The irrepressible Cesc won the ball high up the pitch and fed it left to Arshavin. The little Russian assessed his options, saw Cesc move into space at the back stick and dinked one onto his forehead; the skipper burying it with Chamakh-esque aplomb

From the ever-trustworthy UrbanDictionary.com:

Bagel – a score of zero in a set of tennis (e.g. 6-0)

So now you know what the headline means. And what a ‘bagel-ing’ it was.

My matchday began earlier than usual, having agreed to meet the old man for dinner beforehand. As always, my journey took me past Wembley Stadium. I see the famous arch so often that I rarely bat an eyelid, but this time it meant a little more. As Sagna said in his pre-match press conference: “it is a short distance to Wembley but a long way to the final”. Indeed. However, the route to Wembley could not have begun in more emphatic form.

A chance encounter with the legend that is Gilberto Silver of Gunnerblog and I knew it was going to be a good night – the only other time I’ve bumped into him this season was Barnet, and we won handsomely there.

As expected, Sagna and Clichy returned at full-back whilst Rosicky was wisely rested for Nasri. The only other notable news was that Jack Wilshere kept his place in the first XI ahead of Denilson.

Before I forget, let me say this about Wilshere – now he truly belongs. The more games he gets, the more comfortable he is about his role, the less risks he needs to take in order to impress the gaffer, and so the more natural and efficient his game is. Question: who was the best English midfielder in the Champions League this week? Answer: Jack Wilshere. Take note Messrs Pearce and Capello.

We started like a house on fire, attacking from the whistle. The first ten minutes were a tale of two penalties – Cesc was denied one, Chamakh won one. In the continued absence of RvP, the skipper stepped up to score his first goal since THAT game versus the Cuntalonians last season. His body language was somewhat muted – there was no slide towards the Clock End, just a fist pump – but that was more indicative of the ease with which the players had found the early goings.

In fact, we should have doubled our lead soon thereafter as Cesc found his young midfield partner in the box but Master Wilshere could only fire at the Braga keeper from point-blank range.

A fifteen-minute lull ensued; summed up by Arshavin’s infuriating ability to give the ball away more than he found a teammate. Yet, in classic Arshavin fashion, he then grabbed the second goal.

Whilst Cesc is forever being compared to his compatriots Xavi and Iniesta, one thing the English game has given him is a physical robustness that the other two do not possess. He exhibited this here, evading three challenges before poking it through to Arshavin, who fired past the Braga keeper at the near post.

The third goal came within five minutes and involved a clever exchange of passes between Chamakh and that boy Wilshere. From the North Bank it was difficult to see what exactly had happened, but the replays showing Jack’s backheel drew roars of approval. Credit to Chamakh too for sorting his feet out quickly and hitting it across the keeper – a true striker’s finish and his first non-headed goal in the red and white (pre-season notwithstanding).

A word on Chamakh. Yet another exemplary performance from the Moroccan – first touch, holding the ball up, laying it off, challenging aerially, stretching the defence. He is both a “false nine” and a “real nine” rolled into one. We are lucky to have him, merci beaucoup Monsieur Wenger.

Ever the pessimist, I feared we’d concede a silly goal before half-time and give Braga a leg- up, but our two other new boys Squillaci and Koscielny marshalled the backline well. There was a slight hairy moment when Gael Clichy slipped five minutes before the break and gave a Braga attack added impetus, but his desire to harry and win the ball back snuffed out any danger.

The second-half began and club level was barely half-full when we further extended our lead. The irrepressible Cesc won the ball high up the pitch and fed it left to Arshavin. The little Russian assessed his options, saw Cesc move into space at the back stick and dinked one onto his forehead; the skipper burying it with Chamakh-esque aplomb. Another mention to Chamakh’s movement as his dart to the near post ever-so-slightly occupied the Braga centre- half, thereby affording Cesc that vital extra millisecond of time and space.

It really was showtime as the rip-roaring reds attacked at will. Cesc could have grabbed a hat- trick, playing a neat one-two with Arshavin before attempting to loft the ball over the keeper, who got a hand to it and allowed the covering defender to clear.

By this time the free-form of our attacking formation was evident to see. Unlike previous league games where Song had often popped up as the furthest midfielder, against Braga him and Wilshere diligently stayed deeper. Instead it was the nominal front four of Cesc, Nasri, Arshavin and Chamakh that were swapping positions at will. Total Football is an overused phrase, but for a small purple patch at the start of the second period it was on show at the Emirates.

The game won, Arsene threw on Carlos Vela and Denilson for the nigh-on irreplaceable duo of Chamakh and Song. Wise move. Legit competition for places means that our subs are always looking to make an impact.

With a third change in the offing, Arshavin knew he would not have many more chances to add to his tally. He didn’t, firing a low drive against the post from the inside-right position having been played in by Nasri. The mongy Russian (courtesy of Arseblog) still had time to set one up before he departed, playing the seventeenth and final pass of yet another breathtaking move for Carlos Vela to dink (shock horror) over the keeper and make it five. The only thing missing from the buildup was the chorus of “Oles”. The Emirates faithful – myself included – are a lucky, lucky bunch.

Arshavin departed to a hero’s ovation. Two assists, a goal and a post hit. Amazing when I bumped into a mate after the game, the first thing he said to me was “Arshavin had a bit of mare”, and I nodded in agreement! Andrey, keeping having these mares please. In his place came on everyone’s favourite homeboy, Sir Emmanuel of Eboue.

Braga mildly – and I mean that in the loosest sense of the word – began to threaten. Their adventures of course foundered on the rock-like performance of Squillaci and the combative presence of Koscielny. And when the ball did get beyond our backline, Manuel Almunia was in fine fettle. They say the true sign of a great goalkeeper is being able to produce the goods after having done sod all for 70 minutes. Yes, he did not have to pull off any supersaves, but what he had to do was done with clean hands and no flapping. And having seen Petr Cech’s decidedly dodgy keeping last night, I’ll take that for now.

The icing on the cake came with five minutes remaining. Jack Wilshere, again orchestrating from deep, launched one over-the-top for Fabregas. With defenders closing on him, instead of being the glory-hunter he simply teed it up for Vela. The smiling Mexican finished coolly at the near post. It then struck me that what Vela is doing now is what Eduardo was doing before his injury – finishing with ice in his veins. He will surely feature next week against purs in the Carling Cup and I am very interested to see how he gets on from the start.

A few stats before I finish. First, we were mighty clinical last night, only registering 11 shots in total and eight on target (source: Daily Telegraph). That is, respectively, a conversion rate of 55% and 75%. Wow. So this was not one of those games (such as Blackpool) where we missed umpteen chances or the keeper had a blinder and six-goals was the least of what we should have scored. Before the game I opined that such is our dominance of midfield against most opposition, as long we take most of our chances and don’t make silly mistakes at the back, we’ve got a good thing going on.

The second stat concerns those Cuntalonians from the night before. In their 5-1 drubbing of Panathinaikos it was disclosed that they had made a whopping 792 passes – a CL record. Over on Twitter I wondered how close we had come to that, and the great Orbinho (http:// twitter.com/Orbinho) provided me with the following figures from this week:

Cuntalonia – 792 completed passes
Bayern Munich – 679
AC Milan – 562
Real Madrid – 544
Arsenal – 539

So not only were we a long way off those Cuntalonians, but we also trailed behind Bayern, Milan, and Real. A bit of surprise, but in hindsight maybe a pleasant one? Hopefully we’ve banished the days of the “Islington Shuffle” i.e. just passing the ball around for the sake of it without venturing into the opposition box (think Alex Hleb). Domestically I can see the need for this as teams park the bus, especially at the Emirates. But in Europe we can really hurt teams with our quick transition from defence to attack, our tempo, our urgency. Funny how the European method of keep-ball serves us best domestically but the more direct “English” game can come up trumps in Europe.

Anyhoo, I have no qualms in whoring myself out, so if you’re on Twitter and want to follow me then you can do so at http://twitter.com/TheSquidBoyLike

I tweet as often as Harry Redknapp twitches. Actually no, for that would be humanely impossible.

I’m Squid Boy, and that was a tasty bagel.

Almunia (7.5)
Sagna (7.5)
Koscielny (7.5)
Squillaci (7.5)
Clichy (7)
Song (7)
Wilshere (7.5)
Cesc (8)
Nasri (7)
Chamakh (7.5)
Arshavin (7.5)

Please note that ratings are from Mean Lean and not from the writer of the article. These are only my interpretations of the game and that others will have differing opinions