It’s going to take more than a red cami and a thong

IT wasn’t until I arrived home from Sunday’s FA Cup encounter, when a flyer fell out of my matchday programme that had been handed to me by a pretty lass on my way around to the game.

It was advertising the range of sexy lingerie on the Goonergirl website and I should’ve realised a replay at the Reebok was always on the cards, as fate couldn’t resist the irony of sending Arsenal fans back up North for the most romantic night of the year.

It’s going to take a lot more than a “red cami and thong” twinset to pacify most Gooners’ partners, who’ll be left on their own, while we disappear off to Lancashire for Valentine’s Day.

Then again with the replay live on the box and judging by the rash of tickets offered online first thing on Monday morning, by those on the Away Scheme who are either in thrall to a missus who doesn’t share their passion and who won’t give them a pass for this particular night, there’s likely to be as many empty seats in the Arsenal end, as there’ll probably be in the rest of the Reebok.

Record FA Cup crowds, my arse! I’ve little doubt that a far more accurate picture of attendance figures, as a percentage of capacity, will prove that, while we might not have lost any passion for the tournament, long-suffering fans are feeling the pinch of extortionate ticket prices.

While the pundits continue to heap praise on the surfeit of ability in our current squad, to my mind we’re still crying out for the sort of head-banging character, with the strength of personality to light a fire under the backsides of some of his far too laidback team mates.

Admittedly Bolton were bound to sit back somewhat after taking the lead on Sunday and credit where credit is due, we might’ve been dead and buried, if Nolan hadn’t been thwarted by a brilliant piece of goalkeeping that prevented an impressive passing move resulting in the visitors second goal. Nevertheless, almost from the moment we went a goal behind, suddenly the Arsenal began playing with a sense of urgency and a passion.

I was just a little gutted to be on the wrong side of the ground for the best view of some of Gael Clichy’s remarkable second-half runs, as the young full-back rampaged down the flank. Ashley Cole! Who he? No doubt I wasn’t alone, when muttering under my breath whenever a shooting chance fell to Flamini. Yet whatever the French midfielder lacks in innate natural ability, much like his compatriot Gilles Grimandi, there’s absolutely no questioning his work-rate and commitment to the Arsenal cause.

Now if only Arsène could uncover the sort of player capable of inspiring the rest of the squad to play with this sort of intensity, right from the off, we’d be rolling most opponents over in the first 20 minutes.

Hopefully we’ll extinguish any lingering pretensions Spurs have of playing in the last Cardiff final double quick, without affording them an opportunity to recover from the psychological blow of the draw at home.

We’ve grown accustomed to running a gauntlet of abuse on entering and exiting White Hart Lane. The hardest thing is holding in check the ear to ear grin that might give the game away, when walking along Tottenham High Road.

However is it any wonder that we didn’t want 9000 scum, wrecking the karseys and scrawling on the walls of our pristine new stadium, when you hear Telegraph journo, Roy Collins’ tell of how he walked out, of what

he assumed would be the relatively genteel environs of White Hart Lane’s West Upper, at half-time, having suffered a verbal barrage for being a neutral.

The press box behind the dugouts at the Lane is a lousy pitch, but according to Collins “a limited view is to be preferred to the narrower, more bigoted one in the upper west.”