Alex Dunn pays tribute to the indomitable spirit of Birmingham, while reflecting on same old, same old Arsenal.
Alex Dunn pays tribute to the indomitable spirit of Birmingham, while reflecting on same old, same old Arsenal
Alex McLeish described his side's performance at Wembley as titanic but it was Arsenal that sunk in perhaps the finest final played out at English football's spiritual home since its move across the capital.
Herculean may be a more apt adjective to express the monumental effort it took from Birmingham's players to embarrass the bookies' doom-mongering but it would be churlish to suggest victory was born from brute strength alone.
The demigod Hercules carries with him a great big club but rather than setting out his side to bludgeon the opposition into submission, a wily McLeish demonstrated a canny understanding of Greek mythology in finding Arsenal's Achilles heel.
It is wrong that more column inches will be dedicated to Arsenal's defeat than Birmingham's victory. Sunday belonged to those in Blue that earned the Wembley cleaners a couple of hours' overtime in making light of train bookings back to the Midlands, in order to inhale a feeling they're not likely to feel again for longer than the six years Arsenal are lamenting.
On the day of the Oscars, Birmingham were a Martin Scorsese flick: Raging Bull(s). In comparison, Arsenal remain a sporting incarnation of a Woody Allen picture; intellectually stimulating but ceaselessly neurotic and prone to self doubt.
To the layman the side picked by McLeish looked cautious, perhaps overly so, as the lumbering Nikola Zigic - football's Andre the Giant without the mobility - was employed as a lone front man in preference to either Cameron Jerome or Obafemi Martins.
Zigic's inclusion, which proved inspired, meant Birmingham could not defend from the front though as a five-man midfield became imperative to counteract the inevitable dominance of possession Arsenal would enjoy in the centre of the field.
There is no shame in enduring prolonged spells on the back foot against an Arsenal side that had Barcelona on the ropes at times just a week earlier at the Emirates, but while the award of Man of the Match to Ben Foster suggests a smash-and-grab job, Birmingham were far, far better than that.
In opposition against the ineffective Tomas Rosicky and hopelessly profligate Alex Song the incessant harassing of Barry Ferguson and Lee Bowyer proved infectious as Birmingham recalled Everton's dogs of war that left Manchester United bloodied and bruised back in 1995.
Without Cesc Fabregas' all-seeing eye Arsenal played only in patches, bewildering as much as bewitching, as caviar moments of brilliance such as Robin van Persie's stunning volleyed equaliser were rendered redundant by a series of defensive cock-ups.
If Fabregas' next return to Catalunya is in the summer rather than on 8th March then it is difficult to envisage anything other than a Champions League exit being added to a Carling Cup catastrophe.
McLeish will have been well aware six of Birmingham's eight goals against Arsenal in the Premier League have come from set-pieces and so it proved that the Londoners' Achilles heel flared again at Wembley, as Laurent Koscielny was outmuscled by Roger Johnson from a deep Birmingham corner before Johan Djourou was criminally caught ball-watching in allowing Zigic to nod home the game's opener.
Rather than retreat ahead of invariable surrender the underdogs smelt blood and immediately went for the jugular of the punch drunk Gunners.
Dad's Army
There was nothing cautious about the incessant right-sided forward forays of the rampaging Stephen Carr, a 34-year-old Dubliner who must have thought he'd be watching cup finals with a pint of the black stuff when dejected and unwanted he retired from football in 2008 after failing to find a club upon his release by Newcastle. Foster's display was heroic but the real tragedy of Sunday's final was not Arsenal's wait for silverware continuing but Cafu Carr's failure to pick up the MOTM gong.
When Carr was followed in lifting the trophy by fellow veterans Bowyer, Ferguson and Kevin Phillips the only surprise was that Captain Mainwaring wasn't next in line.
There were personal stories all over the field that when stitched into the game's rich tapestry helped make the contest burn even brighter. In the build-up to the game Sebastian Larsson had spoken with searing honesty and a self awareness so many players lack when talking about the moment he realised he'd never be good enough to make it at Arsenal.
In tandem with his skipper Carr, the Swede's industry and no little craft restricted Gael Clichy's attacking inclinations to the periphery all afternoon. The was no gloating at the final whistle as Larsson was a model of humility in consoling his former team-mate, but when the dust has settled he'll perhaps allow himself a moment to cherish a victory as personal as it was collective.
While Van Persie's equaliser was perhaps harsh on Birmingham when taking into account Wojciech Szczesny had been saved by an erroneous linesman's flag just a few minutes in when he should have been dismissed and conceded a penalty for a professional foul on Bowyer, it would be to stretch the fairytale to suggest Arsenal did not dominate the second half.
In truth there was little wrong with the pockets of football they played in the final third as Jack Wilshere belied his tender years to orchestrate with authority and an assuredness of touch that suggests he might just be the best English talent to emerge certainly since Wayne Rooney, if not Paul Gascoigne.
Although shackled somewhat by defensive responsibilities given he had Rosicky, Van Persie, Samir Nasri and Andrey Arshavin all playing in front of him, the 19-year-old was Arsenal's best player and played with maturity, poise and at times, a smidgen of leadership. From a neutral perspective, his performance in the first major final of his career is reason to be cheerful.
For those that left seats empty seconds after the shrill of Mike Dean's final whistle to slope to the underground in the drizzle it was more difficult to see the glass as half full.
Impaired vision?
Martins' winner would have been comical had it not been so cruel. It was also richly illuminating; a microcosm of what was been levelled at Arsenal consistently over the past six years.
When Arsenal were the dominant force in English football Wenger pulled out one of the finest put-downs since the Premier League's inception, in replying to Sir Alex Ferguson's suggestion his side were the best in the division with the line 'everyone thinks they have prettiest wife at home'.
The problem for Wenger is that he does have the prettiest wife. It's just the prettiest woman don't always make the best wives.
Arsenal in full flight are almost a work of art, they certainly transcend much of what has preceded them in English football but while Wenger continues to resist any form of the game that could dilute his vision they will remain a perpetual work in progress. As long as Wenger continues to refer to his 'young' side they'll remain the footballing equivalent of Peter Pan.
It is to invite accusations of writing in clichés to talk of Arsenal needing a centre-half who attacks the ball and a goalkeeper who commands his box. Sometimes, though, clichés are more than lazy rhetoric and never was it more so apparent than on Sunday.
In his post-match punditry Paul Merson got it spot on when he said had Arsenal had Johnson and Foster in their side they'd have won comfortably.
It's difficult to argue with a manager who's created some of the finest sides in the history of the game in this country but while Arsenal remain the architects of their own downfall so often, a sense that Wenger has got too close to the thing he loves becomes all-pervading.
The look etched all over Wenger's face at full-time suggested he'd like to reach for Ashley Cole's gun but in all likelihood he'd probably only shoot himself in the foot rather than his goalkeeper or centre-half.
And herein lies the problem.
