Fans now crave perfection

IT was interesting to hear all the accolades from the media after Sunday’s romp at Reading. To be honest, it was an average sort of performance.

Average that is, when you consider that we’ve been producing that same sort of quality football for most of the season. To my mind the major difference on Sunday was that we managed to find the back of the net so early in both halves.

With the Royals squad containing a number of youngsters who were deemed surplus to requirements at the Arsenal, I imagined that, with the likes of Steve Sidwell and James Harper having such a point to prove, we could expect a similarly robust encounter as was witnessed at the Madejski last weekend.

However, if a somewhat less combative performance resulted from Reading being a little shell-shocked after the Gobby One’s outrageous allegations, then I guess they’ll all be needing counselling for a severe case of post-traumatic stress disorder after Sunday’s pummelling.

Moreover, with Steve Coppell’s containment tactics becoming redundant so soon after the start and the break, Reading were forced into a slightly more positive approach. Without us taking such an early lead, I’m fairly sure Reading would’ve been content to try and suffocate the life out of the game, by getting all 11 behind the ball, thereby ensuring sufficient congestion around their penalty area to stifle our passing game.

However, with the home side chasing the game from the first minute, we were afforded the rare luxury of the sort of space in Reading’s half of the pitch that left them looking so exposed to our swift, incisive movement.

Following on from our midweek defeat and a long journey back from Moscow, you’d think I’d be delighted by such a demolition job away from home. Perhaps it’s Le Prof’s fault, as there was a time when I’d be more than happy for ‘boring, boring’ Arsenal to have hung on to a 1-0, whereas we now all crave perfection. Rubbing shoulders with so many of his ex-Arsenal youth team-mates, I was hoping Justin Hoyte might do himself justice and demonstrate why he’s been the only homegrown youngster to make it into the first 11.

However, despite Hoyte having his best game in an Arsenal shirt, I still get this sense of panic at the heart of the Arsenal defence, that a more seasoned strike force might take advantage of. Once Gael Clichy returns to full fitness and we no longer have to merely make do at left-back, William Gallas might be able to lend his air of calm authority where it really matters. In the meantime, should we concede the odd goal, I guess it’s no big deal, as in our current vein of form, we look capable of outscoring any opposition.

The Madejski might well be a fairly homogenous, identikit type stadium, compared to our lavish new surroundings, but whether his motives are self-aggrandisement or not, you have to marvel at the accomplishments of their chairman, having taken a club that was on the brink of bankruptcy in the 1980s and created an outfit that doesn’t look out of place in the Premiership.

Come the final whistle on Sunday, I wasn’t sure whether I felt a little pissed off we’d been somewhat profligate in front of goal and, in switching off for the last 15 minutes, failed to really capitalise on what could’ve ended up the sort of scoreline which would’ve been more familiar to London Irish, who share Reading’s ground. Or whether I felt some sympathy for the 20,000-plus Royals fans who hadn’t suffered such a heavy loss since before their chairman started wearing his ridiculous rug and who, at 0-4, would’ve gladly settled for being thrown the bone of a single goal to celebrate.

I’d be happy for the Royals to hang on to their seat at the top table, if only for the fact that it is such a short hop that I was back home in time to put my feet up and enjoy coverage of El Classico.

Apparently I wasn’t alone and I adored the idea that Arsène Wenger was celebrating his birthday by doing likewise.

Yet, while I cheated on my first love, by following my Madrilleno main course with a desert of not-so-light entertainment, there was no such frivolity for Le Boss, whose idea of a crème brulée was to watch a round-up of all the goals from around Europe.