Before I get into Arsenal and the Carling Cup I wanted to mention that Jim and I are currently in counseling. I may have sent him a threatening email and he responded by continuing to ignore me. Allusions to What's Beef were flying, some of them direct quotes, and we were about to file for divorce when our counselor mentioned that we had missed our 3 year blog anniversary. We admitted we're both bad parents and decided to continue therapy. We're taking it day by day from here.
Arsenal 3, Ipswich 0
Timing is everything. I think it was around the 55th minute when I started writing a depressing, gloomy blog update. It included several snarky references to Manchester United (oh for f#^ks sake Blackpool!) and a barely coherent rant on Emmanuel Adebayor. Meanwhile my Russian Sopcast feed hummed along smoothly and I tried to cheer myself up with the thought of boo'ing Adebayor in person. Yes, that will be nice...
Hey there Bendtner, nice cutback. And what a sublime finish. It was the sort of build-up that makes you feel silly for feeling frustrated earlier. I think, as fans, we're all a bit on edge with Arsenal.
Here's an example: Criticism of Arshavin started 3 months ago, in October. This was so odd that Arsene Wenger, for probably the first time, alluded to advanced metrics to protect him. I won't contend that Arshavin is at his peak, however, how many more times can he play a vital roll in a victory (2 more assists tonight) before we consider his slump over? He may not be smashing four ludicrous goals in against Liverpool as of late, but I still want him on the side. Passing completion and "work rate" arguments don't hold water; let's just admit we're all a little antsy, so as Andy Gray might advise, keep your top on honey.
Don't get me wrong, the first hour of this game felt like a visit to the DMV. And anyone who seriously refers to Ipswich as The Tractor Boys is probably married to their first cousin. So when Koscielny scored, right before I could fully envision a late Ipswich goal, it was just what we needed. By "we", I am actually referring to me.
I guess I don't know why exactly I'm so on edge. Maybe it's the fact that Diego Forlan is coming to town and I want him to play well. Perhaps it's the thought of Luis Suarez on Liverpool. Or maybe it's the fact that Carlos Vela might be joining me in Spain; oh how bittersweet.
I'm trying to calm my nerves, but no matter what I refuse to get sucked back in to Robin Van Persie. I consider him on loan from Injurytown with no option to buy. The elephant in the room is February 16th. Try as I might to locate Lionel Messi and kidnap him, I feel helpless. No, officer, I don't care where Sergio Busquets lives. I asked for Leo... and stop looking at my sledgehammer!
We're headed to Wembley, as favorites. Arsenal should be headed for the 5th round of the FA cup and we're 2nd in the table. There's no reason to panic, and no reason to look ahead. Just like my marriage counselor said, one day at a time.
Arsene Wenger cobbled together starting lineups with spit and duct tape and Denilson and somehow the team dragged its ass over the finish line in third or fourth.