Full-time and handshakes. A little Tears for Fears tinkles over the public address system. Beyond that … what, exactly? How to describe this swirling, velvety anti-noise? The sound of no gloves clapping? The sound of time physically disappearing down a vortex? The sound of no emotions?
It began with North London Forever and by the end we felt as though we had been in north London for ever: stuck on an endless loop of William Saliba passing to Jurriën Timber, of Virgil van Dijk pausing as he tried to bait a press that would never come. Long periods of this game were played at literal walking pace.
Of course it was taut and tactically engaging in parts. No game with this many good footballers in it can be truly boring. Conor Bradley tried a nice lob. Bukayo Saka whizzed and turned on the right wing. At the same time, it all had the curious side-effect of getting everybody jazzed for MK Dons v Oxford in the FA Cup third round on Friday night.
And for Liverpool, this was surely the point. In a way, this was a masterclass in how to play the league leaders away from home with a threadbare squad. Long periods of deliberately sterile football, placeholder text, white noise. A substitutes’ bench (“Calvin Ramsay”, “Curtis Jones”) that was only really there because manager Arne Slot had to write something on the form.
Their second-half possession was 67%, which produced five shots, all by Dominik Szoboszlai, all from distance, all off target. Arsenal, for their part, failed to produce a single shot from the 43rd to the 90th minute. And yet as Liverpool rondo-ed their way through the second period, a strange spectacle began to unfold.
Arsenal, we must remind ourselves, are the country’s outstanding team right now, their five-point gap at the top extended to six by full-time. They are top of the Champions League table. They have players who can blow the back of your head right off. And yet. Is anyone in this stadium actually enjoying themselves?
Of course, atmosphere at most of the big Premier League stadiums is not purely an Arsenal problem, and an ambient discontent is not purely Arsenal’s cross to bear. But only one club are sitting top of the league, not that you would know it to listen to them.
They groaned when Myles Lewis-Skelly took too long over a throw. They groaned at Declan Rice for misplacing a pass. They even groaned at Gabriel Martinelli when he brilliantly escaped two Liverpool players on the left wing and then overcooked his through-ball out of play. And the Emirates Groan is a real and visceral thing: an expression not just of disappointment but a kind of disgust, the encrusted revulsion of 22 barren years.
What must it be like as an Arsenal player to play in front of these people right now? To be responsible for this surgical, slow-burning excellence, 14 wins out of 16 at home in all competitions, and to be met with this wall of growling and grizzling, the sound of 60,000 people having really bad sex? And look, I’m not a footballer and I don’t know for sure. But maybe … it doesn’t help?
We should also draw a firm distinction between the industrial irritation of the Emirates and the purer, more devotional support that follows Arsenal away from home. Case in point: Bournemouth at the weekend. Gabriel Magalhães gives the ball away, Bournemouth score, and instantaneously the travelling Arsenal fans start singing his name, building him up again. Head back in the game, Gabriel charges up the pitch and scores within minutes. Simple noise and effect.
At home, meanwhile, it is surely no coincidence that manager Mikel Arteta and his players spend so much of their time trying to cajole fans into alignment. The tunnel roof has been pulled back so fans can see the players run on. The second half is no longer shown on the concourse to encourage them back to their seats. But of course they can do nothing about the real root cause: the years of festering angst and Big Feelings, the ingrained disquiet of a fanbase that has been burned by hope so many times before.
Arsenal are six points clear. They have got players coming back from injury. Manchester City have drawn three in a row and Aston Villa, lol, give me a break. Things are good. Things are fine. And in a way the whole Arteta project – the patient buildup, the cold accumulation, the refusal to run like headless chickens to placate the gallery – feels like the ultimate trust exercise.
We will play with control and purpose. We will calmly work the ball into these dangerous areas. We will do it again and again. This is how we’re going to score, this is how we’re going to win, and this is how we’re going to make you love us. Up close, it can feel calculating and bloodless. In truth, it’s the ultimate act of faith.
