The Rest Will Follow

After the events of Saturday, the home crowd could be forgiven for taking a breather on Wednesday night.

It was deathly quiet throughout the stadium.

From the dugout to the director's box, from North Entrance to South Entrance, from the cornerflag in Orange Quadrant to the one in Green Quadrant, not a noise was to be heard from the near-capacity crowd.

With one exception.

Far away from the action, in the uppermost reaches of the Yellow Quadrant top tier, three rows from the back and a couple of seats from the aisle, sat two young women, probably in their early twenties.

Throughout the evening, their tinny, shrieking voices rang around the Emirates; piercing eardrums, distressing small children, creating feedback amongst the SkySports microphones, and pitching the dogs of Islington against each other in an epic battle of noise that would continue long into the night. The following morning, locals would emerge from their houses, bleary-eyed and wincing from the persistent ringing in their heads, and stagger down the street, their balance shot by the damage to their inner ears.

Obsessively attempting to start up the Red Army chant approximately once every fifteen seconds, they shrieked on the one occasion they drew a proper response, clapping as though they each had a serious mental deficiency. Every shout elicited a collective shudder in the rows below, with the odd head turning in condemnation; at least one individual turned around with the expression of someone suffering from a terrible affliction, their faces white, their lip trembling, their eyes pleading for someone, anyone, to say something.

Yes, I was sitting right next to them. My left ear was in genuine agony.

Down on the pitch, the boys put on another brilliant show. Diaby did his best to even things out a bit with an even worse performance than his slapstick comedy show against Spurs, and I was actually annoyed when he scored for us - now Wenger will say he had a great game. It was a pretty good finish but I would have lost my nut had he missed, knowing that even Senderos would have had a decent crack at it. The goal aside, his most significant contribution was finding the ball at his feet as an Alkmaar midfielder leapt nervously out of his way - evidently, word of Diaby's talents hasn't spread to the continent yet - then passing to Arshavin, who did the rest of the work.

Fabregas' finish at the end of that move was simply brilliant; one of those goals you can watch over and over. He stamped his authority all over the game, and at the moment I can't imagine his form getting any better. Arshavin lost possession a bit too often for my liking but he played some excellent through balls from several positions.

Alkmaar's late consolation was an infuriating goal to concede, with Eboue failing to close the forward down early enough and Almunia caught off-guard. While the latter wasn't the one to blame, he should have been more alert; the team are collectively turning off in the last five minutes of games, which Wenger cannot keep denying. However, Almunia handled Alkmaar's few chances pretty well, and he made an outstanding save from Pelle's powerful close-range effort by pushing the ball onto the bar.

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