Real Encounter Now The Be All, Or End All!

Unlike some of the patronising pundits who try to maintain some pretence of a non-partisan perspective, there’s absolutely nothing neutral about Ian Wright. Bless him, Wrighty came on TV on Saturday night and told Gunners fans that we shouldn’t be too hard on our Highbury heroes. According to Ian we must be patient, as the Arsenal are a team in transition. However the fact of the matter is, that whilst success eludes any football side, they remain in this state. Tottenham have been in ‘transition’ for almost half a century!

I was beginning to regret slaughtering my Spurs mates about their chances of any silverware evaporating in the first week of January. We might not have suffered the humiliation of being dumped out by the lower league likes of Leicester and Grimsby. But after experiencing our own bad bout of PCE (Premature Cup Ejection!), they were only too quick to return all the stick, with interest, on Saturday!

You’ll have to forgive me if I struggle to cope with the impromptu end to the Gunner’s campaign for domestic silverware, with customary equanimity. We’ve been so spoilt since Arsène Wenger took the helm at Highbury, having enjoyed such amazing fortune in the FA Cup (it’s been 6 years since we last failed to at least reach the semis!), that mercifully it’s pretty much an alien experience for our cup interest to be finished even before February. Most Gooners have been left badly winded, if not a little punch drunk, after being knocked out twice in one week by gut-wrenching, last gasp sucker punches.

Perhaps it’s our woeful away form which has seen us fall off the Champions League radar. Yet my Spurs mates seem to have conveniently forgotten that while they can keep us up to date on how Dot and the gang fare in Eastenders, the Gunners’ season is guaranteed to run for a few more weeks, at least until our date with Real Madrid.

Apart from the Bernabeu, I’ve worshipped the beautiful game’s false gods at most of the major footballing temples across the continent in recent seasons. As a result I’ve been looking forward to this opportunity to genuflect before the Gunners in the Spanish capital’s real cathedral for donkey’s years.

It’s unlikely that I’ll be able to remain so detached, but win, lose, or draw, I’m determined to enjoy my long awaited outing to the Bernabeu, as part of our 3-day jolly to Madrid. However now, with Barca also running away with La Liga, this match takes on an importance for both teams of such immense proportions, as the loser will be left with the decidedly unenthralling prospect of playing out the last 3 months, chasing nothing more than Champs League qualification next season.

With so much riding on the outcome, the two legs of this encounter are hardly likely to be the open, entertaining contest that would befit some of the best players on the planet. I was hoping that the confidence would be flowing by then and we might take Real on. Instead of which Wenger is bound to adopt a conservative approach. Much like the midfield mêlée of our chess match at the Reebok, the two games against Real are likely to be decided by the odd momentary lapse in concentration, of the sort that resulted in the last minute rickets against Wigan and Bolton.

Even after all these years I never fail to be amazed how 90 minutes of football is all that separates us from the peak of euphoria, or the pit of despair. Only last weekend vice-chairman, David Dein was on the radio crowing about capturing three ”promising” additions to our squad in only 6 days. Who could’ve imagined this would be followed by three crushing defeats in 8 days, that are being referred to as the worst week in Wenger’s career and which has the Islington Samaritans working overtime!

Well actually we won on the night against Wigan but our away goal exit made for a hollow victory. I had some ambivalent feelings at the time, wondering how much I really wanted to schlep down to Wales for the final a day or so after we are due to return from Spain and whether a duel at the Millennium, with the possibility of extra-time and penalties, might prove an exhausting and perhaps fatal distraction, from our efforts to bring home the big-eared Champions League bacon.

As it turns out, ironically we’ll now be playing Blackburn that weekend instead, which I always find an arduous and one of my least favourite outings of the season. In fact any thoughts I might’ve had that Wigan might be more appreciative of a Carling Cup Final, these disappeared in inverse proportion to the pain of Jason Roberts disastrous dig, as salt was rubbed into our wound, first by missing out on a final with Man Utd and then relinquishing our grip on the other knockout trophy.

I was especially gutted because when Robin Van Persie’s extra-time goal hit the back of the net, I assumed I’d be regaling Gooner pals for time immemorial about my own personal assist. In the dim and distant past, when I played the game, I was in the habit of getting my kicks by trying to put off opposition players in close proximity, hollering “Yer c*ck’s hanging out!” Occasionally you’d get the desired response from the more gullible, terrified their tackle was on public display.

Last Tuesday I was sat in the front row of the North Bank, almost within touching distance and certainly within earshot of Mike Pollitt, Wigan’s Man of the Match keeper. For an hour or so, until Henry headed home, Pollitt played such a blinder, that I’d begun to wonder if it was going to be one of those nights where nothing would get past him. Yet after a succession of tremendous saves, as the keeper lined his wall up for Van Persie’s 108th minute free-kick, I screamed at him “You’re gonna miss this one!”

Being perfectly placed to participate with the scorer’s celebrations, I was hoping for a hatful of goals. However Van Persie’s precision strike was heading for goal from the moment it left his foot and the beauty of being so close was that there’s no mistaking that distinctive ‘swoosh’ as the ball caressed the back of the net. Try as I might I couldn’t catch Pollitt’s eye, but no matter how deluded it sounds, I’m convinced I played my part by planting a seed of doubt at such a crucial moment. If only Roberts hadn’t rained on my opportunity to take credit for our place in the final.

I believe a boxing analogy best sums up the Bolton game and the malediction which has afflicted the majority of our results on the road. For someone who was once such a rigid proponent of 4-4-2, surely Le Prof can see his squad isn’t suited to playing with a lone striker. Personally I think le gaffer’s giving away an influential psychological advantage, with the suggestion that our far superior squad needs to adapt their style of play to avoid defeat.

Wenger’s sides have never been designed to shut out the opposition and I firmly believe we should be sticking to the adventurous passing game that has left less talented mortals trailing in our wake in the past. Yet instead of floating like a butterfly and stinging like a bee, Le Prof appears to have forsaken the principles on which all his success has been founded. He’s been drawn into trying to slug it out, with teams who wouldn’t know the noble art if it smacked ‘em in the face. And with a lightweight midfield that doesn’t possess the punch necessary for this sort of slugfest, we’re developing far too fond a taste for the canvass.

Getting knocked down ain’t so bad but it’s our reluctance to get back to our feet which is most demoralising. With 4 minutes on the clock and 4 more of injury time, in the past the Arsenal’s traditional ’never say die’ spirit would’ve provoked the sort of onslaught in response to going a goal down, which would’ve seen us camped in Bolton’s penalty area. Whereas these days we threw the towel in from the moment they took the lead. Martin Keown wouldn’t have abided time wasting by the corner flag. Both the ball and the players shielding it would’ve ended up in the stands.

Considering the Arsenal were once infamous for grinding out results and nicking all the glory with our own late winners, it is the absence of such ‘death or glory’ values in the current Gunners’ squad which I find most depressing.


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