Wenger Boys proving they’re as delightful as Busby Babes

I WAS sorely tempted to crawl back under the warmth of the covers and snuggle up for several more hours of much needed kip on Saturday morning.

Sitting there contemplating the leisurely pleasure of watching Football Focus and the live coverage from Manchester on the box, without having to move a muscle, I haveto admit that I couldn’t help but question my quasi-religious commitment to the Gooner cause. Not for the first time, I cursed the cruelty of those responsible for lumbering us Londoners with yet another crack of dawn start, to make the long schlep up north for a midday start.

Then again, the easiest option is rarely the most gratifying. I might’ve been so ‘cream-crackered’ by the time I returned back home in the early evening that I flaked out on the bed, with barely enough energy to keep my eyes open long enough to savour a replay of the afternoon’s events on Match of the Day, but I was glad I’d made the considerable effort.

I’m as desperate as every other Gooner to see the Gunners win the Premiership and I don’t think there can be any doubt that, on our day, this Arsenal side are worthy title contenders. However a recurring concern on Saturday was the lack of a sufficient ruthless streak against such patently inferior opposition.

In all honesty, the Arsenal were so dominant during the first-half that it was hard to comprehend how this same City side had managed to remain undefeated on home turf to date. When Eduardo swivelled, to clinically hook the ball over his shoulder for our second, I don’t think any of us could quite believe what an easy job we were making, of a fixture that had appeared to be a much stiffer test on paper.

I guess it was almost inevitable that we’d take the foot off the gas after the break and with Gael Clichy having gifted the home side a glimmer of hope, we spent much of the remaining hour fretting about the possibility of the single breakaway attack that might result in an utterly undeserved equaliser. Mercifully the ever-reliable Togonator eventually alleviated any such stress, by finally finishing the Sky blues off, with a marvellously manufactured third goal. Yet I couldn’t help but think that the likes of Man Utd’s somewhat more incisive front line might’ve put this result to bed a lot sooner.

The likes of Fabregas, Hleb and Flamini seemed to spend much of Saturday’s match toying with City for the punters pleasure (well for ours at least!), almost reluctant to put them to the sword, while they were having so much fun teasing them to death. With City only one shot away from some salvation, it was as though the Gunners were enjoying the fact that their condemned prey was forced to continue chasing shadows.

Don’t get me wrong, it was far from the Gunners’ greatest performance — it was Gael Clichy’s first ever bad day at the office — yet the fact that we witnessed such a costly act of complacency from a youngster who, up until now, has portrayed ‘a study in concentration’, only tends to confirm how much of a comfort zone the Gunners were in. Moreover, “far too clever” was perhaps my most common complaint, as another Abou Diaby backheel found an opponent, instead of a teammate, or Alex Hleb again attempted to mug one defender too many — I was only a small bairn when I saw George Best play and I know I might be accused of sacrilege, but I feel sure that some of the old TV footage might confirm my belief, that from below the waist, Alex bears an uncanny resemblance to Bestie, as Hleb was once again throwing the sort of unreadable body shapes that so remind me of the tousle-haired Belfast boy.

Man Utd’s late equaliser was a slight dampener, but at least we weren’t denied the delicious pleasure of knowing what a wind-up it must’ve been for our local rivals, watching Spurs provide us with possibly a crucial leg-up. What’s more, earlier in the day we’d have bitten the hand off that offered us three points and the prospect of our two immediate competitors coming a cropper, dropping two points on their travels.

My old man could never resist an opportunity to remind me that he witnessed the Busby Babes’ last game on British soil, an incredible 4-5 defeat of the Gunners, five days before the Munich disaster, which many claim to have been the greatest match ever seen at Highbury.

I only wish he was around now, to wallow in the fruits of Wenger’s labour, as I feel sure that even he might have to admit that some of the entertainment produced by Fabregas and co bears comparison with the talents of his favourite all-time football hero.