Premier League action
If Saturday’s farrago of fabulous FA Cup drama demonstrated one thing, it was that all the ability in the world counts for very little when focus is lacking.
Thus I was delighted to see the Gunners take this lesson into yesterday’s outing at the South Coast.
We played with the sort of tempo that ensured Brighton didn’t get an opportunity to draw breath until they were picking the ball out of the net, already 1-0 down after only 90 seconds.
With the Seagulls and the raucous home crowd buoyed by the big occasion, Walcott’s wonderfully-crafted early goal was just what the doctor ordered, seemingly knocking all the stuffing out of the Championship side and restoring the natural order of things.
The Gunners appeared to be in cruise control and strolling into the hat for the fifth round draw, as any remaining Brighton optimism evaporated, when Mesut Ozil marked his long-awaited return by stabbing home our second only 24 mins in.
Whatever Chris Hughton said at the half-time, it certainly had the desired effect, as the Brighton team that turned out after the break were the embodiment of their tenacious manager and this perfunctory procession soon morphed into a proper, full-blooded cup-tie. With the Seagulls’ renewed appetite rewarded and the home fans raising the roof, as Chambers’ naivety was exposed en-route to Brighton pulling a goal back, it soon became apparent that the Albion weren’t about to roll over.
After being unable to avoid the risk of tempting fate, by prematurely ripping into all my Spurs and Chelsea pals, with some relish the previous evening, I was positively dreading the thought of receiving it back, in spades, if like Chelsea, the Gunners were about to blow a two goal-lead. An anxiety-ridden hush befell the 4,500 jubilant Gooners behind the goal at the Amex, as the spectre of Saturday’s shock cup exits suddenly loomed large.
Though it must’ve made for far more engrossing viewing for the neutral, our comfortable FA cup progress looked to be in danger of developing into yet another stressful, edge-of-the-seat encounter, of the sort that really should come with a government health warning. Mercifully, man-of-the-match, Rosicky, eased the tension by restoring the two-goal status quo with our third.
Yet, Albion were far from a dead parrot and they put us Gooners back on the rack, sweating out a tense, nail-biting final 15 minutes, after Baldock calmly clipped Brighton’s second over Szczesny. Though I was bellowing at our guileless keeper to hang onto the ball, thanks to the appearance of Alexis and Akpom, the Gunners managed to avoid looking like we were about to succumb to a last-gasp equaliser, by seeing out the clock at the other end of the pitch.
It might not have proved the sort of supremely dominant display that we expected after the opening flurry of impressive football, but in light of the astonishing thrills and spills that had preceded our game, it was rather fitting that the weekend’s entertainment should climax in another captivating cup tie.
Moreover, with so many Premier League sides having bitten the dust, it’s impossible to avoid harbouring hopes of retaining the trophy. This evening’s draw for the next round might shed more light on our prospects of a return to Wembley in May.
According to Arsene’s post-match remarks, hopefully we’ll have secured the signature of Paulista by then. I’ve been convinced that we’d end up being gazumped by Man Utd for any decent centre-halves, but perhaps Joel Campbell has proved to be a sufficiently attractive makeweight to clinch this particular deal. Surely Gabriel will prove a better option at centre-back than Monreal, but with the Gunners being devoid of left-footed cover for Koscielny, it remains to be seen if he’s the defensive archangel that will secure our route to the kingdom of football heaven.
: Jose Mourinho: Unhappy demeanour on touchline.
Our Special relationship is under strain
As weeks go, this one has been one of the very worst for me for quite some time. It all started last Tuesday — I had a half-day booked to travel up to Anfield in the afternoon. On my way to work I was feeling a bit hot, and a bit uncomfortable and a bit out-of-sorts but put it down to PMT: Pre Match Tension.
By the time I emerged from the tube station I was looking forward to gulping some fresh air — what actually happened was I emerged from the tube station and promptly passed out.
Anyway, that heralded one of the most virulent bouts of “proper” flu that I have ever had the misfortune to encounter. That evening, I watched the first leg of the semi-final in a semi-conscious haze propped up in front of the TV — first semi-final I have ever missed. But even in my nigh-on delirious state, I was uneasy about the line-up Jose had chosen. And let’s be honest, they completely overran us and the fact that we still have everything to play for and an away goal tucked in our belts is down far more to luck than judgment.
I’m not actually sure what Mourinho was trying to do — lull them into some false sense of security and hit them with our “real” team and tactics tomorrow perhaps? Who knows.
By the time Saturday came round, I was still in no fit state to leave my bed. The game wasn’t on anywhere — not on TV, no dodgy online feeds — nothing. So radio commentary only, which I hadn’t done for so long that I’d forgotten how painful it is. I have since watched brief highlights and can only congratulate Bradford. They played with belief and passion and fully deserved to win in such a manner.
For me, the biggest surprise was Mourinho. He said all the right things — I read his comments online and then again in the morning papers. But it was when I saw him being interviewed that I could appreciate that he actually looked shell-shocked, which is quite unnerving. I’ve never really seen him look like that before, like he really could not fathom what had just happened. I can only hope it was a temporary episode and he has now returned to a far more cogent state of mind and is, as we speak, plotting the downfall of Liverpool and City.
I’m still convinced that there is something going on behind the scenes at the club that we are not privy too. Mourinho seems to be in a constant state of agitation. Bad-tempered at the press conferences, now regularly picking fights with the support, scowling on the touchline with low-key stone-faced “celebrations” when we score. He is clearly not happy — and an unhappy Jose is not the way to realise the great expectations of a club like Chelsea. This is. of course. just conjecture, but realistically, what else can it be? If you employ a man like Mourinho, then you take him on his terms — you allow him to play the game his way and most importantly, you back him no matter what.
He has foibles — we know that. But you accept them or choose someone else. You wouldn’t buy a Ferrari and then insist it only gets driven at 20mph, would you?
This week could make everything okay or plunge us deep into crisis.
Getting knocked out of the FA Cup is one thing, the manner in which we got knocked out was another entirely. But if we add a semi-final exit to Liverpool and follow that by opening the gate back up to City rather than slamming it shut; then people will start questioning desire, tactics, the manager, the squad etc.
This is where Mourinho needs to demonstrate his worth and he needs to start by reestablishing his connection with the supporters. He hasn’t alienated the support as such, but there is a lot of angry talk on the terraces. Mourinho does everything for a reason and I’m sure these barbs about the fans made sense to him at the time. But what has it achieved? Nothing but a fractured support, as far as I can see.
The club was never stronger and more successful than when totally united with its support and never was the crowd so vociferous as when manager and players would tear towards us in unbridled jubilation.
The connection at the moment is strained albeit cordial, but unless he cuts out this bitching, things could turn nasty quickly.
Time for actions not words.
: Maybe we should finally call it for it is: Unacceptable
“At least we’ve still got the cups”. And so the countdown begins…
The team gave it a real good go against Chelsea last Tuesday. So much so that some motor-mouths began talking of the cockneys not being everything they’re cracked up to be.
Only judging from what I’ve read in Trizia’s column this season they seem to be complacent sometimes when in front, accentuated by their comical capitulation to Bradford.
For most of our first half they were comfortable, and maybe that’s their problem?
Once Sterling scored a stunning equaliser the players and fans were up for it and Chelsea wouldn’t be the first gifted side to realise you can’t always turn it on and off like a tap. We still couldn’t win, though.
The Spesh, for whatever reason, did his diplomatic best to silence the moronic Gerrard chants but it was never going to happen.
Besides, it simply emphasised the refusal of every Liverpool manager to condemn the puerile songs about John Terry’s mother.
That’s football fans for you I’m afraid. Find soft spot. Stick knife in soft spot. Twist till bored, and they never get bored.
Besides, it’s pretty hard to stomach Mourinho on his moral plane days. As with Costa, there’s a secret albeit grudging admiration in these parts for just how low he’ll sink sometimes. Three years of Suarez will do that to you.
With each speech comes an enormous media dissection. Yeah, that ego needs feeding. The relationship is creepy.
As with Ferguson the creation of mind games and public utterances that affect the actual match feeds the media ego too. “We are influencing all this” etc. Bullshit.
Both clubs rested players for FA Cup matches against “the lower orders” since the semi-final’s on a knife edge (or so we’re pretending). Both got their eye wiped.
Liverpool can at least claim to be still in it, which is something. For now.
Balotelli got thrown to the lions again. Hardly avoidable; if he can’t make the bench for this, when does he play? Rodgers was never in control of his own mouth but I’d imagine Mario testing the patience of the world’s greatest diplomat. Short of screaming “we should never have brought him here”, what else is there to say?
Bolton weren’t up to much, especially with Statler and Waldorf up front. The ovation for Emile was a nice Anfield moment, but he was ineffectual and plodding. It was like he’d never left.
Rotation is a fine art. It’s not merely having a player to come in when your first choice is dead on his feet. He has to feel part of the challenge, determined to prove his worth when called upon and offered a chance to stake a claim for a regular place. Players who know they’re dead in the water? You can’t just pull them out, give them a quick drink and throw them back in. They cotton on to that kind of cruelty fast. Enrique was a case in point, dragged off (not kicking and screaming) at half time. Picking Mario now would make no sense whatsoever.
You’re just the understudy. You know it, we know it. Nobody bought a ticket to see you. Of course unkind souls say that’s why Liverpool gave Rodgers £120 million, to fix it, but that just ignites another squabblefest and everyone’s bored now.
I went on the Kop with a mate who hadn’t seen a game in months and he went ballistic with Coutinho. Each wasted flick, every squandering of possession. It’s funny how continued exposure to something blinds you sometimes, because everybody else thought he’d played great. It felt like I’d been praising the emperor’s new clothes all these weeks.
Eighth place, in danger of going out of all the cups in the next matches. Maybe we struggle too hard to see the sunny side and should call it for it is: Unacceptable.
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