Van the man after high noon jinks

COME the revolution, the sadist who suggested noon kick-offs on a Sunday will be top of my list for lining up against the wall. Our walk to the new stadium might be a little longer, but it’s still only a 15-minute stroll around the corner.

Whereas it must have been hardly worth the poor Wearsiders going to bed on Saturday night, considering their coaches departed Sunderland at an ungodly 3.30am.

In this respect I was almost pleased for the couple of thousand hardy souls who packed the away section, when they had, what I assumed would be a token goal to celebrate after 25 minutes, as we should’ve been out of sight by then, if it wasn’t for the dodgy offside decision that ruled out Diaby’s goal.

Yet instead of going in 3-0, or 4-0 up and cruising, after 30 minutes of football that served to highlight the huge gulf in class between title “wannabes” and Premiership “will they bees”, it was only 2-1 and this Arsenal side might’ve done better to spend the break with their ears cocked against the dressing room wall, listening to the dulcet tones of Roy Keane, instead of putting their feet up for a 15 minute power nap. Or at least this was the impression some of ours gave when the second half started.

Several appeared half a-kip when Sunderland scored the equaliser. They should’ve known better than to switch off, against a Sunderland side constructed in its manager’s image, which was never going to roll over and play dead.

I suggested to the missus at the break that it would be a tragedy if, instead of blowing the Black Cats away, their £9 million keeper came out and produced one of those special second half performances, where his onion bag was absolutely impenetrable and Keane’s other shrewd summer purchase, the burly Kenwyne Jones, popped up with a devastating 90th-minute equaliser. Mercifully Jones contribution to this contest came early in the second half, with plenty of time for us to respond.

If Roy Keane’s side was guilty of showing us too much respect early on, their two goals and a half-time haranguing were all the encouragement necessary for a bit of belief to break out. We were all a bit incredulous, as what had looked like being a comfortable Sunday afternoon romp, developed into a stiff test of our desire. I guess it made for more interesting viewing for the neutral. Personally I could’ve well done without the emotional stress of having to wait for Van Persie’s 81st minute winner.

When it eventually came, amidst the euphoria, I couldn’t help but picture the smile being wiped off Fergie’s face. I’d been unable to escape the image of the phone call the evening prior, between Fergie and protégé, to ensure the Mackems produced a “balls out” effort to halt the charge of Wenger’s bandwagon.

It would’ve been a massive psychological blow if we’d ended up making a hash of this home banker and conceded top spot to the Mancs for the two weeks of another annoying international break.

Compared to Benitez, we must be grateful Arsène recognises the need to accommodate all his best players and that “points win prizes”. Who knows, perhaps the Spaniard is still to have a “tortoise and hare” type last laugh? That’s assuming the Scouser’s patience stands the test of time. As for Chelsea, we might yet witness a Terry inspired revival, but in the meantime, the empty seats behind the goal at Bolton invite the variation on an old favourite “where are you now...?”