Brum blow puts Gunners’ belief back in its box

I MUST own up and admit my part in puncturing the illusion of Arsenal’s title challenge.

After having managed to maintain a composed air of relative incredulity these past few weeks, there was a moment at St Andrews on Saturday, as Samir Nasri’s speculative 81st minute shot flew into the far corner of the net, when I truly began to wonder if the Gunners fate was perhaps written in the stars.

I should’ve known better than to let myself get carried away with the euphoric mood. By joining in with the resulting “now you’ve gotta believe us” chants for the first time, it felt as if I was culpable of tempting fate to kick us in the teeth, with Kevin Phillips devastating fluke of an injury time equaliser.

Truth be told, with the exception of Abou Diaby’s impressive performances, overall this was an insipid Arsenal display. We never really looked like troubling Birmingham’s terrific home record, until the late introduction of Nasri and Arshavin lent our attack some much needed inspiration. It was only after Samir’s strike had eased the mounting tension that we finally began to profit from the fact that the home side were forced to stick their heads out of their defensive shell, as the clock ticked down towards their impending defeat. Unfortunately we spent those fateful last ten minutes playing with a little too much freedom, since both subs were guilty of wasting gilt-edged opportunities to put all three points to bed.

If we’d held on, to grind out an old-fashioned “1-0 to the Arsenal” victory, neither miss would’ve mattered too much. After all, with both Chelsea and Man Utd scoring goals with such gay abandon, our title fantasies are hardly likely to be coming to fruition based on goal difference.

With both players being fairly recent arrivals, they might be inclined to believe that their best chances of achieving silverware lie ahead of them. Therefore I can’t help but wonder quite how dismayed they’ll be about such glaring misses, compared to those of us who’ve endured so many fallow seasons without a sniff of a title, only to come within touching distance of the promised land and to be denied entrance, as we are left rueing just this sort of profligate “if only” moment.

Much like Bolton was in the past, St Andrews is fast gaining a reputation as the Gunners’ Bechers Brook: it felt as if I’d fallen at the first on Saturday. Tardy as ever and struggling to escape the North London traffic, I suggested my pals leave without me, when I realised I was going to be a few minutes late for our motorway meet.

However an increasingly disconcerting racket coming from my own motor had me terrified of ending up as one of those unfortunate footie fans who can regularly be seen, stranded on the motorway hard-shoulder on most match days. Having pulled up outside my Ma’s house, in the hope of borrowing her car, I was left hanging as she’d had the figary to go out in it, if the match had been live on the box, I would’ve probably given up at this point.

Mercifully the motor made it the few miles up the motorway to Watford Junction, where I boarded a train to Birmingham New Street and following a brisk walk, I was flabbergasted to find myself sitting in my seat, a full 45 minutes before KO!

While I’ll be most surprised if we’ve seen the last twist and turn in such an unpredictable campaign, I suspect that a Man Utd victory over Chelsea Saturday might be accompanied by a soundtrack of the fat lady’s dulcet tones.

There’s a “Planes, Trains & Automobiles” feel to our trip to the Catalan capital. I’ve mates flying to Valencia, followed by a 700km round trip train ride, while others intend driving across the border after flying to the south of France.

Notwithstanding any goalkeeping inadequacies, the killer instinct that was on the missing list at St Andrews is going to be crucial, if we’re to still be in with a shout of reaching the semis. Win, lose or draw tonight, I’ll be content, so long as we do ourselves justice, with a display that ensures the ultimate outcome is still in the balance. So long as the Gunners can match our own commitment, thereby demonstrating an insatiable appetite, then surely we can continue to believe that nothing is impossible?