TERRACE TALK: Arsenal - Alexis Sanchez must find form if we’re to trouble Barcelona

With the weather reflecting the mood of far too many apathetic Gooners, who seemed to feel that our FA Cup date was an untimely distraction, the early kick-off against Hull coincided with the heavens opening up. With the much-despised midday start, and the high drama of last weekend’s summit meeting, it was destined to be a damp “after the Lord Mayor’s show” disappointment.

If the positively miserable conditions didn’t augur well, then the prospects of things brightening up certainly weren’t improved when the radio commentary revealed the disturbing stat about us only winning 26% of games with Mike Dean as referee.

As if to reaffirm his disfavour, Dean promptly failed to award a penalty. But it was too soon to start blaming his customary incompetence because everyone else in the stadium missed Bruce Jr’s blatant handball. I would’ve been equally oblivious without my terrace tranny (and the inevitable wind-up text message from my increasingly lairy Spurs mates).

With the game still goalless come the second half and facing the looming prospect of a replay, I was in a far less forgiving mood when Calum was felled from behind. This looked like a stick-on penalty.

But ultimately, it was our lack of any real cutting edge that leaves us having to schlep back up to Humberside for a repeat performance.

Nevertheless, according to the obligatory cliché, “at least we were still in the hat”.

Unless we do proper justice to ourselves in Tuesday’s titanic clash, our Champions League campaign might be all over, bar a ritual humiliation in Barcelona. I certainly wouldn’t want to be travelling to Old Trafford next Sunday on the back of having pretty much made our exit from the competition. Manchester United certainly won’t favour us with an open encounter, with Louis van Gaal desperate to save his bacon after their Danish humiliation.

If we’re to have any hope of beating Barca, we badly need Alexis to play himself into some form. Elneny’s incisive passing and his appetite for the ball, during an entertaining opening spell against Hull, was at least one positive. Albeit we were faced with Hull’s second string and it’s baffling why Wenger started with two defensively-minded midfielders, leaving both Mo and Matty out there for the duration, after having discovered that our guests’ ambitions barely stretched beyond the halfway line?

With TV milking as much live coverage as possible from the filthy lucre they’ve thrown at football, hopefully we won’t be lumbered with another early KO in the replay, again crucifying the atmosphere. With empty seats all over the shop on Saturday, I honestly couldn’t give away my neighbour’s unused ticket, I dread to think of the unearthly hour that the 3,000 Tigers fans had to drag themselves out of bed for the long trek down from Humberside.

Amid all the brouhaha about fleecing fans, it is infuriating that we Gooners get stung for category A price tickets at every other ground, but the 40 quid average cost for the 27 home games covered by my Arsenal season ticket is really not bad value entertainment nowadays. While we’re pleading poverty, tickets in the prawn circle for the ultimate glamour tie on Tuesday are changing hands for £500.

Following successive midday games, I’m convinced the incessant messing with the fixture schedules, the resulting ruination of sacrosanct matchday rituals and utter contempt for the sacrifices involved in schlepping the length and breadth of the country (and continent), is a source of far more disgruntlement among the hardcore.

If Bernie Sanders, the liberal hoping to be named the Democrats’ presidential nominee, is indicative of an impending revolution, then first up against the wall will be those responsible for inflicting unreasonable, impractical and extremely unpopular kick-off times that are fast becoming the bane of long-suffering supporters.

I fancy the Gunners might fare better against Barca at Camp Nou. The limit of my ambition for the first leg is that Messi & co don’t end up extinguishing all hope, in advance of our outing to Catalonia. Above all, we can’t afford the sort of confidence-bruising humiliation and the potential recriminations of a lasting hangover that would be of great comfort to our Premier League rivals. All together now “Who are ya!”