I turned to Liz about twenty minutes before kick off and remarked on what a good day I’d had. First decent day in about two months in fact. Those who know me beyond the world of football will be aware things have been, of late, somewhat bumpy Chez Stew. Yesterday however we had seen a glimmer of light pierce the dark clouds and I was basking, just a little bit. It was about then I glanced at the clock and realised what time it was, what was about to happen and what I’d just said. How could I possibly describe Monday as a good day when there was such a potential game changer still to come? I tried to remember the lofty words I’ve often used to others. That old flim-flam about rising above the fray, employing some perspective and realising that in the grand scheme of things an FA Cup quarter final at Old Trafford was not really the most important thing in my life right now. It was merely a side show, a theatrical distraction to our real life drama, and regardless of the result I would still have had a good day. I forget the poet’s name but I think the quote I’m looking for is what a load of old bollocks. A defeat last night and my warm glow would have been swiftly translated into permafrost. Silly really to let the antics of a bunch of millionaire footballers undo all the good I’d worked for but in the end that is precisely what we sign up to isn’t it?
As it happened I need not have worried. Far from the dreaded and frankly unwelcome turd in the swimming pool, last night proved to be icing on an already tasty cake. We all saw it so I’ll spare you a blow by blow but for what it’s worth here are my impressions of the thrills and spills. Firstly, as George observed in the immediate aftermath, what a difference a decent performance from a referee makes. The players may have worked hard, really hard in fact throughout a tough match and eventually got their reward but the man in black was rivalled only by de Gea for his individual quality. We all know that back in the era of Ferguson and his horribly unhealthy relationship with the football establishment none of the yellow cards never mind the red would have happened. So credit where it’s due to Mr Oliver, and in a world of inept and probably corrupt officiating it is quite a joy to be able to say that. I have to add however that the final result had far more to do with resolute defending and a one dimensional approach from the home team than Di Maria’s stupidity. Per was back to his imperious best, Coquelin and Koscielny snuffed out Fellaini’s lumpen threat and the full backs, properly supported by the wide forwards stuck to their task impeccably.
Once again Arsène’s tactics were flawless, and it was good to see the players employ them effectively. Sent out to press and harass defenders who are drilled never to hoof away possession but always pass the ball even if that means going back to square one they did just that. This was surely the reason he opted for raw speed over assured insouciance by starting with Olivier on the bench. Eventually of course it was the pace and poaching skills of Daniel Nii Tackie Mensah Welbeck which made the difference. Just as the manager must have suspected it would. His substitutions were perfectly timed, even if one was forced, this being the only real blot on Arsenal’s otherwise pristine evening; yet another injury for Chamberlain. I am beginning to worry about that young man. The silver lining however was Aaron’s introduction to the fray. Some people have put forward the frankly ludicrous proposition that being injured for much of the season and not scoring ten goals a game means our Welsh maestro has somehow been a disappointment. Last night his calm assurance on the ball, his defensive work rate and his clever movement were vital in preventing United building a head of steam. I honestly thought they’d give us more of a headache towards the end of the match. I was bracing myself in my lonely room, waiting for the traditional United onslaught, but it never really came.
The pundits, pub bores to a man, all tried to say it was a poor Manchester side that lost the game, but we know they would rather be buggered on live television by Carlton Palmer’s Doberman than give us any credit. The fact is their new manager has spent this entire season drumming into his charges the style in which he wants them to play and, most footballers not being conspicuously over endowed in the cerebrum, they’ve just about got the idea now. The problem was when they needed something different all they came up with was to stick their filthy Belgian fouling machine down the middle, bang it up high in his general direction and when that didn’t work then it was dive, dive dive. Sadly and unusually for the men in red the Das Boot routine failed them last night. What a glorious sight it was to see them finally get their comeuppance after years of cheating impunity. Still, it doesn’t do to gloat does it? Well, perhaps just a little.
So what of the future? The planets seem to be aligning to produce a repeat of the first ever cup final I watched as an Arsenal fan. Back in 1970 when I elected to follow the red and white having dallied with, bizarrely as it seems now, both Celtic and Chelsea, a perfect first season culminated with Bob Wilson in his green cap and Charlie George lying prostrate on the Wembley turf. It may not be so. Blackburn could do everyone a favour and cancel the Stevie G media love in, Reading or Bradford could prevent us getting to the ultimate game of the tournament. Never forget how close Wigan pushed us last year. There is indeed many a slip twixt the FA cup and the lips of our captain upon it. But given the form and stature of the teams left in the hat I bet you’d get great odds for a Villa versus Reading final.
I apologise for the somewhat breathless ill conditioned tone of today’s blog. I am perhaps a little emotional still. Apart from anything else I detest watching us play at Old Trafford. It is literally the only fixture where I subscribe to the mantra of the nonsensical i.e. the only thing that matters is the result. Football is of course about so much more but I’ve become so conditioned to us losing there that I could have happily pressed fast forward to the final minute and just absorbed the score. Last night however things were different. As I said before the game I had a curious presentiment that we were due a change in fortune. I may not have expected it to be so dramatic with them missing from point blank range and their cheating ways telling on them so profoundly, but even though the match lacked free flowing sparkling football it had the right mix of tension and excitement to leave me restlessly unable to get to sleep. In short I’m glad I watched it, and you’ll seldom hear any football lover say that after ninety minutes in the company of Rooney, Fellaini and Young.
My final thoughts go to my mate Steve. You may think that the journey home from Greater Manchester would have been one of unbridled celebration but it wasn’t so for everyone. Steve is a coach driver. He drove all the way from Midsomer Norton to Old Trafford and spent the entire evening in the car park outside of the ground being so close that he could hear the game but not see one kick of the action. That’s not why I felt for him though. It was more the prospect of him then having to endure a four and a half hour drive in the company of fifty six miserable, disgruntled, moaning West Country Man United fans. Actually, thinking about it, that sounds like fun.














A guest post from @foreverheady
I really don’t like games that start at 3 on a Saturday: they are so last century, and we certainly got a last century pitch to play on yesterday. Three o’clock means of course you only get to see the game if you actually go, and yesterday only 24,721 lucky punters were able to do that. I’m not sure how many away supporters found tickets but I’m guessing not many. For the rest of us in the UK you had to rely on dodgy streams, a private showing at the Emirates, the audio commentary on the Arsenal player or snippets on Radio 5. It was so far back in time the only surprise was not finding a copy of the Saturday Pink through the letter box to be consumed on route to the Dog and Duck for a pint of mild and bitter and cribbage and dominoes with Ernest and Albert. Even Arsene in his pre-match presser suggested that Selhurst Park was a bit like Highbury, and it was easy to see just what he meant, with the crowd on top of the players and vocal support relentless. I doubt somehow that the Palace authorities are too fussed about safe standing.
And safe standing was certainly a problem for the players too, the pitch ironically prepared to produce a level playing field. It certainly didn’t appear to suit our technicians, and it was no great surprise that Welbeck, almost alone, seemed to relish the conditions. Not that he lacks technical ability, but his forceful, powerful and direct approach certainly seemed to fit. I wondered after the game whether Arsene needs to pick very different teams for some of our away matches. Playing at the Emirates is easy if you have the skill to do it. A large pitch perfectly prepared allows for intricate one touch play, and we are at our best when we zip the ball around. It is no coincidence that our home form is so good, the underfoot conditions seemingly being more important to us than whatever atmosphere is generated by the Emirates crowd. But away from home is very different against some of the more robust sides on pitches that are less than perfect. I’m not going down the Arsenal are soft route here – far from it – but suggesting that maybe some players are better suited to certain types of game than others. I think this is why we so often hear the call for a physical midfielder, and yesterday would have suited Ramsey and Oxlade more than Cazorla and Ozil I suspect.
But this is largely conjecture, because the commentary on the Arsenal Player is absolutely hopeless if you want to get an idea of how the game is unfolding. In fact it is worse than hopeless and I would say is negatively misleading. The pattern seems to be that any time Arsenal have hold of the ball the commentary team talk about anything and everything bar the action: memories are polished, emails are read, even when those emails are critical of team selection and players. Once we have lost the ball the commentary restarts so you get an impression that at no stage do we ever have any possession at all. It is a really depressing experience. I was quite surprised to see the highlights this morning to see that there were moments when we were allowed to play a bit ourselves. If I had one wish it would be that the club has a serious look at what it does with the matches it broadcasts. Not all can go to the game, not all have access to live coverage, but most can find a way to tune into the clubs own service. As such it is an important outlet and needs to be treated as such. The excellent Adrian Clarke was good at half time, and I am looking forward to his analysis of the match tomorrow.
So what of the game itself? A truly excellent result and a heart in the mouth last few minutes. Top play by Welbeck to win the penalty and provide the assist for Giroud. I hear he was outside the box when fouled but it didn’t look that way to me on the replay and offside for the second, although there didn’t seem much protest at the time. How wonderful to get a decision go our way for a change and the three points won yesterday makes up a little for the points lost when they haven’t. I don’t think these things even up over the course of a season but we deserved a bit of payback. Before the game I saw a couple of articles that suggested that Van Gaal was right to let him go and that he wasn’t up to Arsenal standard, so I was pleased that he so quickly proved himself. I have no doubt whatsoever that he will become a major Arsenal figure and suspect that more than many he will benefit from working closely with the manager. After all Arsene Wenger seems to have done a pretty good job with Giroud, who was on hand again to score what proved to be the winning goal. And beyond that I can’t comment as I haven’t seen the game properly at all, but what I do have is a satisfied and slightly smug smirk on my face as I listen to the moans and groans of the media, Mourinhos and Rooneys of this world. We are third now, have a Champions League home fixture to look forward to, before preparing to face Everton next Sunday. And Jack is back. What’s not to like?