Exorcism
3-1, Southampton FC, Emirates Stadium, 5th October 2024
“The point is to make us despair. To see ourselves as animal and ugly. To make us reject the possibility that God could love us.”
Southampton are yet to keep a clean sheet. Their return to the Premier League has been marred by the same kind of progressive naïvety that doomed Burnley last year. They play their way - or Russell Martin’s way, at least - even when the house is on fire.
Perhaps naïvety is not the word. Perhaps they are walking clear-eyed into the Premier League’s maelstrom, brandishing a knife as gatling guns burst their eardrums. It’s easy to call Martin a fool, as his team turns into a fine red mist around him, over and over. But ask Vincent Kompany about foolishness. Ask how limp his Burnley were, how idealist, how naïve. He’ll laugh and stride off up the touchline at his new Bavarian home, baseball cap unblemished. Today, a coaches’ style will see them climb the ladder just as surely as…actually winning.
Which is a good job for Martin, because if you come to the Emirates Stadium with nothing but ideals and good intentions and knives, prepare to be met with a cannon. This was a game guaranteed to be a slaughterfest, a perfect October viewing for those who spend this month pining for blood and guts. Against Bournemouth the week prior, Southampton’s disastrous build-up saw them ship three in the first half. Arsenal are the best out-of-possession side in the world. Yeah, good luck with that, lads.
And this Arsenal are hungry. After a run of season-defining away games in September - during which they were asked to sit and take a hammering without punching back - the sense was they were ready to return the favour. Leicester City were on the end of a brutal retaliation last weekend, even if the result was bizarrely close. PSG were swatted aside like a midweek irritation. Southampton, who are conceding like they think the opponent’s goals count for half, would be easy prey.
Except…it’s Southampton. Last time these sides met in the Premier League it was Arsenal who were naïve; Arsenal who asked Aaron Ramsdale to play rondos in his own box; Arsenal who conceded three in a hail of machine gun fire. Earlier that season the two sides had drawn at Saint Mary’s, the only time Arsenal dropped points before Christmas in any stadium not called Old Trafford. That year had been Mikel Arteta’s making, his arrival as a truly world-class coach, and the sense still lingers that this Arsenal side was forged in the experience of those twelve months. That was when this story began.
And so here we are again. Of all Arteta’s remarkable accomplishments, perhaps the most impressive is his banishing of Arsenal’s demons. The club were defined by narratives for so long and Arteta has unravelled them, each, one by one. Here was another - another ghost of the past, a red-and-white reminder of 2023’s collapse. When Cameron Archer went through ten minutes into the second half, and William Saliba’s distances were a little off, and Archer’s shot pinged off his outstretched foot and past David Raya, it seemed Arsenal might still be haunted after all.
“He is a liar. The demon is a liar. He will lie to confuse us. But he will also mix lies with the truth to attack us. The attack is psychological, and powerful. So don't listen to him. Remember that - do not listen.”
If this story needs a protagonist, his name would be Kai Havertz. If Gabriel Magalhaes is the defining figure of the Arteta revolution, Havertz is surely the advancing rearguard - the perfect embodiment of everything Arsenal have become.
He is huge in a gangly way that belies an absurd strength; he is a bully; his technical level is both astonishing and routinely bizarre; he looks so wrong but plays so right. And he plays right in a way nobody else on earth can, right now. He is a one-of-one, a totally unique footballer, and no opponent has yet figured out how to handle him.
He’s not an eight, that much is now clear - but he’s certainly not a nine, either. He is Arsenal’s ghost. A shadow striker, in the sense he waits in the shadows centre-backs cast on the pitch, then emerges without warning, exploding with a speed it feels he shouldn’t have. He spends most of his time where an eight would, connecting, rotating, sacrificing, but appears exactly where Arsenal would need a nine, whenever they do. It’s fascinating to watch - he is an everything, everywhere, all at once kind of footballer, although that phrase feels too strong, too Hollywood - he’s less blood and thunder, more blood and wine.
But what makes Havertz special in mind and body would be nothing without what makes him special in heart. It’s that that has turned him from an expensive squad player into one of Arsenal’s most important pieces, an absolutely vital icon it is impossible to imagine this team without. He’s a quiet leader. He runs around the pitch with a silent fury, willing the team towards the glory he believes it deserves. When he crashed in Arsenal’s equaliser, he ran straight back to the centre-circle, unwilling to celebrate his glorious finish as anything more than a means to an inevitable end.
The equaliser signalled that inevitability, and who better to deliver it than the world’s greatest winger. Yeah, fuck your qualifying statements, your ‘yeah buts’, your ums and ahhs - Bukayo Saka is undeniable, unquantifiable, unbelievable. He played his first ‘Lamine Yamal cross’ in the Premier League when Yamal was twelve; he did it again here, with perfect precision, to the awaiting Gabriel Martinelli. In the absence of Martin Ødegaard, Bukayo Saka has taken the Norwegian’s place while holding down his own. He’s so good he’s two world-class players in one: connector, orchestrator, conductor; bulldozer, creator, killer. Southampton triple marked him the entire game and he still danced through the pressure and tore them apart. A goal and two assists. He can create danger without the ball. He can split blocks open as if possessed by Mesut Özil. He can manufacture a shot where none seem possible. When Arsenal needed him most he has become, arguably, the form player on the planet.
With Havertz’ heart and Saka’s quality, there are no demons left in Arsenal. All the ghosts are gone. It’s still early, so early, but you can’t imagine any of the old stories sticking now. They may not win the title, but it won’t be because they’re haunted by tales of an agonising past. Those have been erased, exorcised, and scrawled over. All that’s left to know is what story they’ll write in their place.
Postcards from N5
I’m so used to seeing William Saliba get his angles and distances perfectly right that I was completely unconcerned when Archer had him 1v1. It was a shock to see him beaten; it took me a minute to register what had happened. It’s testament to his reach that he still got a foot to Archer’s shot when he got the spacing so wrong initially - unfortunately that foot took it beyond Raya. No worries - I think the weird spacing was more a result of Thomas Partey being halfway up the fucking pitch, in the pivot, rather than in Ben White’s usual position in the rest-defense three. Won’t happen when the full-backs return.
Speaking of Ben White - it’s so easy to forget Arsenal’s defining attacking force was White-Ødegaard-Saka until as recently as three weeks ago. I think we all worried what would happen with two thirds of the triangle absent. Turns out, I guess, we still have its most important piece. Bukayo is so fucking good lol. He’s somehow got better without them. Magnificent.
I thought Raheem Sterling was…well, pretty sterling, and unfortunate to only get an hour. When plugged in for Martinelli in our best eleven, against low-block sides we’re struggling to break down, his penalty-box dribbling could still be decisive. Gabriel Jesus on the other hand…ooft. He looks physically miles off his old self, and I’m not sure there’s many signs he’ll recover - we hold out hope. Mikel Merino’s half an hour was exactly what we expected - he fought for everything, won all four of his ground duels, and pinged a lovely ball to release Martinelli. So much more to come.
Thanks for reading. If you’d like to read my England column this week, that’ll be over on SCOUTED. Otherwise I’ll see you in a couple weeks for Bournemouth and then - holy fuck - Liverpool. It’s about to heat up.
Love,
T
Great stuff, I really like your literary approach and readability. Cant believe you spoke about that Southampton game (I was at the Emirates) and I'm still trying to forget it!
Nice writing Tom.