TF Preview - Arsenal (h) Carabao Cup, semi-final

Arsenal, Carabao Cup Semi Final, Second Leg.

Wednesday 5th February 2025, 8pm, St James’ Park

‘Live’ on SKYSports

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Arsenal at home. A preview in two parts….

Chapter one

It’s Tuesday 7th January. I’m stopping in Islington. I stroll down Pentonville Road. I love this neck of London. Always have.

I meet my next door neighbour, Tony trying to get into the Dolphin. It’s a bit of a nightmare with one member of staff attempting to serve a Geordie horde. I mean, who could’ve predicted such a crowd at London’s NUFC HQ this evening? Anyways, he’s got the knowledge, and swiftly guides us to the John Betjeman Public house across Euston Road. We have a few IPAs and some very decent scran. I’m having a class time. Mags young & old everywhere.

As usual when you’re enjoying yourself, time accelerates and we suddenly realise, ‘bugger’ it’s gone 7 bells and the match kicks off in an hour. Leg it to the station. An (admittedly helpful) Orwellian voice monotonously barks out that if you gan to Arsenal station you’re screwed for kick off. ‘Head to Finsbury Park tube.’ We do.

This is a bit of a schlep and we get into the Emirates mere seconds before it starts. I have to forcefully move a few folk out of my seat. And we’re in.

I think I was in ‘match denial.’ For not one moment in the lead up to this did I think it would go our way. If I’m honest, I was just happy to be there. If you’d pressed me, I’d have deffo taken a draw, and possibly even a narrow 0-1 reverse. Given what followed, you could label me prematurely defeatist, but I heard plenty of a B&W persuasion talking similarly on the hideously packed tube.

These are the best times. We’re getting incrementally better, so they come around slightly more frequently, but drink it in.

Arsenal are a very good team, and we basically schooled them. True, they hit the post and missed a sitter. As I said, they’re more than decent. Even when they’re second best, you’d expect something off them. However, let’s have it right, for 90-odd minutes they were largely dancing to our tune. Not an exciting symphony of verve and beauty, more a grinding staccato beat of hard work, patience, and massive discipline. Eddie Howe was the conductor after all.

Down the far end from our pew, it bounced around and suddenly the net is bulging. Alex. Again.

The second felt even sweeter. I’d deliberately sorted tickets as high as this soulless shallow bowl would allow, behind the goal as opposed to the usual rubbish corner based, Ashley gurning pint ‘away’ ones.

AG10 then buries a rebound and our dream is beginning to feel like reality. I’m jumping around hugging strangers like they’re my family. At that moment, they are. I only see Anthony’s nod to the maestro, Thierry the following day.

We leave 2-0 up. It reminds me of the gridlock navigating Wembley way. Completely rammed. A glacially moving cacophony of disgruntled locals and satellite town dullards. We’re so lucky to be able to stride out of St James’ into our superb city centre of restaurants and bars. Never forget this.

After a 40 minute stride ‘home’ I spy a hipster-y type serving behind a bar*. Trimmed beard; ‘Tick.’ Lights on, and movement. ‘Double tick.’ Fuck me, we’re in the capital after 11PM and there are folk serving. I’m that happy, I’d have paid him £20 for a pint of local hazy swill. As it happens, it was just slightly less than half of that. We had a couple of celebratory bevvies with some eclectic ladies, gentlemen, and someone I may/may not have misgendered, and it was off to bed with one foot in the Final. Mint.

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I’ve written this over a couple of weeks, so please understand the obvious mood swing.

Chapter Two

Fast forward about a month, and the second leg is finally upon us. I left the new Highbury convinced we were Wembley bound. I’d already steamed into the Hilton website for Cup final weekend accommodation, and was euphoric to the point of going on Amazon for some Duraglit to keep our soon-to-be three armed trophy nicely buffed. For circa two of the four following weeks this feeling didn’t alter wildly.

Alex was chasing unattainable records. We were scoring goals for fun. Conceding at best, sporadically. Then, ‘bang.’ The fucking Cherries.

Jesus. When it comes to NUFC, I’ve long been a mix of resigned/Colonel Shitpants, and that performance gave me the fear. True, Bournemouth are a currently (weirdly) brilliant side, and we turned up expecting to turn them over, but the sheer undressing we had to bear left me all a-quiver. FFS, they play in a Subbuteo stadium. An unexceptional victory at the new Dell only slightly assuaged my misgivings.

Having just witnessed the turd sandwich of the mighty Fulham waltzing away with points 4, 5, and 6 off us, I’m suddenly feeling a little less bombastic.

My concern with our current vintage is as follows. The first XI is mebs/potentially/just about top 5. In reality, it’s 7–10 unless literally everyone is always on the top of their game, and injuries/suspensions are few & far between. This, of course is unrealistic.

They’ve all been ‘on it’ for the lion’s share of December and some of January, but when called upon, the drop off in our squad players is pretty alarming. This would naturally be remedied if we weren’t saving to suffer an ongoing PSR nightmare. It’s a stacked deck, but we are where we are.

Wednesday night is the archetypal ‘next goal’ game. A first half aggregate of 3-0 to Newcastle surely kills the tie, but 2-1 after 15/20 is a different matter entirely, and would lead to ‘anxious trousers’ all around SJP.

Questions abound. How do we play it? Jugular or patience? I think the latter more likely. With bigger ‘fish to fry’ do they put a strong side out and bother their collective arse? I think the evidence of the first leg shows you how much the little Lego-headed charmer wants this. Therefore, expect another strong Gunners XI.

I think Arsenal will give it a go, and it’ll be how we respond. I’ve long garnered a suspicion that a few too many of our higher profile players only properly turn up when the spotlight is upon them. This is probably backed up by a glance at performances/ results versus ‘lesser lights’ at St James’ as opposed to the pride we all felt after City, Spurs, Liverpool, and Arsenal. If we are ever to meaningfully progress, this is a trend which has to change. As it happens, it doesn’t get much bigger than a semi final, so expect a shift from our boys.

To be honest, you could also point a similar accusatory finger at our home support. It can (and probably will) be a bear pit on Wednesday evening, but it’s often only the Strawberry corner lads and lasses trying to get everyone going versus the boring B’s of Brighton and Brentford etc. And don’t get me started on the amount of ‘supporters’ who start sloping off after about 75 minutes.

To get to Wembley, I reckon everyone needs to step up. That means you too, Dave and Doris. I promise, your slow cooker will survive for another half hour if you stay to the end of the match.

Watching our lukewarm effort versus Hugh Grant’s boys followed by Arsenal sticking it to the Champions was not the prep we were hoping for, but a two-goal lead and home advantage really should give us the platform we need to progress. Shouldn’t it?

Do you know what? I’m not sure. If pressed, I fancy us to just about get through, but I think it’ll be a battle royal with the odd bump in the road along the way. PMT** is most definitely kicking in.

Please, please boys. Don’t screw this one up.

Nick Clark

X : @Clark5Nick

Bluesky : @njc1892.bsky.social

*FYI, The pub in question is called ‘The Three John’s. Just off Islington High Street. Amazing ceiling. Particularly sound owners and a decent array of ales.

**Pre Match Tension

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Sent from my iPhone