It's Never Over, Until The Fat Cockerel Falls Off Its Perch

I doubt Arsène Wenger had the Carling Cup debacle against Birmingham in mind, when he told us that the Gunners had to treat each of our remaining matches as a cup final. But this is what we were laughing about behind the goal at the Liberty on Saturday. For much of the game it appeared as if it was the home side, not us, who still had something to play for. The Swans crisp, incisive possession was in complete contrast to our plodding, far too predictable football.

Once again Swansea stirred up painful rememberances of times past. While the Gunners struggled to find any rhythm for long periods of this encounter, the Swans pleasing on the eye passing game, ensured that theirs was a far better impersonation of the entertaining Arsenal teams of yesteryear than the fraudulent fumblings of the mediocre incarnation of Arsène’s modern day outfit.

Our fragile confidence continues to ensure that, instead of looking after the ball like it was their best friend, the Gunners tend to shirk responsibility for it, as if it was a psychotic cyber-bully. Nevertheless, momentum is everything in football and if victory in Munich last week served a purpose, it was to provide us with the sort of platform, upon which we might just be able to build a consistent run-in to conclude our Premiership campaign.

Such hope isn’t engendered by the prospect of free-scoring purple patch but the possibility that we’re finally discovering some composure in defence and that the genuine commitment of the likes of Jenkinson and Koscielny is serving as an example to their team mates. After being accused of failing to talk to one another, Arteta appears to have taken it to the opposite extreme, immersing himself in the responsibilities of the captain’s armband, constantly barking out orders and herding his charges into shape like a Basque Shepherd dog.

Flappyhandski has been left out long enough for many to seemingly have forgotten his past misdemeanours. But thus far in the best “change is as good as a rest” traditions, his reintroduction seems to have lent us some stability. Above all, I’m hoping that from the evidence of our last two displays, the most important change of recent weeks is that we might have at long last abandoned the patently obvious failings of a rigidly zonal defence at set-pieces, for a more flexible set-up.

I travelled to Munich last week, determined to make the most, of what I was convinced would be our last Champions League outing for some time. But with Gervinho leaving us all on the floor in shock, with the composed finish that secured all three points at Swansea and with Spurs never failing to provide the “wheels coming off” pleasure of blowing all three points against Fulham, suddenly we’ve everything to play for again.

I fancy there’s plenty of twists and turns to come in this particular passion play over the course of the remaining eight games. While recent events offer good cause for optimism, if Wednesday’s performance in the Allianz Arena was to prove our Champions League swansong, I couldn’t think of a better place.

We all got a right old soaking on the long walk back to Swansea station on Saturday. Yet despite being sopping wet, this couldn’t put a dampener on our high spirits. Even all the obnoxious posh twat rugby fans who invaded our train at Cardiff and proceeded to drown their miseries all the way back to London, couldn’t spoil our high, as Gooners recounted tales of the many litres quaffed in Munich beerkellers.

As hard as it is for me to admit, going to a match in Germany is football how it should be, a civilized, sociable experience, without detriment to the atmosphere and with far less sense of the separation between the plebs and the high-rollers. Our clubs and our police could do well to take a lesson or two from the Gerries!

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 e-mail to: londonN5@gmail.com

No Arsenal, No Withdrawals....No Sh*t!

In the past, an entire week watching other sides play without an Arsenal fixture was the equivalent of being condemned to doing time in purgatory.  It’s perhaps indicative of our morose Gooner melancholia that this currently isn’t the case.

For decades now I’ve been teasing my Spurs pals on St. Totteringham’s Day (the celebratory occasion when our league superiority is confirmed), with the traditional text message salute “Never mind mate, always next season!” Yet after the “death in the family” type agony that we endured at White Hart last week and (in the cyclical nature of things) the traumatic prospect that “next season” might have finally come around (first time since 1995, when George Graham was sacked!), it felt as if the gods had smiled upon us, saving us from more Arsenal angst by giving us the week off. Then again, the fates can be so cruel that this could just be the calm before the storm set-up, for a humiliating ‘end of season’ finale at the Allianz Arena in Munich on Weds?

It was difficult not to wallow in our Derby defeat but instead, I put my feet up on the sofa and savoured the Schadenfreude of Fergie’s apoplexy at Nani’s ejection (s’funny Ol’ Red Nose’s sense of injustice wasn’t the least bit piqued when Manny Eboue received a red card for a similar assault on Evra at Old Trafford), or of Everton getting stuffed at Goodison by Wigan. Mind you, it was the Toffees FA Cup swansong that caused the match at our place to be postponed and I would’ve quite fancied encountering the shamefully unfocused Everton side that Moyes sent out on Saturday.

I recall first being impressed with Moyes back in 1999, listening to him taking questions at a press conference after the Gunners came back from 2-0 down to beat Preston North End 2-4 in the FA Cup 3rd round. For some reason this took place outside and with his inquisitors sat above him on the steeply elevated seats at Deepdale, it felt as if we were being lectured to, by a manager who was destined for greater things. Nowadays the stern Scot seems to be in the frame for every potential vacancy at any of the ‘big’ clubs, despite the fact that his Everton teams have consistently failed to deliver.

Yet even the authority of managerial titans like Fergie, seems to be waning, in inverse proportion to the astronomic earnings of their star turns, once they step out onto the turf nowadays. The St Vitus Dance touchline antics of dinosaurs, such as those of Ians Warnock and Holloway, have largely given way to the ‘laissez-faire’ attitude of all those who sit back in their Recaro style car seats, in the certain knowledge that they’ve no further part to play (until a bad decision pushes their ejector button) and that the only thing they’re likely to encourage by getting hot under the collar, is a premature heart attack.

Does the fact that Marouane Fellaini was booed off by the Blues’ fans reflect on Moyes motivational skills, or the big Belgian fella’s lack of commitment to the cause? I’d definitely like to see a player with his intimidating presence playing in red & white. But it was another Belgian who impressed me in midweek, as Dembele had something of the Vieira about him, as he dominated the middle of the park against Inter on Thurs night.

Keep it under your hat, but I tried out my Europa Cup training wheels, after being invited to go and watch Spurs barely break sweat, in swatting the Italian’s surprisingly feeble challenge. It wasn’t easy sitting there like a cuckold, listening to the Cockerels crow (although I was tempted to join in with the chorus of “Are you Arsenal in disguise?”). But I came home praying that the 3-0 drubbing was more down to a disappointing display from a decrepit, disinterested Inter side, as the thought of Spurs surfing through the remainder of the season, on the surge of confidence brought about by shaking off the shackles of North London inferiority, really doesn’t bear thinking about.

I only wish we were travelling to Germany on Weds, still clinging to the hope that would be engendered by having a world class goalscorer, capable of turning this tie on it’s head. Ho hum, guess I’ll have to settle for the comforting prospect of coming home with a carrier bag full of cheap Camel ciggies?

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 e-mail to: londonN5@gmail.com

Separated At Birth?

Sound familiar....

....NFL is all gobbledigook to me but no translation required for the sentiments expressed

An Open Letter to St. Louis Rams’ Owner Stan Kroenke: Fan’s View

whether it's the head or the body of the snake that has to go. something has to happen for us to shed this "sustainable business model" skin, if we're not to end up spending several more years in purgatory as just another of Silent Stan's mediocre cash-cow outfits

Carl Jenkinson?

Can anyone confirm if Jenkinson was subbed at WHL with a knock?

I haven't been able to bring myself to watch the game again to see if he was at all at fault with the goals (although I must admit that my Spurs mate took me to WHL last night to watch the Spuds beat Inter and to be fair, I've never experienced Thursday night Europa League football, so sadly, perhaps it's a good idea that I start getting used to it! - although I could've done without all the wind up "Arsenal in disguise" chants, but really couldn't argue with the entertaining football)

But at 2-0 down on Sunday, even if Jenkinson was in any way at fault for either of the goals (looked like they strolled through the middle of our statuesque centre-backs from where I stood), he was about our greatest threat getting down the flank and whipping in the sort of crosses that we've not seen nearly enough of from anyone else. So to my mind, to take him off in order to introduce Rosicky and then to move Ramsey to right-back, unless Carl was injured, this was just about the most bonkers substitution I've ever seen Wenger make. And frankly even if Carl was at all culpable with either of the goals, what's the point in punishing the kid after his mistakes

Also I've always got my binoculars with me and I noticed this for the first time when BBC Bouldie (Balls, Bibs & Cones - how the mighty have fallen) called Podolski back from warming up, for him to come on against Blackburn and the same was true on Sunday and I simply can't help but take issue with the fact that having been told to get himself ready, Lucas then spends what seems like an eternity, getting his tracksuit off and phaffing with his boots, as to my mind this simply isn't the attitude of a player who's desperate to get out there and have some impact on the game.

Maybe I'm being harsh and it's down to the fact that I've always had my suspicions about Podolski not exactly being made of the psychological "right stuff" as a player who was happy to leave Bayern and go back to the relative 'big fish in a small pond' security of his home town club, Cologne. But I want to see Arsenal substitutes who can't get on the pitch quick enough and who are raring to drag us back into the game, not someone who looks as if they believe that if they procrastinate long enough, they might limit their liability for the team's failure

But please someone confirm that Carl had a knock and if not can anyone possibly explain AW's logic in believing Ramsey was going to serve us better at RB, as if not then I really can't find any more excuses for not sending in the men with the white coats to drag AW away, before I start losing all respect for someone who really deserves far better from us all

Large Thumb Wanted! To Shore Up N5's Ever More Fragile Dam

Apologies for the lack of recent posts. It's not that I haven't been writing my weekly missives for the Irish Examiner, but limited to only 800 or 650 words and after the struggle to meet a Sunday deadline, I always think I'll find the time to subsequently add everything else that I was forced to omit and then never get around to it. But then my gravestone will undoubtedly be engraved with the old adage "procrastination is the thief of time"

Mind you, apart from my number one fan (my dear old Mum), it's not as if my absence appears to have been noted by anyone else these past few weeks?

Meanwhile, I for one am eagerly looking forward to our trip to Munich next week, as I can at least be guaranteed not to come back totally empty-handed because I've long since run out of my stock of Camel filters (no longer available in the UK) and I'm not sure how I'm going to manage maintaining my nicotine addiction if we should fail to qualify for the Champions League next season. I'll guess I can just add this to the sadly ever lengthening list of AW's war crimes !

COYG
Bernard

__________________________________________________

I imagine I wasn’t the only Arsenal fan looking forward to Sunday’s outing to White Hart Lane, much like I would a trip to the dentist, full of trepidation about having to endure some incisive Gareth Bale route canal agony.

With my sadly, ever diminishing faculties of recall, I tend to forget each season how intimidating this fixture can be. I’m convinced that the reverse encounter at our place doesn’t have anything like the same intense level of testosterone-fuelled animosity. This was only augmented by the rare instance of a high-risk match kicking off at 4pm. When in recent times all such derby games tend to be early kick-offs, in an effort to limit the potential for all the increased aggravation, provoked by the quaffing of large quantities of pre-match lubricants.

Still, I guess the late KO made for a far improved atmosphere inside White Hart Lane than the disappointingly sedate midday meetings of late. Although, I imagine the tense old bill weren’t too enamoured with those responsible, as they struggled to maintain segregation between all the more legless Neanderthals outside the ground.

I made the mistake of neglecting to obscure my red & white scarf under my coat after parking up. As a consequence, even my desensitized ears couldn’t believe the disgustingly offensive tirade of abuse from the locals, forcing me to quicken my step in search of safer sanctuary, surrounded by the fluorescent yellow coats of the cops, their mounted colleagues and all the barking Alsatian dogs by the away fans entrance, adding to the high-profile police presence, which only tends to worsen the white-knuckle, war zone atmosphere of what is supposed to be a civil sporting occasion.

Whilst raising my nicotine levels, by chain-smoking cancer sticks to try and calm my nerves before making my entrance, out of the corner of my eye, I espied a mother trying to give her daughter a bunk-up, for a precious glimpse of what was going on behind the big wall. The two of them had travelled from Switzerland, with the daughter, a Spurs fan, desperate to gain entrance, but with her poor mother unable to afford an extortionate three hundred quid being demanded by the touts.

If she’d been a Gooner and there had been sufficient time to make it home to watch the game on the box, I might’ve been tempted to make the ultimate sacrifice, by giving her my own ticket. But instead I suggested that they might be better off heading around to the main West Stand entrance, where the miracle of a last minute, or post KO spare amongst her tardy fellow Spurs fans, might just result in her fantasy coming to fruition and at least her and her tearful daughter wouldn't have to suffer more abuse from all those savagely malicious Spurs fans who assumed she must be one of us.

The two of them enquired with utter bemusement, as to what was going on. Naturally they were aware that the encounter between Spurs and the Arsenal was imminent. Yet it was patently obvious that they’d never before experienced such overtly offensive displays of bellicose aggression between two sets of supporters before a mere football match, Thus I felt obliged to explain that this was far from par for the Premiership course.

It was a relief to get inside to the relative safety of our seats and our nail-biting anxieties were further eased, by the fact that home team favourites appeared to suffer stage-fright for the most of the match. However for all our domination, the Gunners lacked any cutting edge. Almost every effort to threaten Spurs goal was thwarted by the unstinting resolve of the stalwarts in their defence.

Meanwhile we were all left utterly shell-shocked by the break, due to the fifteen minutes spell in which Bale & Lennon scythed through our statuesque defence. Nevertheless, where at our ground Wenger would’ve likely endured untold abuse at 0-2 down in such a crucial encounter with our local rivals, it was great to experience our unwavering loyalty, as we responded to the Spurs’ fans teasing of “we want to him to stay”, with our own chorus of support for our encumbered leader.

It was indicative of our inability to break Spurs down, that it took a fortunate Mertesacher header to get us back into the game but then all our momentum seemed to evaporate with a couple of bizarre substitutions. I saw Stevie Bould call Podolski back from his touchline calisthenics, but as against Blackburn previously, it hardly suggested a man who was desperate to come on and impact upon proceedings, as it took the German almost ten minutes to tinker with his boots as he readied himself.

To my mind this was the difference in the two teams in a nutshell, as while the home side were intent upon making the most of this rare advantage to usurp our North London superiority, the Gunners ambitions were limited to maintaining the old order, while sorely lacking in the leadership and the focus to redress the current status-quo. And with the margin now stretched to seven points and the resulting impact upon the respective confidence of the two clubs, it would take a serial optimist to believe that the Gunners haven’t blown their best opportunity to salvage the sort of pride, which might at least offer the necessary encouragement to stump up our hard earned wedge when season ticket renewals come around in the weeks ahead.

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e-mail to: londonN5@gmail.com

Interpreting Arsène.....?

Although AW is much respected by the media ratpack in general because of the erudite way in which he's often willing to spout forth in response to their largely inane questions, when it comes to matters of a more delicate nature, we've grown accustomed to Arsène's habitual tendency to play his cards very close to his chest.

As a result, after 16 years of AW's tenure, we Gooners are left trying to deduce what little we can from small snippets of information. For example, are we to intimate from Arsène's reported quote in response to the ongoing Theo Walcott contract saga "I don't think he is only interested in money" that despite increasing their original offer, our skinflint club is doing its utmost to leverage Theo's desire to remain in North London to the maximum, by continuing to offer him less than the wages he's being promised elsewhere?

If this is the case, we can only speculate upon the difference, but you can bet that at the same time, Walcott's agent is hyping up any potential for a Dutch auction and taking advantage of the Gunner's customary reluctance to keep everything behind closed doors, by going back to any other willing bidders and encouraging them to up their offer, in order to maintain the size of any wage increase that's likely to be sufficient to lure Theo away.

I've never been Walcott's no. 1 fan and won't be until I witness him having an influential impact upon games on a more consistent basis. Nevertheless, even on a bad day at the office, just the threat of Theo's blistering pace up front is sufficient to put the willies up most opposition defences and thereby hopefully affording more opportunities to his team mates and quite frankly we've lacked the threat of any such pace at the spearhead of our attack since TH14 made his initial exit (prior to his second and somewhat more sedate coming).

However, if Walcott should end up taking his leave of the Arsenal for the sake of an additional £10k, £20k, or even £30k per week, our club's perennial stinginess could prove far more costly, not only because the likes of Gervinho makes Walcott look world class by comparison and the sort of price we might have to pay to replace him, but more crucially, following the ceaseless, season upon season, drain of talent from the Gunners squad in recent times, what it says about the Arsenal that we can no longer hang on to the likes of Theo and the fact that this not only confirms our status as a selling club, but also the overall lack of ambition of the board.

Losing Van Persie was heartbreaking. Losing him to Man Utd was positively an outrage but Robin was amongst an extremely scarce supply of the sort of world's best strikers that in the absence of success returning to North London, I guess it was always only a matter of time before a club with a seemingly limitless bankroll made him an offer that he simply couldn't refuse.

However sadly Theo doesn't quite rank in the same category as Robin and to find ourselves outbid for his somewhat more limited talents, well quite frankly this would not only be embarrassing, but probably a mistake in pure economic terms, as imagine how much extra the Arsenal might have to pay to attract additional talent to North London in future, when prospective players are considering their options and thinking that they would require a whole lot more persuasion, to come to a club that can't even be guaranteed to retain their minor stars?

Talking of Man Utd, Arsène's efforts to silence the constant stream of questions about Nani the other day might also offer some interpretation. Myself I really don't understand our interest in Man Utd rejects, as Fergie hasn't lost anywhere near enough of his marbles to be flogging his rivals (sadly, not that we count as one of these nowadays!) anything but a complete and utter pup - see Mikael Silvestre! But to my mind Wenger's firm denial in stating that "we don't look at anyone from Man Utd" suggested to me that perhaps enquiries had been made and the Gunners had received short shrift from the Mancunians, responding in the sort of fashion that we should've done when receiving an offer for RvP.

Sure I appreciate that you simply cannot hang on to a player if he's absolutely determined to leave, but even if it had cost us a few million quid in the transfer sum, we should've remained masters of the situation and sold him to a club of our choosing, expressly not one of our competitors. Having set such a precedent at the Gunners, surely we've left ourselves prone to suffering a repeat performance of the tail wagging the dog, whereby players in future might be able to dictate where and when they choose to go!

Here's hoping Walcott chooses to continue enduring the current experience of chasing his tail, rather than wagging it

Keep the faith
Bernard

Arsène Finds Himself Looking Down Walcott's Three-Goal Barrel, Hoping Theo Doesn't Pull That Trigger

Apologies but I forgot to hit the "publish" button after finishing my weekly missive below on Sunday and following the utterly demoralising schlep to St Mary's on New Year's Day, where the Gunners failed miserably to turn up (to such an extent that I even overheard several Saints' fans commenting on their way out about how crap we were), I thought it best to save any further comment until after the weekend's outing to Swansea, where hopefully a drastically improved display will ensure that I don't end up feeling quite so obliged to go off on a furious tirade, about how an undeservedly arrogant Arsenal side needs to take a serious look at themselves!

Seeing the Gunners drop points is water off a duck's back to me, so long as I can go home feeling that we've given a decent enough account of ourselves and done justice to whatever ability there is in the Arsenal side concerned. However it was such a frustratingly limp and unspirited performance on Tuesday that a stranger could've been forgiven for thinking that it was Southampton who were the team supposedly challenging for Champions League qualification and the Gunners struggling to avoid the relegation quagmire. 

We will seriously end up kicking ourselves, if the two points we so casually dropped at St Mary's end up being the points that cost us 4th place. Albeit that sadly, based on that miserable showing, we are more likely to be needing the points to prevent ourselves being dragged down towards the relegation dogfight than we are to be needing them to challenge for a fourth-placed finish.

Based on Bakari Sagna's admirable and often unsung consistency up until now (which has been all the more remarkable considering the imperfections of those playing alongside him in defence), if Baks appeared to have gone off the boil against Newcastle, lamentably he was a walking disaster against Southampton. It was suggested to me that his dip in form might have something to do with the anniversary of the death of his brother, but I've checked that since and this tragedy happened in Feb 2008. So as I've intimated below, perhaps the dramatic dip in form of the Gunner's own Mr Reliable is indicative that, contrary to what AW would have us believe, something is well and truly rotten and that unfortunately it's definitely not in the state of Denmark (either that or sadly, Sagna is about to make his exit)!

There were more than a few ironic chuckles on the terraces at St Mary's on Tuesday, as AW sent on Gervinho and Ramsey, as we couldn't possibly have wished for two more unlikely saviours. While Gervinho was so devoid of any confidence and his customary headless chicken impersonation left us all thinking that the African Nations Cup couldn't possibly come soon enough, for me it was Aaron Ramsey who highlighted the principle problem with our squad and the complete absence of the sort of stalwart characters, capable of inspiring and cajoling the best out of those around them.

It's true that Aaron was only given a fifteen minute run out at the end of Tuesday's game, but instead of injecting some last-minute energy into the team with his fresh legs, he had only been on the pitch for a few minutes and rather than offering himself as a recipient for the ball, as one might've expected, he was already pointing towards his team mates, suggesting the ball be passed to someone who'd been out there for the entire 90.

To my mind I always find it infuriating when those in red & white begin pointing at one another, to suggest that their team mates are better placed to receive the ball. As far as I'm concerned, forget any potential improvements resulting from any minor tinkering with individual elements in our team, this is indicative of one of the major weaknesses in the very foundations at the Arsenal for far too long now and which badly needs to be addressed before we can ever expect to achieve anything.

Quite frankly, it's this pointing at one another which suggests to me that far too many of our players are happy to collect their obscene wage packets each week without ever sticking their heads above the parapets. The pointing indicates a player who would rather his team mate be given the responsibility for possession of the ball than him, when instead he should be busy finding space to make himself available.

I would've much preferred to have seen Carl Jenkinson playing against Southampton on Tuesday, as even if he had been guilty of naive errors, I could've at least gone home with the satisfaction of seeing at least one true Gooner, willing to put everything on the line to achieve a result. 

Perhaps I'm being a bit harsh on the potential of Jack Wilshere, but this pointing malarkey always seems to highlight the age old problem of an Arsenal squad devoid of leaders, prepared to take responsibility and to offer themselves up, as the player blessed with sufficient belief and ability, either to grab a game by the scruff of the neck themselves, or to inspire their team mates around them to do so with their commitment to the cause. Worse still, so long as they continue pointing at one another, this only serves to perpetuate a "jobs worth" attitude throughout the squad, as they look at one another and think "well if he doesn't want the ball, why should I bother"!

Watching Match Of the Day on Tuesday night and enduring the agony of RvP notching another brace, I couldn't help but be reminded of Robin's exceptional ability and the fact that he could've been relied on to have produced the sort of one-off goods necessary to have nicked all three points against Southampton. I have to admit that I was left feeling that without Robin's peerless talent and in the absence of the sort of leadership to lend this Arsenal side some genuine character, we are doomed.

Then again, I bumped into my mate Miles outside St Mary's, who I've known since he was the landlord of the Alexandra pub in Finchley, where his tour operations begun many moons back by running coach trips to away games for his Gooner maters. Miles was handing out flyers for the Sport Options trip to Bayern in March (£255 one day, £329 overnight - and no I'm not on commission :-) Deluded perhaps, or doubtless still drunk from the previous night's revelries but Miles assured me that it was our destiny to win the big-eared prize this season.

Who knows, stranger things have happened and if we needed any further demonstration, QPR beating Chelsea at Stamford Bridge was a reminder that it does indeed remain "a funny old game"

There you go, that's what passes for "no further comment" in my book. Here's wishing everyone a very happy & healthy New Year

Keep the faith
Come on you Reds
Bernard

_______________________________________________________

Having our Boxing Day game cancelled again because of another tube strike was a real gutter. If we’d known sooner, I could’ve joined my missus in spending Xmas with her folks in Dublin. Instead I ended up stopping at home and missing out on both the turkey and the football. I’m not sure the Arsenal would’ve been quite so quick to postpone our encounter with West Ham, if we hadn’t been humbled by Bradford, since there might not have been such a convenient window for this fixture, if we still had a two-legged semi-final to play in January.

For me Xmas isn’t Xmas without the excuse to get out of the house after gorging oneself, to watch others working off their excesses. I’m sure that in the opinion of most fans, they would’ve much preferred for the game to have gone ahead and to have endured a little aggro getting there, than for it to have been cancelled.

As a result and after listening to all the spills & thrills of Saturday’s earlier matches, come 5.30pm, I was absolutely gagging for my fix of festive football. Boy was my patience rewarded in spades by a thrilling, extravaganza of a roller-coaster ride against the Toon.

Ultimately, the Gunners benefitted from their break and the margin of the 7-3 scoreline reflected the fact that Alan Pardew’s over-stretched squad eventually ran out of steam after their midweek exertions in Manchester. Yet for much of this match it was the Gunners who looked lethargic and somewhat leaden-footed.

Curling the ball into the bottom corner, from the left-hand edge of the penalty area was so notably reminiscent of Thierry Henry that it was as if Walcott’s first goal was a tribute to his mentor, who was watching on from his own executive box in the stands. However, much to everyone’s frustration, instead of capitalising on having taken the lead and taking advantage of our fresh-legs, by putting Newcastle to the sword, the Gunners set the pattern for this game, by sitting back and inviting the opposition to do their worst.

Being between the age of 40 and 74, I’ve just been invited to undergo an NHS medical check up. But who needs it, when watching the Arsenal tends to be far more strenuous than any cardiovascular stress test. There must’ve been more than a few bloods vessels at bursting point amongst the 60,000 odd spectators, until Olivier Giroud appeared and enabled us to relax and enjoy the electrifying finale to Saturday’s spectacle, after eventually securing a two-goal cushion in the 86th minute.

In fact sadly it has been a fairly constant theme of the season so far that the Gunners either fail to pull their finger out until after having gone a goal behind, or, having taken a lead in games, we rest on our laurels to the point where an equaliser is almost inevitable.

Bakari Sagna performs at such a commendably consistent level that a bad defensive day at the office for the French full-back was fairly indicative of the overall lack of focus, which was responsible for allowing Demba Ba and co. to muscle themselves back into the match three times. Never mind a lack of focus, Kieran Gibbs was so switched off that he looked as if he was off somewhere else, perhaps performing for the fairies first XI. But it seems somewhat churlish of me to be moaning, after this mixture of farcical defending and fabulous football contributed to the Gunners seeing out 2012 on a high, following an afternoon of such magical entertainment.

We were fortunate to scrape a result at Wigan and to meet a Newcastle side deprived of its most creative forces, in the absence of Ben Arfa and Cabaye. But having managed to gain a little momentum, the trick now will be to maintain this into the New Year. To do so, Arsène needs to breakout the chequebook, to bring the Walcott saga to a swift resolution and to bolster our squad with some fresh blood.

With his waning influence in recent matches, Santi Cazorla already appears to be suffering under the burden of his relentless responsibility. Although it pains me to say it, when I look at Spurs, with Scott Parker returning to fitness, our squad appears flimsy by comparison and we could badly do with the psychological boost of adding some strength in depth. Marouanne Chamakh isn’t even rated good enough for the Moroccan national team and there was me hoping that he and Gervinho would both get lost in South Africa!

As Walcott lingered on the pitch to soak up the plaudits on Saturday, I wasn’t sure if he was showing his appreciation for the “sign him up” chants that will have helped to secure him an additional £30k per week on his new contract, or bidding us all a fond farewell?

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e-mail to: londonN5@gmail.com

All I Want For Xmas......

Hi folks,

Was it good fortune, or merely convenient that Olivier Giroud was left in London on Saturday, with him and Rosicky suffering from colds, as after Monday's result at Reading, surely it would've been impossible for AW not to have continued with Theo playing up front. Sadly we were not treated to a repeat performance at Wigan. I was pleased to see Arsène continue with this experiment (even if it is all merely a ruse to convince Walcott to sign a new contract)  because there's nothing that frightens defenders more than blistering pace and we've not benefited from this threat since Thierry took his leave.

Nevertheless, unfortunately Theo didn't leave me feeling convinced that he's about to devote himself to the Arsenal, as he stood around on Saturday, largely unemployed, waiting to receive the ball at his feet. Say what you will about the comparatively lumbering Giroud and the fact that the French centre forward is unlikely to develop into a "top draw" striker, but compared to Theo, Olivier is a far more willing grafter and I would've imagined that if he had been playing on Saturday, he would've soon grown tired of his lack of involvement and unlike Walcott, he would've gone looking for the ball, even if this involved him having to drop deep.

My main reason for not wanting Walcott to leave is because of what it says about our club if he does and that it would be confirmation of quite how far we've slipped in the natural pecking order of clubs. However AW's efforts to convince Walcott to sign a new contact to date don't exactly speak volumes for his strategic prowess. First he tried the big stick, by refusing to play him and now the use of the carrot of playing him at centre forward, it all feels a little desperate and perhaps too little, too late.

Whats more, I wonder if last week's big PR stunt was all for Walcott's benefit and if so, I am not sure Theo is so naive as to be influenced by the sight of our five English youngsters all sat round a table signing their new contracts. Apparently Carl Jenkinson's deal was agreed months back and much like Tony Adams, I envisage true Gooner Carl being willing to put pen to paper, no matter what his contract included. But it would appear as if the club saved the actual signing ritual for a suitable occasion.

I didn't have room below to refer to Thursday's Champions League draw. Malaga would've been the plum draw, not just for footballing reasons, but because personally I would've preferred the prospect of travelling to somewhere warm in the spring. Still, I am looking forward to an opportunity to make my first visit to an impressive looking Allianz Arena, Bayern's new home and it's far preferable to a return trip to the cavernous Olympic Stadium, where one inevitably ends up confronted by the trauma of the 1972 hostage tragedy as one walks past the largely unchanged scene of this outrage on route.

Sadly nowadays, one feels obliged to make the very most of every successive Champions League encounter, just in case if it might be our last for some time to come. And so I sat down to watch the live draw on the telly, with a list I'd prepared of various permutations of cheap flight alternatives to the eight possible destinations.

Interestingly, during their coverage of the draw, Sky Sports played a rare interview with Alisher Usmanov courtesy of CNBC. It's the first time I've seen the man speak publicly about his interest in the Arsenal and I have to wonder if this is a significant indication of an effort on his part to raise the stakes, as Usmanov seeks to apply some pressure upon the Arsenal board, by increasing his profile and thereby building upon the corresponding level of public support amongst the many red & white malcontents? 

Who knows if Usmanov's riches are any dirtier than those of Abramovich, or any of the many other fortunes sunk into football clubs in recent times by billionaire investors. His money is certainly not too dirty for the charities that have pocketed £120 million of his disposable readies! 

What I do know is that unless the Gunners can recapture the glory days in the near future, there will be plenty of Gooners who are likely to grow increasingly frustrated about the fact that we have this potential benefactor sitting on the sidelines, eager, but thus far unable to throw his substantial financial weight behind bringing success back to London N5, while our current owner sits in his Montana ranch, content to count his profits from the club, but seemingly unperturbed by and utterly uninterested in the Arsenal's silverware drought.

Meanwhile, the most stressful part of the Champions League draw is the period after the opposition has been decided, as one sits anxiously awaiting for the actual dates to be announced, constantly refreshing the Arsenal web site page, so as to be able to be quick off the mark booking flights, within minutes of the seeing confirmation of the fixture schedule.

All the budget airlines are wise to the Champions League draw nowadays and their ability to react to the instant increase in demand is reflected in the fact that all bargain fares disappear in a flash. Easyjet prices to Munich were originally under 70 quid but these shot up to £130 and were about £400 before the end of the day. Fortunately we were able to bag four flights on BA via air miles and I was left feeling quite smug when I checked out of curiousity on Thursday evening, flabbergasted to find the same flights were now priced at an extortionate 700 quid!

I now have to worry about whether my large stock of Camel filters (purchased on our trips to Schalke and Olympiakos) will last me up until March and then how I'm going to be able to maintain my nicotine addiction if we should end up exiting the competition against Bayern. I daren't even contemplate the impact upon my noxious smoking habits should the Gunners fail to qualify for the competition next season.

But enough of my waffle. Here's wishing everyone a great Xmas and a happy & healthy New Year. Eat, drink and be very merry

Come on you Reds
Bernard

__________________________________________

Ho Ho Ho

In case anyone failed to notice the arrival of the festive season (or a blue moon), Stuart Downing marked it’s arrival on Saturday by stunning Scousers with an actual goal. Soul, or no soul, the beautiful game will maintain it’s allure, so long as it retains it’s eternal ability to confound.

Listening to the radio in the car on route back from our ridiculously early kick off in the North-West, I simply couldn’t fathom how a star-studded Man City could make such a meal, out of overcoming the same statuesque Royals side that rolled over against us on Monday night.

After setting off at 5.45am, I made it up to Wigan by way of Stoke, where my pal Stuart donned his santa outfit, to join all the other Xmas crackers in fancy dress bashing out 5k park run in the pouring rain in Hanley Park, cheered on by a decidedly damp and only slightly less bonkers Donner and Blitzen (myself and his lad).

Following a brief pit-stop to freshen up with a shower at Sandbach services, Stuart was probably closest to the land of the living, by the time we joined the other 4500 Gooners at the JJB; where many of us turned up in hope and expectation of witnessing the same sort of energized Arsenal performance that we’d enjoyed at the Madjeski earlier in the week.

Arriving home from Reading on Monday night, I promptly sat down to watch a repeat of the game on the box because with Walcott finally fulfilling his wish to play up front, I hadn’t been able to work out whether the Gunners had miraculously begun to discover some real form, or if this was a bit of a delusion and that our 5-2 thrashing of the Royals was more down to the inept display of a side that had performed like obvious relegation fodder.

Considering their precarious position, Reading were surprisingly meek. Yet, nevertheless, you could sense a response to our humiliating cup exit in Bradford, by the way we tore into the Royals. Right from the opening whistle, Chamberlain charged at their defence with such drive and determination that he ended up filching the ball back from Cazorla’s feet before taking a pot shot. Perhaps for the first time this season, we set about the opposition from the start, with the sort of vim and vigour, which has been sorely lacking from all the low-tempo performances that have been devoid of this sort of intent.

If we’d finally managed to release the handbrake on Monday, most disappointingly it was firmly back in place come Saturday, as sadly we reverted to type, trudging about in the unabating downpour, back to relentlessly moving the ball sideways and backwards, with no one in red & white willing to take the game to the opposition and with none of them looking as if they really wanted to be there.

Although Wigan played their part in nullifying the likes of Cazorla. After McCarthy trod on the Spaniard in the opening moments and continued to bite at his ankles every time he received the ball, Santi soon began to acquire the demeanour of someone who’d have much preferred to have been left back in London with Giroud and Rosicky. McCarthy then turned his attentions upon our other main creative source, welcoming Jack Wilshere to Wigan. But unlike Cazorla, with his terrier like qualities, Wilshere wasn’t about to seek refuge on the ropes, but remained in the centre of the ring, to give as good as he got.

The fact that we clung on to grind out a victory, when in the past we’d have probably failed to keep a clean sheet, might be viewed as an indication of an increasing resilience. Yet in truth Wigan were hard done by, as our success was only due to the fact that we were slightly less slipshod than our hosts.

If they’d been more clinical in front of goal and Walcott hadn’t bought us a penalty from the utterly incompetent ref (as a match official, Jon Moss makes for a good bisexual drummer in an 80s New Romantic pop outfit), merely by getting goalside of his opponent, it might’ve been a miserable, empty-handed return trip from the North-West.

Instead of which we came home with the 3 points and a small, token reward for our support, by way of an Xmas card, handed out as we entered the ground, which included a £10 voucher for food & drink at any home game. Never mind a free voucher, at the very top of many Gooner festive wish-lists would be for the club to put an end to their farcical refusal to entertain the advances of Alisher Usmanov. Can you imagine any other club, but the Arsenal, taking such an intransigent stance, with a fan who happens to be one of the wealthiest men on the planet, willing to throw whatever it takes, from his seemingly bottomless pit of resources, in order to make our club successful?

Mercifully six points in a week has elevated the Gunners from the mid-table morass, back to the battle for 3rd and 4th place and enables us to go into the festive schedule with some momentum. But it highlights the fickle way in which the media machine has clubs constantly lurching from crisis, to the comfort zone, from game to game. 

Only last week, after the debacle at Bradford, Arsène Wenger looked like the proverbial little boy, trying to plug the Gunners leaky dyke, not with his fingers but with rolled up copies of his Excel spreadsheets, whereas suddenly he’s back to being courted, as the media sycophants admire the cut of our Emperor’s new clothes. Meanwhile those of us of a more considered nature and who’ve endured so many disappointing performances so far this season, beyond all the hype, sadly we know that le Gaffer remains stark bollock naked!

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

Champions League...Now We're Really Having A Larf!

Hi folks,

I only discovered on Sunday afternoon that the Irish Examiner weren't expecting a Terrace Talk missive from me this weekend (with us playing on Monday night) and I was already 515 words into the following piece, when they suggested I limit my submission to 500 words. So you'll have to forgive me if I've short-changed you on this week's diary entry, in my efforts to wrap the following up as succinctly as possible. With brevity hardly being my strong suit, this was quite a challenge. I also have to apologies if I've repeated some of the sentiments expressed in midweek but I definitely didn't want to get into yet another Wenger (Gervinho, Podolski, Ramset et al) bashing.

Knocking Wenger is tantamount to banging one's head up against a brick wall each week. The only pressure le Prof is under, is the pressure he puts on himself and that's probably one of the biggest problems at the club nowadays. AW is such an autocrat at the Arsenal that there is no one capable of making him aware of quite how stark bollock naked our Emperor appears, every time he comes out and publicly reiterates his belief in the quality of such a mediocre looking squad.

Can anyone ever recall an incidence of a board getting shot of a manager because he declines to dip into their ever increasing bank balance? Besides which, even if the suits at the Arsenal should begin to get a little twitchy, if the number of empty seats continues to increase in direct proportion to the number of goals conceded as an inevitable result of our positively moribund zonal marking system, can you honestly envisage the scene in which Gazides, the MD who was interviewed by Wenger for his job as our manager's boss, finds the cajones to pull club's greatest ever servant into his office, to advise him that his time is finally up?

In season's past, I wouldn't be panicking just yet, as I'd be looking at our next five Premiership fixtures, thinking that we should be perfectly capable of pulling our socks up by the time FA Cup 3rd Round comes along and that this will enable us to head into the New Year with a bit of momentum. Sadly nowadays we go into every game, praying our opposition might be more out of sorts than ourselves and with Reading having hit the bottom of the table over the weekend, you can bet they're not about to roll over for us on home turf tomorrow night.

As with any manager worth his salt, I fully expect ex-Gunner, Brian McDermott to target our obvious frailties at set pieces and you'll have to pick me up from my seat at the Madjeski in shock, if the Gunners finally remember how to take a game to the opposition and for once they pull their finger out before going a goal behind

Come on you Reds

Keep the faith

Bernard

__________________________________________________________________________

The only feint consolation in an exhausting seven hour round trip trek to Bradford in the freezing fog, to endure the sight of a full-strength Premiership outfit having their pants pulled down and their bare arses well and truly smacked by the lowly Bantams, is that whatever else transpires this season, it simply can’t get any more embarrassing for the Gunners than that.

The welcome we received in West Yorkshire was as warm, as the weather was brass monkeys. For those of the 4000 lunatic Gooner suckers for punishment who arrived early enough to bag one, there were free Santa hats laid out on our seats, as part of the effort made by our impoverished hosts, to try and create a big, cup final type occasion of their brief moment in the footballing limelight.

If I’m entirely honest, when I contrast quite how much our fans and the team would’ve taken the result for granted, if this game had run to form, with the euphoria of the fulfillment of a rammed Valley Parade’s not so far-fetched fantasies and a potential career highlight for many of the Bantam’s journeymen pros, I couldn’t really begrudge them their momentous night of giant-killing glory.

It wouldn’t have felt nearly so bad if we’d merely been victim to bad fortune, as opposed to this season’s most blatant demonstration of the obvious limitations of our current squad. Perhaps the most telling appraisal of an Arsenal team, with a cutting edge that is no less blunt than the likes of Torquay, came as were consoled by the jubilant locals on our miserable, hangdog trudge back to the motor.

They’d turned out on mass to support their team against the mighty Arsenal and they all seemed genuinely mystified and more than a little disappointed that a regular amongst Europe’s elite, containing an assortment of International stars, who cost umpteen millions more than the combined value of their entire squad, could produce no more threat and offer little more entertainment value than any of their regular 2nd division opposition. But then we’ve been asking ourselves this same question for far too long!

Whether Wenger’s team selection was a reflection of his desire to relieve the pressure, by throwing us a League Cup bone, or an effort to instill some much-needed confidence in our beleaguered troops, by banging in a few goals against lower league opposition, whatever the motive, le Prof’s plan seriously backfired. As I listened to the announcement of our line-up, while queuing for a hand-warming cup of Bovril, my prevailing reaction was not just surprise but I was left feeling more than a little cheated.

In recent seasons our League Cup campaigns have often proved a highpoint, a welcome touchstone to the real thing and a breathe of fresh footballing air, outside of the rarefied hype within the artifice of the Premiership bubble. Whatever the outcome, one could always rely on the refreshing pleasure of experiencing the eager “have a go” exuberance of assorted youngsters, with plenty still to prove. By comparison, after the madcap excitement at the Madjeski in the last round, it was unbearably frustrating to endure yet another low-tempo display, as we sat back waiting for our quality to win out, without anyone willing to grasp the mantle and make something happen.

Having been in touching distance of a day out at Wembley, the long journey home afforded plenty of time for the realization to sink in that the Gunners had just blown our best opportunity of ending our silverware drought. Moreover, where in the past one might’ve expected the sort of positive reaction to our humiliating cup exit, in five subsequent bankable Premiership fixtures, on current form the Gunners will inevitably make a meal out of the meekest opposition. It’s hard to believe that we’ll be travelling to Reading this evening more in desperate hope of some redemption, than in expectation.

--
e-mail to: londonN5@gmail.com

I Schlepped All The Way To Bradford And All I Have To Show For MyEfforts Is A Free Santa Hat!

(having attempted to exorcise some of my frustration on the Arsenal mailing list, my reply to a post on the list  about AW's future, resulted in such a rambling and all too long-winded rant - nothing new there then - that I thought I might as well post it to my blog, in the event that there might be other sad buggers like myself, who based on recent events, really should get a life because as far as the Gunners are concerned, I fear that the prospects for the immediate future suggest that according to Gooner Jagger's immortal words, there really "ain't no satisfaction"!)

From my most humble perspective, what many seem to fail to appreciate is that there are basically only two possible ways in which Arsene will depart the Arsenal, either if he decides he's had enough, or if we the fans end up revolting to such an extent that his position becomes untenable.

Wenger has been working the oracle for so many years, maintaining Champions Lg qualification, even when the club's finances were stretched to the brink and the stadium build was in jeopardy and he's so obsessed with "value for money" that he's the ultimate dream manager, for any football club that's primarily focused on maintaining a viable, profitable business.

As a result, can anyone seriously imagine that there's a single suit at Highbury House who doesn't revere our leader to such an extent that they worship the very ground AW walks on and you are seriously off your rocker, if you believe that, even if there was the slightest element of the board losing faith in Wenger's ability to continue running the club at a profit, the likes of Ivan Gazides actually possesses balls big enough to tell Arsene Wenger that his time is up!!

Get real! Arsene will only leave when he chooses to, either because he's had enough, or because we end up making his position positively unbearable.

As someone who's schlepped to Athens and Bradford recently, I'm certainly no Arsène apologist, as his decisions, such as those to persist in showing such faith in the headless chicken Gervinho, remain infuriatingly unfathomable. Nevertheless, I am someone who would dearly love to see his reign at the Arsenal end in a high, rather than suffer the unbearable sight of the great man, sloping off into the sunset with his tail between his legs.

And the criteria I have always used to judge whether I feel Arsène's time is up is exactly who would we be guaranteed to be able to replace him with, at that precise point in time, where we could be certain of them doing a better job? How many of our competitors would be queuing up to take Wenger off our hands, albeit probably primarily nowadays because of his capacity to keep a club operating at a profit, while remaining within the new FFP rules. Finally and perhaps most significantly, quite how much my Spurs pals will rejoice euphorically on the day Arsene finally receives his P45.

The day my Spurs mates' attitude changes and they start to grieve at the prospect of Wenger's departure because they feel his replacement is more likely to ruin any remaining fantasies they have of finishing above us, this will be the day when I know Arsene has outstayed his welcome.

Moreover for those of you expecting a miracle in January, you might do well to remember that there will be a myriad of clubs, many in a far more precarious position than ourselves, with many prepared to gamble the shirt off their back, for some hope of salvation and as a result, willing to throw far more moola at potential answers to their problems than the value obsessed Arsène. Take the rumours about our interest in Huntelaar for example. Does the fact that he found the net against our positively porous, zonal defence, prove him capable of producing an immediate impact in the Premiership? Some might think him to be more of a "Giroud plus" than a genuine top draw signing ? But all of these clubs will be desperately seeking solutions from the relatively limited pool of talent available in the January window and whether it's physical or mental, many of whom would already be considered to be damaged goods!

As for Tuesday's debacle in Bradford, we can argue all day about the rights & wrongs of AW putting out such a strong side. With us not having a game until Monday, I suppose it was a typically logical decision on Wenger's part, but I was nevertheless surprised to see the line up and I'd be a liar to say that I wasn't a little disappointed.

With the game live on the box (and with me not feeling nearly so obligated midweek, as I do with weekend games, when having to write my weekly column on Sunday night), the principal reasons I enjoy attending such Carling Cup awaydays (or whatever it's sponsor is this week) quite so religiously, is the prospect of seeing a few kids playing in red & white, who are willing to give it a real go.

Moreover, you really had to be there on Tuesday night, to fully appreciate that after a decade of depressing misery, quite what a Cup Final occasion this was for lowly Bradford and the entire town in general.

I expected the Bantams to be so hyped up that they would steam straight into us, but I guess it wasn't so surprising that, after putting out a pretty much full strength Arsenal team (on paper!), the home side were sufficiently intimidated that they showed us far too much respect during the opening few minutes, timidly standing off our players, not daring to kick us up in the air with a tackle.

What really pissed me off is our complete and utter failure to recognise this and take advantage, as I could envisage the likes of Utd taking the piss from minute one, by tearing their lower league opponents apart. Sadly, where it might've been a different story with an injection of over-exuberant youth, our first team regulars started the game at the tragically low-tempo that we've grown all too accustomed to in recent times.

As a consequence, after pushing the ball sideways and backwards for the first twenty minutes, barely disturbing the Bantams' defence (while, by contrast, poor old Tommy Vermaelen appeared to completely crap himself every time the nippy Nakhi Wells came anywhere near him!), we completely blew any advantage we might of had with the home side's deluded perceptions of us as footballing giants, as we blatantly gifted them the time they needed to settle into the match, with the absence of any brilliance on our part presenting them with the opportunity to begin to sense that this Gunners side are mere mortals, who were no less beatable than bloomin' Torquay!

Frankly you don't need to be a rocket scientist to appreciate the complete absence of a cutting edge with the likes of Podolski and Gervinho playing up front (making Olivier Giroud look positively potent by comparison to these two anonymous twonks!). But in truth it wasn't so much a lack of effort which bothered me (as someone who's always harping on about being sufficiently gratified, so long as the Gunners put a shift in) but the fact that our now traditional lack of tempo prevented us from putting Bradford under the cosh.

Amongst my main criticisms of AW is that he's far too cerebral, setting far too much store in science and statistics but that unfortunately he has always seemed to be dreadfully lacking in the crucial ability to be in touch with the intangible emotional qualities that simply cannot be measured on an Excel spreadsheet.

For example, I suspect that if AW let Stevie Bould off his leash, he'd have been standing on the touch line bellowing at the players from the opening whistle, both encouraging and intimidating in equal measure, to try and get them to "take the handbrake off" and make the most of their superior abilities by taking the opposition on, whereas Wenger just stood there with his hands stuck in his duvet and his silent frustration etched in every new wrinkle on his ageing phizog

When ever we start a game at such a slow tempo, it's invariably impossible to shift up through the gears and put the foot on the gas, so as to turn up the heat. At least not without the significant sort of event needed to act as the catalyst for the necessary inspiration, namely the act of going a goal behind.

Even then, on Tuesday night, it was only as the desperation mounted and the clock ticked down towards our embarrassing cup exit on 90 minutes that we discovered the necessary motivation to throw the kitchen sink at getting an equaliser and we still lacked the guile and the craft to get behind the Bantams' rearguard, as their staunch efforts continued to limit us to long range efforts from outside the box.

And you stand their freezing your cods off on the Valley Parade terraces, having forsaken a day's wages to undertake a seven hour round trip drive on our dangerously foggy, icy motorways, wondering why on earth it took until the 80th minute for the Gunners to pull their collective finger out?

It's not that I'm complaining about our work-rate, as frankly on such a cold night, it's not as if any of them were going to be guilty of standing around idle for too long. Who knows whether it's down to a lack of belief, confidence, or merely due to complacency, but there's this thoroughly conspicuous lack of intent about the Arsenal's football nowadays, in all the utterly superfluous sideways and backwards passes (which invariably end up with me leaving the ground hoarse, after spending much of the match hollering "Sczczny's on"!) which results in the sort of impotence in so much of our play that leaves the likes of Bradford and every other opponent believing that we are there for the taking.

With a little more intent in Gervinho's game, he wouldn't have missed that sitter on Tuesday, as no matter how little control he seems to have, a player with sufficient commitment (eg. The cumbersome Grant Holt) would've barrelled into the six yard box, so that he, the ball and even the keeper if necessary, would've all ended up in the back of the net.

Now where I presume that Arsène stands there thinking that after such a glaring miss, "statistically speaking", according to mathematic logic, the Ivorian has just improved his odds of putting his next opportunity in the back of the net and thereby comes to the conclusion that he's best leaving Gervinho out there, even though his confidence is so shot that he's taken to hiding out wide on the wing and even his team mates have stopped wasting possession by giving him the ball, a more instinctive manager, like Mourinho for example, would've been so incensed at such incompetence that he'd have grabbed the board out of the fourth official's hands in his impatience to pull the numpty off the pitch! 

While Wenger puts his faith in science, waiting for the law of averages to have its say, a more emotionally sensitive manager would immediately recognised the need to alter the status quo and to take immediate action, both to serve as a warning to all concerned that there is some "cause and effect" consequences of such a complete f#ck up and to give an all too comfortable opposition defence something different to worry about. Sure this alternative approach might well prove to be no more effective but it at least leaves everyone feeling as if we've tried to play all our cards, instead of constantly and stubbornly sticking with the same hand until it is too late.

Santi smacked his stunning extra-time shot from outside the box with more than enough intent and when such a deserved effort failed to dip under the bar, you kind of sensed that our search for silverware bobbled away off the bar with the ball. 

I really don't want to relive the emotional trauma of the penalty shoot-out, suffice to say that with the Bantams' confidence from the penalty spot, we should've known full well that we couldn't afford to let them get that far. In our failure to put them to the sword, or in Bradford's heroic efforts to thwart us during 120 minutes of football, I have to admit that when Dean eventually blew the whistle that took us to the dreaded crap shoot of spot-kicks, there was some small part of me that felt that the locals deserved their long awaited moment of glory and would be far more appreciative of it than we would, in making such a meal of rolling over lower league opponents.

What's more, we were made to feel most welcome in Bradford. They might've taken the maximum advantage of this rare opportunity with the exorbitantly priced, four quid programmes, but we'd paid a paltry "macaroni" (25 quid, or a pony for the uninitiated amongst us), by today's extortionate standards, for a prime pitch, bang on the halfway line and they'd even been so kind as to throw in an Xmas pressie of a free Santa Hat on the seats of those of us who arrived early enough to bag one.

Set amidst streets of the sort of terraced Victorian housing that looks like a scene straight out of Coronation Street and built on the sort of slope that leaves the more imaginative amongst us wondering if it was constructed on top of a coal mine slag heap (forgive my historic inaccuracies, as I suspect Bradford was built on woollen mills rather than coal mines but doubtless I was akip in the corner dreaming of being Charlie George, during that particular history lesson?), Bradford has the feel of a proper old-fashioned football club.

Amongst my old man's Bernard Manning type racist material back in the 70s was an oft repeated crack about dialling 999 in Bradford and them calling out the Bengal Lancers. But unlike so many other traditional footballing epicentres around the country, like Leicester and Birmingham, where the glory might be faded but sadly the racism remains far too entrenched, there is some sense that supporting Bradford City FC is a far more inclusive experience for its massive Asian community, as absolutely all the locals of every hue and creed seemed "up for the Cup"

Thus as much as I would've preferred for Santi to have saved us from the excruciating agony of the shoot-out (as we blew our semi-final berth by going 0-2 down, only for Sczczny, the redeemer, to restore our belief but in vain, as TV5 extinguished it again!), despite all this angst, I couldn't help but feel a little pleased for the locals as a rammed Valley Parade savoured their moment in the limelight, especially after witnessing the way in which all that euphoria was sucked out of that stadium as we burst the bubble of their league cup fantasy with only three minutes left on the clock.

Perhaps the most telling appraisal of the obvious limitations of our current squad was heard from the Bradford fans that we chatted with, on the miserable, hangdog walk back to our motor after the match. They seemed genuinely mystified and more than a little disappointed that they'd turned up to see the mighty Arsenal and that a team from the upper echelons of the Premiership and a regular amongst Europe's elite, had failed so patently to produce the sort of entertainment they'd been expecting. 

As was the case against the Baggies on Saturday, apart from the odd all too rare glimpse of artistry from the likes of Cazorla & Wilshere (not forgetting Francis Coquelin surprising us all, with our holding midfielder's single and very nearly successful effort to demonstrate the art of attacking to his more recalcitrant team mates, with his mazy run into the box, as a precursor to le Prof baffling us all once again, by replacing our best player on the park thus far?), the Bantam fans were more than a little mystified how it could be possible that a collection of international stars, costing umpteen times the couple of million quid value of their more humble squad, could produce a display so utterly devoid of class that the Gunners were no more effective than any of their 2nd division opposition.

But then we've all been asking ourselves the same question, for far too long now!

I thought a couple of locals lasses were being sarcastic when they told me that they'd happily take Gervinho (perhaps they weren't talking football, but it's not as if his elongated forehead is an indicator of our empty-headed striker's gene pool contribution towards an over-developed brain - although at least he's got plenty of space in this void to stuff his gloves - and there are plenty of more attractive players to idolise as a sex god!). I said that I'd happily swap him for my Santa hat and we'd already been given that for free!

Still unlike all those Gooners who were forced to endure yet another humiliating Gooner experience on the box, at least we didn't end up returning from Bradford entirely empty-handed

Keep the faith 

Bernard