Job Done. Just..

It's just not right standing outside a boozer at five to twelve on a Sunday morning. Fifteen years or so ago, it would have been the norm for me, but not now. Still, there I was. Why? You know why.

An easy win over Huddersfield Town, that's what I thought. So, sit down and enjoy a full English. Piece of piss. Hmm. Not so.

Now, I'm not one to site here and type out a match report -  I'm sure you all saw it, and if you didn't see it, you'll have read about it, and if you haven't read about it, then don't be looking here beacuse you won't find it. What you'll get is something a little like this -

The FA Cup hey? What could have been an embarassing draw was saved, once again, by the Captain's boot from a penalty five minutes from the end of a decent game. A deflected Bendtner strike after twenty minutes gave us just reward for our domination, although it must be said that Arshavin and young Nik could have, and should have had a couple each, as should Huddersfield.

Squillaci getting sent off? It was blatant and cynical. No argument there. Didn't really help, though, did it? Coupled with an unfortunate hamstring injury to Nasri, things weren't looking quite as bright as they should have been. Huddersfield duly equalized in the second half (didn't see that one coming) after a period of sustained pressure. Cue Fabregas to change the game. Cue Bendtner being taken out in the box by last man McCombe. Penalty? Yes. Red card? No. Unbelievable. Oh a yellow. Right. Inconsistent, yes, but that's how they are - unless you're Gary Neville, of course. It's happened. Get on with it.

And then a horrible thing happened. Cesc started going a little mental at the referee. Brandishing an imaginary card. I hate that. It's one of the many things in the game today that fucking riles me, and here's our Captain doing it. We know the fella should have gone, but he's booked him and it's done.You sent our boy off, now send him off, he's saying. No Cesc, just no. Stop it.

Cristiano Ronaldo does that. And as we all know, he is a cunt.

He bangs it in, it's two one, and that was that, really.

Nasri being out for four weeks or so is a massive blow. Player of the season so far by a mile.  Wenger says he may bring some of the loan players back in as cover (JET and Lansbury), especially as Arshavin (who I thought had a better game yesterday - not least his Winterburn-esque challenge and always showing up for the ball) is still low on confidence and form. Denislon still never fails to unimpress me, that's not his fault, he's just not a great player. Eboue's still a lunatic who writhes around too much and gives the ball away, Diaby needs more games and Rosicky just looks ill. Like a little sickly boy.

Anyone else notice Joey Gudjonsson's barnet? I don't know what type of 'product' he puts on it, but it looks like either treacle, golden syrup or 'Wet Hair'. Whatever it is, it looks stupid, and he should get down the barbers as soon as, and get it sorted. Yuk.

Anyway, we won, we were in the hat for the fifth (unlike Tottneham who got thrashed at Fulham, yeah, I know, Fulham - year ends in one, my hole) and we pulled out Leyton Orient away. I'll take that thank you very much, indeed.

More after the Everton game. Come on you Reds. Oh, and Andy Carroll's worth thirty odd million quid is he? Really? Fuck me. It's madness.

A Spaniard, A Uruguyan, A Mexican and a Yorkshireman.

So the genetical mess that is FernandoTorres (ginger) has handed in a transfer request.

"Now, Luis. It's great to have you here at Liverpool. With you and Fernando, we surely have a forward line to rival some of the best in the world."

"Yes, Mister Dalglish. I'm looking forward to it. That is why I signed. I cannot wait to play with Torres."

"Now, where is he, would be good for you two to have a chat. Fernando? Fernando?"

*door slams*

"FERNANDOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

Brilliant. Sign for Chelsea, go on. Score two hat tricks in the two games against Man Utd, be shit in all your other games and then leave Chelsea at the end of the season when they don't qualify for the Champions League. Naff off back to Spain with your ginger locks, son of Miguel Angel Jiminez. Adios.

In other news, the dashing Carlos Vela has joined WBA on loan until the end of the season. I hope he does well, I really do. Rare glimpses of his undoubted talent (see below) have been seen since he returned from Spain, but after having numerous chances to show his worth, he has failed to deliver. There was rumours of him going out to Valencia, but it's Premier league experience he needs, so good luck at The Hawthorns, at least you won't need your passport to get there.

Good music as well, no?

Tomorrow at The Emirates, we entertain Huddersfield Town in the FA Cup fourth round.  It would be rude of me not to mention the great Herbert Chapman when considering our opposition. A man that dragged a lowly Arsenal team from nowhere to be the most famous club in the world.  Huddersfield fans aged ninety and above will surely dribble tea and remember the 1930 Cup Final, our first major trophy and the springboard to a decade of success, not to mention shirt numbers, floodlights, and Arsenal tube station. Thank you, Mr Chapman, Christ only knows where we would be if it wasn't for you. *doffs cap*.

More tomorrow for a match preview or a match report. Not sure yet. Allez les rouges.



Wembley and The Geisha

Good afternoon to you all, and I trust you're all feeling as delighted and somewhat relieved as me.

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.

Ipswich. Payback.

Remember this?

Sorry about that.

I was seven at the time. I recall sitting with my Grandad in a haze of Golden Virginia smoke (his, not mine), the sweet smell of Whisky (also his), and sobbing.

How the fuck did that happen?

When Bobby Robson died not too long ago, I, like most football fans was sorry to see him go - he seemed like a nice chap, a bit of a banana, but nevertheless. But wait - hang on, wasn't he the manager of Ipswich at the time? Yes, yes, he was. And suddenly all my affection for him, and the sadness at his loss, quite simply evaporated. Sorry, Bobby, but for all the wonderful things in football you did, there's a little bit of me that hates you, for the one horrible thing you did to me and my Grandad.

So you see, tonight's game, for me at least, is personal. Maybe I should get over it, but I can't and I won't, not until we put this one to bed. And here's our chance.

The first leg at Portman Road was awful. We were utter shit, we all know that, and tonight we can put that right and forget about it. No one will remember the first leg debacle if Cesc is leading out the team onto the Wembley turf come the 27th of February, will they? As ever, there'll be a few changes to the team that beat Wigan. If it were me, I'd play the same team as Saturday, with the exception of bringing Gibbs in for Clichy, because I don't think it would make the team necessarily any weaker, whereas Arshavin (on current form) and Denilson would. Andrei's an enigmatic little git, short on confidence and one that sorely needs a goal. So if he plays, I'll be more than happy if one bounces off his arse into the net (theirs). If he smacks in a screamer from twenty five yards, even better. This is a player who has undoubted quality, is just suffering a dip in form, and if he can get that back he will surely be a vital asset in our fight for silverware this season.

A few weeks back, when we heard the team news on the way to Wigan (away) I was perplexed at the amount of changes Arsene made, although not entirely surprised - but I'd rather have the game won first and make some substitutions later than the other way round. And I don't think I'm the only one. Play our strongest team and get the job done.

The atmosphere at The Emirates has been in question, least not by myself. Tonight is a night to make some noise. There is a Wembley Cup Final at stake here. We have to overcome a one nil first leg deficit. Noise, please Gooners, and lots of it.

'As soon as we score the first goal it will be downhill for them' - so says Alphabetical Szczesny. I agree, but we need the crowd behind us all the way, from start to finish. Just one thing - please, please, please can we have no ole-ing? Do it if we're four up with five minutes to go, fine, but not if we're two up with twenty to go. Got it?


The Carling Cup is a competition that in the past we haven't taken too seriously, as a club, and as fans. However, a trophy in the bag by the end of February can only improve confidence and belief in the players -  the flip side of this, however, is if we were to go out tonight, just how damaging could that be?


I shall leave you with this picture, because frankly, it's a little odd, but it makes me smile.

 Come on you Reds. What did she wear?

Jurassic Berks

It's hats off today to Richard Keys and Andy Gray.

If there's two people on Sports television I despise more than Garth Crooks, it's these two pillocks. In a private conversation (that lasted the amount of time for Keys to sprout a fine new beard), picked up during the Wolves v Liverpool game, they have revealed just what a couple of throwback, knuckle dragging twats they really are. Fuck me, it's like watching The Sweeney, you slags.

And to cap it all, Sky Sports are trying to take the heat out of the matter with Regan and Carter set to miss tonights Bolton v Chelsea match. A night off for both of them, how kind. They'll be off in the old Ford Consul, rough up some grasses, head off darn the bookies, couple at the local boozer and be back home in time for supper, made by the missus. Facking lavverly.

Sexist slurs aside, I just plain hate them anyway. Their views on football are frankly outdated. Regan talks utter drivelling condescending shit half the time, and Carter laps it up whilst gently squeezing his mates arse and winking at him. Probably.

Do us all a favour, and fuck off. Is there no one else that could do a better job? Do me a favour, love.

Rant over. I'll leave you this, from Ladyarse, 'cos she knows stuff -

http://ladyarse.co.uk/2011/01/its-only-ever-men-who-say-sexism-isnt-a-problem-in-football/

Cotton wool needed and the importance of momentum.

Good day to you.

A great, not unexpected, win yesterday.


The Arsenal Football Machine (luxury version) rolls on. As you may know, I was not able to watch the game as was holed up in a little place in WC2 eating fish. Happy text updates from  Uncle Jay, delivered directly to my ageing mobile, cheered the already joyous occasion, although it can be tricky to read a text message through splatterings of mariniere sauce, with a split screen. A new phone is needed.

I have now watched the match. Slightly one-sided, don't you think?. If it hadn't been for Ali Al Ali Ali-Habsi  in goal for Wigan this would have been a cricket score. We simply tore them apart. Fabregas had an outstanding game, no, scratch that, brilliant. Walcott is getting better every time I see him, although his decision making still perplexes me. Nasri was, as you expect, as good as ever and let's not forget about Song and Wilshere. On it's day, it is a stunning midfield, full of effort, skill, and the sheer sublime.

The centre halves, it has to be said, are not really worth mentioning here, they had little to do.Clichy did well enough and Sagna carried on his rich vein of form and looks back to his best. Welcome back, chipolata head.

To Mr Van Persie. Three goals, hits the post, misses a penalty - although I suspect if it had been on target Al Habsi would have caught it with his arse. The first, a lovely left foot finish from a fine through ball from Song. His second, a left foot volley from a world class pinged ball from Fabregas and his third a sweeping finish with his right (yes) after good hold up play from Theo. Take the match ball home with you, sit down and enjoy  a Heineken. Just the one, mind.

Wrap this man in cotton wool, Monsieur. Please God, let's keep him fit. He's now bang on form after so many injuries and setbacks, and that's why we've been so patient with him, because at his best, he's brilliant. Sheer class.

Momentum - Impetus of a physical object in motion...

Leeds - beaten. Wigan - stuffed. Ipswich? Huddersfield? After that we have Everton (h), Newcastle (a) and Wolves at home. On this form they should all be swept aside. Let's not let up. Put them to the sword. Smash them. Smash them all. Into tiny little footbally bits. Keep winning, keep the momentum going, because next up it's Barcelona, and one the back of five wins in a row (why not?) we can beat them.


Onwards, my Arsenal chums. Onwards.

The Magic Man

See how it trickles in...

This one's for my Uncle Jay. He was there on that gorgeous day.

Wigan and my mate Misery

So it's off on the chuff chuff to London today to enjoy some oysters with my Dad, Sister and any remaining friends of his still lurking this earth. After a massive dose of Omega 3 fish oils I will head up to Highbury and Islington to meet my mate Misery, who will ask me -

why I don't go to home games anymore
why I chose oysters over Arsenal, and,
when I'm moving back down South.

If you're in The Junction Bar after the match, you may see us. Misery looks a little like this -

I will be back tomorrow with post match mutterings and stories to tell. Now, I must have a shower.

Proper.

Enough said.

Mutterings, oysters and The Emirates.

Afternoon.

My old man was 80 yesterday. Eighty. EIGHTY. In an obscure phone call he muttered about how surprised he was to reach such an age, despite his love for hard liquor and cigarettes. Not as surprised as we all are, squire.

The upshot of this milestone, is that rather than accept a ticket to the soulless Emirates stadium, I shall be eating oysters at some plush gaff in Covent Garden. Thanks a fucking lot, Dad.

A 'hinge'? Yuk

It'll no doubt make for an interesting afternoon.

"How's your oysters, son?"
"Not bad, Dad"
"You seem a bit distant, you alright?"
"Yeah, I'm alright"
"The Arsenal playing, are they?"
"Yeah"
"Think they'll win?"
"Should do, doing alright at the moment"
"Shouldn't you be there?"
"YES I FUCKING SHOULD BE THERE. NOT HERE EATING FUCKING THINGS THAT DON'T TASTE OF ANYTHING EXCEPT THE SHIT THAT'S PUT ON THEM AND JUST SLIDE DOWN YOUR FUCKING NECK."
"Oh. Right.
"Four one. Shouldn't be a problem."

Or something like that.

Soooo. The Emirates. I'll hold my hands up. I've been there about three or four times. Highbury? Hundreds and hundreds. I live up in the North West now, slap bang in the middle of nowhere, and when I say middle, I mean middle, and when I say nowhere, I mean nowhere. So I get to a lot of away games. And I love it. I love the away fans, I love the banter, I love them throwing beer on themselves jumping up and down and I love seeing the same faces. But more than this, I love the atmosphere that they create.

Atmosphere. Hmm. Went to watch us capitulate against that lot up the road a couple of months back. Now pardon me if you think I'm wrong/deaf or both, but I thought the atmosphere was awful, just awful. A North London Derby? Do me a favour. At Highbury, two up we'd have gone mental. When they pulled a goal back, we'd have gone double mental. Not at the Emirates. No, at two one people just started moaning and slagging off the players. That'll do it. That'll help. And bugger me if you just knew what was going to follow.

So what is it with The Emirates? Is it too many new(ish) season ticket holders just expecting instant success, is it the exorbitant prices that people are paying and therefore demanding success? Is the cost of watching compounded by watching average players like Denilson and Eboue (I could go on)? Or has football changed so much in the mind of the supporter that it is now 'win at all costs', because it cost so fucking much to go that you should expect anything less?

Me? Meet up with your mates. A couple of pints before, during and after. Shit hot dogs. A fiver on the turnstiles. Standing. Swaying. Shitting myself as the ICF took the North Bank. That's football.

Rose-tinted it may be, but that's how I liked it. It was a day/night out, and football was just part of the experience. I'll stick to the away games. That'll do me.

"Another oyster, son?"
"Why not, Dad. Happy Birthday."

Leeds 1-3 Arsenal. Your Dad is a wanker.

During the journey to the game I learnt the difference between a midget and a dwarf. After parking, we walked through a naughty boozer looking for a man that wouldn't answer his phone due to the fact he'd left it in his taxi. Things, indeed, were looking up.

I'll say one thing for Elland Road and its festering inhabitants. They make some noise. A lot of noise. Start strongly, Arsenal, and shut them up. And so it came to pass.

Five minutes in, and Samir Man of the Match Nasri danced through two defenders and coolly slotted home. Here is a young man playing with supreme confidence, Captain on the night, always ready to receive the ball, and seemingly always doing something useful with it.

I thought for the next half hour or so we completely dominated and controlled the game.  We fizzed a couple of dangerous balls across the box only for Arshavin and Bendtner to miss them both a la Paul G******e v Germany Euro '96. Another goal looked inevitable and it came from the unlikeliest of sources. Bacary Sagna with his beautiful hair fashioned of sausages pounced on a loose clearance and rifled in a shot that almost took Kasper Schmeichel's arm off (his Dad was a keeper too - more of that later).

Then, as is our want, we began to switch off a little. What seemed to me a blatant pull of the shirt in front of the assistant referee (linesman in old money) on Arshavin was kindly rewarded when the ball made its way to Bradley Johnson who cracked one in from ooh, thirty yards into the far right hand corner. Typical FA cup goal. Cue noise. Cue half time.

A cup of coffee and a meat and potato pie later,  Leeds set out to press us back into our own half. We struggled to get the ball out of our own half at times, and as a nod to Leeds' efforts, Van Persie and Fabregas were bought on for Arshavin and Chamakh to shake things up a little.

A Cesc free kick went close, and then a lovely cross from Bendtner (playing out of position - thought he did alright) was met with Van Persie's bonce to effectively end the game. Three thousand Gooners jumped up and down and rattled their rattles whilst throwing their caps in the air. Good old Arsenal. Huzzah!

I would write more about how Leeds performed, how they're a big team still, how they should make the play-offs etc, but frankly I can't be fucked. Like I said, I hate Leeds. So their own bloggers can do that.

The spirit and determination that was sadly lacking at Portman Road was evident here, and it had to be. Hopefully, this win will give us a little more momentum for the home games against Wigan, Ipswich and now Huddersfield. Onwards, boys, onwards.


Kasper Schmeichel must merit another mention for two things. His stunning save from Chamakh's downward header and his Dad being a wanker. You must have heard it...

A special mention must also go to Andrei Arshavin who managed to clear the stand with a shot from fifteen yards out. This tiny man needs a goal. The ball can be found somewhere here -

I hate Leeds

I've always hated Leeds.

Leeds. Dirty Leeds. I hated them when as a child some Leeds supporting git-child told me they had beaten us in the 1968 League cup final, and then in the 1972 FA cup final.

Remember the hard men of 70's football? Peter Storey at The Arsenal? Tommy Smith at Liverpool? 'Chopper' Harris at Chelsea? Leeds had a whole fucking team of them - Johnny Giles, Jack Charlton, Billy Bremner, and of course, the charming Norman Hunter. I hate Leeds. The landlord at my local is a Leeds fan. Every time I go in there he reminds me of the '72 Cup final. I was ONE for Christ's sake. Now leave me alone. Or at least pour me a pint.

In fact, the only thing I've ever 'liked' about Leeds, ever, is that Rocky Rocastle (RIP) played for them. And that still upsets me.

Fucking Leeds.

Right...

I like the FA Cup. I always have. Great Arsenal memories. Charlie George on his back, Alan Sunderland at the far post, Tony Adams stealing in against Tottenham, Andy Linighan in the last minute, the famous 'collapsed lung' final of '98 when I sat in a hospital chair watching it with two dribbling old men and my little mate Mr Chest Drain, Ljungberg and Parlour against Chelsea, Pires in '03, Vieira's penalty, and ooh yes, one of my personal favourites, this -

...it does seem in the spirit of things.

As for '78, '80 etc, I don't know what you're talking about.


So, we go to Elland Road tonight in a replay we didn't want. The team will be changed  (sorry, rotated) from the one that beat West Ham on Saturday. Of course it will. I'm not one to go on about who I think will or won't play, but I tell you this much, if every single player isn't up for it in that snarling white rosed cauldron of hatred from the off, then we will lose. Pure and simple. Beat them, and we have a very winnable tie at home in the next round against Huddersfield next weekend. The players that will play are old enough and experienced enough, so I don't want any excuses -  that includes you Mr Bendtner, just in case you were wondering, and you may want to have a quiet word with that Russian chum of yours as well.


I want us to win The FA Cup (and Carling Cup, for that matter). I really do. Judging by the performance of some of the players in the first game, it seems to me they don't really understand the history of the competition  (see above), what it means to The Arsenal as a club, and more than that, what it means to us as fans. Does the blame for that lackadaisical performance rest solely with the players or with the manager as well? Surely Pat Rice could teach them a thing or two about what it feels like to walk out on the Wembley turf in the merry month of May.


No hiding place, tonight. See you there. Up The Arsenal.