Arsene put him out of his misery and culled him for Silvestre to widespread cheers, thereby sparing him the risk of making that fatal, goal-conceding error. Adebayor went over to console him but he was obviously upset and marched straight down the tunnel

Match Review – Arsenal 1 Wigan 0 – Premier League

“One-nil to The Arsenal” used to be a thing of beauty. We’d grab the opener and defend with grim determination for the rest of the game. The fans would cheer the sheer hard-nosed nature of our play, the unwillingness to let the opposition back into the game, the bloody-minded attitude. Oh yes we will remember those Highbury highs (click this link and listen while you read on):

But not these days. No siree Bob. At the Emirates, if the home side do not serve up a sumptuous feast of free-flowing champagne football, the crowd get agitated. And if this lack of creativity is combined with fragility at the back, then the crowd are sent over the edge and descend into the farcical booing of Emmanuel Eboue as witnessed at the end of this game. As I exited my seat after the final whistle, I got a text message saying the following: “How can we boo one of our own?”

I should have seen it coming. On the train to the game, I eavesdropped on the following conversation between some Arsefans:

“I tell you what, if Bendtner sets foot on the pitch today, he will get booed to death”

Whether or not the fan meant that he himself would boo, or whether others around him would commit the cardinal sin, I’m not sure. But to even contemplate that one of OUR players would get booed on OUR ground by OUR fans is preposterous. I admit that I was one of Bendtner’s critics after his lackadaisical performance in midweek. Not of his finishing – because every striker can have a bad day in front of goal – but of his general lazy and arrogant demeanour. But booing? Bang out of order. No surprise then that the announcement of name on the bench was met with a mixed response.

We are fans. Not an audience. Watching football is not an opera, where if we’re dissatisfied we can vent our fury. We don’t go to the game 100% expecting a good performance and a win. Football is a lot of things to a lot of people, but most of all it is about hope. We HOPE that our heroes can live up to our expectations and make us happy. But there is no guarantee of it. This is real life, not some rehearsed show, and there a plenty of variables that can make things go awry, so all we can do is HOPE that we come out on top. And if things aren’t going our way, then it is our duty to pick the team up, not to send them further into the mire.

And that money argument doesn’t wash with me either: “I paid £45 so I’ve got the right to boo”. Bollocks. If money is your God then why bother coming? When we concede a last minute equaliser, if the first thing to cross you mind is: “Fuckers, I want my money back”, then I think you need to reconsider your frequenting of the Emirates. Because there are a million souls sitting around the world streaming the game who would love to be in your seat. After the game I got chatting to a fan who had trekked it all the way from Plymouth. It was his first game at the Emirates and he was simply overjoyed to have come, whatever the result. He simply lived and breathed Arsenal, and his attitude showed one thing: being present to support your team is a privilege. If it becomes a chore or a “waste of money”, why bother?

Anyway, onto the game. No Gallas so Toure came back into the fold in the only change from the Chelsea game. Eboue returned from a sustained lay-off to take his place on the bench.

The first-half was tepid to say the least. It seemed like a morning kick-off, such was the lack of urgency about proceedings both on the pitch and in the stands. Wigan looked more threatening and had a deflected effort in the first minute that tested Almunia’s handling.

On a day like this where we were looking to build on the win over Chelsea last week, what we desperately needed was an early goal. And it came just after the quarter-hour, albeit in a fortuitous manner. Cesc played a ball into the feet of Alex Song on the edge of the box and it ricocheted off Titus Bramble to fall to the waiting Adebayor. The Togonator gleefully accepted the chance and calmly stroked it home. The perfect start.

Ade went over to celebrate with his mate Eboue on the bench. The latter would soon enter the fray as Samir Nasri picked up an injury after a heavy challenge from former Arsenal trialist Wilson Palacios. The rate at which the Frenchman picks up injuries is becoming alarmingly frequent.

Eboue’s entrance was greeted with ironic cheers from the home fans, plus the even more ironic “We’ve only come to see Eboue” chant. Those cheers would soon turn to frustration as one of Eboue’s first involvements was to give away a free-kick in a dangerous position after clumsily handballing.

Indeed, Wigan’s biggest threat lay in set-pieces. One occasion saw Manuel having to pull off a close-range save from Valencia. It wouldn’t have counted anyway because the Wigan winger was flagged offside, but it nonetheless exhibited the opposition’s danger from set-pieces. Sensing our obvious fragility, they even resorted to Stoke-esque long throws which caused more than a few palpitations in the collective hearts of Gooners.

At this point I realised that we’d only had one shot on goal in the entire first-period. As the half-time whistle neared, we doubled that tally. A raking long-ball was nodded down by Ade to van Persie, and the Dutchman returned the favour with a neat flick into the Togonator’s path, but he couldn’t control his volley. Then in injury time we came even closer, and again it was that man Adebayor. Denilson cut the ball back to him on the edge of the box and he sent a low skidding effort onto the post via Kirkland’s fingertips. A second goal would have been manna from heaven and really allowed us to relax in the second-half.

What was immediately noticeable after the break was that Wigan – naturally – were playing a much higher line. I licked my lips (figuratively speaking) as I thought an open game would suit us and we’d be able to catch them on the break. Initially I was wrong as Wigan kept on asking questions of our defence, to which we scratched around looking for the right answer. The combination of Djourou and Toure passed the test, but the flying colours will have to wait.

But then we upped our game. Van Persie was most definitely our brightest spark and after being fed by Captain Fabtastic in the 52nd minute he rather scuffed his shot wide on his weaker foot. He came a lot closer five minutes later as he created half-a-yard of space before sending rasping low drive inches wide of the post. The Dutchman’s third chance was of his own making as he burst through a couple of challenges before being felled on the edge of the box. Cometh the hour, cometh the Van? He took a deep breath, stepped up and sent a stinging free-kick inches over with Kirkland beaten all ends up. If my memory serves me correctly, RvP hasn’t scored directly from a free-kick since Sunderland in October of last year.

Only a minute later did we again strike the woodwork again as Denilson received the ball 25-yards out and hit a bouncing low drive onto the upright. Although it wasn’t vintage Arsenal, we were certainly enjoying something resembling a purple patch.

And just as we had looked shaky at defending set-pieces, it was Wigan’s turn in the second-half. Sagna was the main beneficiary on two such occasions, the first time his glancing near post header was stopped by Kirkland, and the second time he hit the ball into the ground and it bounced over after Song’s header had caused some harum scarem. Adebayor too should have given us the comfort of a second goal but he nodded a corner wide from barely six-yards.

It looked like one of those days where we were gonna pay for our profligacy in front of goal and our inability to kill it off.

And the chickens nearly came home to roost in the 70th minute. Naturally it was from a set-piece and it really was Supermanuel to the rescue as he got in the way of Melchiot’s point-blank effort. By this stage Wigan had begun to build some momentum and had thrown on the ever-menacing Zaki and the ever-tricky Koumas. Both Zaki and the slippery Valencia sent shots wide.

As we entered the dying embers of the game, our play became desperate and disjointed. Gone was the confidence in our ability to retain possession as the jitters in the stands transmitted to the players. The biggest victim of this was Eboue. And I use the term “victim” loosely as there is no doubt he had a shocker and had slowly descended into a personal meltdown which increased exponentially every time he gave the ball away. They say you can’t defend the indefensible, and although I concede that he had a royal ‘mare, you have to remember a few things:

1. He has only just returned from a month out injured;

2. I doubt he expected to play such a large portion of the game but had to as Nasri came off – had he even warmed up sufficiently?

3. He is naturally a right-back and was marooned out on the left-wing;

4. Every time the fans booed him, his confidence drained away. Booing does not help him, quite the opposite.

In particular there was one moment where Toure intercepted the ball at the back and marauded forward to relieve the pressure. As he veered towards the left-wing, Eboue wasn’t sure whether to make a run for him or whether to come short. In the end he did neither and took the ball off Kolo’s feet before misplacing yet another pass. Now while I’m not saying that he wouldn’t have done that anyway, what I’m trying to get across is that the jeers and catcalls of the fans MAY have left him bereft of ideas and confidence. Don’t get me wrong, he was crapulent, but booing him probably made him worse.

So bad was he that Arsene put him out of his misery and culled him for Silvestre to widespread cheers, thereby sparing him the risk of making that fatal, goal-conceding error. Adebayor went over to console him but he was obviously upset and marched straight down the tunnel.

The majority of these players are in their early twenties. They are barely men. So more than ever do they deserve our support. The fan who boos and then leaves early can easily wipe away the pain by doing whatever he does on a Saturday night, be it getting pissed with the lads or shagging his missus. But that kind of harrowing experience lingers with a player. Do we want them to develop into world-beaters? Or do we want to see them fail? Because the vitriol directed at them will only achieve one thing.

If your son was having a shocker of a game in the Sunday Leagues, would you boo him? No. We need to show some love. Booing our own is simply not The Arsenal way. Nor is it the logical thing to do as it us to the ultimate detriment of the team. By the time the final whistle went, the joie de vivre had well and truly been sucked out of the players. In my mind, the fact that we had picked up a vital three points was almost an afterthought. I don’t want to come off all “holier than thou”, but the booing had shaken me to my core. For a brief moment, I despised certain sections of the Emirates faithful more than I despise a Spud, Manc or Chav.

But in the cold light of day, it is that afterthought which is most important: victory. A bit of concordia crescit wouldn’t go amiss either.