...Will Wenger ever address his team’s most obvious weakness?

Real visionaries don’t pay much attention to the crowds; Arsene knows. Yet Arsenal have been exposed once again by a problem that everyman from pundit to pub expert has known about for years – a lack of experience at central defence. Laurent Koscielny may well develop to be a better player than Roger Johnson or Martin Jiranek, he may even already be more technically adept than his opposite numbers yesterday, but experience breeds calmness under pressure and yesterday Koscielny’s lack of both of these qualities cost Arsenal their first taste of silver and champagne for six long years.

Anyone can make mistakes, but the top teams around Arsenal who have been winning trophies would have been greeted with a far more assured combination of defender and goalkeeper than Koscielny and Wojciech Szczesny. Manchester United, who have won seven major honours since losing the FA Cup final to Arsenal in 2005 and Chelsea, with five, both have far more experience in these areas, and these factors are closely linked.

Experience also teaches leadership and influence, both of which Arsenal were lacking in yesterday. Their captain Cesc Fabregas missed the match through injury, as did Thomas Vermaelen. In their absence Jack Wilshire exuded more in the way of leadership than his age might suggest, but he was almost alone in this aspect. Injuries happen, and there is a chance Fabregas might move to Barcelona. The more a team turn to players such as Fabregas to pull them through difficult moments, the more he will be missed.

Great teams have leaders all over the pitch. The ‘invincibles’ of 2003-4 had Thierry Henry, Jens Lehmann, Martin Keown, Sol Campbell, Gilberto Silva and Dennis Bergkamp to lead the way when the difficult moments arose. Since then Wenger has made many signings based on physical attributes whilst neglecting the balance of mentalities in the side: Alexander Hleb, Thomas Rosicky, Andrei Arshavin, Theo Walcott. The general feeling now is that Arsenal are a small team both physically and mentally, one which can be pushed around and beaten and will concede goals via set pieces (52% in the Premier League this season).

This problem cannot be rectified in one transfer window and may take a complete change in Arsene Wenger’s transfer policy. Lack of experience is not an excuse that he can continue to use to patch over his side’s deficiencies, as it is he who is responsible for that factor in the first place. So many people have said that Arsenal need an experienced centre-back, and although he has bought the 30-year-old Sebastien Squillaci Wenger chose to use Koscielny and Johan Djourou, a move that backfired yesterday as Birmingham’s inferior team were allowed to defeat his because of that one moment when an experienced calm head was needed.

In my opinion Wenger should do everything possible to sign Phillippe Mexes. The 28-year-old Roma and France centre-back is out of contract at the end of the season, is exactly what Arsenal need and could form a formidable partnership with Thomas Vermaelen to give Arsenal stability, leadership and consistency at the back for the next few years, one which could make the difference between winning trophies and falling at the final hurdle as seen at Wembley yesterday.

Charlie Coffey

...Harry Redknapp: the pupil becomes the master

During Tottenham’s thrilling encounter with AC Milan at the San Siro Harry Redknapp let slip that his tactical prowess is much greater than he wants us to believe. Inter Milan may have taught Spurs a lesson in the first of his first big European examinations in the San Siro this season, but the good news for Tottenham is that Redknapp and his boys in white learned from it, before passing the retake with flying colours.

On paper this test was harder than that of the preliminary stage; whereas Rafa Benitez’s Inter were floundering in the shadow of their treble success, Massimo Allegri’s side have been rejuvenated by the signings and subsequent resurgence in form of Zlatan Ibrahimovic and Robinho. They are six points clear at the top of Serie A as a result, having won 4-0 against Parma on this very pitch in their previous match.

Last October Spurs were bewildered by an Inter side that went 4-0 up inside 35 minutes, in a geometry lesson led by Javier Zanetti; a steep learning curva indeed. This time Spurs started from the off, with the clear game plan of refusing to allow Milan to settle on the ball, to get it wide and to target the obvious aerial threat of Peter Crouch. A good first five minutes were crucial, but Spurs continued to play with an intensity to which Milan were not accustomed for the entire first half, dominating chances on goal.

At Monday’s press conference Redknapp did his best happy-go-lucky act when declaring that his squad had not the players to defend; no bus to park. Instead they would go out and attack: the same naïve approach that has been the undoing of many inexperienced English teams away from home in the Champions League. After the smoke of mind games cleared like a red flare dispersing into the wet misty air, the reality was that Redknapp played Wilson Palacios and the vastly inexperienced Sandro as two tenacious yet disciplined holding midfielders, who barely strayed from their posts.

The result was that they dominated Clarence Seedorf, who floated, or more like flitted ineffectively between Milan’s three defensively minded midfielders, Thiago Silva, Gennaro Gattuso and Massimo Ambrosini, and the front two of Robinho and Ibrahimovic so much so that the Dutchman, the one and only winner of three European Cups with different sides in history, was replaced at half time. Instead it was Robinho who was charged with the creative role, and Alexandre Pato was introduced beside the Swede to inject some pace.

Having dominated the first half but failing to score, Tottenham were still fired up, still biting into the experienced Milanese midfield at every opportunity. Spurs rode their luck somewhat with two world-class saves from Heurelho Gomes early in the second half, and could easily have been led, through fear, to attack in a fight rather than flight reaction. After all, Spurs are the most cavalier side to have advanced from the group stages, scoring 16 and conceding 11. Instead, Redknapp and his team kept their heads while the Italian side lost theirs.

What followed can only be described as old-fashioned Catenaccio from Tottenham; Redknapp’s side ‘bolting the door’ on Milan in their own back yard by using one of the oldest tricks in the Italian book of tactics, one which got its nickname from Helenio Herrera’s Inter Milan side of the 1960s in this very stadium and has characterised many of the greatest patient Italian sides since, including AC Milan themselves in the 80s and 90s. This was made yet more ironic by the highlights of famous tactical AC Milan victories, and the speech of the bellissima Martina Colombari (wife of one Alessandro Costacurta), in the Heineken Lounge at half-time.

In short, the English students gave the Italian veterans a master-class of defending deep and with great organisation. When the chance came they broke with pace, again playing to their strengths. The slightly less tactically-astute but lighting fast Aaron Lennon was pushed up on the right, ready to break when released by the calm decision-making of substitute Luca Modric after Milan’s full backs had both been pulled forward. Lennon left Milan’s cultured yet somewhat pedestrian central defenders in tatters as he skipped past Mario Yepes before rendering the usually unflappable Italian Alessandro Nesta (the last in a rich vein of patient, tactically astute AC Milan defenders from Franco Baresi and Costacurta himself through Paolo Maldini) completely helpless with a bisecting pass to Crouch, who slotted home.

The game ended with the self-destruction, on and off the pitch, of another Milan icon: captain Gennaro Gattuso. In the dying seconds Nesta and co. panicked further as goalkeeper Marco Amelia charged forward for a corner without invitation, thus jeopardising the home team’s final attack. Few would have predicted the score line, but fewer still would have predicted the manner in which the victory was achieved, or that it would be Harry Redknapp to leave the pitch at the San Siro smug in the knowledge that, on the evidence of this enthralling 90 minutes of vintage Champions League football, the pupil had become the master.

Charlie Coffey

...Fan Report: Blackpool 2-3 United

After writing without bias for too long, I decided to let go after an emotional comeback against Blackpool. If you're not a United fan this may make you want to puke, but frankly my dear, I don't give a damn...

What a match. We were suddenly back to the United of old: the careless start then attacking flair and literal bloody mindedness to win at any cost. There would always be blood, sweat and tears at Bloomfield Road, just as there was at Burnley last year. I feared that before the match and especially when we went a goal down early on.

It just had to be Cathcart, the lad who was at United as a trainee. I’m reading Catch 22 at the moment, in which General Cathcart sends the American soldiers to the doom of more missions against the Germans. Another Yank and former Red Jonathan Spector started the rout at West Ham in our only loss of the season, a nightmare from which Jonny Evans has only just woken up. The law of the ex; the first time we had faced Blackpool in over 40 years. Just as I did after going 1-0 down to Burnley, I feared the way the Blackpool match was going. It looked written, but enough about the book. Football rarely follows the plot.

This time the tears belonged to brave old Blackpool, their ludicrous manager and their ludicrous fans. Their jubilation at 2-0 was absolutely hilarious. My particular favourite was a shot of a tangerine-skinned man (fake tan not face paint) in a pair of sunglasses that spelt ‘Blackpool’ with the ‘o’s as eyes, then a cut to a person in a hood with a face fully covered in wool inexplicably spinning round and round in circles.

For that I almost forgave ESPN and the early kick-off for forcing me to watch the match alone in Soho in a shithole pub after work, in which the old pisshead sitting almost on my knee tried to claim I was drinking his pint every time I brought one back from the bar. The more he did this and subsequently slurred bollocks to me whilst melting my face with his breath, the more pints I bought. That bloody book again.

Blackpool were fantastic in the first half. Their technique almost matched their passion, and rather than soaking up United’s pressure and scoring on the break, they kept pressing forward and forced two goals from well-earned set pieces. They reminded me of why, until then at least, I had enjoyed watching them this season - their fearless style of play (and the fact they have beaten Liverpool twice).

As the half drew to a close they had us kicking out in frustration, as first Paul Scholes and then Darron Gibson were booked. If this match proved United’s determination it also proved Gibson’s inadequacy. He may be Irish but he ain’t no Keano; he may pack a shot but he ain’t no Scholesy. What we’re left with is a central midfielder with no particular calibre in attack or defence, like an Anderson but without the determination or resolve. He was the worst player on the pitch by some distance, and was thankfully withdrawn for Giggsy at the interval. Giggs needed a rest after his heroics on Saturday, but the reason why the gritty, tenacious Brazilian was on the bench for Blackpool away is only known by one man.

Ferguson, however, has not lost his touch. A dejected man on the plastic orange seats in the Bloomfield Road dugout, you could see the anger boiling within his red face. This was a match that would have given at least four teams great hope had it been lost. The Birmingham match aside, United had been somewhat complacent for a while despite their place at the peak of the league table. There is no doubting Ferguson’s half-time team talk was as old school as the facilities. This match was replayed because of a lack of under-soil heating during the cold... an old Scotsman doubtlessly snapped at the interval with enough steam to fly a hot air balloon, never mind thaw a football pitch.

Dimitar Berbatov sprang into action. It seems he has finally, belatedly, learned what is expected of him. He’s a mere cog, not the scratchproof glass on United’s Rolex. The result is five goals in two matches; superb build-up play and, crucially, the stamina to wind the clock down whilst defending a narrow lead when down to ten men. During the (for once) unwelcome period of injury time - 10 minutes - he always showed for the ball, knowing when to hold play up and when to deftly release Chicharito, who came on to make relentless darting, direct runs which were consistently found by the Bulgarian. Eric and Ole in the making?

It may be too soon for such comparisons, but the rapid progress of Rafael shows that we have the real deal here. Whilst chasing a deficit he was at times United’s best player both in defence and going forward. Although his head may hurt tomorrow after he was carried off on a stretcher with concussion, the lad’s heart cannot be doubted (particularly confusing was the constant camera switches from Rafael on a stretcher receiving medical attention to Rafael standing up and worriedly looking over at himself. It was Fabio of course, but for a second it looked like little Rafa had died in a cheap film).

Blackpool’s equally large heart, meanwhile, was ultimately broken. For once I’m tempted to feel sympathy and sorrow for this group of plucky over-achievers and their charismatic boss, but unfortunately for them games are 90 minutes long, and they have been beaten by a United side focussed on a much bigger prize that they themselves narrowly missed out on last season, and that they now have the momentum to go and win.

...Gray and Keys unlock cause for celebration

The ‘scandal’ surrounding the sexist comments of Andy Gray and Richard Keys should really be a celebration. Two of the most respected, experienced men in English football television have been corrected in an offside dispute by a female official who let her judgement do the talking, and the attitudes of an older generation of men have been highlighted and ridiculed. It has also exposed the press as being either over-cautious without a true freedom of speech, or simply ignorant of the male inhabitants of their own country.

While most people reading the news yesterday (apart from maybe Daily Mail readers to whom the sting was perfectly targeted) are aware that some men of a certain age still carry out-dated social sentiments that are discussed in private (or in the case of Keys and Gray into a functioning microphone), the only ones to be truly offended were those writing the articles. Perhaps they had their professional caps on too tight and were worried of what implications the slightest lack of shock or disgust could have on their careers. Maybe they were surrounded by intelligent, opinionated, articulate female writers. I hope they have such excuses to offer, because otherwise it shows that they are not representative of their readership.

If the journalists I read yesterday in the Times and online from a few sources are really that offended, they have obviously never been to what we call ‘a pub’. Now, by a pub I don’t mean a London bar with mood lighting and chill-out music in which you may sup a delicious German weissbier whilst enjoying hummus and olives; a place in which you may see a Jamie Redknapp type with his fitted suits and modern outlook on life. I don’t mean a chain pub full of cockney ‘Man Yoo’ fans or toffs in rugby shirts and loafers. I mean a working man’s boozer, with drip trays and tankards; a place in which older men release darts and farts with equal gusto and accuracy and in which I feel no older than I did when I were knee high to a grasshopper, peering through smoke and man boobs to get a glimpse of the footy. In such an establishment you might see an Andy Gray type, with beer belly and bollocks flopped in ill-fitting clothes, merrily chewing the fat with his contemporaries.

In such a place one can take stock of the true attitudes of the older gentlemen in our society. The humour is crude but ultimately harmless. Where once it would be acceptable to show a racist attitude it now is not; the ‘Big Ron’ Atkinson types have been booted out of the vault along with their archaic, offensive slurs. I was lucky enough to interview Viv Anderson, the first black man to play for England. He told me of visiting a boozer near Old Trafford (when he was playing for Manchester United) called the Pomona Palace, in which he stuck out like a sore thumb, partly because of his race, partly because he asked for a drop of lime in his bitter. Twenty or so years on racism is all but dead in English social life and has even been conquered in football, which was commonly seen to be the last bastion of such disgusting prejudice.

What does remain is a slight tinge of tongue-in-cheek sexism, insofar as I might goad a female friend if she makes a well-informed comment on football match that’s on in the pub. She would not be offended, and might later poke fun at my lack of domestication. She’s there watching the game with me, a sight that would not be allowed in the old-school working men’s clubs. Times have moved on and women know much more about the game now than they used to, as seen by the excellent performance of Sian Massey at the weekend, but there is still a lingering spectre of sexism. Karren Brady, vice-chairman (/woman?! Got to be careful here!) of West Ham, admitted as much in the very column Gray and Keys referred to during their less than candid conversation: "I know more about the offside law than perhaps a girl should," she wrote.

Jokes aside, sexism is dead for my generation, as it is for the majority of the older English generation. Gray and Keys are merely fossils of a bygone age in English social life from which most men have evolved. However, for the press be so surprised and shocked by two middle-aged men doubting the decision of a female football official is either naïve or simply false. Maybe they need to leave their politically-correct bubble and sample the real world. Pork scratching?

...El Clasico match report

Barcelona 5-0 Real Madrid

The footballing world gasped in amazement last night as Barcelona confirmed the self-belief that they are the best team in the world by a very large margin. Up until kick-off in Camp Nou, Real Madrid could almost have pretended that they were, after their unbeaten start to the season, on the same planet as their most hated rivals. No more. Real can be the Galacticos if they like, but here on earth at present Barcelona ply the most pure brand of the beautiful game.

How frustrating it must be for Real Madrid. How helpless they must feel. As much as Jose Mourinho tethers and tenders to his fallow hotbed of talent, he can only gaze enviously at Pep Guardiola and his lush garden of red and blue, the seeds of which were sown long before he arrived. Having proved his worth on many a foreign field, Mourinho’s ultimate challenge is now the very club with which his skills were first honed.

Never can I recall footballers of such quality being humiliated in such a manner. The best goalkeeper in the world was helpless as five goals were slotted past him. What a different figure Iker Casillas cut from the last time the eyes of the world were on him, as he bawled his way to victory in the World Cup final. This time the tears were shed for a very different reason. At least Casillas could, for most of the match at least, escape the spotlight. For the ten outfield players there was no place to hide as Barca’s peerless tici taca left Real Madrid chasing shadows, so precise were the one-touch triangles played in and around the white shirts of Madrid.

Comparisons to bulls and matadors are inevitable but very much deserved. While Madrid chased and charged, fuming with heads down, their ever-growing red mist was fuelled by the inability to ignore the thousands of fans goading them all around. They eventually snapped out, leading to several 20-man handbag sessions. Cristiano Ronaldo, eclipsed by Lionel Messi and chums on his big day, was booked for pushing Pep Guardiola; Messi was booked for apparently simulating contact between his face and the elbow of Ricardo Carvalho. The passion and petulance was there for both sides as expected, but only one team was allowed to play. It was Barca’s ball, Barca’s playground and Real Madrid was the tearful slow kid in the middle, sniffling red-faced as the ball was forever kept just out of his reach.

Barca can buy as many Ozils and Khediras as they like but they will never have a midfield partnership like Xavi and Andres Iniesta. With all eyes on the strikers in a furious opening exchange it was the two little Catalans who kept their heads; Iniesta bisecting Real’s defence with a typically pinpoint pass, and Xavi calmly following the path of the deflected ball over his shoulder before nonchalantly lifting it past Casillas on nine minutes, to open a wound that was to be relentlessly lanced until Real Madrid eventually collapsed.

Xavi then resumed his more natural role of creator, finding David Villa with an angled, lofted pass to the inside-left channel. Spain’s leading scorer ghosted outside Sergio Ramos before finding Pedro, who gratefully slotted his cut-back in for 2-0 inside 20 minutes. Spain’s showcase fixture had been a very Spanish affair so far. With their work done Barca now dropped the intensity but cranked up the swagger, giving an exhibition of passing and movement and never really allowing Real Madrid a chance to impose themselves on the game for the rest of the first half.

Jose Mourinho acknowledged Barca’s dominance in possession by replacing Mesut Ozil with Lassana Diarra at half-time; before they could even think of attacking his team would first have to win the ball. Barcelona were unmoved and unaffected: Leo Messi slipped in David Villa who showed his class by beating the offside trap and then Casillas with equal precision on 55 minutes. With Madrid on the ropes Messi slotted another perfect pass through a crowd of white shirts to find Villa again, with the outcome inevitable: a devastating quick-fire double in just three minutes to finish Real off.

What could Mourinho do? Rarely had the Portuguese ever found himself in such a position of futility. For once it was he who had to sit and endure torment from a younger, more stylish manager in the opposing dugout. Now Pep Guardiola was the Special One. On the pitch Madrid were beginning to display the anger that boiled inside Mourinho as they realised the game was up, and that it was now about damage limitation. Eight Madrid players were booked and Ramos was sent off on 90 minutes. By that time Jeffren had added yet more insult to injury by converting a low cross from fellow substitute Bojan for 5-0.

So while Guardiola won his sixth consecutive Clasico, a humbled Mourinho, who always knew that his tenure at Real Madrid would only be judged on his ability to beat Barcelona, now realises the enormity of that task. If this match was important for Madrid’s chances of wrestling the La Liga crown from Barcelona, the return fixture at the Bernabeu on the 16^th of April next year is monumental.

Both teams had scored an impressive 27 goals in their last seven league games before last night, but Barcelona proved able to continue this rate against Madrid to show them that however good they become under Mourinho, their Catalan enemies will always be one, or even five, steps ahead. Special might not cut it this time around.

...Arsene Wenger needs to accept responsibility for Arsenal’s failures

“We were kicked off the park and should have had a definite penalty. I’d like to know what the fifth official was doing. Carlos Vela was clearly fouled. The five referees is not an answer to the problem. It is a useless system. The turning point was the penalty – I still cannot understand how Vela got a yellow card…”

I could have used one of hundreds of Arsene Wenger’s post-match rants here, this just happens to be the most recent. Wenger’s boys have once again been hard done by; the referee is to blame for a bad decision and for not protecting his players from physical tackles.

I agree with Wenger on the penalty decision last night. It was a clear penalty. The only thing to say in the referee’s defence was that Vela threw his arms in the air in that dramatic fashion we all know too well. Still, he was stopped by an outstretched leg that was nowhere near the ball and, dramatics or not, it should have been a penalty kick. Five referees missed it; Wenger has a right to feel aggrieved. Unfortunately for Wenger his team cannot receive special treatment. They will receive bad decisions from referees; they will receive rough treatment from teams who cannot match them for technique.

Turning points in confidence and momentum clearly exist in football and can have dramatic effects, especially at the highest level. However, the players at Wenger’s disposal were good enough to batter Braga 6-0 just over two months ago, so they should have been able to win the match with or without a penalty from the appeal that took place at 0-0 with 14 minutes remaining. Was the penalty decision to blame for Arsenal’s failure to score for the first 76 minutes?! Instead Arsenal conceded late on and lost the game for the second time in four days.

The problem in defence still exists. Wenger can throw another Squillaci or Koscielny at Arsenal’s back four in the January transfer window, but the foundations of the problem must be his team’s mentality. Unfortunately for him a manager who has been in charge of a club for 14 years has nobody but himself to blame. Teams reflect the attitude and mentality of their manager after that period of time, and if Wenger cannot accept responsibility, swallow his pride and make the necessary moves to prevent such problems from happening again, but instead persists in attempting to protect his side by looking for others to blame, then he and Arsenal will never learn from their mistakes.

A constantly evolving young side is great to watch, and to admire when gambles on youth pay off. One downside of this can be that players are let go too early to the detriment of the team. Wenger let William Gallas leave in the summer, the very defender who was man-of-the-match and captain of Spurs as they beat Arsenal in their own back yard on Saturday. Gilberto Silva laughed in Wenger’s face by continuing to captain Brazil and run their midfield for years after he was deemed too old for the Arsenal youth club. Surely not even Wenger can defend himself or blame anyone else for these two glaring misjudgements. Often the presence of older players can be useful for the youngsters to learn from, and their experience is invaluable in situations like, say, a North London derby or an away game in the Champions League.

As usual with an Arsenal blog, I’m sure this will receive widespread criticism from Arsenal fans. The amount of excellent and popular Arsenal blogs out there show that you guys are a literary bunch who love to debate and defend your team online.

However, Gunners, just consider this: do you want to be a side of nearly men who always have an excuse when their side inevitably falls at the final hurdle with a manager who will always look to blame anyone before himself, or do you want to start winning the trophies that a club of your stature deserve?

The truth hurts, but maybe it’s time that you, as well as Wenger, faced up to it. If creaming yourself when your teenagers dismantle a lesser side in the Carling Cup is enough for you then fine, otherwise Wenger has to go.

...City’s negative tactics show a lack of ambition

If Manchester City have any kind of serious ambition, they need to show it in their on-field tactics rather than their marketing campaigns. City played three holding midfielders last night, and although Yaya Toure was played higher up the pitch he’s not the sort of player to provide a spark capable of creating goals through top defenders, even if City thought so when they handed him an annual wage larger than the GDP of most developing countries. City could hardly have wished for a better time to play United, who of course had injuries and players recovering from a virus, but Roberto Mancini showed at best caution, and more likely nerves.

Is there any situation in which he would be daring enough to play a two-striker system? Carlos Tevez and Emmanuel Adebayor could be an effective combination because of their different attributes. I’m not saying he has to play an English ‘big man, little man’ tactic of playing long balls for the Togolese to nod down, because that could be seen as dated and is not the traditional Italian way (although Don Fabio likes a big man), but City at present merely rely on Tevez, a player who could not win a regular first-team place at United, to supply the magic and goals to surpass their Manchester rivals on the pitch and in the league. This is reflected in the stat that City have not won without Tevez in the league for two years.

Early on in the season, I wrote that I couldn’t see where City’s creativity was going to come from. They proved me wrong to an extent in that James Milner started to play in the middle and showed that he has the football brain to create. I also said that I doubted David Silva’s ability to deal with the physical nature of English football, but he showed that his touch and passing are so accurate that he can avoid the 50/50 situation less technically gifted players may find themselves in more often. Why did Mancini not play either of these two at the head of a midfield three rather than putting three bruisers in there? Surely two is enough.

Beebop and Rocksteady are fine, but every midfield needs a Krang.