All We Hear Is, Bacary Sagna!!

By JAMES CURTIS Monday mornings can go one of two ways: either it’s greeted by the superior stares of Chelsea fans, grins stretching to their earlobes, fat rosy cheeks pushing their eyes up into small arrogant creases, unable to see the office walls cracking under the pressure of their swelling heads. This week was different. This week my tatty Arsenal tie acted as a shield against the enemy, who only found out Chelsea had lost by tuning into Match of the Day 2 the night before, this the extent of their interest. 

Days like this have been few and far between lately, so it’s understandable if some Gooners are refusing to get carried away. Lukas Fabianski receiving hugs of congratulations after the Wolves game was a humble picture, but such scenes have been witnessed before only for tragedy to follow. Still, it’s important to mend broken form with moments of togetherness, which was on show again against Everton, all kick started with a goal from Chewbacary (Le)Sagna. 

What a delightful sight it was, to watch Sagna bursting down the sideline with his chest pumped out and his wide smile lighting up the dreary North West. He doesn’t know how to celebrate goals, so he just, well, runs, while his yellow prongs of hair whiplash those team-mates trailing behind. That, and his playground style toe-punt finish past Tim Howard say a lot about the guy. No fuss, no fancy business and no thought-out goal celebrations, just getting matters seen to with a kind of undercooked rawness that the fans don’t mind at all.  

Rumours are Sagna bagged five goals in training the next day, and on Wednesday night his cross for the second France goal left the home support at Wembley wondering why they are still paying out for diabolical England performances. Yes, it was understood England’s team consisted of uncapped players and young talent, but unfortunately for Arsenal’s Kieran Gibbs and Theo Walcott, the incomprehensible was Fabio Capello’s long ball tactics on an international stage where players really should know how to use the surface. 

Somewhere in the ghetto hang-out of a rapper mistress would have been Arsene Wenger, pitying his players on England duty for the futile long ball stuff they had to suffer, tolerate and pretend to believe in. Two headed flicks in 45 minutes of football was the workload of Andy Carroll. England’s best chance fell to Steven Gerrard after the Newcastle giant had nodded one down, but he was off balance and his half volley rose into the stands where the commentator declared England were “slowly growing into the game.” Slowly being the operative word.  

Gerrard was applauded by the duped masses who failed to realise that England’s ideas on how to put the ball in the net were simply too hard to pull off. Carroll’s header had to be put into the exact area for Gerrard. Flying in, leaning back and trying to get his foot over a bouncing ball meant only one outcome for the Liverpool skipper. At the other end France were keeping it simple. Their goal was as basic as it comes. Ten minutes in and every blue shirt had touched the ball, supplying their game with a new found comfort under the watch of Laurent Blanc. My phone buzzed: I’M SICK OF ENGLAND PLAYING WITH A BIG TWAT UP TOP AND SMASHING IT UP TO HIM. NO OTHER TOP COUNTRY OPERATES LIKE THAT. INTERNATIONAL FOOTBALL IS SUPPOSED TO BE PLAYED ON THE FLOOR. THANK GOD FOR WENGER MAKING YOUNG ENGLISH PLAYERS PLAY IT ON THE FLOOR. 

As England by-passed Walcott with their hit and hope nonsense and Gibbs had no other option but to watch it all happen without the chance to become involved in any build-up play, Samir Nasri caught the eye. He had left Phil Jagielka treading water only a few days before and by the looks of things the Everton man had been warning his team-mates to ease off the little Frenchman. Strutting comes to mind when I see Nasri run with the ball these days, having added to his game some proper technical speed. In the moment I felt guilty for replacing him with Charlie Adam in my fantasy football team. 

Sitting there then, watching Arsenal’s Bleus in fine form, it was difficult to understand why, at international level, bulldozing through your opponent generally doesn’t work, but in the Premiership it does? How can razing your rival to dusty rubble be such a effective way of life for many Premiership teams who visit the Emirates, yet when England practice it at the highest level there is nothing to show aside from a sweaty forward with a crooked neck? 

On the evidence of the last two games, Arsenal might be thinking the same thing. Wolves and Everton on the road is no easy ride for an Arsenal side desperately seeking some kind of revival. Apart from the mini Toffee’s onslaught in the final five minutes, Arsenal had found a two goal lead, some expert custody over the football followed, and Goodison Park wiped the gunk from their tired eyes. Perhaps they didn’t realised it then, but Arsenal had slightly forgotten about their fancy ways and done all the basics needed to get the three points. 

Through it all, Bacary Sagna stood out. His two week lecture on how to win with an unrefined style seems to have rubbed off on the others and there is a neat feeling that it will continue, since Chelsea are no longer the rock once thought to be after a few Sagnas of their own left the field for the treatment room. So adorn your leather yellow jackets, stripy red and white leotards, thick moustaches and skin tight trousers, and sing along with me: ALL WE HEAR IS, BACARY SAGNA, BACARY SAGNA … 

THE ARSENAL

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JimC

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