Firstly, I would like to let you in on one of the biggest secrets in English football, concerning Matt Holland. He is not Dutch, as his name suggests, neither is he Irish as his international career suggests.
Nope. He's Japanese.
And more than that. He was a Geisha.
Born and raised in Kyoto, young Matty (or Okoi - meaning 'honorable carp') began his training with his senior Geisha mentor after he left school. He was taught the proper ways of tea-serving, playing shamisen (a three stringed musical instrument), dancing, casual conversation, table tennis, darts and football.. It was only a chance meeting with a West Ham scout on holiday in Japan in 1992, watching the local Geisha XI v Sumo XI, that led to him leaving Kyoto for East London. The rest, as they say, is history.
So. On to last night.
Optimism before the game was replaced by nail biting nervousness by half time. Ipswich, as they had promised, indeed parked the bus, protecting their goal advantage, and at times resisted valiantly. We hogged possession, and created some great chances, all of which were missed. Djourou was sent twenty feet up in the air by a giant seventeen year old and poor Sagna was head butted out of the game by his own 'keeper. Hair-sausage meat was oozing over the pitch and off he limped. Ouch.
Half time. Three Pillocks and The Geisha wittered on, I nibbled at my nails and polished off another Stella.
An hour gone. Will we score? Surely. Young Jack Wilshere (my man of the match) pinged a ball wide to Bendtner. His first touch controlling the pass was impeccable, his second took him inside the defender and his finish to the far post (around the bus) was clinical. A brilliant goal, by a man that's been getting a lot of stick of late. Not two minutes later, Arshavin, once again having a tricky time (best way I could put it) won a corner, delivered finally a good ball in and Koscielny beat Flipflop to the ball and powered in the header.
I relaxed. A little. An Ipswich goal could have taken the game into extra time, and so they had to come forward. On 77 minutes, as the visitors came at us, their attack was broken up by Denilson, who slipped the ball wide to Fabregas, a neat one-two with Arshavin and a cool finish from the Captain made it three. Game over.
Arshavin The Enigma continues to be as enigmatic as an enigma can be. Although still nowhere near his best, infuriating and sloppy at times, he seems to have an uncanny knack of contributing - two assists on a night where much of what he tried didn't come off. Form is temporary, class is permanent, so it would seem. Keep working, my tiny chum. As I said yesterday, if he gets anywhere near back to his best, then he'll be vital in our hunt for silverware this season.
It was a great night for The Arsenal and us fans, who have been crying out for some success. Yeah, it's only The Carling Cup, but I'll bite your hand off for it. The momentum that I bleat on about is so important, and winning the first silverware of the season will, I'm sure, have some bearing as to where the other delicious prizes end up come the end of May.
The last word goes to the cocks at the BBC, who tried their best to fuck up my night by showing a montage of our previous finals in the Carling Cup in it's various guises. Leeds and Swindon I didn't want to be reminded about, nor Drogba, thank you very much. Just saying. Twats.
Well done, The Arsenal.
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