Stoke, 1 November, 2008

Off, then, to Stoke again. This time to see an inspired home side defeat a terrified Arsenal.
Like everyone in the media I'm secretly in love with Arsene Wenger. I like how he conducts himself, how he's stuck rigidly and wisely to never doing one-on-one interviews; how his wife Annie passes unmentioned and how he's become a father late in life. And I like the way that when you ask him a question, he appears to take it seriously before saying exactly what he was going to say in the first place.
Today, though, things are different. His team has been outfought (which was to be expected) and out-thought (which wasn't) by Stoke. He picked the wrong team (starting with Bendtner, Denilson, Diaby rather than Walcott, Van Persie and Nasri); Robin Van Persie got himself sent off for an act, which even by footballers' standards, was breathtakingly stupid and three of his players manager to injure themselves. And, while Arsenal are not rotting from within, there's much wrong wit their infrastructure: no on-field leader; a gaping hole in central defence; no tackling midfielder (ie a new Vieira) and, up front, nothing to scare even Ryan Shawcross and Andy Griffin (ie a new Henry). Wenger looked old and tired on the bench.
Far from the urbane soul of yore, he's peevish about Stoke claiming their victory was a victory for those who like their football crude and English; he preposterously claims the first Stoke goal didn't touch anyone after Rory Delap's throw in and he defends Van Persie for an act even a mother would condemn.
I don't like seeing him like this; it's like being stuck with a conspiracy theorist who refuses to see the obvious truth. He's talking such blinkered nonsense and all without his usual twinkle and mischievous teasing that it makes me feel uncomfortable. This might just be the beginning of the end.