Anyone For Tennis?

Howdy folks

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

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

Doubtless the following is somewhat outdated by now but having written it and since it is probably my last posting for the next couple of months, I thought I should at least get it posted, prior to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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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e-mail to: londonN5@gmail.com

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

G'day fellow Gooners,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until next week
Peas & Love
Bernard
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We're By Far The Greatest Team.....

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Give the Flamster His Due

Its hard to believe the Eyties are offering Matty £80k odd a week but if it is indeed true then the club need to bite the bullet and pay the man whatever it takes to keep him here. I doubt they need to match the Inter package, as I feel sure he wouldn't pack his bags for just "a few bucks" but you could hardly blame him jumping ship if there are big bucks involved in the comparative difference between the two offers (which I assume, accoring to the media, must be the case at the minute)

Surely we should have long since learned our lesson on this front, as whatever it takes to keep Flamini at the club, it's going to be a lot cheaper than having to replace him.

What's more we can hardly blame Matty, as it must be very tempting to take the Italian moolah, knowing he could go on cruise control over there, compared to the amount of graft he has to put in covering so much ground for the Gunners. Moreover the club need to factor in the fact that he has probably been paid "bubkas" up until now and from the player's point of view, considering how marvelously he has made up for in industry and endeavour, what he patently lacks in flair, in all honesty how many better seasons is he going to have than the one we've just witnessed?

In light of their relatively short proffessional careers, Matty has absolutely no choice but to maximise his earnings while his star is at its zenith, as he'd be a fool not to. Especially when we've witnessed in the past the club's own preparedness to throw players out with the dirty shirts, when they've done with them. Loyalty is a two way street and considering the way in which the club attempted (albeit that they failed) to put such a contemptible squeeze on Dennis only a couple of years back, with an utterly embarrassing "pay as you play" extension, we can only expect from Flamini, what he knows he's going to get from the Gunners in return, who have only ever looked out for No. 1 !

So in my humble opinion they should simpy pay the man, as even if Matty is never again to have such an influential season, Arsène is going to have to go a long way to find a player of similar experience, with both the versatility and preparedness to put himself on the line all over the pitch. Moreover and perhaps most important of all, with such a young squad, where leadership qualities are hardly in abundance, it would be absolute madness to write off the one player who, for the majority of this season, has come closest to looking anything like a traditional captain out on the park.

While a recalcitrant Willie was keeping schtum, it was Flamini who was most often seen urging his team mates on (I often think Arsène only gave Gallas the captaincy according to the logic that if he was made guv'nor he'd have no one to barney with but himself?) and with so few players in the dressing room with sufficient presence to make themselves heard, surely it's senseless to forsake the Flamster for the sake of a few quid?

TTFN
Bernard

PS. I was delighted to see Ade achieve a hat-trick last night, giving it back in spades to all those Rams fans who were taunting the Togonator with that racist chant (you kind of expect such low life behaviour at White Hart Lane but I didn't think this disgusting drivel would follow him all over the country!). Besides which, what's wrong with being an elephant washer? It seems to me that these racist Neanderthals are also offending the proud folk who ply this trade across the planet with their derogatory remarks. I for one would be quite proud if my old man was charged with taking care of these magnificent creatures :-)

Moreoever I adored the two Manny's goal celebrations, as his post-match comments suggested these were inspired, or a piss-take even on Earnshaw's over the top efforts. I almost felt sorry for poor Earnshaw, as you got the sense that he'd had been practising his own celebration all season long and having finally got his long awaited and probably his single only chance to produce his routine before a live Premiership audience, we were going to get the 12" version whether we liked it or not!

Who Ever Said Footballers Were Stupid?

Howdy folks

I've been in bed with a bug all weekend, but I am almost relieved watching the first-half of Derby v Arsenal on the box, as I would've been really sick to have schlepped all the way up to Pride Park to watch such a lacklustre first forty-five.

I'm just glad that Derby are so poor, or it could've been embarrassing, but meanwhile I thought I had better post this out, before a similarly poor second half showing necessitates a complete rewrite.

Meanwhile with Van Persie limping off at the break (with yet another injury) after his first goal in open play in SEVEN months and with Adebayor playing up front with his best pal, it will at least be interesting.

Macmanaman was giving Fabianski some stick at the break as the Setanta pundit, suggesting that he's too slight to be able to dominate his box against Premiership opposition

Big Love
Bernard
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Who Ever Said Footballers Were Stupid?

You know it’s been a disappointing campaign when you are left clinging to the PFA Awards for some solace. Yet in a season of such scant reward for such high-class entertainment, it’s of some comfort to see four Arsenal players voted by their peers in the PFA’s Premiership team of the season.

Mind you by the time you read this missive, we should have rolled over Derby and as far-fetched as it may be, while it remains within the realms of possibility (albeit outrageously improbable), it’s impossible not to reflect on the unlikely permutations of the remaining six results that would see the Gunners rise Phoenix like from the flames of our “close, but no cigar” season, to take the title.

As with most every footie fan, there’s this disconnection between head and heart, so that while I know full well that it’s not going to happen, hope continues to spring eternal that the likes of West Ham, Newcastle, Wigan and Bolton might achieve a collective miracle over the remaining couple of weeks.

It probably would’ve proved less painful if Man Utd and Chelsea had put us out of our misery, but with reaffirmation in their recent results that this is the beautiful game because there are so few safe bets and that the final furlong in the Premiership marathon is invariably the most arduous and unpredictable, in truth this has only heightened all our “could’ve, would’ve, should’ve” torment, as we trawl through the ashes of our unsuccessful season fixating on each and every ember, every shot which hit the woodwork, or every decision which went against us, knowing that the slightest shift in the sands of fate would’ve left us all postponing our holidays, for the excuse for a knees up that is the traditional Town Hall parade.

The first-legs of the two Champions League semi-finals only accentuated this agony. The football in such weighty encounters is often inhibited by the intense fear of falling at the final hurdle. But aside from the cameo party-pieces from the likes of Messi and Deco, we witnessed little from any of the four teams that affirmed their right to a leading role in football’s greatest drama, whereas a scintillating display would’ve at least made it easier to accept the Gunners being cast as the gloomy understudy.

However, although events since the excruciating disappointment of our defeats at Anfield, Old Trafford and Stamford Bridge have only underlined quite how close Le Prof is to getting it right, football is an unforgiving paramour. Not only are their no prizes for coming second (or third – and poor Avram could yet pip Utd and still be rewarded with the tin tack!) but in the Arsenal’s case, the majority of Gooners have become so spoilt by the way in which Wenger has (many would say miraculously considering the new stadium has necessitated shoestring expenditure relative to our immediate rivals) managed to set the bar so high over the past decade that it doesn’t appear to make any difference to them whether we are a hair’s breadth, or a hundred miles away, failure to bring home the bacon by way of a tangible trophy is just unacceptable.

I have to laugh at those throwing their toys out of the pram with obfuscated post-mortems pleading for wholesale surgery. Forgive me for mixing my metaphors but considering we’ve come so close and in fact, overachieved, in a season, which was expected to be one of rebuilding, it seems preposterous that some are suggesting we throw the baby out with the bath water.

To my mind these aren’t glory-hunters, they’re glory junkies, whose loyalty wouldn’t have lasted five minutes in the sort of success-starved wilderness we’ve endured in the past. I simply couldn’t imagine such “supporters” in the shoes of a West Ham, or Charlton fan, or any of the majority of teams that start each and every season hoping in their hearts for a sniff of some silverware, but knowing in their heads that survival is probably the best they can hope for.
Talking of which, as I sat watching an increasingly breathless Geoff Stelling on Sky’s Soccer Saturday, as he tried to keep pace with the fluctuating fortunes of the various sides whose fate remains in doubt, I couldn’t help but feel nostalgic for the good old days, when everything was decided by twenty to five on a Saturday afternoon and all football related stress subsided for another seven days, with the familiar “De ne ne ne” tones of the Dr Who intro music, as opposed to the wall-to-wall live games that are dictated on an almost daily basis nowadays by the TV gods.

With terraces across the length and breadth of the country only partially filled with fans attached to their terrace trannies, like some sort of intravenous drip capable of doling out debilitating relegation details, or reinvigorating their very life-force with news of goals having a positive impact on their promotion, or play-offs prospects, I was almost sad to be a neutral bystander. But in the same breathe, having suffered more cyanide than saline from the Gooner life support system in the latter stages this season, I was glad to be on the outside, looking in on the thrill seekers suffering the last heart-stopping loop on the harum-scarum ride that is the glorious football season.

Meanwhile I imagine there’d be a consensus of opinion from most informed fans over the players’ choice of their Premiership team of the season. That is apart from disgruntled Blues (although I did say informed!). Personally I haven’t seen enough of Chelsea to pass judgement, but perhaps the perennial talents of the likes of Terry and Essien merit their inclusion. The funny thing is that it would probably be Arsenal fans that would be most likely to dispute the selection of Adebayor.

Personally I adore the Togonator for his work rate alone but even during his purple patch when he couldn’t stop scoring, Manny’s form, namely his first touch, wasn’t beyond reproach. In light of the number of goal scoring opportunities created by their respective teams, I can’t help but wonder if the 21 goals scored by Blackburn’s Santa Cruz amount to a far more laudable feat. And if he doesn’t merit inclusion in the team of the season, at only £3.5 mill, Santa Cruz must surely be a candidate for bargain of the season?

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e-mail to: londonN5@gmail.com

Surely “We All Agree…….”?

G'day fellow Gooners,

My missus is off to Tenerife shortly on an annual trip to meet up with the rest of the Ó Murchu clan from Dublin (or at least their own humble branch, as the island would undoubtedly sink into the Atlantic with the weight of the entire Murphy clan). I've grown accustomed to missing out on this annual family gathering in warmer climes, as it usually occurs mid-season, when it would mean missing out on far too many matches. However their trip is much later this year, which meant that the thought of joining them didn't even cross my mind, as I just wasn't about to disappear for the climax of the Premiership campaign and a potential Champions League semi/final.

I have to admit that I'm now regretting this decision somewhat, as a couple of weeks in the sunshine would be far preferable to what I imagine is going to be a couple of weeks of "could of, should of, would of" postulating, as the media hypes up the remaining Premiership matches and the penultimate round of Champions League matches, culminating in a Moscow Final, while we Gooners hide under the blankets, hoping not to have to show our heads again until August!

Meantimes, the further I get from the excruciating pain of the events of the past couple of weeks and the more I'm able to view matters from a dispassionate and considered perspective, the more I begin to appreciate quite what a miracle we have witnessed. If it was possible to put the events of the past eight months onto an Excel spreadsheet with some sort of complex formulae to estimate the outcome (doubtless the epitome of a Wenger wet-dream!) then it would've undoubtedly calculated that we didn't have a hope in hell of competing with our rivals this season.

I'm unsure as to the importance of set-pieces over the course of a season, but I’m sure the statisticians amongst us would be able to tell us how many goals the likes of Ronaldo has scored from free-kicks for Man Utd (more's the point, game winning goals?). Saturday's game served as a reminder quite how much we have missed Van Persie and it is quite astonishing really, that out of such a talented squad of players, we only have the one single player who is capable of being a serious threat from a free-kick. We've seen Kolo strike balls with power, but without the finesse and it seems Fabregas has the finesse, but apparently without sufficient power and the evidence we've seen so far suggests that only Van Persie possesses the complete package.

It was also great to see Van Persie taking corners, whipping the ball in with such pace that not only is the opposition keeper scared of being unable to control it, but any sort of contact could end up with it hitting the back of the net. Robin's corners are far more of a threat because of the pace he imparts on the ball. Yet for most of the season we've had to settle for Fabregas floating in balls which invite the opposition keeper to come for them.

What's more it was great to see the two of them trying a couple of training ground routines on Saturday, as I simply cannot recall the last time we witnessed a variation on the theme of whipping the ball in from the corner spot and I often have cause to wonder exactly what they spend all those endless hours of training doing.

Does it not strike anyone else as just a little bizarre that there aren’t any other Gunners amongst such a gifted squad who could pose a threat from a set-piece and that this side is as a result so disadvantaged by the absence of the injury prone Dutchman?

Where would we be now with another 15 plus goals to add to Adebayor’s 27? Additionally (and as much as I hate to knock le gaffer at a time when so many nincompoops seem to be having a pop at him, I guess Arsène has to answer for the following inadequacies) it’s also utterly unbelievable that our squad does not include a single natural winger and we’ve spent the entire season having to “make do” out on the flanks, either with a converted full-back, a converted striker, or a midfielder who’s lack of a left foot has meant that their first instinct is to head for the heart of the opposition defence, frustrating the hell out of me and every other Gooner for much of the season, as we’ve completely failed to heed that old adage that “if you can’t go through them, you go around them”

Eboué drives me as potty as everyone else, with his immature antics but it’s not so surprising that he’s never quite sure what to do with the ball when he arrives in the opposition area because he’s spent the best part of his young career playing at the other end of the pitch. Meanwhile we all assume Theo’s limited opportunities out wide result from the fact that a winger’s defensive responsibilities don’t come naturally to a player who’s only ever had to make runs into the opposition area in the past.

Meanwhile I’ve rarely seen a player who looks less suited to the role of a nippy little winger, than the gangly looking Diaby and sadly it seems to me that Abou has gone backwards this season because most of his rare run outs have been out wide where he doesn’t look at all comfortable.

Similarly Alex Hleb lacks the seering pace required in this position to burn off a full back and thus his instincts are invariably to head towards the middle of the park.
Don’t get me wrong. I am all for the Ajax brand of total football, where players aren’t limited by their positions to specific areas of the pitch and where anyone has sufficient ability to fill in for any of their team mates. But for us to be lacking a single player whose first instinct is to burn off the full-back by heading for the byeline and supplying ammo for our strikers with an early, whipped in cross, forcing defenders to play towards their own goal, this is a severe deficiency in the Arsenal armoury, limiting our attacking options to those which various opponents have been able to successfully frustrate and forcing us to depend entirely on our two full backs for any width at all.

However it is not only out wide where we’ve had to “make do” all season. I’ve lost track of the number of home games which we’ve started with Adebayor on his own up front, with Alex Hleb supposedly playing a supporting role.

Hleb’s status has increased considerably this season, with various pundits lauding the Bielorussian playmaker as the best thing since sliced bread. Yet in my humble opinion Alex is not suited to “playing in the hole” behind a sole striker, as he just isn’t fast enough to be able to link the play and as a result we’ve all too often conceded home advantage with the Togonator isolated on his own up front. Alex just doesn’t have the brief bursts of searing pace of a Freddie Ljungberg or Bobbie Pires, to be able to arrive in the box in time to contribute 15 plus goals a season.

Again I’d have to defer to the statisticians amongst us, but from the impression I’ve gleaned, the Gunners most recent successful seasons have all included a 15 plus goal contribution from midfield, whereas this term, apart from Adebayor’s 27 strikes and Eduardo’s 12 (only four in the Premiership!), the only other notable contribution has been from Fabregas, with a total of thirteen, but with only seven league goals.

As far as the limitations of our squad are concerned, I very much doubt anyone would be focusing on the lack of depth if it wasn’t for the loss of the likes of Van Persie, Rosicky, Eduardo for the majority of the season and with everyone fit, Arsène’s outfit wouldn’t look nearly so threadbare. Hopefully Van Persie’s had his share of injury woes and should be due a decent injury free run come next season, but with Eduardo out long term and with the doubts over Rosicky’s fitness, Wenger has no choice but to address this situation by getting his wallet out.

Many of us might dispute Arsène’s contentions in Saturday’s programme notes about the quality of this season’s play, as being the best during his time at the club. However I can appreciate his depth of feeling about his young charges, as Arsène has put his heart and soul into building this squad for several years now, on a relative shoestring compared to his immediate rivals.

Although we are led to believe that there’s plenty of funds available now - and I don’t begin to suggest that I understand the complexities of the financing involved, but if the income from the new stadium has begun to improve the club’s situation, it seems common sense to me that our circumstances won’t improve dramatically until the revenue from all those properties currently being built begins to reduce our debts? – this definitely hasn’t been the case during all those years that Arsène has maintained our competitiveness, without ever putting us into the sort of dangerous territory occupied by all those other clubs who have spent so much beyond their means, while merely chasing the sort of dream football that we’ve enjoyed.

It will indeed be interesting to see how (and if) le Gaffer adapts to the change in circumstances (when and if that time has come), whereby he has the purchasing power to compete with some of the other big spenders. I don’t think he comes in the same category as George Graham, who didn’t appear to want to bring in any egos to compete with his own. Yet it seems fairly obvious that Arsène is more comfortable moulding talent, than bringing in established stars who’s temperament might threaten the delicate status quo in his young dressing room.
Meanwhile there can be absolutely no doubting the extent of the miracle that Arsène has achieved up until now.

I’m led to believe young Jack Wilshire was seen doing the business for the reserves tonight against West Ham, so I’m off to check him out on Arsenal TV, whilst trying to eradicate all those agonising thoughts of a Premiership table, which, after events this past weekend, would’ve now left us only one point behind Man Utd, if we had only won at Old Trafford! Fine margins indeed.

Keep the faith
Big Love
Bernard
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Surely “We All Agree…….”?

There was a risible reaction to the stadium announcer’s customary report of the attendance figure, as Saturday’s match drew to a close. There was a time when this announcement would result in a relatively restrained round of applause, which used to tickle me for some reason. It just seemed somewhat bizarre that people should be clapping themselves, merely for bothering to turn up!

Nowadays it’s become a redundant ritual, as the attendance figures appear to hover around the 60,100 mark at every match, no matter who we are playing. Where once this was the principal litmus test of the waxing and waning of a team’s popularity, it’s become a pointless exercise at our place because it’s not representative of the number of fans passing through the turnstiles, as it would appear that season ticket holders are included, whether they are present or not.

Never was this more obvious than on Saturday, as aside from Carling Cup outings for our reserves, I can rarely recall seeing so many empty seats at a competitive match at our new stadium. Then judging by the huge swathes of empty terraces seen at other grounds on the telly later that night, the Arsenal’s attendances are far from alone in being affected by a bout of end-of-seasonitis.

To my mind, considering how many would give their eye teeth to watch this Arsenal side perform live, it is positively criminal that we should be playing in front of anything other than full-houses. However I guess that for many Gooners, to all intents and purposes, our season ended at 5.45 last Sunday, as any lingering dreams of success evaporated at Old Trafford.
A traditional 3pm start would’ve undoubtedly proved a more attractive proposition for all those who aren’t so fortunate as to have our new stadium on their doorstep. But sadly these have become the exception rather than the rule, according to the ever more disturbing demands of the TV paymasters (is it so far fetched to imagine that a time might come when we are expected to turn up in the middle of the night, in order to cater for a TV audience on the other side of the planet?).

Even taking into account my typically tardy dash from home, five minutes before KO, there was no mistaking the strangely subdued atmosphere in the local environs compared to most match days. Normally there’d be the sight of red & white scarves trailing behind the scurrying figures of loads of other latecomers, or Gooners still spilling out of the Bank of Friendship and the Gunners pub, having dallied long enough to neck another draught or two, obviously only for medicinal purposes, to keep out the cold of a winter which stubbornly refuses to abate. Yet the surrounding streets were so deserted that if it wasn’t for the distant boom of the stadium tannoy, announcing the names on the two teamsheets, I could’ve been forgiven for wondering if I’d got the wrong day!

On the pitch, there was a similarly impassive feel to the proceedings, in an opening period where it couldn’t have been more obvious that this was an exercise in damage limitation for Reading, if Steve Coppell had parked the team coach in front of their goal, along with the rest of his troops. However as the game progressed, there was almost palpable evidence of the absence of the sort of intense pressure our Young Guns have endured these past few weeks, as they relaxed and began to roll the ball about, with the carefree air of a bunch of mates having a kickabout in nearby Clissold Park.

Unfortunately (at least for all the lesser lights) there’s no disguising the huge gulf in class that exists between the two ends of the Premiership table and within half an hour we’d torn Coppell’s game-plan asunder. I couldn’t help but have some sympathy for the earnest endeavours of the journeymen Royals (and their long-suffering, loyal support) as they were run utterly ragged. The Gunners flowing, one-touch passing game, which is so wonderfully easy on the eye, made a complete mockery of their efforts to man-mark, by dragging our guests all over the pitch, leaving them in a “stick or twist” quandary, fearful of following their target into unfamiliar territory and enabling us to exploit the resulting gaps in their five man rearguard.

Not for the first time, we failed to kill the opposition off, in a match where we were unable to take full advantage of the sort absolute dominance, which aside from a brief period in the second half, would’ve allowed Lehmann to take the day off. But then we witnessed a five-minute spell that was a metaphor for our entire season, as first Van Persie and then Walcott rattled the woodwork, with examples of the sort of breathtaking ball skills that are worth the extortionate admission price alone, but which failed to make an impression where it really counts. It was a matter of mere millimetres which was the difference between Van Persie’s free-kick bouncing down off the cross bar and over the line, instead of on it, but I’m reluctant to board Arsène’s “fates against us” bus.

More’s the point, the Dutchman’s unerring accuracy with a dead ball was a timely reminder of what might have been. If Robin had remained out of the treament room long enough to provide more than a measly eight goal return, we Gooners might not be spending the next month trying to avoid the back pages and enviously coveting our rivals involvement in all the Champions League ballyhoo!

Downhearted we maybe, but as the Gunners do their bit in the remaining three matches to try and ensure that their summer break isn’t curtailed by those extremely inopportune Champions League qualifiers, I’ve no doubt that they will continue to demonstrate their ability to produce football of a calibre that most Premiership fans can only dream of.

Sadly Theo Walcott failed once again to make the most of a rare run-out in Saturday’s starting line-up, as I’m desperate to see our “Wunderkid” develop into something more than an impact substitute. There are those who perceive the alternative as the worst player ever to wear the red & white. While it’s true that I’ve endured few more frustrating footballers than an unbelievably immature Eboué, I believe we can cut the young right-back a little slack, while Wenger tries to convert him into a winger. Moreover I find it hard to believe anyone can seriously think Manny Eboué is such a bad player that he brooks comparison with such big galoots as the likes of Gus Ceasar and Jimmy Carter?

Meanwhile, no matter how bare our trophy cabinet, how can we show anything but gratitude for the sort of entertainment witnessed in Saturday’s 2-0 slaughter, with Fabregas, our little Franco, the fulcrum around which all the most fabulous footie revolves. So long as our sorcerer’s apprentices continue to sparkle in this fashion, we’ve every reason to keep the faith. While those clowns clamouring for wholesale surgery would do better to consider those oh so fine margins between success and failure. Assuming Arsène learns from this season’s more obvious lessons, the Arsenal’s future remains incredibly bright.

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http://goonersdiary.blogspot.com
e-mail to: londonN5@gmail.com

Post-match verdict - Arsenal v Reading

There was a risible reaction to the reported sixty thousand plus attendance, as the evident number of empty seats told another story. Yet again the demands of the live TV tail wagged the football dog, to the detriment of a sedentary supporting cast. Although an early KO against the Royals was hardly going to be the hottest ticket in town, after events of the past couple of weeks has left most Gooners feeling all footballed out.

On the pitch after an impassive opening period, the lack of pressure resulted in Gunners relaxing and running Reading utterly ragged, in a game that can only be described as a 2-0 slaughter. Our two goals were scant reward for the sort of high quality footie that demonstrated the huge gulf in class between either end of the table. An exercise in damage limitation for Steve Coppell's troops, turned out to be timely reminder of just how grateful we Gooners should feel, for the undoubted privilege of being able to enjoy entertainment of a calibre that the vast majority of Premiership fans can only dream of, with our little Franco the fulcrum around which the very best of our fabulous flowing football revolved.

No matter how bare the trophy cabinet, so long as our sorcerer's apprentices continue to sparkle in this fashion, we've every reason to keep the faith. The extremely fine margins between success and failure make a mockery of all those clamouring for wholesale surgery. So long as Arsène learns from this season's more obvious lessons, the future remains incredibly bright.

If You Can't Beat 'Em, Blow 'Em Up!

My sister just phoned me to let me know that a colleague had a spare for Chelsea v Wigan tonight. I suggested that it was tantamount to trying to offload a ticket for the Israeli Independence Day Parade in the middle of the Gaza Strip and that I would have loved to go but sadly I’m all out of C4 explosive at the minute!

Under other circumstances, as a lover of the beautiful game who’s been known to wander down the wrong end of the Seven Sisters Road on a spare Saturday, it would only have been the schlep across London that might’ve put me off taking in another match. However after the utterly devastating denouement of the Gunners’ season over the past few weeks, I’m afraid that like many of my fellow Gooners, I am all footballed out!

Even after forty years of watching the Arsenal I still struggle to reconcile the ecstatic highs and gut-wrenching lows of last Tuesday’s Champions League exit. I guess that’s what makes this amazing sport such an addictive enigma. The euphoric peak of the scintillating perfection of Theo Walcott’s run from the edge of his own penalty area, to put what we all assumed would be the winner, on a plate for Adebayor, lifted all of us present to such a head bursting, oxygen deprived altitude that the subsequent thud was almost physical, as poor Kolo inadvertently pushed us off this lofty perch, by committing hari kari at the other end of the pitch only moments later.

I’ve some sympathy for poor Theo. As had been the case a few weeks prior against Birmingham, the boy wonder had come up with the goods, when we most needed them, with the sort of game-changing, sublime skills that deserved to decide a Champions League quarterfinal. But instead of being the hero and grabbing all the headlines, just as at St. Andrews, subsequent events ensured that Walcott’s contribution will only be remembered as a mere footnote.

However as much as I struggle to comprehend how we can score two goals away from home in the Champions League and still fail to win the game, in the cold light of day, Walcott’s wonderful assist would’ve only helped to mask the inadequacies witnessed in the latter stages of this match and on Sunday at Old Trafford, where recent performances have been a microcosm of this season’s incredibly entertaining, but ultimately unsuccessful campaign.
In season’s past we’ve grown accustomed to dips in form around October/November time, but Arsène’s scientific management of his team’s fitness levels has invariably seen us come on strong both at the tail end of matches and at the business end of the season. But as they say, you cannot flog a dead horse and sadly the deficiencies of our far too shallow squad have eventually taken their toll.

If I was disconsolate trudging back to the car last Tuesday, I can’t imagine how my pal Billy felt, after having travelled all the way over from Texas just for this game. Yet no matter how devastated we were, I don’t think either of us would’ve missed the overall thrill of such a special occasion, for the world.

We struggled to find legal parking when we arrived at Anfield and on asking advice from a couple of locals, they invited us to follow their truck to park right outside their house. Obviously we joked between us about finding our ransacked motor resting on bricks when we returned, but then living in London, where such a hospitable act just wouldn’t happen, has made cynics of us all.

A somewhat more stereotypical incident occurred as we stood gabbing close to the ground, beside a pile of cardboard boxes, which eventually proved to contain nothing more than bright red carrier bags that were being handed out elsewhere as a publicity stunt. However two tiny Scouse scallies (aged about 7 or 8!) couldn’t care less what was inside the boxes, just that they were unguarded and we all cracked up as they invited us to load them up, before scampering off down the road. It didn’t bother them that there were two dozen coppers on the opposite corner, as they returned a couple more times, to gleefully make off with their haul of umpteen thousand carrier bags! Gawd only knows what they were going to do with them, but at least they felt like they’d had a result that night.

Perhaps it’s related to the fact that so many Scousers have Irish roots, but I’ve always felt a stronger affinity for football fans from either side of Stanley Park, than with those from anywhere else in the UK. If we were going to get knocked out by a domestic rival, then Liverpool was definitely the least distasteful of the three options as they are at least proper fans.

In fact I have to admit to feeling slightly envious, as even the hairs on the back of this somewhat jaded old git’s neck stood to attention, as the teams trotted out to the sound of such a moving rendition of the Liverpool anthem. This was the moment when one realised why the likes of my pal Billy had made such an arduous trek to be there.

It perhaps says everything that I can’t recall the reverse scene the previous week, but there’s nothing inspirational about the two teams entering the arena to the somewhat insipid and utterly meaningless sound of Elvis Presley, while such prominent areas of seating remain empty with so many of our Club Level punters preferring to wallow in the wooden floored, glass chandeliered opulence of their surroundings, rather than drinking in and heaven forfend, perhaps even participating in creating the sort of atmosphere that befits such an occasion.

There were a couple of half-hearted penalty shouts during the first-half and little did I know quite how prophetic it would prove, when I suggested that a similar incident in front of the Kop in the second half would surely result in a penalty. Amongst all the finger pointing since, at Senderos for losing Hyppia (although Almunia must share some of the blame for panicking and putting the ball into touch in the build up) and at Kolo for allowing Babel to get goalside, I can’t help but wonder if our fans behind the goal when Hleb hit the deck were as animated as those at Anfield, might they have swayed the mind of the Dutch referee sufficiently to produce a similar outcome?

There was some consolation in the thought that in our fatigued state, the Scousers might have a better chance of beating Chelsea than us, but we were nonetheless so demoralised and downhearted that few of us fancied Sunday’s trip to Old Trafford. In the absence of Flamini holding the fort in midfield, I had nightmare images of the flood-gates opening up, after an early goal and the Gunners drowning in some serious, long term psychological damage.

As it turned out, I was proud to be a Gooner on Sunday and no matter that we came up short once again, in my eyes the lads did themselves great credit by playing Utd off the park, if only for the first 45. It seemed to me that even old Red Nose himself was impressed by the reaction of his rival’s young squad. After all his dreams of a successful campaign had been left in tatters, it was perhaps not so surprising that a devastated Wenger was left clutching at straws, with his deluded implications of a “world’s against us” conspiracy, like some paranoid nutter. I would’ve much preferred a more honest appraisal of our downfall but then I guess graciousness in defeat is a trait which befits those who are more comfortable with getting beat!

When you consider that the Arsenal’s squad cost a third of the £120 million paid for Man Utd’s and you compare a subs bench comprising the likes of Bendtner and Hoyte with Tevez and Anderson, in truth Wenger has achieved a remarkable feat, by competing with the likes of Utd and Chelsea, with a team that’s recognised as playing the most attractive brand of football on the planet, on a fraction of his rivals’ budget. Moreover in light of the laughable pre-season predictions that we might struggle to pip the likes of Spurs for Champions League qualification, put into such perspective, we’ve far in a way exceeded the expectations of all those supposedly learned pundits.

However our expectations were grossly inflated by an all too ephemeral five-point gap and the way in which we strutted our stuff in the San Siro against the spent force that was AC Milan. So sadly instead of being able to appreciate any incremental progress, an empty trophy cabinet leaves many of us looking back on a season of under-achievement, screaming for wholesale changes.

There will be plenty of time for a post-mortem in the months ahead but I’m convinced that there isn’t too much wrong with this Arsenal squad that a world-class goalie, some proper leadership qualities and obviously a bit more depth, wouldn’t cure. Hopefully they will yet prove themselves to be winners, as having supped a suitably abhorrent draught from the cup of defeat, the spirit demonstrated at Old Trafford suggests to me that they have the determination to bounce back, with the added resolve to ensure that this season's bitter libation doesn’t pass their lips again.


e-mail to: LondonN5@gmail.com

Now Is The Winter Of Our Discontent....Or Is It?

I returned home from Round 1 last Wednesday, just in time to hear Strachan and Souness arguing the merits and demerits of a zonal defensive system on the box. Sadly I’m still none the wiser as to why Benitez, or any manager would choose to defend in this fashion. It might sound logical when players are merely static ‘Os’ and ‘Xs’ in a tactical manual, but in the melee in and around the six-yard box, man-marking is the only option that leaves players without any excuse for losing their man. If the first two-thirds of the Liverpool trilogy have served any purpose, they’ve surely settled this debate, as if Arsenal set-pieces in successive games can expose the shortcomings of a zonal defence, anyone can!

It’s been a far too familiar routine this season, to find myself slumping back down into my seat, after Fabregas has floated yet another corner into the out-stretched arms of the opposition keeper and so Van Persie’s long-awaited return was cause for celebration, if only for his ability to strike a dead ball. It’s hard to believe that for all the talent in this Arsenal squad, the Dutchman is the only truly potent weapon at set-pieces. Mind you, it’s never struck me as ideal that one of our main threats to the opposition goal at corners is nullified, because even our injury prone ‘boy wonder’ can’t get on the end of one of his own corners!

Sadly Van Persie’s return to proper match fitness seems destined to fail for this season at least and I was extremely disappointed to see us cede home advantage on Saturday, by lining up with Bendtner operating as lone striker. For most of the first-half you could be forgiven for wondering which was the home side, as the Dane was so utterly isolated up front that we hardly posed any threat. It was a perfect demonstration of how and how not to play 4-5-1, with almost every ball played up to Peter Crouch sticking to the lanky striker and Liverpool’s midfield making the runs to enable him to play them in.

I’m not sure whether Walcott was instructed to hug the touchline, or whether he’s been playing out wide so frequently that spearheading an attack no longer comes naturally to him. Only that morning they were showing Theo’s three favourite goals on Sky and although one of these was in an Arsenal shirt, the other two were scored for Southampton. It occurred to me that while we’ve witnessed plenty of examples of Theo’s blistering pace, we’ve rarely enjoyed the benefits of his predatory instincts.

The only good thing about the Scousers scoring first was that at least it guaranteed a proper contest breaking out second-half, compared to the decidedly tepid, almost testimonial like first-half fare. It felt as if this game was an unwanted inconvenience for everyone concerned. Then again, the Gunners never seem to turn up for these early kick-offs, until after the break. Come the revolution, the person responsible for the fixture schedules will be first up against the wall, as these are exclusively dictated by the TV paymasters, with absolutely no consideration for the poor punters on the terraces, or the prospect of turning a potentially thrilling spectacle into a bit of a wet fish.

Le gaffer had no choice but to throw caution to the wind and go for it in the second half. Yet despite developing into a far more exciting contest, for all our possession, there was an air of inevitability about the eventual outcome. I’ve rarely seen Wenger quite so animated but his touchline attack of St. Vitus Dance was merely an expression of the angst felt by us all, as any last title prospects ebbed away. Many had arrived at Saturday’s match wearing t-shirts in the warm spring sunshine, but as the temperature dropped dramatically, the weather seemed an appropriate metaphor for our winter of discontent.

Mind you hope continued to spring eternal with Man Utd’s slip up on Sunday. Perhaps this will merely prove to be a stay of execution for the optimists amongst us, when others might think it kinder to put us out of our misery already. However crucial injuries to Vidic and Ferdinand offer further prospects of a possible reprieve and at least it means we can go to Old Trafford next weekend still with something to play for, rather than the awful prospect of being caught between the red devils and Chelsea’s deep blue sea, whereby a win would only offer a leg up to our South London enemies.

However watching the highlights of Utd’s game only served to demonstrate the difference between the two teams at present. There’s a vitality to Utd when they’re on the attack, which has been absent from the Arsenal for some time now. Utd seem so much more incisive going forward because when the ball reaches their front men, invariably there are three our four teammates making more advanced runs, enabling them to maintain their forward momentum. Whereas by contrast when Adebayor or Bendtner receives the ball, having looked up to find the penalty area bereft of red & white, they are left with no option but to allow both teams to catch up with the play, or to pass it sideways or backwards.

Then again, we’ve hardly had the rub of the green in recent games and if we were scoring goals for fun, like ‘our friends from the North’, fatigue just wouldn’t be an issue and I’m certain we’d be looking no less dynamic. Hopefully Tuesday will prove a big enough occasion to inspire all concerned and if there’s to be a 12th man effect from the Anfield atmosphere, it could just as easily be the Arsenal who end up being the beneficiaries.

Fabregas has every right to comment on our fickle home crowd and the fact that our support isn’t as staunch as some. When you consider how often this season we’ve rescued games with last gasp goals, I couldn’t believe the air of resignation enveloping the Emirates as the clock ticked down on Saturday, signalling the now customary mass exodus. In some respects I’m almost relieved to be playing the second leg at their place, as at least I’ll be surrounded by the sort of loyal Gooners who won’t give up the ghost until the very last.

I’m not nearly so confident as I was prior to playing AC Milan, but I remain quietly optimistic, as I can’t help wondering if the passion of the home crowd will play into our hands, by forcing Liverpool onto the front foot. If the occasion is all it’s cracked up to be then no matter their manager’s instructions, I can’t see the Scousers tolerating the sort of tactics seen to date, where they’ve sat deep and allowed us to keep the ball

Invariably it’s the big game players who hold the key to such crucial encounters. I remain convinced the tie will be decided by Gerrard and Fabregas and whichever of the two turns it on most on the night. Gerrard undoubtedly won the first round on points and with second ending all square, hopefully it will be Cesc’s turn to inflict a TKO on Tuesday?

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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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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!

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