ARSE 2 MOUSE

With the gap successfully, some might say miraculously, minded, Tim, Dave and Elliot from YankeeGunner gather around the router to rap about the campaign just gone, and ask where Arsenal go from here. Stick with it until the (thankfully not bitter) end for some embarrassing revelations. 

Download the podcast direct from here [right click to save] or subscribe via iTunes here.

Once again, cheers for listening this season. We’ll be back with some more transfer stuff once something actually happens.

When the final whistle blew we saw the gap and did not mind it at all. In the end, it was an altogether satisfactory conclusion to what was an otherwise largely unsatisfactory season. Finishing third, one place better off than we were with Cesc and Nasri, (although having at no point looked like challengers without them), is an achievement. Particularly as I’d gone into the season expecting to receive slightly less than no satisfaction after the slow-motion horror show that had been the summer. In fact, in the interests of full disclosure, I said this squad wasn’t strong enough to finish fourth, let alone third. Hey, happy to be wrong.

As Gunnerblog points out, if Arsene had been sacked around September time, and another manager had come in and dragged us out of the brown stuff and into the Elysian fields of Champions League cashola, then we’d all be giving him a collective reacharound right about now. Possibly without the precautionary oven glove. But the counterpoint, as made by Goodplaya, is that finishing third - thereby ensuring a 15th consecutive season at Europe’s top table - the board are able to maintain a status quo that has seen our best players sold every summer since the move to the Emirates.

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Bloody hell, when will this season just die? In the final Mousecast of the season co-bloggers Tim and Dave are touching thighs and biting nails, while on the other side of the Atlantic YankeeGunner attempts to maintain some sense of calm. There’s plenty of talk about the midfield, and what the arrival of Yann M’Villa might mean, plus some sacrilegious ‘is Szczęsny actually any good?’ chatter. (Y’know, just in case you were worried it was three men shouting ‘waaaaaaaaaaa!’ for forty minutes straight. Which it only partly is.)

Download the podcast direct from here [right click to save] or subscribe via iTunes here.

PS I know the file is confusingly called maypodcast. It’s the right one. 

[UPDATE: According to the BBC’s also reliable David Ornstein the M’Vila deal is still very much up in the air. Much like a clay pigeon, really. He tweeted: “Arsenal not close to signing M’Vila. Many complicating factors (CL place, fee, off-field issues etc). No way a done deal.” Meanwhile, James Olley over at the Evening Standard suggest M’Vila’s agent may have been trying to flush out interest from Inter. All of which rather pours a jug of ice cold H₂O over the rest of my article. I’ve no idea who’s right, and now regret writing about it at all. So sorry if it does all go trombone-shaped. I’d like to tell you I’ll know better next time, but we both know that isn’t true. Original post is after the jump.]

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Picture the scene: I’m stood outside a wedding somewhere on the outskirts of Stoke (don’t ask), smoking furiously and trying to follow the game on Twitter. Between compulsively refreshing my timeline, which is alternating between ‘YES ROBIN! YESSSSS!’ and ‘WHAT?!? NOOOO!’ with terrifying speed, I glance up to see another man, also staring balefully at his phone, who’s opted for Soccer Saturday as his poison. Tiny Stelling is shouting through the little speakers. The man grimaces.

“Norwich or Arsenal fan?” I ask, suspecting but not sure. He looks up glumly. “Arsenal.” Of course it’s Arsenal. “3-3, couple of minutes to go”, I mutter, as if the poor sod doesn’t know already. “I’ve got a ticket,” I add, “I should be there.” As if that would have made any difference to the latest operatic balls-up. His phone buzzes. “That’s my mates,” he whispers. “They’re already taking the mick.” Full-time. We shake hands and head back inside. I feel at once livid and depressed. If you’re reading this, I expect that will be familiar.

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Deary me, my deep fried Twix-ruined arteries can’t withstand another weekend like that. Trouble is, we’re going to have to endure what will likely be an even more ruinous 90 minutes when we play West Brom this Sunday, in what’s arguably the club’s most important fixture since the 2006 CL final.

That the chance to secure third is still in our own butter-smeared digits is ludicrous. Think the footballing deities were smiling on us yesterday because Spurs somehow failed to beat the most woeful of Villa sides, despite registering 22 shots to the home side’s shit-hoofing four? Pah. That line of thinking is as crocked as poor Bacary’s fibula, considering that chap with the designer goatee and sheep scrotum was clearly delving his pitchfork into Arsene’s haunted eyes as we conceded three goals to Norwich in a thrilling (read: excruciating) draw.

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So, it looks as if we are going to secure the it-isn’t-like-a-trophy-but-it-sort-of-is prize of guaranteed Champions League qualification, then it’ll be done limping over the line. Shame, as I’d hoped for a gentle jog while waving to mother in the crowd, but I suppose that’s not really the Arsenal way. 

Another week, another point, and – just as it was last Saturday – it’s a point that on paper doesn’t look bad, given the awkwardness (read: prickishness) of the opposition, the result of our nearest rival, and the fact that although we might have nicked all three, we could also have come away with nothing. In the end I was relieved. 

Nonetheless, it’s hard to get too excited. While I appreciate the need for professionalism, for getting the job done, I’m missing the adrenaline buzz of a win, and the way it carries you through the whole week right up to the next fixture. Two points from the last nine available. There’s not much glory in this.

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As games go, the kindest thing I can say is that it was nothing to write home about. (Which is something of a problem, because that’s exactly what I’ve got out of bed to do.) However, I suspect that come the 13th of May the point extracted yesterday will prove vital. Certainly, with Spurs continuing their hilarious flameout, it’s a point that leaves us slightly better off than we started this weekend.

(Not that I don’t fear rampant Newcastle coming up on the rails, but they have to play City at home and go away to Chelsea and Everton still.)

If you’ve only seen TV highlights of the match, don’t be deceived into thinking Arsenal created a hatful of chances and looked dominant. In truth we were woeful in the first half, despite kissing the woodwork twice. Perhaps stung by Wigan’s goals on Monday, the team looked anxious about getting caught on the counter – and rightly so, we were nearly undone by a simple throwout straight down the middle, and a couple of high balls pumped over the top caused panic. 

Generally though, with Gibbs and the magisterial Koscielny restored to the back four, we defended decently. It was going forward that we had problems. There was a timidity to our play, and a lack of imagination, that resulted in the ball being shuffled, invariably too slowly, across the back line. For their part, Chelsea parked an expensively-fitted bus and looked to hit on the break. Unsurprisingly, any suggestion they might be knackered after their jammy exertions against Barca was unfounded, as eight equally unlikable sets of fresh legs started.

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With four games to go, and the chance to open an eight-point g*p over them, I’d stupidly allowed myself to start thinking about the end of the season, and what to make of this Arsenal team. Looking back over the blog, it appears to have been written by a reactionary madman. (Well, madmen, there literally are two of us.) One minute everything’s rosy, the next minute the roses have been doused in petrol, burned, and had salt ploughed over the ashes. 

Initially, I thought that was a bit embarrassing. Shouldn’t we be less fickle and more faithful? Well, maybe. On reflection tonight I think it’s simply an accurate account of the season. This team has a split-personality. And I don’t like the meek, confused, fragile Arsenal that turned up against Wigan one bit. There will now follow a list of other things I don’t especially like, in no particular order. Enjoy.

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Aside from watching ten minutes and 17 seconds of the most explicit Bergkamp porn, there really is nothing like an easy away win. Forget shredded fingernails, frayed nerves and ticker palpitations. All last night’s 3-0 stroll against Wolves provided was reassuring possession, outrageous chipped pens taken straight from the Henry circa 2004 playbook and burgers the size of my face. Admittedly, that last one came about because I was scoffing a monstrosity stuffed with sausages, onion rings and a chuffing egg while watching the game on a dodgy satellite. May Bobby Pires’ spectacular soul patch bless Edinburgh boozers and their total disregard for legal football broadcasts.

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In the absence of commentators, there’s a slight delay, maybe no more than a quarter of a second, between the net rippling and the neurons in your brain firing off the ‘that’s a fucking goal, y’know!’ signal. And that moment, which seems to last a hell of a lot longer, is my favourite thing at football. It’s why I have to be there in the ground whenever I can now. For that, and for the grinning bedlam that ensues after.

It’s also why a late 1-0 winner will always be the greatest scoreline in football, now and forever. (But you’re an Arsenal fan, so you already know this.) What to say about the game, then? Ah, I dunno. My head feels just about ready to burst with late-winner joy. Ignore how much we needed the result. Ignore, even, how good the performance was. What sticks out for me is how together the players and fans are now.

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When the big man himself says that “things are starting to move in the transfer market”, it’s essentially the green light to go weapons free on new signing speculation. So, without further waffle, on with the latest clickbait roundup…

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Happy Easter, fellow football-obsessed godless heathens. What better way to fill your downtime until the game than by trying our end of season points predictor. It doesn’t take long, and will enable you to semi-accurately gauge Arsenal’s chances of finishing in the top four. Those of you who’ve listened to the latest podcast, will have heard us doing exactly that.

To use the Arse2Mouse Predictortron 2000 yourself (more conventionally known as an Excel spreadsheet), just right click here to download the file. Then simply fill in the number of points you think each club will take from the remaining fixtures. The final points total are magically calculated at the bottom. Hey! As the results actually happen you can amend Predictortron 2000 with the real number of points gained, thereby rendering its prophecy ever more accurate/upsetting.

Enjoy!

(Oh, and please post your final predictions in the comments to compare.)