Sob Story In The Sleet

Top versus bottom. Title charge versus survival scrap. Five minutes in, we're ahead. Sixty minutes in, we're cruising. Ninety-plus, we're staring at the abyss as the ball pinballs off a post, off Riccardo Calafiori, and into our net like some cruel physics experiment designed by north London's least favourite deity.

Two points? Gone. Title momentum? Jolted. Blood pressure? Elevated.

Saka Through the Middle: Arteta's Gamble (Mostly) Pays

After the Wigan experiment, Mikel doubled down. Bukayo Saka through the centre again. Five minutes later: vindication.

Gabriel Martinelli tees up Declan Rice, Rice floats it delicately, and Saka ghosts in to nod home. Fifteen games without a goal? Over. Clinical. Intelligent. Ruthless.

It also extended our scoring run against Wolves to 37 consecutive meetings — which sounds impressive until you realise that runs mean nothing if you don't win the match attached to them.

Rice nearly made it two. José Sá went full octopus to deny Madueke and Martinelli in quick succession. We were dominant without being devastating — and you know how that story ends.

The sleet came down. The tempo dropped. Wolves stopped and started with injury breaks that killed rhythm. Classic midwinter away performance: efficient, unspectacular, controlled.

Until it wasn't.

Hincapie's Moment — Then the Unravelling

Ten minutes into the second half, Gabriel slices Wolves open with a pass that would make a neurosurgeon nod appreciatively. Piero Hincapié times the run, shrugs off a defender, finishes emphatically.

Flag up. Groans. VAR intervenes. Onside. First Arsenal goal after 23 games.

Two-nil. Game management time.

Except this Arsenal side does not do simple.

Five minutes later Hugo Bueno — who had previously looked about as threatening as a damp sock — bends one into the top corner. Spectacular finish. Raya stranded. Game on.

Suddenly Molineux remembered it had a voice.

Calafiori and the Cruel Gods of Molineux

Thirty minutes of scrappy football followed. Conditions worsening. Control slipping. Neither keeper especially troubled.

Then chaos.

A late collision sees Trossard off, Calafiori on. Within moments: calamity.

Cross in. Gabriel and Raya hesitate — never a good sign. Raya punches half-clear. Tom Edozie shoots. Post.

And then…

It hits Calafiori. On the line. Spins in.

There are own goals. And there are own goals that feel like a punchline delivered by fate itself. This was the latter.

You could see it on Calafiori's face. The kind of stunned disbelief reserved for lottery winners and defenders caught in physics they didn't sign up for.

The Bigger Picture

Let's be blunt:

• Wolves had lost 10 of 13 at home.
• We were two goals up.
• We allowed belief to creep back in.

Title winners suffocate games at 2–0. They don't let right wing-backs cut inside uncontested. They don't miscommunicate in stoppage time.

Arteta's midfield tweak worked offensively. But once Wolves punched back, we lacked composure. There's a fragility in these moments that feels psychological as much as tactical.

And now?

What's Next: No Time to Sulk

Sunday: north London derby away.

Then Chelsea at home.

Then Brighton away.

Three matches that will define tone and trajectory.

You don't get to mourn own goals in February. You respond.

If we channel the frustration correctly, Wolves becomes a footnote. If we don't, it becomes the chapter people point to in May.

As for Calafiori — he'll bounce back. He's not the villain. Football is cruel, especially in sleet.

But if we're serious about silverware, we must learn one simple lesson:

When you have the boot on the throat, don't ease up.

COYG.

Four Before They’d Found Their Umbrellas

There are cup ties.

There are banana skins.

And then there are first-half demolitions served with a side of north London rain.

Arsenal 4–0 Wigan.

Game over by the time some of the late arrivals were still shaking drizzle off their scarves.

For the first time since 2020, we're into the fifth round of the FA Cup — and we did it the old-fashioned way: by treating lower-league opposition with ruthless, borderline disrespectful efficiency.

⚡ FAST START? More Like Lightning Strike.

The first omen came before kick-off. Riccardo Calafiori pulled out in the warm-up. Mild panic? Not really. Instead, Bukayo Saka wandered into midfield like he'd been playing there his entire career.

Alongside Eberechi Eze, he pulled the strings from minute one.

Ten minutes in, Saka split the Wigan defence with a pass so clean it deserved its own highlights package. Noni Madueke ran onto it, took a breath, and finished beyond Sam Tickle with the composure of a man ordering coffee.

1–0.

Seven minutes later?

Christian Nørgaard → Eze → Gabriel Martinelli.

Bang. 2–0.

Martinelli now has four in this season's competition and looked like he fancied double figures before the half-hour mark.

🌧 Goals Pouring Like the N5 Rain

The third was chaos in its purest cup form.

Madueke to Saka.

Saka into the mixer.

Jack Hunt doing his best unwitting Thierry Henry impression at the wrong end.

Own goal. 3–0.

Before Wigan had processed that trauma, Nørgaard launched an inch-perfect long ball that deserved slow-motion replays. Gabriel Jesus did what Gabriel Jesus does against lower-league sides — delicate, cheeky, inevitable. A dink over Tickle.

Four goals inside 30 minutes.

Apparently, we're now the first Premier League side ever to score four in the opening half-hour of an FA Cup tie. File that under: "things you don't expect to say on a wet afternoon in N5."

🧤 Clean Sheet Culture

It wasn't entirely one-way traffic. Joe Taylor had a sniff. Raphel Rodrigues had a pop. But Kepa Arrizabalaga was alert, gloves firm, ego intact.

That's 22 clean sheets in 2025/26.

Twenty-two.

You don't luck your way to that number.

🔁 Second Half: Controlled Cruise

Half-time change: Viktor Gyökeres for Saka. The Swede nearly made it five within ten minutes, thundering a deflected effort off the woodwork after being released by Ben White.

Eze tried to add gloss. Free-kick deflected. Dribble into the box. Side netting. He deserved one, but sometimes dominance is its own reward.

👶 The Future Checks In

With 30 to go, the moment arrived.

Marli Salmon — 16 years old — home debut. Saliba off. Emirates applause. A glimpse of tomorrow.

He looked composed. No drama. No nerves. Just positioning, simple passes, maturity. The kind of cameo that makes you wonder what the academy chefs are feeding these kids.

Then another debut bow: Tommy Setford on for Kepa late on, claiming his first free-kick like he'd been doing it for years. The cheers from the N5 faithful said everything.

📊 What It Means

• First FA Cup fifth round since 2020

• 22nd clean sheet of the season

• Four goals inside 30 minutes

• Squad rotation that didn't wobble

• Youth pathway alive and kicking

This wasn't just a win.

It was a statement about depth.

When your "rotation" side looks like it could compete for silverware on its own, you're doing something right.

🔜 What's Next

Away to Wolves at Molineux.

Then the short trip across north London. You know the one.

Momentum matters in February. And right now, Arsenal look like a side that understands exactly when to accelerate.

The Loose Cannon verdict?

Clinical. Professional. Slightly ruthless.

And about as enjoyable as a cup tie gets.

Air Wars, Long Throws and a Point That Keeps Us Top

There are draws that feel like defeats.

There are draws that feel like warnings.

And then there are draws that quietly move you four points clear at the top of the table.

This one sits somewhere in the middle.

At the Gtech Community Stadium, we were held 1–1 by Brentford — a ground where very few leave with all three points — but after Manchester City trimmed our lead the night before, this was always going to be tense, attritional and unpleasant.

And it was.

Stale First Half: A Game of Shadows

You could feel the anxiety. League leaders on a four-game winning run. Brentford beaten just twice at home all season. Two systems cancelling each other out.

The first 45 minutes were less chess match, more arm wrestle.

Our best "chance" was Gabriel accidentally shoulder-barging a corner toward goal. That tells you everything. The only shot on target of the half came courtesy of a David Raya mishap — a misjudged roll-out that nearly turned into catastrophe before he redeemed himself with a point-blank save.

Four total shots in the half. Second-lowest first-half tally in the league this season.

The Gtech was simmering, not boiling.

A Moment of Quality

Mikel Arteta blinked first. Martin Ødegaard on. Control restored. Slightly.

Then, just past the hour mark, we finally produced something that resembled champions.

Piero Hincapié recycled a half-cleared throw, shaped his body, and delivered a wicked curling cross. And there was Noni Madueke — hanging, pausing, defying gravity — to glance a header into the far corner.

His 15th Premier League goal. His third header. Our first shot on target.

Clinical. Efficient. Ruthless.

Top-of-the-table stuff.

The Long Throw That Wouldn't Die

And yet.

You don't come to Brentford and escape the long throw. It's like tax. Inevitable.

Michael Kayode hurled one into orbit. Sepp van den Berg flicked it on. Keane Lewis-Potter attacked it like a man diving into the Channel.

1–1.

It was Brentford's fourth goal from a throw-in situation this season. The league has now seen 30 goals from throw-ins — the most in 15 years. Football, apparently, has returned to Stoke 2009.

We knew it was coming. We still couldn't stop it.

Chaos, Almost Glory

From there, the game opened up.

Thiago Silva nearly punished us. Cristhian Mosquera made a recovery tackle worthy of a mural. Silva then skied a sitter in stoppage time.

And then we had our moment.

Gyökeres fed Timber. Timber squared. Gabriel Martinelli — one-on-one, golden opportunity, script written.

Caoimhín Kelleher stuck out an arm and swatted the fairytale away.

You could almost hear the collective intake of breath from north London.

Perspective (Deep Breath)

Let's zoom out.

• 17 times we've scored first this season.
• Only twice have we failed to win.
• Brentford have lost just twice in 11 at home.
• We're four points clear.

This wasn't a collapse.

It wasn't a wobble.

It was a difficult away ground behaving exactly as advertised.

Yes, we should defend throw-ins better. Yes, Martinelli buries that nine times out of ten. Yes, I'd prefer we didn't wait until the 61st minute for a shot on target.

But title races are not won by vibes. They're won by accumulation.

And we accumulated.

What's Next

Now it's rotation and focus.

• FA Cup vs Wigan Athletic at the Emirates Stadium.
• League trip to Wolverhampton Wanderers.
• Then the small matter of a trip to Tottenham Hotspur in the second north London derby of the season.

Four points clear. February looming. The air getting thinner.

If this is what an "off day" looks like, I'll take it.

We march on.

NINE POINTS CLEAR - FINISH LINE NEARER🔴⚪️

Four wins on the spin. Nine points clear overnight. Another clean sheet chalked up like it was routine. Arsenal did the job on Sunderland, but only after being made to work for it.

The first 40 minutes were tight, competitive and just awkward enough to remind us this wasn't going to be a stroll. Sunderland didn't park the bus, didn't roll over, and for a while they matched us stride for stride. We nearly nicked it inside 30 seconds — Trossard wriggling free on the byline, Havertz rising unmarked — but the header drifted wide and the tone was set: chances would need to be earned.

Rice fizzed one just past the post, Madueke caused chaos, and Havertz put his body on the line at the other end to snuff out Brobbey. Still, it felt like the game needed something.

Step forward, Martin Zubimendi.

Late in the half, Trossard rolled it into his path and the Spaniard did the rest — a low, vicious drive that kissed the wet turf, clipped the inside of the post and finally cracked the game open. It was crisp, controlled, and absolutely ruthless. Five league goals already. For a midfielder. That's not normal.

There was nearly more before the break — Jesus ruled marginally off after rounding the keeper, Havertz curling just over — but the real statement was still to come.

Sunderland came out swinging after the restart. Talbi tested Raya, Saliba hacked clear, Gabriel timed a challenge to perfection. This wasn't done yet. It needed a killer.

Enter Viktor Gyokeres.

Fresh off the bench, the Swede wasted no time. Havertz linked it, Gyokeres bullied his marker and smashed low inside the near post. Game over? Not quite — but it felt inevitable from there.

Eze went close, Sunderland chased shadows, and deep into injury time Gyokeres delivered the final blow, sliding in Martinelli's pass on the break to make it 3–0 and take his season tally to 13. Clinical. Relentless. Proper centre-forward stuff.

Another clean sheet — our 21st in all competitions, already more than last season managed in total. Control, depth, ruthlessness. All present.

Next up? A trip to west London on Thursday, then back home to the Emirates for FA Cup business.

This machine just keeps rolling.