilst we are in the ascendancy, according to the law of averages, it could eventually cost us dear.

Earlier in the week I happened to catch an interview at a pre-season friendly, where the players were being questioned about whether they were capable of maintaining a challenge for Champions League qualification. By contrast, I was delighted I rushed home in time to see Adebayor being asked to present Hleb with his Man of the Match champers and the mood of bon homie and Hleb’s inability to mask his “fantashtik” feelings, spoke volumes as to the spirit in the Arsenal camp that is the foundation stone of our title challenge. Up until now, we’ve tended to play down such lofty aspirations, but after the last couple of matches, it’s increasingly hard to hide the growing sense that we Gooners are truly beginning to believe!

RIP Shandy, The Gooner In The Gallery

I was shocked to receive a text message from my good mate Nell on Friday, to inform me that his close pal Andy Harris had passed away suddenly during the night. Tragically Andy will be laid to rest on Tuesday, when he should have been celebrating his 44th birthday the day before.

Footie fans in the UK and Ireland who've watched Sky's Soccer AM on Saturday mornings over the years will have undoubtedly heard Tim Lovejoy & Helen Chamberlain refer to "Shandy the Gooner in the Gallery". Although there were occasions when Shandy appeared in front of the cameras, in pastiches of the likes of Postman Pat Butcher and Mike Reid, it was for his work as a producer for the first few seasons of this relatively groundbreaking footie show that we all owe Andy a debt of gratitude.

If I'm honest, there've been occasions in recent times when I've whinged at the way Soccer AM has stuck so rigidly to its original formulae. Yet I'd invariably be annoyed if I missed my favourite bits of the program Soccer Locker, Showboat or the Third-Eyes, either because I failed to wake up in time, or because of leaving the house too soon, to travel to an away game. Moreover the incredible role call of celebrity guests and professional players who were happy to give up their Saturday mornings, to spend several hours squeezed onto the orange sofa in Sky's Osterley studios, in the shadow of the M4 flyover in West London (hardly the most glamorous of locations) stands as testament to the amazing mass market appeal of this TV show and the way in which the combination of fan based silliness, casual conversation and the occasional insight into some of the private and dressing room habits of many of our footballing heroes, managed to plug a yawning gap in the landscape of football related TV scheduling.

You only have to look at the way many of the program's catchphrases and Tim Lovejoy's slapstick routines have entered the lingua franca of popular culture, to appreciate the massive influence of Soccer AM's Saturday morning shenanigans. Only at Eastlands last weekend, when we went two up after 25 minutes, I found myself waving my hands above my head shouting "Easy, easy!"

Meanwhile aside from his TV work, Andy was husband to his wife Lucy and father to his two kids, Thomas and Joseph. Although I had the privilege of meeting him on several occasions, usually at the Arsenal's annual pre-season friendly at Underhill, I would've felt a bit of a fraud offering some sort of "Alas poor Yorick, I knew him well" type tribute. As a result it seems far more appropriate to include the thoughts of those who were closest to him, by way of the messages from Andy's oldest mate, the text message terror that is Jonathan "Nell" Moser and his colleague and pal since their days working on the Big Breakfast, Tim Lovejoy :-

Nell Moser - "My friendship with Andy goes back many, many years. The one common thread running through all those years of friendship was our devotion to Arsenal. We shared so many fond memories of our time as Gooners that whenever we got together, we would spend literally hours reminiscing.

Only a couple of weeks ago, we met for lunch and proceeded to spend the entire afternoon discussing obscure Arsenal players, from Geoff Barnet to John Matthews to Trevor Ross to Brian Hornsby to Ritchie Powling to David Price to John Hawley. We discussed how, in those days, every London football fan would follow the progress of their team by listening to Sportswatch on LBC 261, presented by Dominic Allen.

His favourite or most vivid memories as an Arsenal fan?... Well, here's a few that we talked about recently.. Terry Neill's first game in charge of Arsenal (1976- we lost 1-0 at home to Bristol City and Supermac also made his debut that day), our amazing hat-trick of FA Cup Final appearances (1978/79/80- when the FA Cup actually mattered), all those semi-finals v Liverpool, Alan (Alan) Sunderland running off like a madman having scored THAT last minute winner, Paul Vaessen v Juventus, Willie Young v Hadjuk Split, Charlie Nicholas' League Cup Final winner v Liverpool (1987, having beaten Spurs in the semi), the Gus Caesar Cup Final (1988 v Luton), Anfield 89 (obviously), and George Graham finally losing the plot in the early-mid 90's. Andy would often recall George's latter years at Highbury by reciting his favourite poem: "Morrow, Selley, Hillier, has there ever been a midfield sillier?"

Just as his father had passed on his passion for Arsenal to Andy, Andy did the same for his kids, Thomas and Joseph, to whom he was so devoted. I'm not sure if Lucy ever did or ever will fully understand what it was all about.

Somehow, going to Arsenal will never seem quite the same again. I'm still waiting for his next text message, rejoicing in Chelsea's demise.
'Shandy' Harris, a true Gooner legend, gone but NEVER forgotten.
It was a privilege to have been his friend."

Tim Lovejoy - "Andy Harris or Shandy The Gooner In The Gallery, as Soccer AM fans will remember him, will be sorely missed by everyone. In all my time in TV I've never known a death cause such a stir. It seems everyone knew him and no one will ever forget him. I first met Andy working on the Big Breakfast, the first thing he wanted to know was which team I supported. I told him Chelsea, he laughed and then spent the next 13 years taking every opportunity to tell me we're not as good as his beloved Arsenal.

When I got offered the job of producer and presenter of Soccer AM I needed someone to help me and Andy was my first choice as he was a great producer and loved his football like me. He was tenacious and persuasive and pushed the show further then I ever would have. If it wasn't for Andy the show would never have been as big as it became. The show back then was run on pure passion of football, we had many arguments and they were normally about Arsenal vs. Chelsea.

My memory of working next to him was him sitting holding a new Arsenal shirt that we got in to feature on the show. He was smelling it and saying things like "smell that it's perfect", "you'll never know what it's like to be a fan of the Arsenal" and "it's so sad, you'll never have this experience". He honestly believed he was blessed being an Arsenal fan. He took me to see Arsenal V Coventry once insisting I came to see what a real club was like, a "big club" as he called it.

I had been to Highbury many times as an away fan, but he wanted me to see his experience. I remember him being so proud of showing me the Arsenal fans in his local pub, his stadium and his seat, he couldn't understand why I didn't think that he was the luckiest man alive because he was a Gooner. A couple of drunk Arsenal fans decided to have a go at me for being a Chelsea fan and it got a little out of hand. Andy was horrified, he lost his temper with them and got the situation under control. He was deeply upset that a couple of Herberts would pick on me when clearly I was just there to watch the game, he explained that they were not proper Arsenal fans.

He was a proper fan, not an idiot "real" fan, but a proper fan, who took as much pleasure in hating Chelsea, Spurs and Man U as he did in loving The Arsenal. His banter was always spot on and he knew when to send a text to give maximum misery to me. After we had won the league he was always telling me the Chelsea's bubble was going to burst, after a string of poor results last season, I got a simple text message which just said "POP!". I'll truly miss the ritual of losing a match and 2 minutes later receiving "I love football" or "it's a good day for football" text. Andy was a great friend and a true Gooner."

ANDREW EMMANUEL HARRIS 1964-2008 RIP

PS. Please don't hesitate to add any messages of condolence, or any personal memories in the comments section and I can add them to this post for everyone to read

gunner glory said...

i'm gutted. Shandy was indeed a legend. i used to have a pint with him at the arsenal tavern when we played at hughbury.lovely guy. a great loss.

7:35 PM

blazer said...

gooner in the gallery. goonr legend. shandy, where ever you are, we gonna win the league for you. RIP

7:38 PM

danny solomon said...

Being an old mate of Andy I want to add my sincerest condolences to his wife and children. Andy's sudden death is truly shocking especially as he was such a vivacious guy who became vivacious in the extreme when my team, Chelsea, lost.

Before Andy settled down, and even after he allegedly did, he used to come round to my house to watch whatever footy was on the telly. Always funny, often ridiculously so, we would delight at watching Man U and especially the hated Tottenham lose. However, not being a supporter of Andy's beloved Gooners we could never share the intimate football memories that only fans of the same team can.

However, there are not enough true fans like Andy and I know he shall be sorely missed both at The Emirates and in the wider world. Although I was often on the end of Andy's sharp humour when my team lost I shall still miss his text messages when we inevitably come a cropper. It is a very sad time for all who knew him.

7:43 PM

Anonymous said...

I would like to say how shocked and saddened I am to hear of Andy's passing and to wish long life to his wife, children and parents.

I met Andy again very recently in a work context, having been at school with him many years ago. His first words were to remind me that I had been reponsible for ending his illustrious (?) cricketing career, having bowled him out with a yorker. He had that way of immediately putting you at ease. We spent a good time reminiscing about days gone by, what we had both been up to etc. Without my realising it, he had effortlessly created an easy, relaxed and friendly environment - so typical I guess of what I can see from others, that Andy was all about.

I spent such a short time with him yet I was marked by what a genuinely nice chap he was; touched by his generosity in our discussions and amused by his sharp sense of humour.

I can understand those who knew him so much better than I, feeling such a void at his passing. I only wanted to add that from someone who only met him for a brief moment, Andy created such a strong impression.

Taken so prematurely, may he rest in peace.

Daniel Bobroff

8:14 PM

bbc production team said...

I am so saddened by this news. What a breath of fresh air he was to all those who encountered him, either at work or socially. One could not fail to be infected by his enthusiasm and joie de vivre. I am so sad for his family. May he rest in peace.

8:25 PM

phil said...

I'm so saddened to hear this news. I used to sit next to Andrew and his family for many years. They were all such delightful people.

8:50 PM

Banta-Shrink said...

I've had the privilidge of working with Andy and knowing him as a friend. I worked with him at the BBC on the Bosnich Vs. Spoony boxing, and then at Fanbanta where he gave me the name "banta-shrink" - working with Andy was a pleasure - everything was "lervley" and his enthusiasm and charm somehow always made me priritise the work for Andy over the day job.

But it is as a friend i shall miss him the most - the way he would burst into a party, larger than life and incredulous of the world - his warmth, his energy, his love for his family and for the Arsenal. The world is a lesser place without him but he will live on in our hearts

10:16 PM

Avalon prod team said...

words cannot possibly describe the void that Andrew's death has left. He was always so full of life and energy.Every project we worked on was made so much fun by his wit and humour.I will never forget him, and neither will my colleagues. May he rest in peace.

10:45 PM

Wrighty7 said...

I've never had the privilege of meeting Shandy. From what I've heard he is indeed an Arsenal legend, a proper GOONER. It's a shame that he has been taken away at such an early age and I reckon he'll still be cheering the Gunners on from his place in heaven. RIP Shandy, I hope we win the league for u pal.

2:24 AM

Nick Richmond said...

It's very tough to put into words how much Shandy will be missed by all that knew him . Since I heard the news of his death my head has been filled with memories of many times we spent at Danno's , watching football , playing pool , eating takeaways etc . Shandy and I went to the Champion's League final together and eventhough Arsenal lost , the whole time in Paris is a fantastic memory , due to the fact that the two of us had such a laugh . Being counted as one of his friends was a true honour and I'll miss him always . Rest in Peace .

7:38 AM

Juliet Solomon said...

I had the greatest pleasure of meeting Andy last year. I did not know him personally but he agreed immediately to help me with a book I was compiling for a neurological charity. With enormous generosity of spirit he helped me hugely and the book would certainly not have been what it is without him. He left a great impression on me - such a kind, warm and funny guy. I was so sad to hear of his tragic death and I send my sincerest condolences to his family. May he rest in peace.

7:33 PM

rsj said...

what an incredibly sad day this has been. andy's larger than life presence will be so sadly missed. RIP

10:16 PM

Titi 14 said...

one of arsenal's finest is gone. he felt like part of the family.

10:17 PM

Simon said...

As Andrew's brother on law, Simon, I have been overwhelmed with all the love and affection that so many people felt for Andrew. He was a true 'one off'. The joy in his face when I asked him to play in a journalists team against an Arsenal X1 at Highbury - I was then doing the PR for JVC; the many times we laughed, drank, argued as only Andrew could argue. The times when Lucy my sister was travelling abroad and he came round to see me and my young boys every Saturday before going to Arsenal to play and talk about how much he was looking forward to Lucy coming back and his plans for their future. Thanks to everyone on behalf of Lucy, Thomas and Joseph and all his family. He will be so missed.

3:28 PM

Anonymous said...

Andy was a terrific bloke with a great sense of humour and a lovely bitchiness which made him so entertaining. I first worked with him on Fantasy Football and he was always enthusiastic, quick witted and resourceful. We stayed friends over the years and I enjoyed several trips to Sky to watch soccer AM with the Gooner in the gallery. He so loved Arsenal but he also loved football which made him such a rounded bloke. He will be sorely missed by those he touched while on this earth. And you can't say much better than that. - Andy Jacobs - talkSPORT

6:34 PM