I’ve needed a full 24 hours to collect my thoughts (and sober up) following Sunday’s match at the Emirates. Mikel Arteta and his media team (aka Sky Sports) did everything in their power to drive the narrative of a “massive” injury crisis hindering the Gunners coming into Sunday. While playmaker Martin Ødegaard was indeed injured, along with new-signing Riccardo Califiori, Saliba missed the game through his own piece of woeful defending last weekend—hardly a “crisis,” is it? Saka and Timber, while declared unfit by Arteta throughout the week, were the first two names on the team sheet come 16:30; imagine my shock. For a team that seemed headed in the right direction two seasons prior—doing things the right way while playing an entertaining brand of football—Arteta’s style seems to have taken on its final form, and it’s hardly respectable. A man short both in stature and wit has become bitter after falling short time and time again (while spending heaps upon heaps of money), and this is the result. What seemed a genuine project at one point in time has completely devolved to anti-football—rooted in the mastery of conning match officials, wasting time whenever able, and bitching incessantly at every 50-50 call that does not favor his side. They’ve essentially become the Atletico Madrid of the Premier League, just without any measurable success. In Arteta’s own words, it’s a disgrace—and quite honestly just embarrassing. Rant complete, shall we carry on?
Arne Slot’s Reds took the pitch with an XI that more or less picked itself, apart from the omission of Dominik Szoboszlai in favor of the in-form Curtis Jones in midfield. Notably (or not, depending on which media outlet you follow), the Reds started Irishman Kelleher between the sticks, replacing the injured Alisson, and Darwin Núñez again started up top in place of the injured Diogo Jota. Despite what agendas were pushed prior to kickoff, the Reds began the game as heavy underdogs at 23/10 odds to win the game; the media may lie, but the bookies do not. The traveling Kop took the away end, the Reds took the pitch, Anthony Taylor was physically present, and away we went.
The game kicked off, and Saka scored. Or at least that’s the way it felt. Following about eight minutes of the two sides feeling out one another without creating any chances, the Gunners hoofed the ball hopefully into the Liverpool half. As Saka controlled the ball on the right side of the Liverpool penalty area, with Andy Robbo in a good position to defend, I never felt particularly threatened. The Englishman then sent the Scotsman for some haggis, cut onto his stronger left foot, and rifled one into the roof of Kelleher’s near post from all of four yards. Well, that’s not how we wanted to start.
Arsenal bizarrely responded to going ahead by retreating to their own 18 and desperately trying to defend. They allowed us to dominate the ball, with this pressure ultimately resulting in a corner after 17 minutes played. Trent whipped the ensuing corner onto the head of Luis Díaz at the front post, providing a lovely flick-on header across the six. The flick found the stooping head of Skipper Virgil Van Dijk, who nodded us level and back into the game.
After the equalizer, the Arsenal pressure again ramped up—and to be quite honest, we struggled to cope with it at times. We often found ourselves unable to effectively play the ball out from the back and conceded a succession of cheap free kicks in our own half as a result. It was one of these free kicks that led to Arsenal’s second goal just before half—following a lovely delivery from Declan Rice onto the head of Mikel Merino. Masters of our own downfall again for the second time of the opening half.
Down 2-1 at the break, and after quite frankly a very poor first half of football from the Reds, I would have taken a point in a heartbeat. I could only hope that Arteta would again do what he had strangely done after the opener and sit off and attempt to defend. I reassured myself that at home, there was certainly no way he would be this daft, and a third killer goal would most likely come shortly after the interval. However, to my surprise, this is exactly what the Spaniard did. He again retreated to his penalty area and appeared content to forego possession and defend with ten men behind the ball. Center-half Gabriel injured himself by violently throwing himself to the floor following a graze of Darwin Núñez’s arm on his back early in the second half—he was replaced by Jakub Kiwior, and Arsenal found themselves down another defender.
The Liverpool pressure continued throughout the second period, and while we enjoyed the lion’s share of possession, we really failed to create any gild-edged opportunities as the half wore on. As the clock ticked closer to the 90, the schoolyard antics employed by the hosts only increased—with the time-wasting, feigning of injuries, and manufactured disgust with the officials becoming more prevalent than the actual football. Just as I had begun to fear the worst for my sanity and pantry door, Trent Alexander-Arnold picked up the ball on the edge of his own penalty area. Following a 1-2 with Szoboszlai in his own half, the Scouser released Darwin Núñez in behind the Arsenal defense. The Uruguayan latched onto the ball on the right-hand side of the penalty area; and while last season he would have undoubtedly attempted a wild effort on Raya’s goal from a nearly impossible angle, the South American instead slid a beautiful pass that split three Arsenal defenders to find an underlapping Mohamed Salah’s left boot on the penalty spot. The weight of the pass allowed Salah to strike the ball first time, and the Egyptian lashed an open-footed effort into Raya’s side netting—right in front of an away end that appeared to be fucking exploding.
Finally level once more with ten to play, Arsenal supporters desperately needed to find an excuse for dropping points at home. A sequence of play in Liverpool’s penalty area as the clock hit 90 evidently has given them undeniable proof that the PGMOL is corrupt and will stop at nothing to deny the Gunners their rightful title. After Jakub Kiwior used Dominik Szoboszlai’s shoulder blades as a step ladder to win a header, Kai Havertz essentially caught the football with a right arm that had nearly decapitated Big Ibou; the German then proceeded to chip the ball past Kelleher—who had stopped playing at this point as the whistle had gone—before taking two hands and shoving a retreating Alexander-Arnold squarely in the back into the net. After hitting the post, the ball was then tucked home by Jesus, who had occupied an offside position for the entirety of the buildup. You’re right, though; the three fouls, handball, and offside should never be reasons to disallow ‘the’ Arsenal an otherwise completely legal goal.
The match ended 2-2, a point that I will gladly take given the flow of the game any day of the week. The incessant waterfall of tears and temper tantrums thrown by Arsenal supporters across the land tells me that we have efficiently boiled their piss, and the disappointment of coming up short yet again in the league may truly be too much for them to handle. The managers’ post-match comments paint the same picture, as a respectful Slot praised the effort put forth by Arsenal and an overall great game of football for neutrals to enjoy. Arteta’s presser was a stark contrast to the former, blaming injuries and officiating for his side dropping points at home—in a game that he guaranteed to win last Monday. He rounded off his comments by saying something to the tune of, “I look forward to the apology letter that we’ll receive from the PGMOL for the refereeing today.” Do me a favor, Mikel; shove your imaginary letter up your ass.
Up the Pissboiling Reds.
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