TERRACE TALK: Flamini brings steely resolve to title challenge

A crisp sunny day for a drive out of the Big Smoke, the lilting Welsh accents of the genial locals, a clean sheet, three goals and a return trip back across the Severn Bridge, plumped up by a seven-point cushion.

Pretty much the “perfik” away day.

We Gooners have experienced enough false dawns during the silverware-starved doldrums to know better than to inauspiciously commence banging our own drum.

Listening to the radio phone-ins, on the drive home, you could hear hesitant Arsenal fans postulating to the pundits, hankering for some sort of ratification of their premature (but increasingly plausible) sense that perhaps we are ‘the real deal’.

The Bluebirds’ new home appeared close to completion on our last trip to Ninian Park for a 0-0 FA Cup draw in 2009. Despite its resemblance to a myriad of other homogenous, identikit arenas, there was no mistaking this statement of Cardiff’s upwardly mobile ambitions. Yet with Gooners rocking up on Saturday, chiding their hosts outside the ground with “Red Army, Blue Army” taunts, I couldn’t help but wonder how much the Cardiff fans relished their schizophrenic welcome to the pernicious, tradition-pummelling business that is the Premiership promised land?

With the entire Arsenal family rallying to the support of poor Pat Rice, I was counting on the sort of zealous performance that might do one of our club’s most devoted servants proud. Malky Mackay’s terriers have ably demonstrated their ability to take the top flight’s less focused prima donnas down a peg or two thus far.

Perhaps the hyped up return of Aaron Ramsey, our water-walking Welsh Jesus, impacted upon the surprisingly mooted atmosphere of these proceedings.

Instead of attempting to ruffle our feathers, Cardiff were guilty of standing off and showing us far too much respect.

However, after first Giroud (aping one of my own more bizarre ‘senior moments’ as he stood still, following an imaginary offside whistle) and then Ramsey failed to take advantage, I was certain Cardiff were going to make us pay in the second half. To their credit — and perhaps as a result of a half-time haranguing — Cardiff turned up the heat after the break.

Again, if it wasn’t for a couple of timely interventions from Szczesny, Saturday afternoon’s ‘Aaron Ramsey love-in’ might’ve taken a far less gratifying course.

Still, even when all five interchangeable cylinders of our attacking midfield engine aren’t operating at their smoothest, the Arsenal rearguard have garnered this cumulative composure to the point where we’ve recently become unrecognisable from the fragile ingénues of yesteryear. Santi struggled to find his touch all afternoon and Ozil continues to astound me. Considering the princely cost of our sporting pleasures nowadays, I spend an obsessive amount of time forsaking the entertainment, while studying Mezut through my binoculars, in my efforts to distill the footballing essence of 42 million quid.

Aside from the trifling matter of another two pinpoint assists on Saturday, as ever, Mezut spent much of the remainder of the match lolloping around like a disaffected teenager. But then there’ll be one drop of the shoulder, or an unexpected feint that leaves two lesser mortals for dead and as several thousand smiling faces shake their heads in awe, suddenly the beautiful game’s wages of sin are self-evident.

Yet while Wenger’s aesthetes attract all the plaudits, it’s Flamini who’s fast forging the steely resolve that’s likely to prove the most essential ingredient if our challenge is to survive the festive season’s onslaught of fixtures.

Returning to the Gunners, in his more mature incarnation, Mathieu appears to appreciate that he carries the weight to become the flag-bearing marechal that we’ve pined for.

Amidst all the superlatives of late, not to mention the hilarious run on “AVB spent £100m and this tosh is all we have to show for it” T-shirts at our neighbours down the road, it’s perhaps the sight of the Flamster frantically cajoling our troops to rally around that’s responsible for the broadest of Gooner smiles. Who knows, this illusory bubble could explode in our faces but in the meantime, you’ll forgive me a few moments to revel in the prospect that this Arsenal squad might’ve finally have come of age.