Thank you Arsenal. Thank you Arsene. It’s games like yesterday that remind me why I love this club so much, and why I will defend our boss through thick and thin (and occasionally something viscous).
On paper it was always going to be tricky – only the very brave would have put serious money on our essentially striker-less Arsenal against arguably the strongest club-side defence in the world, but the boys proved that they’ve got whatever that thing it is you need to challenge the best.
On the evidence of yesterday, that thing is a combination of other, smaller things. Of course, a big part of it is attacking flair, as Theo and Sammy, and a bit of Diaby demonstrated. But the notable addition yesterday was that this was mixed with a midfield that started running and kept running until the 96th minute, harassing, tackling and generally making a nuisance of themselves against players who themselves love nothing better than making a nuisance of themselves. Finally, a backline prepared to fling themselves around all day to stop the opposition’s ball going in our net.
Arsene’s vision of football, and what he has been correctly appraised as a visionary for, is that it is, finally and crucially, entertainment. This entertainment takes many forms, and includes the tough away draws as well as the Champions League finals, but what originally draws people to the game is that it’s a way to get away from it all on an afternoon, to gather together with family and friends and become involved in a different world with heroes, villains, excitement, victory and defeat. This is why we have the Emirates, this is why we play young players and this, when the dust has settled, is why we spend so much time, money and emotion following this team. Yesterday he was vindicated.
It was end-to-end stuff – it could have been four all by halftime, but from the start it looked, it felt, like Arsenal wanted it and deserved it more. We fought, we moved, we passed beautifully; the second goal summed it up really, as Nasri looked up and smacked it crisply past Van der Sar. having been given the opportunity by a beautifully slipped little ball from Cesc. To be fair they had a few good chances: Ronaldo could easily have snuck one at the far post (quick poll – if the best player in the world is coming into your penalty area do you a) mark him or b) not?), but Wayne Rooney had evidently left his shooting boots in a granny brothel, rather a sad state of affairs for him which culminated in a shot going for a throw in. I haven’t seen anyone do that since Martin Keown, and Keown was under far more pressure. Their goal, though a good strike from Rafael (who incidentally looks like he’s going to be a complete chief for a good white), didn’t surprise many. It was United, they always score. But though the last ten minutes were deafening.
Sammy was the pick of the bunch, but special mentions to Clichy, Diaby, Silvestre and Gallas, the latter two of which who looked (thank the Lord) like a central defence. A small quibble with Gallas though, and this is going to sound ridiculous, but at the very end, whilst the TV cameras were swaying around Ronaldo’s lithely disappointed torso, Gallas went to the Redaction end of the Emirates and beat his chest to the crowd’s adulation, as if he had won the whole match on his own. Clearly it’s ridiculous to complain about a celebration, particularly after such an important win, but you couldn’t help but feel that whilst he revels in the attention, it was exemplary of the fair-weather captaincy which has disappointed so many fans this season. We need him to feel that imperious all the time, not just when he’s won.
It’s worth mentioning that the crowd, who were as good as I’ve seen them at the Emirates and who really got behind the boys, perhaps responding to the ridiculous coverage in the build-up to the game about Wenger quitting (honestly what horseybollocks), and more generally to criticism of the team. The last six minutes were amazing to witness, as 55,000 people willed Howard Webb to end the game.
It’s also worth mentioning, whilst we’re at the mentioning stand, that Michael Carrick is a twat. Perhaps not literally, but after he kicked Almunia clean in the face, his response was to gesture to the ref that because he hadn’t meant to do it, it somehow hadn’t happened and he was therefore exempt from any retribution. The twat. I hope Manu’s alright – he looked pretty groggy before he was subbed, and had been playing well.
Talking points, then, and the real test is whether we can keep it up against the smaller sides each week. Hopefully yesterday will have reminded the team just who they are, and who they’re playing for. We’re the Arsenal; of course we’re title contenders, but it doesn’t come without a fight. Please could the players remember this.
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