Finally, it’s come to an end.
Eight years, eleven months and 25 days. Filled with misery,
compounded with false hopes. At a time when millions had stopped daring to
dream, only to perk up their hopes again when we went to Wembley on the 17th,
it seemed like the cycle was set to continue. 10 minutes in, Arsenal were
trailing 2-0 to Hull City, fortunate to not be three down but for some
fantastic work by Gibbs.
Disaster awaited, but was delayed by a superb Cazorla
free-kick. He may have had a disappointing season, but that goal would
undoubtedly be a high-point of his professional footballing career. It brought
us back into the game, and more importantly, provided the fanbase with what
they had craved for all these nine years – genuine optimism and belief.
The half wore on, then ended. The second half began, yet we
didn’t look like getting the leveller. Familiar frustrations creeped up – Ozil
wasn’t up to the mark, Podolski was anonymous, Giroud frustrating millions
around the globe, Wenger facepalming on the touchline.
I won’t lie, at that
point, everything seemed lost to me. I didn’t believe anything could happen
unless we brought on Rosicky or Wilshere from the bench.
And then Yaya Sanogo, a guy who has never scored a goal for
the club, came on for our third top goalscorer of the season, Lukas Podolski.
Arsene, desperate to restore parity in a monumental encounter, reverted to a
4-4-2 of ten years ago, one that had proven effectual against Wigan. And then, incredibly,
we saw change.
My heart went out to Yaya Sanogo. The guy has never scored a
goal for the club, but I like him because he tries. I have never shown any hatred towards the guy, I just felt
that it was unfair of Wenger to heap so much pressure on him by making him
second choice to Giroud. Be that as it may, Sanogo put in a remarkable shift
and swung the pendulum of momentum in our favour.
Koscielny bundled in a corner at the 60th minute
mark, reminiscent of his goals on the last three St. Totteringham Day’s. At
last parity was restored, tensions were cooled, and Gooners around the globe
began to believe.
We could have been spared extra-time tortures had Gibbs not
blasted a sitter over the bar. Had all not ended well, the guy’s confidence
could have presently been in tatters. Yet one more incentive to take the trophy
home was created. Pressure mounted.
And it mounted even more when the ref blew the final
whistle, signaling the beginning of thirty added minutes. If people were
shitting their pants over extra-time against Wigan, there’s no imagining their
state then.
Honestly, we ought to have wrapped up the game early. Ramsey
was clearly motivated to be the hero of the occasion, but was finding
difficulty in getting his shooting across. A fine ball by him was nodded onto
the crossbar by Giroud. Considering his height, Giroud really should do better
in the air.
The moment did arrive, though. It took its sweet time, and
that’s probably what made the moment sweeter. Seven minutes away from
penalties, Giroud backheeled the ball to the onrushing Rambo, and the Welshman capped
off a dramatic season by almost deflecting the ball into the net. That’s two
screamers in the space of two games for him.
When you need a goal, you need
Aaron Ramsey.
When the final whistle blew, not before some Almunia antics
from Fabianski, along with it brought tears of joy and intense relief. The wait
was over, the monkey was lifted, and the team were, for the first time in a
good part of a decade, winners. At last, since spaghetti knows when, belief was repaid.
THIS is what football is all about, I can't believe I have to point it out. It’s not about passing
off bank balances, stadiums and Champions League qualifications as trophies.
It’s about actually going out there and winning silverware, triumphing in the
face of adversity and ridicule and returning something to the fans. I genuinely
loathe people who think ‘practically’ in football, asserting that there are
more important things than trophies. I think the wildness of the celebrations
on the 17th proved them wrong. As long as you win trophies, nothing
else matters, really.
Hands down, seeing my beloved Arsenal of eight years win
their first trophy ever under my gaze, was the best moment of my life. My
personal, non-Arsenal life has been on a high for the past year, so seeing them
top my present state by first buying Ozil, and then, winning the cup, has
brought my life to its ultimate peak.
Amidst all this, I am a bit puzzled. While winning the FA
Cup was undoubtedly the best moment of my life, a small part of me felt that it
would feel better. I don’t know why, but I didn’t feel the joy that I thought I
would. Maybe because it’s tainted by the fact that it seals Wenger’s future at
Arsenal, or because I know that the summer to follow is going to be an
embarrassment, but I really felt that winning the cup would have signaled
greater euphoria from me.
However, even though my opinions on Wenger will not dwindle,
I felt happy to see him lift the trophy. I wouldn’t say he deserved it, given
all the rash decisions he made during the past decade. However, even though my
mind hates him, my heart loves him. It felt great watching him lift the trophy
and end the wait. And let’s face it, the day we won the FA Cup was a day for
the heart.
I’m an emotionless, stone faced guy, but football is a place
where my emotions tend to leak out. No, I don’t believe that winning the cup
will be the beginning of our glory days, nor do I believe that it will
transform Wenger for the better. However, for once, I’m not worrying about the
future and instead, focusing on the present.
And the present, as Freddy Ljungberg would call it, is
fucking excellent.
We won the cup. Lap it up.
P.S. Apologies for the late review, internet was down for the last four days. Time to see what other surprises Brangled Minds, Twitter and Sky sources have in store for me.
Whew, what a week.
-Santi (Follow me on twitter: @ArsenalBlogz )
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