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Date	Time	C	Opponent	F	A	R	S
20 Nov	3:00 PM	P	Tottenham Hotspur (H)	2	3	Lost

Well that was simply utterly disgusting. Hours on from that disastrous second half collapse and I'm not any calmer. And I suspect I won't be until this shambles is put right at the Emirates at the next available opportunity.

For now, the so-fabled Home of Football is the ultimate Christmas gift megastore. And it was N17's Tottenham Hotspur, the worst of them all, who were the most grateful of customers this time round, benefiting from what was a cataclysmic switching off by each and every soul in red and white out there, amongst several other footballing faux-pas. All of which really made this contest the most perfect of clichéd game of two halves. Only Spurs were the ones laughing by the end of it all.

It was all going oh so well by half-time. 2 goals up and looking solid, dealing well with all that Spurs could throw at us from dead ball situations. Fàbregas masterful in midfield, Nasri putting one over Gallas (who had a blinder, by the way, sadly, possibly his best north London derby performance, ironically enough), Chamakh sharp up top. We were heading to the top of the table and all was looking rosy, with the famous "toppa the league" chants echoing around some parts of the ground.

But for God's sake, you just do not switch off if you are a so-called professional footballer at such a level. What happened next was a complete and utter cock-up of the highest order, justifiable in touting that rabble not worthy of the shirt, and certainly not good enough to challenge for the title.

The fans are happy and chanting, this is game over really, isn't it, lads? This, the exact inclination, the exact body language, that all 11 Arsenal players exhibited out there as they arrived for the fateful second forty-five. And they have now been given the lesson, and are to be given the pasting, of a lifetime.

At 2-0 at home to your closest of rivals, and with a chance to go top of the league, you would be inclined to think that, a team of reasonable strength and maturity would aim on starting the second half on solid footing, looking to expose any inevitable gaps left by the now-gung-ho opposition.

Sure enough, we made some opportunities; indeed a couple before the first half was even up, with which to finish the game as a contest. But, and Marouane Chamakh should forgive what I'm about to say for he was not exactly the main reason why we shipped three goals. What I will say is that the big Moroccan basically cost us the three points. For when you're a striker PUT THROUGH ON GOAL behind the defence at 2-0 up, you leg it like a proper striker should with eyes on one thing: the goal. You know, Marouane, that framed big white net at the end of the pitch with a man wearing a funny-looking kit and gloves. What on earth he was doing, in allowing Younes Kaboul to block his run when he had had more than enough yards on him to go one-on-one with Heurelho Gomes, no one will ever know!

The utter tragedy of it all was that he was in fact not finished there!

2-1 now early in the second half and moments after the static defence had watched the slightest of men in Jermain Defoe flick the ball onto the upto-then anonymous Gareth Bale via the equally quiet Rafael van der Vaart (again, up until that point), and Chamakh proceeded to screw up again. An unbelievable turning point, if ever there was one to a game of football.

Having been put through a second time in the match and seemingly destined to go one-on-one, AGAIN, he dithered, he dallied, and he eventually did what only looked like a turn away from goal, and straight into William Gallas. Chance gone. Match gone.

My only question is to him is what the hell does you think you were doing there; not once, but twice? He might have settled in fairly well, but this is inexcusable from Chamakh, and he must shoulder a huge amount of the blame for why we are the losers to our worst of enemies this weekend. There is no getting away from it, and he knows it! Only can only hope that he does receive a fair amount of training in the coming weeks. Directional and common sense training, that is!

Cesc Fàbregas, well, well, well, what can I say?

Fabulous in the first half, flabbergasting the second. Not only did he demonstrate the attitude of a disinterested spectator at 2-0 up, misplacing passes like they were going out of fashion. But how many times had Fàbregas unnecessarily raised an arm to a free kick, in the PENALTY AREA? I could recall two before this one, the most recent of which was in the dying moments of a game against Liverpool last season. Well, it was third time unlucky for Cesc, and regardless of the fact that it was not a free kick for Alex Song's challenge on Luka Modric in the first place, it was given, and we should have properly dealt with it. We didn't, or to be precise, Cesc didn't, letting us all down with a moment of utter cheek that got its deserved punishment. He'll be sure not to resort to playing volleyball when he's bored in the near future, that's for sure!

We can go on and on all day. The simple fact of the matter is, these players are a bunch of arrogant morons, who think they can get away with not playing for a full ninety minutes, and by squandering easy chances to kill opponents.

Well, correction to all of you millionaire sunshines, not at this level, and certainly not when faced with local rivals and in the shape and quality of Spurs.

No top of the league then, having once again not missed the chance to toss away what was a perfectly good position. Amazingly, the Premier League gods are STILL smiling upon us, preserving our two-point gap from Chelsea after their defeat at St. Andrew's (having had twenty-five shots on goal to victors Birmingham's one)! Of course, we do drop to third now, but can we complain, having yet again messed up from a perfectly healthy position!?

Not really.

And if you ask me regarding our supposed title and cup chances given that stench attitude, this squad is not even fit to win a cup of coffee, let alone anything else!

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