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Demolished
- big style
On Sunday
25th February, the chickens came home and
the roosting was plenty.
Daytrippers
The ArmchairGooner had always contended that
- whatever about the consistency levels of
the two teams - Arsenal could match United
head to head on any given day. I had moaned
too - incessantly, some might say - about
teams throwing in the towel at Old Trafford.
About the likes of Bradford and Sunderland
sticking 25 men behind the ball at Highbury
and fighting and wrestling for their lives,
and then daytripping to the Theatre of
Dreams the following week to fill their
autograph books and admire Scholes nipping
in for a hat trick.
Craven
Well I guess I can continue to bang that
particular drum if I choose. Only I'll have
to number the Arsenal among the star-struck.
Among the craven weak-kneed guests at the
top table, who came to marvel at the finery
but couldn't stomach the cuisine. Arsenal
probably did match United in some respects
on Sunday. Our pub-team centre halves aside,
there was certainly as much ability in
yellow as red. Perhaps even more in
attacking areas. But boy were we found out
in other aspects of the game. In terms of
hunger, spirit and urgency we were nowhere.
Absolutely nowhere.
Caught in the headlights
The result itself hardly matters. Champions
League qualificaton should be a doddle, the
contenders - including the much lauded but
mediocre Liverpool - largely hopeless. And
better sides than Arsenal have shipped heavy
beatings and bounced back. However, the
supine nature of the reverse is the worrying
part. The first half debacle was one thing.
A terrified newcomer caught in the
headlights and made look more clumsy than he
possibly (hopefully) is, was responsible for
much of the damage. Igor may or may not
recover from the mauling but he shouldn't be
unduly lambasted.
Pires was disgusting
Much more gauling was the performance of
some of his more gifted mates. Stand up
Messers Pires and Wiltord, and slink away if
you must SuperGoat Grimandi. Pires was
disgusting on Sunday, all the moreso because
of the glimpse of ability he showed with his
part in the superb equaliser. From the
moment he bottled out of a tackle with Keane
early in the game, he was a liability. Bereft of
conviction, or perhaps interest, he ambled
in possession, wilted in defence - an arch
reminder of what Beckham could become freed
of the Ferguson tyranny.
Wiltord
His comrade Wiltord was no better. Apart
from looking like he - as Dunphy might say -
couldn't trap a bag of cement, he seemed as
unpreturbed by what should have been
chastening events as the thoroughly amused
Kanu. Ditto Giles, who strolled through the
second half as if he had performed like
Cruyff in the first.
Softness
Lest anyone be mistaken, this certainly
isn't a rant about foreigners. After all,
English or not, they're all foreign to me.
And the majestic Vieira will never hear
blame from these quarters, nor could anyone
accuse human dynamo Freddie Ljungberg of
lacking heart. However, I think the softness
displayed by Arsenal on Sunday has been
there for a while now. It's manifested
itself again and again in an inability to
win away from comfortable surroundings, and
an almost total reliance on Adams for
leadership.
Michael Lyster
Anyway, enough moaning, I'll return to the
crisis of morale next week. On another note,
my own morale was hardly boosted by the
reaction to the result of RTE's
Michael Lyster. Masochistically
sitting through the misery a second time on
the Sunday Sport show, I slumped in my
chair as the Galwegian irritant concluded
the highlights slot by announcing
"That's enough to warm the heart on a
Sunday afternoon". Indeed.
So just to get my own back, I'd like to
remind readers of Mr. Lyster's first big
broadcasting break. If I'm not mistaken, he
shot to prominence as the host of the World
Disco Dancing Championships, when that
prestigious event was held in Dublin in the
early eighties. He may even have been
required to perform the occasional boogie of
his own. A far cry from the clash of the
ash.
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