Gooner gusto falls flat after shameful collapse at Wigan

IF there’s one thing that never fails to amaze me, it’s football fans’ eternal propensity to rebound from the very depths of heart-rending disillusionment.

In light of the array of injuries that exposed the limitations of Arsène’s squad, and the pre-season predictions that we’d be the team most likely to end up in Liverpool’s predicament, until we were banjaxed by Barca, I felt that, by and large, the Gunners hadn’t done so bad. But it’s all gone pear-shaped since our capitulation in Catalunya, culminating in our disgraceful demise at the DW on Sunday.

Hard as they tried, my Spurs mates couldn’t get much of a rise out of me after our derby debacle. Their incessant leg-pulling wasn’t nearly so excruciating, when a Premiership trophy this season has always seemed little more than a pipe-dream.

Obviously I would’ve rather it had happened absolutely anywhere else but White Hart Lane, but in some respects there was almost a certain sense of relief to the perceived finality of events last Wednesday night. The length of the pole has been extended and retracted game by game, in direct proportion to the inconsistencies of the other two main contenders, but there was some solace in the belief that we had at least seen the last of this unattainable carrot that’s been dangling from it all season long.

If I was in any danger of believing that there was still some slight chance of sinking my oversized molars into that juicy Premier League carrot, all such faint hopes of glory evaporated, the moment Vermaelen limped off the Lilywhites’ field of dreams, 1-0 down, after only 20 minutes.

I couldn’t have been more wrong to mock Sol Campbell’s comeback. Faster, stronger and more committed than many players nearly half his age, Sol reminded us that unlike the majority of our decimated squad, he still retains plenty of the ‘right stuff’ aura of a genuine title-winner. The Gunners have proved positively porous in Alex Song’s absence, with Sol’s resolve all too often the only bulwark between a landslide of embarrassment prompted by his team-mates flaccid efforts.

Having skulked back down the Seven Sisters Road after our midweek humiliation, needless to say, there wasn’t too much Gooner gusto for Sunday’s crack of dawn departure for a lunchtime encounter with Wigan.

After Wednesday’s cameo from Dutch striker, the prospect of van Persie starting his first match since November was perhaps the only saving grace for a schlep to the north-west.

With inconsistency the only consistent element in this topsy-turvy campaign, even if Robin had remained fit there’s no guarantee his contribution would’ve made a considerable difference; especially with le Gaffer’s current fixation on a 4-5-1 formation. Still, van Persie’s introduction against Spurs was like turning on a light. Our tempestuous front-man immediately produced the sort of scintillating skills that highlighted what we missed for four months. By contrast to the delicate artistry of our Dutch thoroughbred, suddenly Bendtner, looked a clumsy, leaden-footed Danish dray horse.

With Chelsea seemingly intent on stumbling over the finishing line, following their unconvincing efforts against Spurs, we’d not quite seen the last of the carrot.! But judging by the apparent apathy on display, for 80 insipid minutes on Sunday, it was hard to believe the home team were playing for their Premier League survival and that fate had left the door ajar, for the Gunners to make one last push for glory.

Up until Fabianski’s costly fumble, it felt as if Wigan might as well have handed us three points. Instead of both sides merely going through the motions, we could’ve avoided the expense of a costly outing and all enjoyed a leisurely lie-in. Doubtless many Gooners will believe our Polack keeper culpable, but his momentary cock-up was symptomatic of an overall lack of concentration that’s eventually brought the curtain down on another barren season. It’s not so much the defeat that bothers me, but the depressing fact that our season has expired with a shameful whimper, when the very least loyal Gooners deserve is a far more fervent bang for our hard-earned bucks.

How many more seasons will we have to endure our prospects of silverware floundering on a triumvirate of powder-puff goalies, before le Gaffer gets dragged to the opticians to cure his blind spot when it comes to the Gunners’ desperate need for a dominant personality between the posts?