Anfield game a message to rivals

I’VE been castigated in certain Gooner quarters for suggesting that up until recently we hadn’t actually been playing as well as the media would have us believe and that our elevated status was more a reflection of the mediocre start to the season made by our competitors.

I stand by this, as I firmly believe that the fact that the much unfancied Flamini and our two full-backs have been our players of the season so far, is all the evidence needed to confirm that many of the more illustrious Gunners had yet to hit a genuine groove.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that we haven’t entertained. We’ve produced purple patches of absolutely sparkling football ever since day one. But with Arsène having set the Arsenal bar so incredibly high, up until the trouncing of the hapless Slavia Prague last Tuesday, the individual instances of brilliance were too disjointed or without any sting to the final ball.

That was until Sunday.

Not that there wasn’t continued frustration at our failure to capitalise on our first-half superiority, as all our flowing football came to naught in the final third. Far too frequently we resorted to a diagonal ball into the box that was meat and drink to Hypia and Carragher, with a solitary and somewhat isolated Adebayor all too often out-jumped.

Considering we can move the ball with such incredible pace, I simply cannot fathom our reluctance to continue down the flanks to the byline, from where a ball whipped in is much harder for the opposition keeper to deal with and which would force the lumbering defence to attempt to clear, whilst running back towards their own goal.

However it’s churlish of me to moan about such trifling matters when from a purist point of view, the Arsenal were poetry in motion for much of Sunday’s match. You sensed that everything was ramped up a notch for what was a high-quality contest. Our passing was crisper, with the ball forced to travel much more quickly around its triangular course, by the way in which Mascherano and co were doggedly hunting us down in packs. While on the rare occasions that we were not in possession, 0-1 down and facing their stiffest examination of the season, our defence was a study in concentration, knowing they couldn’t afford a second slip- up.

The media have praised us to the hilt for sticking to our principles. Yet in truth, Arsène Wenger’s side only knows one way to play, as suggested by the refrain which echoed out from our end of the ground for long periods of the game ‘Liverpool hoof the ball. Arsenal pass the ball’.

Naturally going a goal down wasn’t what we’d have wished for, but without Gerrard’s early strike I rather suspect we’d have witnessed a far less enthralling contest, with both sides probing for a weakness without committing men forward.

You could sense the effects on the Liverpool psyche of Benitez’s constant tinkering, because once the initial euphoria of taking the lead had subsided, a nervous hush fell across the home crowd. Then again it’s not the first time we’ve found ourselves teasing ‘where’s your famous atmosphere’ at Anfield. Although my own nerves were also up to 90. The previous day’s results at Old Trafford and Stamford Bridge had made it even more important that we reaffirm our right to sit atop the pile, as despite our dominance in this game, without Fabregas’ 80th minute equaliser, instead of singing our praises, the media would’ve undoubtedly begun to write us off as lacking sufficient substance to maintain a credible challenge.

It’s either black or white as far as the press are concerned, either we are the best thing since sliced bread, or a bunch of immature kids who can’t possibly hold their own in the manly marathon ahead. Obviously this was just the first in a succession of formidable hurdles, but it was vitally important that we didn’t fall at the first. Personally I believe Sunday’s fightback could prove psychologically significant in the mental development of this young squad, as is next weekend’s encounter with Man Utd.