Asser Ghozlan
Yesterday was, without exaggeration, possibly the most depressing of depressing days in the modern history of Arsenal Football Club.
So close to end the pain, so close to end the nearly men tag, so close. It was meant to be the day we finally made it. Except we didn’t. They have gone and fluffed it. Well and truly.
This was a classic case of exactly what I begged we avoid yesterday: do not buckle under the pressure. Do not play into the press’s hands, into Birmingham’s hands. Do not play into history’s hands. Sadly, the players, human as they are, only went and did exactly that, putting in as pulseless, as panicked, as p*** poor a performance as you will frankly ever see on such an occasion.
Not only did we deserve to lose, but what a way to lose it!
What a mix-up of mix-ups between goalkeeper and centre back in the dying moments of a game we were lucky to still be in. That, in the department that is summarily symptomatic of just why we are incapable to win anything, still! Gifting sub Obafemi Martins the freedom of the west end of Wembley, almost in disbelief as he gleefully tapped home Birmingham’s winner for what will be the easiest of finishes in his career, Wojciech Szczesny and Laurent Koscielny will be the lynch mob’s lambs up for slaughter following that disastrous howler.
Total breakdown; an accident waiting to happen at the back all afternoon. And not entirely surprising, especially considering that you could clearly lip-read the good old Frenchman shouting out “pourquoi” at one of the many decisions he had fudged up out there. Sorry to break it to you Laurent, but however many around you are able to mutter out in your Gallic mother tongue, there are equally many others around who don’t, including the man between the sticks. English next time, please! Though I would personally think twice about having you out there, if there is a next time anyway!
This was an error that highlighted just why we are not quite good enough yet, and why we might not hit the top for quite some time; one has to fear, now. As impressive and as confident as the Pole has been in goal over the last few weeks, as ever-improving as Koscielny has been following a torrid start in English football, one must now wonder whether Szczesny is ready for this step up, whether Koscielny is good enough and strong enough after all. Too late in this instance. What we can be sure of is that they will both carry the stigma of having well and truly buried us in this cup final for the rest of their lives.
Perhaps they shouldn’t. Granted, it was a fatal cock-up, but it had been coming, ironically despite a brief flurry of possession and chances beforehand.
The truth is, they all choked. Each and every one of them out there. Even Robin van Persie, who had so brilliantly equalised in the first half, injuring himself in the process and costing him the ability or authority to have any say on the second half. Even, dare I say, Jack Wilshere, who, despite looking like a mere ember of light at the end of a very long, almost eternally dimmed out tunnel, took his eye off the ball (admittedly a ridiculously wayward one from Bacary Sagna) for that split second in the move that led to the set piece (surprise, surprise) that led to Birmingham City’s deserved opener at Wembley. An opener by Nikola Zigic, who I believed would be the underdogs’ only weapon of note. And so it proved, initially anyway, with the winners adding more facets to their game as our no-show wore on.
I can go on and on. From Andrey Arshavin’s committed but largely purposeless runs, to Alex Song being dominated so meekly in every single attack he tried (and failed) to break up, to the terminally non-functional Tomas Rosicky doing what he does best. Absolutely nothing.
To sum up, this was simply a case of Szczesny and Koscielny combining handsomely (or not) to shoot us in the foot, having us marooned to the ground with virtually no time to stand up and go again, but with each and every player doing his bit to give more and more ammunition to the underdogs in blue and white. A gift which Birmingham City gratefully accepted, and rose up to deliver, deservedly denying us en route to clinching their first trophy in nearly half a century.
Credit to them, they had a plan and it worked, albeit with a big helping hand from our side of things.
Where does this take Arsenal? Where does this take Arsène Wenger?
Well it can go either way.
It CAN be the springboard to great success (albeit a trophyless springboard); a chance to prove that what doesn’t kill you does indeed make you stronger. A chance to show that this team CAN toughen up, CAN win, CAN end years of footballing hurt and laughter at our indignant expenses.
But it may also, very worryingly, prove to be the wheel that has come off to unravel the rest of the train, and we all know exactly what I mean by that. That midweek replay against Leyton Orient is a much bigger test now, bearing in mind what a right pig’s ear of every cup game we have made against apparent underdogs this season, yesterday being a case-in-point. That second leg at Camp Nou suddenly looks like a monumental task, the Premier League run-in looks that much tougher, and so on.
Only the coming weeks will tell just which direction such a devastating defeat takes this team, and takes us all with it.
One can only pray that it is the first route. Not just because the manager has worked incredibly hard for it, keeping himself afloat against the stream virtually single-handedly. But also because we, the ever faithful support of this wonderful Club deserve it.
That or else Arsène Wenger’s fabled vision will just never come to be realised, signalling the beginning of a very sad end.
