The Late Greats

A lot can change over one summer. A traditionally sycophantic Labour-supporting tabloid can go Tory; an influenza pandemic can temporarily stagnate; the world's biggest musical icon can pass away and trigger a media storm as turbulent as a touchy-feely ride on a Neverland rollercoaster.

But no one would have expected the shocking turn of events that has seen the Emirates crowd turn into a raucous, receptive rabble of positive, appreciative fans. The atmosphere last night was electric, thanks in no small part to the maniacs in the away end. When van Persie put the first away, we celebrated like it was an injury-time winner in the Champions League final, and with the tension relieved the last twelve minutes were an enjoyable end to a nervy second half.

The Olympiakos fans scared the hell out of me. They bounced with their arms raised, their deep phlegmy voices and aggressive, harsh tones recalling memories of Nuremberg rally tapes. That is, at least before they started singing a chant to the tune of The Entertainer. But infantile melodies aside, it is absolutely imperative that we get six points out of AZ Alkmaar and wrap this group up before we have to travel to Greece. It would take one hell of a performance on our part to get three points over there if their home support is half as noisy as their away lot.

Arshavin was the obvious choice for man of the match, putting in a bustling, energetic performance and even making one of the most important tackles of the game just outside our box. His dribbling was magnificent; even in the tightest of spaces with three or more men closing him down, he would find his way through with the ball glued to his feet. He may have been offside for the goal, but with a finish like that he could have been forgiven for following his moment of brilliance by punching the referee in the face and exposing himself to the cameras.

Song was effective throughout, shielding the centre backs well, but they hardly needed him - both put in solid performances, and Gallas in particular protected Mannone as much as possible. As for Mannone, he had little to do, but his save from a corner header was something straight out of Craven Cottage.

Clichy had a dodgy game and was exposed several times, particularly by staying rooted and allowing the visitors their best chance of the game with the score at 0-0; fortunately for him, the forward headed straight into Mannone's arms when it would have been easier to score. His crossing was below-par, with a few Sagna Specials of his own careening wildly past the forwards. Cesc was a bit sloppy early on but improved markedly towards the end, putting in an efficient performance, and van Persie was impressive with energetic runs and a clear understanding of his supporting forwards. He always looked to bring Arshavin and Rosicky (who also contributed well in the first half) into play; we can be grateful that we will never have to be concerned about him alienating himself from the midfield a la Barndoor.

A quick aside about the Aussie Rules Grand Final on Saturday. Bear with me...

I watched the match with a group of travelling Aussies, with no previous knowledge of the game whatsoever. With the scores even in extra time, Geelong scored a late goal to clinch the title over their opponents, St Kilda.

After a quick explanation at the start of the match, followed by my best attempt at politely pretending to understand some of the more outlandish rules, I had turned my attention towards the clubs themselves.

"So what should I know about these teams?" I asked.

"Well," one of them replied, "St Kilda have only lost two games this season. They're more physical and efficient - they've become fairly predictable."

On the other hand, "Geelong are full of really technically gifted players, and play the most attractive game, but they've always underachieved and usually blow it even when they deserved to win."

This could be the start of something beautiful...

Ain't That a Kick in the Head?

Ever since the tragic events of Saturday afternoon, I have been daydreaming endlessly about what could have transpired had our boys got past the stewards.

Adebayor was kneeling only a few feet away, his arms held wide as if reaching to hug a giant sack of banknotes, and I couldn’t help noticing how vulnerable he would have been to a handful of seething Gooners charging onto the pitch. His bony behind was blocking what would appear to be his weapons of choice – his studs.

These daydreams were beautiful. I could picture a Gooner pinning him to the grass and hitting him so hard he would forget both his roots and his lifelong debt to the man who plucked him from obscurity to turn him into a star. Oh, wait…

I imagined three or four Arsenal fans restraining his flailing donkey limbs, beckoning for van Persie to come over and exact his revenge. Robin would stand over Ade in his effeminate way, hand on hip, chomping at the bit with those gargantuan teeth of his. He would lower himself, watching Ade tremble with fear having been reduced to his spineless, cowardly self with no dangerous metal objects with which to lash out, and limply drag his pale, wilting wrist across his old partner’s face. Satisfied that the score was even, Robin would mince back to the centre circle, his arms bouncing around flaccidly in response to the air resistance, and prepare to kick off.

Back in the real world, I expect the FA to give him what he deserves. Realistically, we can expect him to get a six-game ban – anything less would be a farce – seeing as they can give him one three-game ban for his incendiary celebration and another for the stamp, but it should be a lot more. The celebration was to be expected from a player who is about as much of a credit to his profession as Harold Shipman, but that stamp was an abomination. When you consider that Paolo di Canio was banned for eleven matches for a pretty unconvincing push on a referee, surely seemingly attempting to pop an opponent’s eyeball with a metal stud should warrant much more. While nothing came of it other than a small gash to Robin’s cheek, it was a much more malicious and dangerous stamp than most and should be given a longer punishment.

My advice to the Citeh fans is to enjoy it while you can. Once Adebayor’s form is sufficient to reignite rumours about Barcelona and AC Milan, he’ll start banging on about how they’re as big a turn-on as Beyonce again and you’ll feel about as frumpy and inadequate as you did in the days of Jon Macken and Steve Howey.

I feel I should say something about the Arsenal midfield. Not to take anything away from the opposition's counter-attacks, they just didn’t feel like defending, and suddenly that Vieira-shaped hole in our squad seems all the more worrying. Even Alex Song, who is an accomplished tackler and usually a reliable holding midfielder, was putting in some lazy challenges. Denilson seemed to be out of position every time City broke, and Cesc should have been deployed deeper against a forward line with the pace of Wright-Phillips and Bellamy. I still think our defence is looking much better this season, but we’re going to keep conceding if Wenger insists on having a three-man midfield obsessed with playmaking.

To say Arsenal are out of the title race this early would validate the sensationalist bile projected by Sky Sports News and the red tops, but to have lost two games already isn’t a great start considering we have five Big Four matches left, two against the scum, two against Villa and another against City. I doubt many expected us to challenge for the title this season – although I think we have a real chance in the other competitions, including Europe – but an improvement on last year is needed if we’re going to stay in the Champions League places. If the authorities could start banning the right people, that might help too...

---

Your Beloved Scapegoat

I’m relieved that the refs’ chief has apologised. Having been the only Gooner in a pub full of United fans, watching Wenger being sent from the touchline was a mortifying end to a horrible afternoon for me, but I can’t imagine how frustrating it would have been for him to endure that kind of farcical treatment while already staring down the barrel at defeat. That aside, it’s funny how much closer a Sussex country pub is to Manchester than it is to London…

While I was recoiling in horror at the time, turning a deeper shade of crimson than Alex Ferguson rolling groggily in a trough of red wine, Wenger’s reaction to his sending off was actually pretty admirable. He was told bugger all about where he would complete his punishment for endangering the safety of the home players and staff with his wild-eyed lunge at that plastic bottle. So he climbed on top of the tunnel, surrounded by skinheaded imbeciles who seized their five seconds of televised fame by performing never-before-seen wanker signs from all angles, and raised his arms, like a big lanky Jesus about to suffer for their anti-footballing sins. The fourth official’s reaction was more histrionic than Didier Drogba facing off against Tom Daley in a 10 metre platform event, and so Mike Dean’s glabrous, gleaming head came bouncing over, his wrinkles twisted in indignation, and a frail, limp wrist informed the watching millions that the Arsenal manager had overstepped a line.

The main concern after that game should really have been the chants. This is hardly new, and I suppose the green eyed monster in me needs something to lash out at, but the United fans met an already mistreated Wenger with the usual bile. I really don’t understand how, while every club whose fans have sung racist or homophobic songs have rightly been punished and the individuals banned, songs accusing a man of paedophilia can persistently bellow out from the 75,000-strong crowd of the national champions. I for one have never seen the slightest attraction in singing the anti-Semitic Spurs chants, and I can safely assume that the tepid majority of our regular support both home and away are similarly opposed to that crap, but there are other clubs who are supported by what can only be described as handicapped Neanderthals, many of whom ironically bear a strong facial resemblance to the exposed glans of a circumcised phallus.

Suffice to say the United result wasn’t a fair one, but this is what we’ve come to expect at Old Trafford. If one of the Arsenal players had behaved like Darren Fletcher he would have been sent off immediately, been responsible for about 40 minutes of added time, and later been vilified by the Big Three loving sycophants on MOTD.

We all have ample reason to be bitter with a result which could easily have gone Arsenal's way, but we’ve had some good fortune already this season and at least we can’t blame it on a poor performance. Vermaelen showed he can cut it in the big games, the defence was generally strong again, and Song and Denilson managed well without Cesc. Diaby obviously had a mixed game, and I believe that my first words at the final whistle, expletive-peppered as they were, addressed his performance with mentions of petrol drums, flame throwers and machetes. He did come close to scoring seconds later, and made some good moves box-to-box. As for the own goal itself, I can only assume that with all the time and space in the world he was caught in two minds between a) putting it out for a corner and b) playing it back to Almunia, resulting in c) panicking as only Abou Diaby can, defecating uncontrollably into his shorts, and turning with a helpless, pleading glance to his goalkeeper, in doing so powering Giggs’ harmless free kick into the net.

We’ve still had a solid start to the season, and our first choice XI has shown no weak link as of yet. No doubt we’ll come back from the international break with a slightly different squad, depending on whether the physios have put the finishing touches to the resurrected corpse of Rosicky by then, and just how familiar Vicente del Bosque is with Wenger’s thoughts on international training sessions.

---

Dive into Yesterday

Oh, cheers Eduardo. There's no denying it, he dived, and the first goal was always going to be important. Celtic have a right to be angry - although if they think that was the sole reason they were knocked out, they are sadly mistaken. You put up a good fight, but in the end you're a load of overly aggressive Scottish lumps who are more adept at kicking shins than a football.

It should be pointed out, though, that it was a dreadful decision by the referee regardless. It wasn't a clear goalscoring opportunity: the ball was heading out of play, Eduardo couldn't catch up, and the goalkeeper made a standard reaction (and actually did well to avoid making contact). The SFA boss has publicly demanded that Eduardo be banned, and knowing UEFA they'll be seriously considering it. I suppose if Celtic had knocked us out partially due to a blatant dive, I'd want the same, but I don't think UEFA would be within their rights to impose a one-game ban for what would have been a yellow card offence.

A clean sheet was pretty important heading into a game at Old Trafford, but there really was nothing we could have done about their goal. Donati's finish was excellent.

In terms of individual performances, the centre backs were yet again superb, Denilson and Ramsey played well, and Eboue had a blinder. Playing much further forward than he's used to as part of the front three, he made some cracking runs, both defensively and in attack, particularly when he reined in the Celtic midfield like some kind of demented sheepdog hoping to reopen a transfer to Italy. He showed his blinding pace further forward, knocking the ball past an advanced backline and outrunning his marker, only to predictably fluff his pass and accidentally hold up play. Still, he was perhaps our best performer, and you can tell he's desperate to get back in the team if he is to stay.

I'm slowly falling in love with Vermaelen. Wenger's clearly realised at long last what our defence has been missing - he might not be as tall, but we've got our Vidic/Skrtel, and dare I say it we now have a complete, top-of-the-table backline. If he can keep up this kind of form, I'll be happier than if I hacked into Ashley Cole's phone to find a text from 'Cheryl Mob' reassuring him that it happens to a lot of men and it's not a big deal.

Now that we're in it, I'm crapping myself ahead of the group stage draw. As a top seed, we're still up against an insanely strong Pot Two, which boasts Inter, Real Madrid, Juventus, and Lyon - our best hope is drawing Sporting Lisbon, Porto or AZ Alkmaar. Pot Three hosts Athletico Madrid, Stuttgart and Bordeaux, so we'll want Besiktas, Dynamo Kyiv, Marseille, Olympiakos or Rangers. Pot Four consists of the usual rubbish, but Standard Liege aren't a bad team and there's one big name in the mix we really don't want: Wolfsburg.

We could be in a group with Inter, Athletico Madrid and Wolfsburg. This draw could be about as helpful to us as a William Gallas book launch.

---