Who Ever Said Xmas Only Comes Once A Year?

Only just realised I neglected to post this on Sunday and thought I'd better get it up before tonights events make it completely irrelevant.

The constraints of the Examiner's requirements didn't allow me enough room to mention that I've been impressed with Wanyama, ever since seeing some of his impressive displays for Celtic last season (although I'm yet to be convinced that he produces it consistently enough for Southampton) and although he got the better of Aaron Ramsey on various occasions on Saturday, I absolutely loved the fact that Aaron was so willing to mix it with him and it's extremely encouraging to witness evidence of this more tigre-ish aspect to our midfield.

Although on the downside, there was also further signs against Southampton that, as willing a grafter as Mikel Arteta may be, he increasingly appears to be prone to the effects of fatigue in the latter stages of matches, where he ends up struggling to get goalside and inevitably incurring free-kicks as he's forced to stretch to tackle from behind.

Nuff of my waffle

COYG

Bernard

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Despite the distractions of the O’Neill & Keane win-double act, during the past fortnight of yet another comparatively tedious Interlull, it was a blessed relief to return to the real business of competitive domestic footie. In fact, after savouring the scintillating drama of the Scouse derby on the box, I was positively salivating as I headed out the door, at the prospect of enjoying more of the same, from two of the Premiership’s most entertaining outfits.

Sadly our hosting of Pochettino’s high-flying Saints didn’t quite live up to the hors d’ouevres. Aside from the odd sporadic burst of attacking flair, our match never quite caught fire in the manner I’d expected, considering the large number of in-form combatants involved.

Not that you’ll catch me complaining, after a clean sheet triumph that ensures we remain ensconced at the top of the table for another week. Moreover, Walcott might’ve only returned to the fray for a late 20-minute cameo, but even if Theo takes time to rediscover some form, after spending two months out injured, just the threat of having him available should prove a real fillip.

We’ve achieved and maintained our pitch on this lofty perch thus far, largely by means of a one-dimensional attack, almost totally devoid of any real pace in the absence of Theo, the Ox and Podolski. While most opposition defences have struggled to contain Plan A, despite their industrious efforts to condense the space available in the middle of the park, it should prove even harder, now they also have to worry about Walcott bursting onto the ball over the top and it will be a great relief to have this much missed, essential string restored to the Gunners bow.

However, I hope the eventual return of this triumvirate from the treatment room to the bench, doesn’t reduce the pressure on Le Prof to pull his finger (and the chequebook!) out in January. When you consider the array of striking options available to the likes of Pellegrini, it’s downright ridiculous that a club of our stature is reduced to a single viable centre-forward.

You could hear the sound of 57,000 Gooners collectively holding their breath, every time Olivier Giroud hit the deck on Saturday and our foppish French striker appears only too aware of our utter reliance on his continued fitness, playing to his adoring faithful when massaging life back into his muscles with every dead leg and each thwack in the back. But so long as Giroud maintains his consistent work and strike rates and remains on stage, rather than in the wings, the Arsenal’s own “Larry” Olivier can act out all he likes.

You certainly wouldn’t have banked on Giroud bearing down on Boruc with sufficient vitesse, to pressure the Southampton goalie into the sort of brainstorm that gifted us the opening goal in this game. In fact, if I’d been putting a bet on a Polish keeper being culpable for such a farcical cock-up, my money would’ve been on our own more immature goal minder.

Up until this point, with first Wilshere and then Ramsey hitting the woodwork (with a backheel that might’ve been a shoe-in for another goal of the month award if it had found the back of the net), it was beginning to feel as if it might be one of those days when fate failed to smile upon London N5.  Considering how badly we needed to bounce back, after the break, from our defeat at Old Trafford, Boruc’s benefaction was welcomed like manna from heaven and we spent the remainder of the afternoon sarcastically expressing our gratitude.

However it was somewhat disconcerting that the Gunners failed to press home this advantage. I spent much of the remaining 70 minutes on the edge of my seat, expecting the Saints to produce a sting in the tale, until the penalty area tug of our BFG’s shirt, eased our mounting anxiety, as the unflappable Giroud despatched the resulting spot-kick.

I was looking at a representation of the total miles travelled and the minutes played by each of the top flight’s myriad of International representatives and perhaps fatigue was responsible for the Gunners sitting on our slender single goal lead. But I wonder why they can’t conjure up the same intensity that would’ve been demanded of them if we had been a goal behind.

It took a couple of smart saves from Sczczny to maintain our lead on Saturday and while this might’ve been the sort of contest where the Gunners would’ve let the three points slip through our fingers in the past, I can’t help but worry that we’re going to need more of the sort of killer instinct necessary to put opponents properly to the sword, in order to prevent such mishaps in the future.

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e-mail to: londonN5@gmail.com

Sadly The Winds Of Change Prove To Be More Of "A Bout De Souffle"

Having been obliged to bash out the following diary missive for the Irish Examiner before an 8pm deadline on Sunday evening, I was left feeling I didn't really do proper justice to events at Old Trafford.

In fact, although I've an unattractively smug habit of being a little snooty about the legitimacy of those passing judgement on the Gunners from the comfort of their own armchair, compared to the more comprehensive impression afforded to those fortunate enough to be present and despite the unavoidable sense of deception about contributing to a "Terrace Talk" feature, without having actually been anywhere near the terraces (even if my sense of guilt is easily assuaged by the likes of "committed" Gooner, Piers Morgan, who deemed himself entitled to pass judgement on an entire season in the Gunners' glorious history, by means of having a book published, while seemingly admitting to watching the majority of matches on the box!), it actually proved quite fortunate that much like Rosicky and the BFG, I wasn't passed fit for Sunday's performance. I'm not at all sure how I would've managed to write and file my column for the paper before 8pm if I'd attended the game, without having been forced to plot up in Manchester for the night (albeit that this might have proved somewhat more amusing if we'd actually managed to win!).

It was Amy Lawrence's Guardian blog, Five Talking Points From Old Trafford, which reminded me that whilst debating the possible starting line-up prior to Sunday's encounter, I was whinging about the enforced absence of the likes of Theo and the Ox and the possibility that we might eventually come a cropper to the one-dimensional appearance of our attack, when with the exception of Kieran Gibbs, AW's team selection is almost totally deprived of a genuine turn of speed.

I'm sure I was far from alone, in throwing my hands up in the air and bellowing my disapproval, at the sight of Nicky Bendtner standing on the touchline, awaiting his introduction on Sunday. There was more than a little sarcasm to the text I sent to one of my Gooner pals present "relax mate, Bertie Big Bollox on a rescue mission!"

Knowing we might have no option but to make use of our Danish lummox at some point, before Arsene absolutely has no choice whatsoever, but to rectify our absence of options up front in the January transfer window, I was willing to afford Bendtner an opportunity to prove himself, as I would any player who's prepared to work their socks off for the Arsenal cause.

Yet as was evident to me and millions of others in our disappointing Cup exit against Chelsea, Bendtner simply isn't willing to "put himself about", even if only in the interest of putting himself in the shop window. His attitude and body language scream to me that Bendtner knows he's not really wanted and is only back in the squad by default. Frankly, it appears as if he can't even be bothered to feign the sort of effort which might win us over.

To my mind, there's rarely been a more spoilt player, with his swollen head, containing his over-sized ego, shoved so far up his own rectum that he simply can't fathom the possibility that he's "not all that" and one who's more deserving of the "you're not fit to wear the shirt" ditty. No matter how limited Arsène's choices, myself I would much prefer to see a hungry, inexperienced youngster given Bendtner's place in the squad, someone who's capable of demonstrating how much they appreciate the opportunity of wearing the red & white (or blue & yellow), than a player who patently lacks sufficient respect for both the club and its fans.

Moreover, rather than bringing on the lumbering Dane, it was the bustling pace of young Serge Gnabry that we were crying out for on Sunday. When you consider that Utd had lost three-quarters of their first-choice defence by then, even if Gnabry failed to influence proceedings, it was the mere threat of his blistering pace that was so urgently needed.

Thankfully, prior to Sunday and with the exclusion of Villa, all our opponents have succumbed to Plan A. Although I might have found our marvellous triumph in Germany in midweek somewhat more stressful and was nowhere near as sure we would prevail, I couldn't escape the sense that it was going to be our night and having nicked a goal, our defence seemed to exude this air of certainty that they simply weren't going to concede.

However, so long as the Gunners remain shorn of so much of our genuine pace, at some point in this campaign there was always likely to come a time when more doughty opposition defence was likely to succeed in throwing a wet blanket over our ability to thread the ball through the eye of the needle, or deny us the opportunity to nick a set-piece goal. And so it proved on Sunday, where hard as Gibbs and Sagna might've tried to forage forward and to lend our attacks some momentum in the second half, they were restricted by their knowledge of the limited speed in the legs of the likes of Arteta and the Flamster and the resulting need to pay that much more heed to their defensive duties out on the flanks.

Additionally, with Man Utd's more simple defensive souls aware that they were in no danger of being exposed to a turn of genuine attacking pace, by a simple ball over the top, thereby enabling them to focus on our single, habitual means of breaking the opposition down, they were able to condense the area in the middle of the park and deny the likes of Ozil, Cazorla and Ramsey the time and space to be able to trouble our hosts.

However, while we might've made a decent fist of exerting some pressure in the second half, once Wilshere had been introduced and offered us some forward momentum, as far as I'm concerned, the truth of the matter is that we lost this match right at the start, perhaps even in the tunnel before kick-off because we failed to set about our old foe with the sort of vim and vigour that would've expressed our certainty that the Arsenal's new found might will out.

I adore the thought that the Gunners might have begun to recapture some of the confidence and stature that has in the past seen us line up in the tunnel prior to a game, with some of our more nervous opposition requiring a change of underpants at the terrifying prospect of the challenge before them.
Yet sadly there was little sense of this as we were led out on Sunday. Where Arteta's awesome display left Stevie Gerrard looking like a pensioner waiting for his bus pass the previous weekend, you only had to contrast the performances of the likes of Rooney and Vermaelen at Old Trafford, as evidence of which of the two teams went into this game more desperate for success.

Although I'm not about to criticise our club captain, as with so little game time to date and with him being suddenly thrown into such a significant fixture, TV5 was bound to be suffering from some butterflies and it was hardly a surprise that he was almost exclusively focused on his own game as a result, desperate not to be culpable in any glaring defensive errors. Nevertheless, while Rooney might not have been wearing the Man Utd armband, he lead by his committed example in covering every blade of grass and the Gunners could've done with a similar leader out on the park on Sunday, who might've ensured that we started this match how we meant to go on, with the same determination and desire witnessed from the not so fat granny shagger.

Still, are we downhearted...you can bet your life we're not, so long as this season continues to hold so much promise of the thrilling entertainment to come

COYG
Bernard

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Sadly The Winds Of Change Prove To Be More Of "A Bout De Souffle"

Excuses out of the way first. One of these days we might get to go to Old Trafford without some sort of squad decimating drama depriving us of essential players. The discovery of the enforced absence of our BFG and the resulting reorganization of our defence was a serious blow to our pre-match bluff & bluster. One sensed this might be a make or break game for our returning club captain and although Vermaelen didn’t exactly do much, to stamp his mark on the game as our team leader, he did at least acquit himself sufficiently well in his defensive responsibilities for us to feel somewhat encouraged about his ability to perform as adequate cover.

Yet in truth, after our creditably stalwart and professional performance in Dortmund midweek, it seemed as if we began Sunday’s match in the exact same “what we have, we hold” frame of mind. Keeping a clean sheet once in a week, against such formidable opposition was impressive, but twice in a week was a little bit too much to ask for, from an Arsenal side, where even at full strength, we’ve never exactly been cut-out for playing games on the backfoot.

Besides which, as the likes of West Brom and Southampton ably demonstrated earlier this season, the best means of unsettling Man Utd on home turf is to take the game to the hosts. Unfortunately, having started the game in “hold” mode, reluctant to commit to taking the opposition on, by the time we finally pulled our finger out and began to gather the momentum necessary to exert some real pressure in the second-half, it proved to be too little, too late.

Meanwhile perhaps this narrow 1-0 defeat was indicative of which of the two teams was more desperate to win this match. With the likes of Chelsea, City and Spurs all dropping points, psychologically Man Utd needed to seize on this opportunity somewhat more than the Gunners, as a defeat for the home side might’ve resulted in everyone writing them off already. Whereas with the Arsenal squad stricken by flu and returning from Germany, perhaps having swallowed a little too much of the media’s invincibility hype, the early battles in this encounter left me with the distinct sense that we lacked that same adrenaline level and struggled to match the intensity of our hosts.

Nevertheless, despite the Gunners having failed to take best advantage of the situation, we still go into an International break sitting pretty at the top of the pile and even if we’re left with only two points breathing space, hopefully this defeat won’t prove too damaging to our moral.

Yet having suffered so many humbling embarrassments at Old Trafford in the past few seasons, I calculated before this game that I’ve suffered over 30 hours of thoroughly depressing return trips from the North West, following defeats to Man Utd in recent times. Therefore, I was more than a little gutted, when I finally had to concede that I wasn’t in a sufficiently fit state myself for such an arduous outing, knowing that for the first time in years, we Gooners would be journeying to Old Trafford, fuelled for once by some genuine expectation.

So if there was some slight consolation for me on Sunday, it was that at least after enduring so much misery against Man Utd, I was at least saved from the agony of missing out on our first triumph up there for years and have avoided yet another miserable four hour journey back home. Moreover, I’m sure I’d feel a whole lot worse, if I’d been able to invest in yet another futile schlep up North, but somehow I’m not left feeling too downhearted. Victory denied seems more like victory delayed and not only do I still have a triumphant return trip from Old Trafford to look forward to, but it also feels as if the battle lines have only just been drawn in this season’s challenge and unlike seasons past, the Gunners remain right in the mix.

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e-mail to: londonN5@gmail.com

Trick Or Treat

With my Mum's wonderful 80th birthday party yesterday and a speech to write (the writing of which was no bother, but I only wish I could say the same for the painfully embarrassing public experience of having to deliver it!), the following  missive needed to be written and sent early Sunday morning, without knowing whether we'd still be five points clear by the end of the weekend.

Thankfully the Toffees subsequently ensured the maintenance of this status quo by taking points off our neighbours at Goodison and I've not been able to wipe the smile off my face since. Yet I thought I'd better get this week's diary piece out there, before events in Dortmund on Wednesday make it obsolete.

Come on you Reds
Bernard

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Long may the media pundits continue pooh-poohing the Gunners title pretensions, as with each successive victory I find myself anticipating, ever more eagerly, the enthralling prospect of these so-called experts being left having to eat their words. It remains to be seen whether our sumptuous triumph over the Scousers will prove to be a significant indicator of the Arsenal’s entitlement to an invite for the end of season title shake-up. Yet no matter what the eventual outcome, there will be few complaints along the way, so long as the tortuous Premiership marathon continues to be quite so captivating as Saturday’s euphoric pit-stop.

What I do know is that this was a badly needed tonic for both fans and team alike, after Tuesday’s night’s Cup capitulation against Chelsea, especially combined with the psychological impact of keeping a clean sheet in the face of Liverpool’s formidable firepower. A bad result on Saturday would’ve left us facing a big week, wondering if there’s any merit to some of the “flat-track bullies” suggestions that have been mooted by many to date. By contrast, we now travel to Germany on Wednesday and to Old Trafford next weekend, brimming with renewed confidence, knowing that at our best, we’re a match for absolutely anyone.

Dortmund might test such conviction but I fancy we will fare far better against the Bundesliga outfit than we did at our place, when all the pressure is on the home side to perform. And having put a dampener on the Scousers in-form dynamic duo, by shutting out Suarez & Sturridge, there’s no reason why we can’t do likewise against messrs Rooney & Van Persie. In fact, having seen the likes of West Brom and Southampton take advantage of Man Utd’s recent insecurity by taking the game to them at Old Trafford, compared to the agony of some of our recent humblings on their turf, we’ll be travelling to the North-West with more expectation than we’ve experienced in many a moon.

Myself I’ve yet to make any travel arrangements, as I’ve not been in great form. If I was sensible, I should’ve stopped indoors on Saturday and watched the game on the box, in the warm. But sadly there’s no substitute for sharing such rapturous thrills with 60,000 Gooner mates and I’d have to be a death’s door to willingly miss a match, so long as the “craic`’ meter continues well beyond the ninety mark.

As is so often the case when a team is on song, even the fates seemed on side on Saturday, as evidenced by ref Atkinson’s failure to allow the quick free-kick that might well have resulted in a first-half equalizer and Sturridge looking Sczczny’s gift-horse in the mouth, when presented with an opportunity to pull a goal back late on.

Admittedly we could’ve well done without Kieran Gibbs adding to our seemingly eternal injury woes, in what was one of his most impressive displays thus far. Not that Monreal isn’t more than adequate defensive cover, but in the absence of Walcott and Chamberlain, we are already shorn of so much pace that this is the only possible justification I can think of for Arsène’s inclusion of the painfully lightweight Myaichi against Mourinho’s more manful outfit. On the evidence of the Blues defeat at St. James Park, perhaps their manager would be feeling more special, if he availed himself of his second string more often!

And judging by the constant ear-bashing Kolo Toure was getting from Gerrard and Suarez’s demonstrative frustration for the want of more support on Saturday, obviously losing wasn’t helping Liverpool’s happy-camper cause, but I’m uncertain that the Scousers can count on team-spirit to keep them in the frame. To my mind it’s Coutinho who really makes Rodger’s side tick and I was most relieved to see him on the bench and then only brought on out on the flank after the break, where he had less opportunity to influence proceedings.

But then amongst the weekend’s expected headline grabbers, such as Cazorla & Ramsey, much kudos to Mikel Arteta for putting a leg-weary looking Gerrard to shame, with a genuine captain’s performance. The Spaniard was so masterful in midfield that he made of mockery of my fears for Flamini’s enforced absence.

Never mind my unbearably smug glee over the relatively meaningless feat of starting another week sitting atop the Premiership pack, far more enthralling is the thought that we’re only a quarter of the way through and that we are to be blessed with another seven months of such supremely satisfying football!

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e-mail to: londonN5@gmail.com

More Custard WIth That Trifle?

You’ve got to love this game of ours. The Gunners travelled to South London on Saturday with everyone and his dog expecting us to romp past a managerless Palace outfit, utterly bereft of spirit and confidence. Yet what actually transpired couldn’t possibly have been more different, as we encountered the stiffest of tests, against a team that was somehow magically transformed from the gutless relegation fodder that has rolled over and played dead in so many of their matches thus far. Even Chamakh, possibly the most reluctant goal-getter I’ve ever seen, was witnessed putting himself about a bit.

Superstitious doughnut that I am, I must admit that I first started fearing the omens weren’t great and that fate might relish taking a bite out of the backsides of all those who’d foretold a walkover in this potential banana-skin derby, when watching TV on Friday night. Less than scientific perhaps, but no less accurate than all those experts, the piece of bread representing the Eagles predicted a shock result, when it popped up out of the toasters before ours, amidst the flim-flammery of Dannys Baker & Kelly’s whacky footie show.

Mercifully, in spite of the Eagles admirable determination and with the aid of the massive gift of a penalty resulting from a mindless challenge in the box in the opening minute of the second-half, the toaster prediction method was proved fallible.

As was also apparent in our Champions League defeat to Dortmund in midweek, the Gunners are far more permeable in the absence of the protective midfield demolition work of Mathieu Flamini. The Flamster’s ability to remain out on the park, by avoiding injury and suspension, could prove to be one of the most pivotal aspects in deciding whether this is to prove a successful season.

Doubtless his early retirement on Saturday contributed to Sczcny’s opportunity to shine between the sticks and indeed, it will be a worrying blow if Flamini is ruled out for our crucial forthcoming fixtures. We’re likely to be significantly disadvantaged without the Frenchman at his ballistic best, to snuff out the prolific firepower of the likes of Suarez, Sturridge, Rooney and Van Persie. But then with the Gunners new ‘homme dur’ already being only one yellow card away from suspension, at least his substitution on Saturday postponed the almost inevitable booking that will invoke this ban.

Yet prior to an enticing and perhaps telling encounter with the Scousers (that could go some way to establishing either side’s genuine credentials) and a trip to Old Trafford, we’ve the trifling matter of the Mourinho circus coming to town on Tuesday night.

My instincts are that momentum is everything and that it’s best not to mess too radically with a winning formula. Besides which, fatigue isn’t usually a factor, so long as a team continues to triumph over all and sundry. Nevertheless, we struggled to muster an effort on goal against the Germans in midweek, compared to a sparkling opening 15 minute spell that knocked out Napoli. We lacked the sharpness and vigour necessary to combat an unrelenting Dortmund side.

Perhaps it’s a sign of old age, but never mind the players, I find the relentless drain on the reserves of adrenaline of twice weekly outings thoroughly exhausting. And with the weight our manager ascribes to the science of reading our players’ gas-tank dial and identifying when this is “in the red” and Arsène’s track record of treating the League Cup as a welcome opportunity to rotate regular first-teamers, thereby affording youngsters like Serge Gnabry the chance to grasp the nettle, I’ll be amazed if this philosophy changes just because it’s Chelsea that we’re playing on Tuesday.

Even if he is “not special anymore”, I can’t envisage Mourinho doing likewise, since the Chelsea manager will know that a win against a weakened Arsenal side won’t detract from the Blues delivering the first psychological blow, in his efforts to put a spoke in Wenger’s wheel.

I’m praying Arsène’s team selection demonstrates his appreciation of the importance of maintaining our winning momentum and his affinity with our yearning for a trophy of any description, in the knowledge that victory on Tuesday night will leave us only two wins away from an opportunity for our long-awaited deliverance from the silverware-starved doldrums. By contrast, there might be considerable repercussions, should we have the wind knocked out of our sails, in the event we get stuffed on home turf, by a side that are title favourites for so many.

Hopefully our encounter with Chelsea will prove to be the sort of trifle that hits their Bozo the clown boss full in the face!

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 e-mail to: londonN5@gmail.com

Preaching To The Converted

Apparently Dennis Bergkamp's media blitz to promote his new book includes Garry Richardson's Sportsweek on BBC Radio 5 at 9am this morning and in light of yesterday's amazing goals, you can't help but feel that there's a certain Kismet to the timing,

I'm sure I could wax lyrical with several hundred more words about yesterday's breathtaking efforts, but (some might think fortunately!) I'm limited by the Irish Examiner's requirements, which left me struggling to squeeze in as much as possible, on a day when contrary to popular opinion, after taking the lead, we took our foot off the gas, when we really should've put Norwich to the sword, without giving them the opportunity to drag themselves back into the match.

A word for the incredibly unfortunate Abou Diaby, as while I refer below to our squad's gradual return to full-strength, it transpires that poor Abou's has suffered a cruciate injury that's condemned him to continuing to be our "Invisible Man" until at least next March! Can there have been a more unlucky Arsenal player (taking into consideration Diaby's failure to fulfil his potential)?

Meanwhile, I'm still revelling in yesterday's sumptuous goals and here's hoping we've more of the same to celebrate come Tuesday night

COYG

Bernard

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With each passing week that the Arsenal remain unbeaten, it’s becoming ever more of a struggle for us Gooners to keep our feet on the ground. I’m constantly repeating the mantra “let’s see where we are in a month or two”, before daring to risk the potential custard pie of gloating prematurely that “the Gunners are back”, or presumptuously predicting any impending relief from eight barren seasons of this wearisome silverware-starved era.

Nevertheless, you don’t need to be a footie pundit to appreciate the impact of the Gunners blossoming confidence since the arrival of Mezut Özil. The inexorable rash of last-minute spare tickets that we’ve grown accustomed to seeing offered in recent times, has fast begun to evaporate, in inverse proportion to the number of begging requests from returning glory-hunters.

Moreover, it seems I can’t walk into any of my regular local emporiums, without getting a thumbs up from behind the counter, with every storekeeper seemingly intent on engaging me on the subject of whether this might be our season. Even my local newsagent has started questioning the Arsenal’s title pretensions. Although I suspect that he might be less interested in Aaron Ramsey’s ascension to Shiva-like, destroyer deity status, than whether the buoyant mood on Blackstock Road might inspire the quaffing of sufficient tinnies to pay for a family reunion in Amritsar this summer!

Yet after securing our pitch astride the Premiership summit for yet another week, by beating Norwich on Saturday, courtesy of some of the most breathtaking goals that we’ve witnessed since the days of Dennis Bergkamp, I must admit that I’m beginning to lose my own argument for keeping our powder dry. Even if this should eventually prove to be another false dawn, we’ve not savoured such a blindingly brilliant sunrise, since those heady days of a decade or so back and there’s no mistaking the puff-chested swagger of all those in North London who can’t help themselves from preening with this renaissance of Gooner pride.

Who knows whether the Gunners were flagging somewhat on Saturday, after schlepping all around the globe during the past fortnight of an interminable Interlull. Or if, after having scored one of the team goals of the season, the somewhat “hand-brakish” display that followed, was due to the fatal error of complacently casting an eye on Tuesday night’s testing European encounter? However, even if the sum total of Saturday’s performance proves eminently forgettable, all four goals were testament to the sort of scintillating quality that will guarantee this game lives long in Gooner memories.

It felt like more than just a coincidence that Bergkamp was all over the British media this weekend, promoting his new book. Dennis and some of his most awe-inspiring strikes, were shown on the box just prior to Saturdays game, as the Dutch master revealed to Martin Keown his ambition to return to his Arsenal “home” in a coaching role.. Before Wilshere found the back of the net (with his weaker foot), the combination of one-touch football in the build up to such a wondrous opening goal was so exquisite and left me feeling so privileged that I could’ve sworn it involved the participation of the ghost of Bergkamp-past.

After witnessing Mezut Özil’s lung-bursting break from the back, to casually creep into the box with perfect timing to head home our second, I feel more than a little sheepish about having dared to question the former Real midfielder’s willingness to roll his sleeves up. While Ramsey left virtually the entire Canaries defence laying eggs on the floor of their penalty area, dare I say, with almost Best-like “chutzpah”, as Aaron nailed all three 3 points with our third.

It would be hard to pick a better fixture than Norwich at home, for the potential banana-skin of our return after such a hectic International break. Still our guests gave as good as Houghton’s plucky side have got. Contrary to what some absent pundits perceived, believe me, at 2-1, with the Canaries’ choler up, after Howson bagged a stunning goal and with us urging more effort from the leadenfooted-looking Gunners, this game really could’ve gone either way.

But then the Weetabix of winning when performing below par is the breakfast of champions. What’s more, after bemoaning the lack of strength in depth on our bench for so long, with the recuperation of the likes of Cazorla et al, suddenly our opponents might be afraid of knobbling any of our star-turns, for fear of inviting an even stiffer test.

I adore Flamini’s commitment but was hardly disappointed when Ramsey replaced the dazed Frenchman and after Cazorla was afforded a much-needed hour of game time, Rosicky’s introduction lent us some much needed forward thrust. Additionally, although Giroud continues to convert a legion of Gooner non-believers, suddenly even the inscrutably blasé Bendtner is being viewed as a slightly more credible stand-in.

As evidenced by the wonderfully entertaining unpredictability of the competition thus far, if the Arsenal are to take one lesson from Saturday’s triumph, it’s that it doesn’t matter if you are currently the best in the land, you’re likely to be punished by the commitment of lesser Premiership mortals, should you fail to treat every opponent with maximum respect.

Hopefully the Arsenal’s rapidly burgeoning team spirit will ensure that we don’t suffer from such altitude sickness and combined with the beautiful game performed at its gobsmacking best, the view from up here is pretty close to perfect.

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

STILL Top of the League (even if only on goals scored)

Having bashed out the following missive immediately after Sunday's match for an 8pm deadline and having since seen the highlights on MOTD2, the replay of our goal at the Hawthorns shows that it was Mezut Özil's doggedness in winning possession of the ball back in front of our own penalty area, which enabled him to begin the attack that eventually lead to our all-important equaliser.

After having taken a certain amount of stick for daring to question whether our new German superstar might prove to be a bit of a luxury player, as I pondered whether the fact that Mezut barely ever breaks sweat might be indicative of a lack of industry, I feel its behoven of me to set the record straight. Özil demonstrated in the build up to the goal this afternoon that he's more than willing to roll his sleeves up and get stuck in when required. 

What's more, with us having marvelled at several more triumphant displays since I questioned Mezut's overall contribution to the team in the amount of graft he's willing to undertake, it has subsequently occurred to me that he possesses the same Bergkamp-esque quality of doing most everything on a football pitch with such deceptive ease that it's very plausible to perceive him as not putting in much of a shift.

There's a serenity about everything Özil does on the pitch that he never really looks like he's working his socks off and I must admit that my jaw dropped, when a mate suggested after Tuesday night's sensational victory that according to the stats regarding distance covered, Mezut was only 2nd behind the Flamster. I am therefore most happy to bow to the far greater insight of others on this particular subject.

It's been a while since we've enjoyed a smattering of stunning Arsenal contributions to MOTD's Goal Of the Month selection, testament to an absolutely magical month. Long may it continue

International breaks.....who needs 'em

COYG

Bernard

________________________________________________

A big thank you to the Irons, since dropping two points at the Hawthorns didn’t seem nearly quite so disappointing as it might’ve done, if it wasn’t for Spurs drubbing at home to West Ham. Moreover, after going in at the break a goal behind against West Brom, it felt far more like a point gained, than two lost.

I guess the Gunners were always at risk of suffering something of an “after the Lord Mayor’s show” reaction, following the neutering of Napoli in midweek, with a scintillating fifteen minute spell of football, which was as wonderful as anything we’ve savoured for some time.

Most pleasing on Tuesday night was the way in which we set about our Champions League opponents at such a high tempo, with an intensity which resulted in us blowing away Benitez’s side, without them having barely had a kick of the ball. By contrast, we appeared to lack the same high adrenaline level going into Sunday's game, with some perhaps guilty of reading too much into the extravagant flattery of the recent media hype.

Instead of setting about the home side, determined to put the Baggies under the cosh, I got the distinct sense that we were guilty of waiting for the game to come to us. In the absence this high-energy, fast-paced opening to the game, of the sort the could’ve quietened the home crowd and put their team on the backfoot, buoyed by the confidence of their triumph at Old Trafford, the likes of Berahino and Amalfitano required no further encouragement to ruffle a few more prima-donna feathers.

            Yet all credit to le Gaffer and his stubborn tendency to stick to his guns because if football management was a democratic process, the vast majority of us Gooners would’ve given Jack Wilshere a clip around the ear at halftime, consigning him to the bench to give our midfield prodigy time to get his head straight. Who knows whether the distractions of the overblown “fag-gate” saga were to blame, or whether this was just symptomatic of Wilshere being found wanting for the necessary blinkered focus on his football.

Nevertheless, despite it being obvious that Jack doesn’t enjoy being asked to do a job out on the left flank and although his effort on goal would’ve ended up going straight down the goalie’s throat, if it wasn’t for a fortunate deflection, Wilshere was responsible for dragging us back into the match after the break. Not to mention conjuring up the deliciously perfect pass that might’ve resulted in Giroud scoring the winner, if it wasn’t for Myhill’s determined goal-minding.

Yet we mustn’t forget that we had Anelka’s profligacy in front of goal to thank. In days of yore, you could’ve bet your shirt on the prolific French striker finding the back of the net and bagging all three points for the Baggies. Moreover, despite the contrast in the verve and vigour of our midweek victory, compared to Sunday’s somewhat flat-footed display, even when we were undone at the back, the Gunners continued to display the composure that we’ve accrued in recent weeks, in recovering the situation and this bodes well for the rest of the campaign.

Meanwhile, with Walcott confined to the treatment room for the time being, young Serge Gnabry appears to be our only natural wide-man. There’s no doubt that we look a far more resilient outfit with both Flamini and Arteta offering protection in front of the back four. But this leaves Wenger with a bit of a conundrum, perming three players from our glut of talented midfielders, when all of them possess the instinctive tendency to want to play through the middle of the park.

Still our hard-earned point at the Hawthorns was sufficient to take us into the Interlull, sitting pretty atop the league table (even if only on goals scored) and completely aside from the psychological significance, my Spurs pals can rest assured of me making the very most of another couple of weeks worth of crowing time.

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When The Moon Hits Your Eye Like A Big Pizza Pie....That's Amore

With Naples being the home of the pizza, it seemed appropriate to head to Il Bacio  in Blackstock Road for some pre-match grub. But they were full when I phoned and it was only thanks to a cancellation that they managed to squeeze us in. I guess we should count our blessings that we didn't instead opt for some more local cuisine from Piebury Corner's new pie shop in Holloway Road, where the lovely Paul, Nicky and their local punters were attacked by 50/60 cowardly Napoli Ultra scum before tonight's game.

But then, as was evident with Napoli's utterly gutless second-half performance this evening, I guess their fans are a reflection of their heartless football team. It might prove a slightly different story in Naples, with Higuain back as a focal point for their attack. Still, when everyone was talking up this match as an encounter with our most onerous opposition of the season thus far, quite frankly I was amazed quite how easily we managed to roll over Serie A's high-flyers.

I'm assuming it must be related to the confidence currently coarsing through the club right now, but when we've so often been guilty in the past of commencing Champions League matches at such a low tempo and have as a consequence struggled to inject some real zest into games, most pleasing for me was the way in which we went about this match, right from the KO, with such wonderfully high-energy and gusto, that the Fat Spanish Waiter's football team were already two-nil down, without barely having had a kick of the ball.

I would have loved us to have finished the game off with a third goal, while we were so dominant, as I feared (needlessly it subsequently transpired!) that Napoli must have a period when they'd come back into the match and I was worried that if they did nick a goal, it might offer the visitors the necessary encouragement to drag themselves back into this match.

Nevertheless, despite the fact that it was inevitable that we would take our foot of the gas second half and frustratingly drop far too deep for everyone's liking, the fact that our feint-hearted guests never once bothered us with the sort of swift counter that would've previously ended all hopes of a clean sheet, is perhaps an optimistic indicator of the improving maturity of an Arsenal team that is finally beginning to learn from so many consecutive years of Champions League lessons.

I have to admit that when I discovered that Wenger had included both Flamini and Arteta in the starting line-up, thereby having to omit the likes of Jack Wilshere, I was initially disappointed because this seemed like a somewhat negative line-up on our home turf. However I'm happy to be the first to admit to being wrong because after the evidence of tonight's performance, this would appear to be the perfect combination for Champions League matches.

Both players are perfectly willing to get forward and contribute to attacking movements when the opportunity presents itself, but they both have the experience and the nous to know when to sit and offer themselves as a protective wall in front of our defence. This also appears to have the effect of liberating the three midfielders in front of them, knowing they can count on Flamini and Arteta to stop at home and ensure that our free-flowing attacking football cannot be undone, by being left short of numbers for the swift counter.

Moreover, as has been evident since Flamini's reintroduction, the Frenchman's presence and his maturity, in offering himself as such a wholehearted and committed screen in front of our back four and the snowball momentum of that special "winning feeling"has leant our entire defence a certain poise and unflappability that has previously been sorely missing amongst the frantic, panic-stricken footballers who've been so accustomed to conceding goals as a result in the past.

That breathtaking fifteen minute opening spell of football this evening, where the jaw-droppingly intuitive interchanges between Ramsey, Rosicky and Özil were as good as anything we've witnessed from Wenger's teams in the past, left everyone, bar the noisy Napoli fans in the corner, positively purring with pleasure.

What's more, as someone who has often knocked Olivier Giroud in the past, believing that our "oh so fabulous" French striker would never amount to a top draw centre-forward, I simply have to doff my hat to the man. I don't know how obvious it will have been to those watching on the box, but Olivier produced the epitome of a perfect centre-forward performance this evening. Giroud is proving himself to be the ideal foil for our ticci-tacca midfield and I barely recall a single instant in tonight's game, where he failed to either hold the ball up and open up the play for incisive forward movements, or induce a cunning free-kick from the clumsy opponent up his backside.

And in the second-half, where his team mates weren't quite as enthusiastic about advancing in front of our central striker, Giroud produced a trojan effort, winning the vast majority of aerial battles and ensuring that we weren't guilty of gifting our guests the sort of sloppy possession that would've made this a much harder workout for the whole team. Olivier might enjoy making sure that everyone is patently aware how much work he gets through in a match, with all his far too blatant and typically Gallic huffing and puffing, but as far as I'm concerned, he'll never come in for criticism from me, so long as he continues to put in such an industrious shift.

The only slight reservation as far as I'm concerned, is that both Rosicky and Arteta seem to begin to show obvious signs of heavy legs after the hour mark, with Thomas deprived of the vitality to continue making lung-bursting runs into the box and a little too guilty of giving the ball away, while Mikel's fatigue is too often evident in him ending up on the wrong side of his opponent, forced to make the sort of challenges that will inevitably result in us being forced to defend set-pieces in dangerous positions.

Never in a million years would I knock Flamini's commitment, with him producing the sort of biting challenges that set the tone for all his team mates and snapping at the opposition's heels, to the point where they're only too delighted to lay the ball off like a hot potato. Admittedly the incident occurred on the other side of the pitch to me, but I've no idea how Matty managed to avoid a yellow card this evening. Perhaps Champions League officials have received similar instructions to their Premiership colleagues this season and are making a concerted effort to keep their cards in their pockets. But in the past, the over-officious Champions League bods who seemed to want to promote a non-contact sport, would've been guaranteed to book our French midfielder.

Here's hoping Mikel and Thomas can last the course and that Matty might stay on the pitch long enough to maintain our stout defensive record. But then with the likes of Wilshere and Gnabry on the bench this evening and with Cazorla, Walcott, the Ox, even Diaby to come back, it could be argued that the current team is as balanced an outfit as we've witnessed in the Champions League to date and one that is capable of sustaining a proper challenge (instead of settling for qualification to the knockout stages as the height of our limited ambitions!).

Obviously you'd have to qualify any such euphoric optimism, with reservations over whether the likes of Nick Bendtner can contain his ego long enough, to offer sufficiently enthusiastic and conscientious cover up front, or if the likes of Vermaelen, Jenkinson and Monreal can slip seamlessly into this picture when required.

I assume Dortmund will present a far stiffer test than a Napoli side who surrendered quicker than the Italian army, but meanwhile, with each successive triumph, it's becoming harder and harder to contain the rapidly burgeoning mood of rapture. Considering the bonkers media bandwagon means that modern sides are only ever one defeat away from lurching between Arsenal legends and also-ran losers, I for one intend to make the very most of enjoying the moment while I can

COYG
Bernard

All Smiles At The Return Of The Colgate Ring Of Confidence

When my sister informed me that she’d booked a table at our family's favourite restaurant on the night of my Ma’s 80th birthday at the end of the month, I did warn her that fate and the laws of Sod & Murphy would undoubtedly dictate that we would defeat West Brom and draw Spurs in the next round of the League Cup on that very same Wednesday night. Well I was close, but mercifully no cigar! 

As details of the draw were announced on the radio, during extra-time at the Hawthorns in midweek and the terrace tom-toms soon transmitted the news of the peach of a home game against Chelsea that was awaiting the victors, it was the thought of the ensuing familial flashpoint that immediately weighed most heavy on my mind.

In truth, when extra-time had elapsed and we discovered that the spot-kicks were taking place at the wrong end of the pitch (supposedly for safety reasons – since when did the good old-fashioned coin toss go out the window?) and that the frayed nerves of Young Guns such as Gnabry, Olsson & Akpom were to be denied the gargantuan support of the 5,500 Gooners at our end of the ground, I really didn’t fancy our chances.

Still there’s no shame in crapping out in the lottery of spot-kicks. Moreover, I have to admit to thinking that if we’d bottled it, the bitter disappointment of a miserable drive back from the Black Country, would be tempered by the knowledge of having dodged a potentially nuclear bullet, in the ire of all those kith & kin who couldn’t possibly comprehend my loyalty to the Arsenal taking precedence over such a major obligation to my dear old Mum.

I’ve heard Gooners grumbling that we could now be five points clear at the top, if it wasn’t for our curtain-raiser cock-up against Villa. Yet it could be argued that our opening day defeat and the resulting churlish “sky is falling in” hubbub from all the media Chicken Lickens, was the essential catalyst required for the resulting tenacious doggedness that's been responsible for the unstinting run of success that’s transpired ever since.

It seems as if it’s been so long since we’ve enjoyed the glow of a titanium ring of confidence that encircles the entire club with an impenetrable aura of invincibility, once a team has attained that genuine “winning feeling”, that I’d entirely forgotten the pure unadulterated hedonism of its associated snowball momentum.

Serge Gnabry looks far more robust than Theo and must be brim full of self-confidence following the opening goal on Saturday (which returned a speculative 60/1 payday for one fortunate member of our party and left my mate Raj gloating all the way back down the M4!). Serge's spot-kick in midweek might’ve been saved by the keeper, but at least the German teenager demonstrated the “cojones” to step up and take it. And while I had my head in my hands, expecting each of our penalties to end up high, wide & not so handsome, all five second string Gunners displayed a “what’s good for the goose, is good for the gander” determination, as they stepped up with the same god-given braggadocio that’s increasingly evident, with each successive triumph of their first-team colleagues.

With our spirits already lifted by the news of both Spurs & Chelsea dropping points in the draw at White Hart Lane, as we barreled along the motorway to Wales on Saturday, we couldn’t believe our ears as we bowled up to the turnstiles at the Liberty, upon discovering that City and Utd had also blown 3-point bankers. However, we all sensed that capitalizing on such an unexpected opportunity was likely to prove far easier said, than done.

Who knows if the Gunners had one eye on Tuesday night’s encounter with the fat Spanish waiter’s high-flying Neapolitans, but truth be told, there was a frustrating lack of focus in the tentative, first-half chess match with Laudrup’s Swans.

It was only thanks to a more energetic and inventive spell immediately after the break that the Gunners managed to slice & dice a home defence, which wasn’t quite so stalwart without Ashley Williams at its heart. We could and really should have put this match to bed while our gander was up. Yet despite finding ourselves on the back foot, with the introduction of the handful that is Wilfred Bony, instead of the unbearably neurotic rearguard action that we’ve grown accustomed to watching, when the Gunners have attempted to close out matches in the recent past, while we continued to sweat it out on the terraces at the Liberty, on the pitch there was a pleasingly composed air to the way in which nailed down our two point breathing space at the top.

On the radio on route back to civilization, they were debating whether the return of Flamini could prove equally significant as the addition of Mezut Özil. On Saturday the graceful German midfielder contributed at least a couple of sublime moments of skill, of the sort that’s guaranteed to put bums on seats (and get folks up & out of them, applauding in awe).

By contrast, Flamini’s input might be more industrial in nature (agricultural even, in occasional rash instances!), but the Frenchman offers such a self-assured screen in front of our defence that his arrival appears to have breathed a long-awaited aura of unflappable poise, into our previously panic-stricken and much maligned frantic back four. Sczczny is always likely to be guilty of the sort of mad-hatter aberration that is the calling card of every bonkers keeper, but even he’s begun plucking balls out of the air, dominating his six-yard domain like a genuine class act.

Although I continue to retain disconcerting misgivings that this first flush of invincibility might all be a bit of an illusion, there’s no denying the optimistic thrill as we savour the self-perpetuating nature of this burgeoning winning spirit. Meanwhile, to my massive relief, the cup game against Chelsea has been fixed for Tuesday night (even though the Blues meet Man City on the Sunday prior!). Having been mercifully let off this particular hook, I can now truly enjoy the moment, without enduring a month’s worth of guilt, should I have been forced to face the dilemma of whether to put my adoration of the Arsenal, before a lifetime of mother love.

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Mezut - Here's Hoping He's The Main Man Catalyst To Convert Leaden 4th Place Losers Into Silver Encumbered Superstars, Rather Than A Seriously Overpriced Passenger

Le Vélodrome - Will be nice when it's finished

With all three assists against Stoke and with the Gunners currently top of the pops, on paper it would appear as if we're already receiving a lucrative return on our £42 million investment for Mezut Özil. Yet after raving about the Umlaut’s economy of movement, following his debut on Wearside, there were plenty of murmurings in our corner of le Vélodrome in Marseille in midweek, about our new superstar’s lack of earnest endeavour.

I don’t intend to rush to judgement, by suggesting we’ve blown the bank on a “luxury player”, since it might well take Özil time to attain the sort of match fitness required, amidst the frenetic environs of the Premiership. Nevertheless, it was most amusing to savour the poetic justice of Aaron Ramsey stabbing home the rebound from Özil’s free-kick in the opening minutes on Sunday and then subsequently serving Stoke up a long overdue taste of their own medicine, with two headed goals from Mezut’s corners.

You can see why Özil was relegated to taking corners and Ronaldo had dominion over the free-kicks at Real Madrid, as our new No. 11 doesn’t appear to strike a dead ball with anything like the ferocity of a Leighton Baines (who does?).  As was the case in his first two appearances, aside from trotting over to take control of all our set-pieces, our German superstar barely broke sweat again in Sunday’s game. Having been all too often robbed of possession, on those instances when he might’ve had an opportunity to pick the lock of the Potters defence, Özil was largely anonymous in open play.

However he was far from alone in his failure to light the Red & White touch-paper in his home debut. Thankfully, unlike most early KO’s, where we’re in the habit of not turning up until the second-half, we laid into Stoke with a vengeance. But having taken the lead so early on, the Gunners were patently guilty of taking our foot off the gas. Much as in our laboured Champions League triumph in the South of France and the majority of our matches thus far, we achieved the most satisfying trick of securing all three points, with the sort of mundane display that would’ve otherwise resulted in uproarious disgust on the terraces, if it wasn’t for the small matter of an unbroken winning streak, ever since the anomaly of our opening defeat against Villa.

Gay Gooners On Tour

Mind you, I barely had time to draw breath after the long drive back from the North-East last weekend, before heading off to warmer climes for Wednesday’s encounter. Indulging in some late-night liquid celebrations in Marseille’s enchanting le Vieux Porte probably didn’t help my cause, but I was cream-crackered by the time I returned from my Provencal jolly and with our injury-ravaged squad denying Wenger the option of much rotation right now, it’s perhaps not surprising that some of our players appeared equally jaded, the longer Sunday’s game wore on.

In the past the Arsenal might well have succumbed in the face of the Potters blatant physicality. Admittedly Mark Hughes has begun to oversee Stoke’s evolution from Pullis’ Neanderthal incarnation of ball hoofers (their former manager would’ve blown a gasket if his charges had been guilty of so much passing!) but more importantly, the Gunners appear to be discovering the crucial knack of winning games, despite performing well below par.

In listing the various deficiencies of the main contenders' squads in a piece in the Guardian, Barney Ronay wrote “….Arsenal’s inability to stop winning right now is clearly an affront against nature, considering their basic lack of pretty much everything”. Although Ronay’s obviously neglected to consider our glut of midfield options (even the hapless Myaichi got another look-in on Sunday, while his mysterious Asian mate, Park Chu-Young remains on the missing list!), with Bendtner and his oversized ego, our solitary other striking option on the bench, there’s no disguising our insecurity, so long as North London’s rapidly expanding feelgood bubble remains only one nasty foul away from being burst.

On a more optimistic note, if the Gunners can continue to build momentum, by maintaining our winning groove, heaven help the opposition when our best XI truly begins to click!

Pre-Match Meal Watching the Marseille Sunset Show Off Norman Foster's
Contribution To The 2013 City Of Culture, In All It's Excessive Glory

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