Congratulations Arsenal on nominating West Brom as our charitable cause of the season. Never have so many given so wholeheartedly for the cause of needy Brummies looking for their first win in decades. Be a Gooner, be a giver and they just kept on giving, didn’t they? Let’s just pray that Chelsea are not our second nominated charity for the season.

Remember that Ken Russell film, Altered States? Where the sensory deprivation tank leads William Hurt to wildly hallucinate. That 11 were down there with him, floating in the saline solution with a dopey grin imagining the mystic forces of the universes cooing in their ears and telling them they are ready for greatness.

Arsene - pull the plug, drain the water out of their ears. We could have put down a red carpet yesterday, dressed Song and the back four in tuxedos and ushered the West Brom attack along with their V.I.P. passes to a goal bonanza. And well done West Brom, you didn’t hack us to bits, score squonky deflections or fluke your way to victory.

Schmocks, putzes, schmerels, yanicks, loifters and klutzes - as the say in the old world. All suitable words for at least 10 of the 11 wretches who made a tortoise in hibernation on mogadon look more up for it. From the first kicks we all knew, didn’t we? ‘Come on Arsenal’ was being belted out so early that they may as well have sent the emergency services in to rescue a team undergoing brain failure.

What’s Russian for track back and tackle you lazy sod? And he wasn’t the worst. Song, who had naff all to do all week, played with the positional sense of a flea in a microwave. Diaby could have passed for a tree, if he could have passed. Full backs unable put in a cross worth a damn. Chamakh foundering in a serviceless sea of stinking mediocrity and so on and on and on………

Leaderless without Fabs, TV5, even Theo as a statement of energetic intent. A focus for dissipating energies and lack of vision. And there we were crying out for an 18 year old to change things. Never has this team looked shabbier and so dull of wits.

1-0, you’re thinking ‘that’s been coming for so long, maybe now we’ll wake up’ 2-0, this is going to be really, really hard. 3-0 let’s get out of there, even a point is beyond this lot today

The only relief was sitting outside the stadium in the sun with my youngest son after the third goal had been scored, after the defence had been sliced open-again. Sometimes you really, you really don’t. We weren’t getting a football lesson in there but a lesson in humility. How much humble pie can you eat before you feel sick like dog?

Let’s pray that Wenger metaphorically took team Arsenal into the darkest tunnel under the E******s, somewhere so dank, wet and scary they collectively sh*t themselves as the chains on the meat hooks rattled and he fondled a baseball bat. Gentle admonishment does not solve a collectively cretinous performance of truly sh*tty football. Let’s hope they all gulped, took a long hard look at themselves and said never again.

Let’s hope that Cesc doesn’t find the new October transfer window open. That the money swamping the smug, complacent boardroom actually finds its way towards a goalkeeper of world class ability and a killer striker whose legs are not made of out of pipe cleaners.

This is so last season on fast forward. Temporary hope dashed by mounting injuries, brain dead squandering of points in the last seconds, humiliating whomping at home and the sinking feeling of non-achievement. That took months, this has taken a matter of weeks. Now f*** off and sort it out and don’t set foot on the pitch unless you mean business you sorry shower.