Switch to southpaw

The sequel is almost always worse than the first. That's some kind of rule that is only really proved by its exceptions: The Godfather Part 2, Rocky II, The Empire Strikes Back, Gremlins 2, Superman 2, The Wrath of Khan...

Each has its iconic moment--Michael kisses Fredo, Darth dares Luke to join him, Brain Gremlin referencing Susan Sontag, Zod telling Superman to kneel, and hell, Kirk screaming "KHAAAAAAAANNNNNNN!!!!"

Today's story, however, is about that moment in Rocky II when Mickey demands that his big dopey stubborn fighter switch back to "southpaw," and how Rocky sits there and says "No tricks, I ain't switchin'!" 

Strategy, it seems, is always a tricky thing.

Mickey decided that Rocky's left-handed fighting style had become too predictable, and too easy to counter. He was a one-pace, one-tactic fighter and Apollo Creed could easily handle him.  A change was required.

Mickey went so far as to tie Rocky's right hand to his side in order to force him to learn to jab with his left. Suddenly, a left-handed fighter who had come so far in that style was now a right-hander, so much so that even the Italian Stallion himself couldn't bear to switch back to his natural style, deriding that as a "trick."

You see where I'm going with this.

For 7 years at Arsenal, M. Wenger achieved remarkable success that was founded on a strong defence and Patrick Vieira. I've never made a secret that I believe that PV4 was the greatest and most important player of Wenger's tenure as manager. That, however, is another story for another day.

Since the self-imposed destruction of the invincibles, Wenger shifted from that foundation--in a sense, he switched from fighting southpaw. He has no defence to speak of, and he certainly has no player comparable to Vieira, and he hasn't since 2008-09.

But beyond just personnel, that switch also includes a style of play, most notably in attack. In boxing, as in tennis, going up against a left-hander may be predictable, but it's also awkward. For the first part of Wenger's tenure at Arsenal, the style seemed to be based much more on quick and devastating attacks that capitalised on the movement and pace of players like Pires, Ljungberg, Henry, Bergkamp, and Vieira.

No player in the history of the Premier League started attacks like Vieira did. I don't care who you throw up in argument against that statement, there isn't one. People often compare Vieira and Roy Keane, which is fair enough, but in style they were completely different. Keane didn't break up an opponent's attack and then drive the ball forward in the same manner.

Vieira wasn't so much a defensive midfileder in the Makelele role as he was an engine for an entire side. He was at his most effective when playing alongside Petit or Gilberto Silva, players who could do the dirty work and impose themselves physically whilst PV4 launched another assault.

This is not to discount his tackling ability or how he could break up play because he was excellent at that, but for those who have come to know Arsenal since his departure, he shouldn't be classified as a "defensive mid."  He was a unique player in that he could defend and then easily start a counter attack from deep that could result in a shot on goal.

But Vieira represented the style of Arsenal back then--first it was the Graham hangover defenders behind him, then Wenger replaced them with 4 new players (more than 4, really, because he actually invested in defenders up until 2005), but no matter if it were Spunky and Tone or Jens and Big Sol, there was a solid structure back there that was fronted by strong mobile central midfielders.

That has to be classified as Wenger's southpaw phase.

But now? Wenger switched to fighting right-handed, with diminutive midfielders--most often five at a time--and a single "target man" up front. This is a style that is compounded by a very narrow attack through the middle, fullbacks who are most often almost standing on the opposition's end line, and centre halves who are positioned so high up the pitch that they are at or beyond the halfway line.

Since the end of the 2012-2013 season, when fate more or less forced him to finally adapt, Wenger sets out his teams to play the same way every minute of every match. Last season this cost Arsenal quite a few points that they surrendered from winning positions. Aston Villa, Swansea, Southamption, Everton--this represents 8 points that could have won Arsenal the league if Wenger had been willing to mix it up a bit.

I can't understand why, with trainer Mickey yelling in his face "Switch back to southpaw," Wenger persists with the same formation and tactics from minute 1 to minute 90+. It's fairly clear that everyone has this sussed. Care to mix it up, Arsene?

"No tricks, I ain't switchin'!"

It's a shame. This sequel (Arsene Knows Part 3) is looking much more like "The Matrix: Convoluted" than any of the ones I listed above. Welcome to Jaws 3D, without the camp Michael Caine to liven things up.

By My Troth!

When I first decided to follow the Arsenal Football Club, it was September 1996 and they were 8th in the table. A friend of mine from Atlanta, upon breaking up with his long-time girlfriend and being a member of the leisure class, had spent the spring in London shagging a Pakistani girl and going to West Ham matches whilst eating some delicious curry and listening to dub and reggae. I envied him most for the West Ham matches.

It's very difficult to recall what the planet was like in 1996. The interwebs had barely become a place where people sought information at that time, and really that's a demarcation line for me.  I was a research associate for a consulting firm and was tasked with figuring out just what this thing was where you could fire up a computer and read things from other parts of the world.

Atlanta and the Olympics--my friend and I had gone to Orlando (his home town) to watch 2 matches from the Olympic football tournament. France vs. Spain and Japan vs. Nigeria. Crikey, I saw some great players. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Football_at_the_1996_Summer_Olympics_%E2%80%93_Men%27s_team_squads if you want to see who was there. Raul, of course, and a few players from France you might have heard of who in two years time would go on to win the World Cup, plus Nakata from Japan and a bloke named Kanu from Nigeria. The official record says that Kanu was 19--"You're having a larf!"

I told my friend as he regaled me with stories of his time going to matches in London that I needed to find a club to support. The Atlanta newspaper published the Premier League table once per week and it was from there that I "chose" the Arsenal. I said "That's a cool name," found out they were in London, and that, as they say, was that.

This was so far in the past that phrases such as "trophy drought," "war chest," "dry powder," or even "Le Professeur" had yet to be associated with the Arsenal. I really liked Dutch football at the time and the eventual combination of Dennis Bergkamp and (my favourite player at the time) Marc Overmars made me love the team (love, as opposed to like). I followed the the French national side intensely at the 1998 World Cup finals and when they returned as World Champions, I was sure that Arsenal would follow on with more greatness, only to see United win the treble (well, I didn't actually see it as televising club football hadn't made inroads into the USA yet).

I've said many times that the first live Arsenal match I ever saw on television was the 2000 Uefa Cup final versus Galatasaray--failure! Yes, that conditioned me to be an Arsenal supporter. "Tough break for your boys," my West Ham-loving friend remarked. He didn't mean it, but that's enough of that.

The next season matches began to be broadcast live on Fox Soccer Channel. The FA Cup semifinal vs. Spuds is burned into my memory. David Rocastle had just passed on, Hod the Sod was in charge of that lot, Graham had just been sacked--that match had subplots on top of subplots and included a come-from-behind victory fueled by goals from PV4 and Dreamy Bob. That's my first FA Cup memory. It's not very old for a man of my advanced years, but for a Yank with no access to the coverage that's available today, I think it makes me auncient.

Of course Arsenal would go on to lose to the McPoyles (trust me, it's an obscure yet appropriate reference) in a stolen final in Cardiff, where I christened one of their players "Stephanie Handjob." More heartbreak. Finishing second to United in the league again was nothing compared to the pain of that final, a referee who couldn't see things that appeared so obvious. It was that day that I started hating Liverpool. Most of my Yank friends who follow the Arsenal didn't understand why Liverpool are the club I despise above all others. Well, it started that day in 2001. It only becomes more intense after every conversation I have with Scousers who feel the need to remind me that their club invented the game. I'll leave discussions of Herbert Chapman for another time.

In the early 2000s, it seemed that playing in the FA Cup final was an Arsenal birthright. In 2002 I was back in Blighty for the "It's only Ray Parlour" final (but Freddie's goal in that match is also one of my favourite Arsenal goals of all time). I watched the agonising victory over Southampton and the penalty shootout victory over MUFC in seasons where Arsenal didn't win the league and lifting the grand old trophy meant the season wasn't a total loss.

But much like everything else regarding Arsenal in the last 10 years, winning the FA Cup seemed to stop mattering to the manager and the club. The League Cup loss to Birmingham City hurt but I've never cared much for the Milk Cup and was able to take that in stride. I'm one of those romantic old fools that still feels that winning the FA Cup means something, because winning it is tied so deeply to my first Arsenal memories. It stands for vanquishing old foes, allowing your players to march up the steps and your captain to lift a trophy, singing songs about Wemberly (as opposed to Cardiff, which was never very romantic at all) and yellow ribbons--for me, recalling goals by Overmars and Anelka that are adopted memories but I've seen them so often that it feels as though I was there. Remembering Tony Adams demanding that Vieira help lift the Cup in 2002. Remembering Vieira's last kick of the ball for the Arsenal. Tell us, Freddie, what's it like to win the FA Cup?

I'm charmed to see my Yank friends "up for the Cup." It's a reminder of another era, a bit less cynical, a bit old fashioned, really. So let's have a lovely day out at Wembley. COME ON YOU GUNNERS!

For your viewing pleasure:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pnPaOi6F4wc A bit of "Hot Stuff" 1998
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WP_8O05dSgc A Day in the Sun 2002
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HTI8E-tBNu0  A Penalty Shootout 2005

Can we be honest?

Here is a lovely quote from 1978's "Heaven Can Wait."  Thought you might like it.

"Look I'm sorry to bother you so late, but I don't love you, and you don't love me, so let's get a divorce, alright?"

That's yer man Warren Beatty talking to the lovely and unfaithful (and somewhat murderous) Dyan Cannon. 

She was at the peak of her powers then--a physically perfect specimen who, while not the youngest piece of arse on the block, was definitely one that you could see a wealthy bloke splashing his cash on because, let's face it, if you could have that riding John Thomas you would probably be willing to put up with most of her less-than-obvious flaws. 

But ol' Warren, at the moment still a rich n' handsome type himself, though not quite the strapping buck he was in his "Splendour in the Grass" days, wanted something else. He wanted Julie Christie, our dove from Dr. Zhivago. 

Now, I love Julie Christie. I always have, and I always will. When she's walking away in the snow in Zhivago I think she's one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen. But let me be honest, as lovely as she is, she's no Dyan Cannon--not at that point. She looks pretty, she has a lovely voice, but if you're a rich bloke looking for a rumble in the hay she's just a skinny bint.

So why does ol' Warren decide to deliver that ultimatum to Dyan?  Why would he cut himself off from the top totty to be with the somewhat less than exciting yet still lovely Julie?

Granted, this is just a film and not real life so it might've been highly unlikely that a real "Farnsworth" would've thrown over his lovely and unfaithful (and murderous) spouse for the pleasingly pleasant Julie Christie. But let's assume for a moment there's something metaphorical going on here. 

I think that he just gets sick of the much more lovely yet much more unfaithful Dyan. Sick of it. Lies, deception, pretense--at some point, he just gets sick of the whole thing. 

"I don't love you, and you don't love me, so let's get a divorce."  THAT'S HONEST.

That is what the Arsenal Football Club did with Robin van Persie.

I hate, hate, hate that he went where he went. But he did it. HE did it. We didn't do it.  We didn't send him there--you might think so, but you're wrong. 

I have to be honest, I actually love this move. It's very mafia. It's very Goodfellas. It's a move that says "You're dead to me." He certainly may win some tin with the Rags, but he's dead to our family. And we took them for a load of cash that in hindsight looks hilarious. I would've swapped him for Berbatov and I am not joking about that. Yes, you know how people say things like that after the fact, but I wouldn't call it retrospective dislike. 

Nobody goes against the family. And it's not personal--it's business. 

I distinctly remember Sky interviewing Patty Vieira "back in the day" and they asked him, could he see himself playing for MUFC. "Well, NO, of course not!" he said. (Obviously he didn't rule out the petroBlues.) They asked him why, and his case (as I remember it) was simply that playing for that lot was untenable, and more than anything, playing for Ol' Red Nose was not an option. NOT AN OPTION, 

PV4 was our captain, and yes, he was almost always one foot out the door. But at the very least, he didn't disgrace the shirt like this. He was a made guy. I don't like what he's doing now but I have to believe that if we had offered him something before they did, he'd be on our side. Well, we didn't, and he isn't, so what?

I have nothing to say about Robin. He's a dick, and I hope he enjoys himself.