What was that thing I wanted?

That thing, do you remember that thing?  I said I wanted it, and now I don't have it and I can't remember what it was, only that I don't have it now.

Arsenal have won another match.  This one was not much to think about, it was more of the same but less so. Much less so, in fact, because the pragmatism was absent.  This was a match played under what was perceived to be pressure on both sides, but in fact was played with one side sprinkled in faery dust and one side still unsure just what it is.

Arsenal won this match versus Wigan because Wigan ran out of steam, or maybe Wigan ran out of coal to make the steam, or possibly it was simply that the people shoveling the coal into the engine became so tired that they stopped shoveling at a pace rapid enough to keep the water boiling and the steam stopped being formed and then the whole machine powered by steam just stopped.

Wigan had about an hours worth of steam/coal/effort in them, and after that, it was over.  They really did fight well, Mike Dean really did his usual panto (I'm sickened unto death with match officials who think they are given some right to become part of the story), Arsenal may have conceded a silly foul in a dangerous area (according to the magistrate).  Then Wigan scored an equalising goal and Arsenal reverted to type.

For the record, I don't subscribe to magical thinking. A professor I admired at university once said "The history machine doesn't have an 'If...' button." So while it's fair to say that something almost happened, the truth is that it did not happen. Wigan did not score the go-ahead goal in the first 15 minutes of the second half, so you can stuff your almosts and nearlys and go on about your business.  You can't magically factor in the goal that didn't happen and then go on about Arsenal being lucky or Wigan being unlucky. Watch enough football, and you just eventually learn that shit is ultimately shit, except for Anderson, who somehow has managed to keep his job in Manchester despite being shit.

That was it, really. Wigan didn't score whilst giving maximum effort, then it looked like they grew weary, and then Arsenal scored 3 times in roughly 8 minutes, and it was fare thee well, Wigan. Quite literally, as then discussions almost immediately turned to relegation, money, money, money, and money. You won the FA Cup, Wigan, you put the whores of Eastlands to the sword, you helped the oil moneymen find a reason to send silly scarf man packing, but the reality is, you're pathetic and that doesn't matter.

I'll be excused from that conversation because I think Wigan can be proud of what they accomplished, and can be proud of not pissing away the chance to have a glorious day out at Wembley and for giving their supporters a wonderful memory. Relegation doesn't have to be a death sentence--unfortunately you only need look as far as the Humber to see that. Well played, Wigan. One word of advice to whomever ends up managing Wigan should they gain promotion soon--you might want to try surrendering fewer goals next time around. Cheers, that advice was completely free!

So that is why I am not one of those people (you know, THOSE people) who are tonight saying "Alas, poor Wigan, such stylish and properly played football, and poor Bobby MAH-tinez, what a good bloke, did you hear he's a good bloke?"  Hold the mirror up to Wigan and you see an absolutely wretched defence that has allowed 71 goals in 37 matches. 71 goals, sweet perforated bollox of San Sebastian that is really ridiculously horrible, just so profligate that can you really pity them? 

At some point a football club becomes like a person and must make a choice between artful death and pragmatic survival.  Wigan and Arsenal could be cousins if one takes that kind of choice into account. Arsenal chose pragmatic survival to avoid being relegated from the top four which is a league unto itself. Wigan chose glory--the wonderful Cup glory--and openness and an attempt at something more than the banality of pragmatism and paid for that choice with relegation.

What is better?  To drive the machine to its maximum until it explodes, extracting every moment of performance and excitement from it no matter the end, or to drive it practically, so that it survives and survives and survives?  Is it better to be Leeds United in the early 2000s or Stoke City now?  (Trick question, obviously it is better to be a blind deaf mute than be either one.)   Of the three sides relegated this season, only Wigan were attempting something that really exists for its own sake--giving something to the supporters that they could savour for years.  I will not pity them. But neither will I praise them. It was a fair result.

Arsenal, however, live to fight another day. Arsenal have chosen survival over artistry when relegation seemed not only possible but rather likely.  How strange that a man born of a fusion of French and German philosophies would exhibit such an English characteristic.  At the moment that it all seemed hopeless, Arsene Wenger instructed his side to simply dig in, keep your head down and soldier on.  Wigan have now paid for their reach.  Arsenal may well be paid for their pragmatism. Who would have thought such a fanciful thing were even possible?