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.

Curse of the Ex Ends Blues

There are wins, and then there are statements. On a sodden night in north London, Arsenal did the sensible thing, the patient thing, and then—right at the death—the cruel thing. Kai Havertz, once of this parish in blue, rolled the ball around Robert Sánchez and rolled us straight to Wembley. One chance. One touch. One German shrug. Carabao Cup final booked. Aggregate: 4–2. Chelsea: packed up and sent home.

We came into the second leg with a cushion built on first-leg graft—Gyökeres, White, Zubimendi doing the damage—and with it the quiet confidence of a side that knows when not to blink. The night itself offered precious little glamour. Rain lashed the Emirates, the game crawled, and the tie simmered. That suited us just fine.

Cagey half, sharp nerves

The opening exchanges had the feel of a semi-final that knew its own weight. Few risks, fewer chances. Chelsea—burned but not beaten—prodded first through Liam Delap, scuffing wide on a slick surface. We answered in phases: corners, pressure, a moment of chaos.

Eberechi Eze picked out Piero Hincapié on the edge, the Ecuadorian's left foot crackled, and Sánchez beat it away theatrically. Gabriel pounced but the touch ran away. Close. So close.

There were warning signs the other way, too. Martinelli latched onto a long ball, shook Malo Gusto, turned—only for the recovery tackle to nick the moment away. At the other end, Enzo Fernández tried his luck from range and found Kepa standing firm. Two shots on target in a half that felt like a chess problem played in the rain.

No way through

The second half began with a scramble—Delap stabbing just wide after a corner melee—and then settled back into trench warfare. Madueke threatened without end product, crosses swallowed by blue shirts. Chelsea threw on Cole Palmer and Estevão, later Alejandro Garnacho, searching for the spark that would crack the tie.

We answered with control. Declan Rice stitched the middle together; Zubimendi kept finding angles; Gabriel rose and rose only to find Cucurella blocking the path. Time ticked. Tension climbed. The kind of night where one mistake decides everything.

Kai with the dagger

As the rain thickened, Chelsea committed bodies. Palmer's free-kick smacked the wall; Fofana nodded wide. Six minutes went up. Then—finally—space.

We nicked it. Trossard slid it. Rice squared it. And Havertz did what strikers do when the world slows: rounded the keeper and passed it into inevitability. Former club? Former noise. Wembley beckoned.

It finished 1–0 on the night, and with it a first Carabao Cup final in eight years. Not loud. Not flashy. Just ruthless.

What's next

We dust ourselves off and get back to league business in N5, hosting Sunderland on Saturday, February 7 (3pm UK). Then it's a short hop to west London for Brentford at the Gtech on Thursday, February 12 (8pm UK).

But for now? Enjoy the rain-soaked grin. Enjoy the dagger. Wembley awaits—and we got there the hard way.