You can call it all of the following: 'Own-Goal Opera, Saka the Sorcerer, and Finally – Luck Wears Red', but in the end hard work won the day over dodgy officiating and dogged defending.
There are wins that feel routine, wins that feel deserved, and wins that feel like you've nicked them while the football gods were briefly looking the other way. This was very much the third.
An own goal deep into stoppage time sealed a breathless, borderline farcical victory over Wolverhampton Wanderers, as we somehow emerged from a late-night Emirates rollercoaster with three points that keep us perched on top of the Premier League. Five points clear. Still standing. Still breathing.
It should never have been this hard. Of course, that's exactly why it was.
FIRST-HALF FRUSTRATION
Anyone expecting a procession between the league leaders and a side marooned at the bottom was quickly reminded that football has a wicked sense of humour. The first half was flat, tense, and oddly anxious – the kind of half where the crowd starts checking phones and muttering about banana skins.
Our opening effort summed it up: Jurrien Timber nodding over from a central position while Viktor Gyökeres stood nearby wondering why the ball hadn't come his way. Wolves, to their credit, weren't interested in lying down. When Hwang Hee-Chan burst 50 yards through the middle on the counter, it took a solid stop from David Raya to prevent early embarrassment.
That moment carried a cost. Ben White, in hot pursuit, pulled up with a muscle injury, and Myles Lewis-Skelly was thrown into the action on the half-hour.
We probed. We huffed. We puffed. And Gabriel Martinelli somehow missed three times in ways that defied geometry: a free header wide, a shot blocked after a vicious Saka cross, and then a loose poke after Sam Johnstone spilled a corner. Still, somehow, no shots on target by half-time.
Wolves even had the best late chance of the half, only for Piero Hincapié to slide in heroically and deny Strand Larsen. It felt ominous. The sort of half that has "punished later" written all over it.
STROKE OF FORTUNE
The second half crawled into life before Arteta reached for the cavalry. On came Ødegaard, Trossard and Merino, and suddenly the tempo lifted. Declan Rice twice went close – first with a free-kick tipped over, then with a fierce effort from the edge of the box that Johnstone somehow clawed away.
It had been 46 years since we last failed to score against Wolves. Mercifully, we didn't make history.
On 70 minutes, Bukayo Saka did Bukayo Saka things. His corner curled wickedly, kissed the inside of the post, smacked Johnstone on the head and bounced in. A goal that belonged half to physics, half to mischief, and entirely to momentum.
The place exhaled. Surely now, we'd finish them off.
Ødegaard hit the side-netting. Gyökeres flashed one wide. Trossard rolled a clever effort inches past the post. Chances came and went, and with every miss, the nerves crept back in.
DOUBLE LATE DRAMA
And then came the nightmare we know too well.
As the clock ticked into the 90th minute, Wolves suddenly found belief. Matheus Mané crossed, Tolu Arokodare flicked, and the ball deceived Raya before nestling in the net. The Emirates groaned in unison. Sunderland. Aston Villa. Here we go again.
Except this time… no.
In the fourth minute of added time, Saka swung in yet another delivery – a corner with menace, intent, and destiny attached. Gabriel Jesus attacked it, Mosquera panicked, and the ball deflected past his own goalkeeper. Chaos. Limbs. Absolute bedlam.
For once, the late drama went our way.
LOOSE CANNON VERDICT
Was it pretty? Not really.
Was it controlled? Absolutely not.
Was it massive? Without question.
Was Hee-Chan's challenge on Timber a red card offence? Absolutely! Studs up and planted low down on Timber's standing leg! How is that not red? It's reckless, dangerous and career-threatening. The goons rather than Gooners in their comfortable VAR nest decided it was above board! I still can't believe it, but it makes you realise why Arsenal have so many players in sick bay: no protection from match officials, who ignored every Wolves shove, tug and pull when it suited their them.
Ultimately, this was grit over gloss, fortune over fluency – and sometimes that's exactly what title contenders need. We didn't fold. We didn't sulk. We kept knocking until luck finally remembered who's been knocking all season.
Top of the league. Five points clear. And finally, finally, a late goal that wasn't inflicted on us.
WHAT'S NEXT
A week to recover frayed nerves before we head to the Hill Dickinson Stadium to face Everton on Saturday, December 20. Then it's Crystal Palace at home in the Carabao Cup quarter-final on December 23, before Brighton arrive in north London two days after Christmas.
If this season is going to be a marathon, nights like this are the blisters you learn to walk through.
On we go.
No comments:
Post a Comment