Saturday’s shambles an accident in waiting

HANDING Harry Redknapp’s mob the odd crumb of comfort in 17 years isn’t really grounds for the renting of Gooner clothes and the donning of sackcloth and ashes. Nevertheless there were enough angry fans calling for the baby to be thrown out with the bathwater, when the final whistle blew on Saturday’s fiasco.

Such frustration was perfectly understandable, as Spurs didn’t win this game; the Gunners presented it to them on a plate, as a gift-wrapped premature Christmas present.

It wasn’t until walking the dog later that evening when I finally managed to put the day’s dumbfounding events into some perspective — note to Arsène Wenger: whilst also managing to hold onto the lead for the duration!

Most Gooners who witnessed quite how fortunate we were to come away from Wolves and Everton with all three points, can appreciate that our elevated Premiership status is something of an illusion. As much as I rue this rare derby defeat and the bragging rights we’ve gifted our rivals for the next few months, in some respects it was a timely reality check.

Saturday’s slap in the face demonstrated that the Arsenal are still some way short of that blinkered focus and concentration for consistently grinding their way to a title triumph.

For some time now I’ve been grumbling about the Gunners inability to start home games with the necessary intensity and pace to immediately put the opposition on the back foot and often as not we’re particularly slow to come out of the traps in these early KOs. So I was delighted to get off on the right foot on Saturday, taking the game to Tottenham and rattling them from the opening whistle. Yet despite our first-half dominance, having failed to fully press home our advantage, by killing the game off with a third goal, come half-time, it was obvious to me that our opponents were bound to rally.

What disappointed me most about our Derby Day defeat was our inability to cope with the inevitable Spurs surge, early in the second half. For all the first-half brilliance in Fabregas’ cultured promptings, in his current “want away” state of mind, our skipper certainly is not now, or never really was what one would call ‘a natural leader of men’. Cesc was handed the captaincy as a carrot, not because he has the required character. Sadly, our skipper was no less guilty of a headless chicken impersonation than his team mates.

The only consolation at the minute is that we’re no less mired in mediocrity than anyone else. But where I can envisage both Man Utd and Chelsea benefiting from that all-important experience of knowing what it takes and being imminently capable of putting their noses to the grindstone when it matters, I’m far from being convinced the Gunners are any closer to being the real deal. Yet despite our more obvious and much debated shortcomings, with Van Persie playing his way back into fitness and the likes of Walcott, Ramsey, Vermaelen all still to come, I’m still a long way from giving up hope.