I've been estranged for the better part of a year now about the fourth CL spot. Supporting Villa's quest to break the English caste system should be right up my alley in theory, however they've yet to entice me into actually walking down the damn thing. I've preferred squinting at and speculating from a distance instead. (This caution could be because there's a closet, located somewhere in the deepest & darkest annals of my affections, that contains just a minute amount of love for Arsenal; that's not a door for today, unfortunately.)
I almost did take that walk, though. Martin was this close to talking me into it. He at the least commanded my heightened attention, as from afar a man resembling a coke-binging sprite on the touchline often will. Every goal Villa scores (or concedes, but emphasis on the former), they are to him each their own unique rapture, though from what it's hard to say, for few are as safe in their posts as O'Neill is in his. Whatever the reason, his elations have now ceased where they should instead be finding most warrant, for his Villans have scored just five in their last eight and are gazing skyward towards fourth after so long staring down from it. The side could actually finish as they did a year prior if they don't find their bearings right quick; a promising vision, but sixth place and trophyless.
Most will be quick to condemn; I just kinda wanna know what the hell happened. The usual suspects are all there in broad daylight, primed for criticism, but when corralled they seem more than a little inaccordant. Everyone seems to wanna point the finger at his team selection in Moscow, as though there couldn't be a worse infraction than disrespecting a trophy and the arduous quest for, but then these same fingers will later direct themselves towards the squad's paucity and how ragged his boys' legs have run. So what should O'Neill have done, exactly? Conceded the UEFA Cup back in July by playing the nobodies then? I look at their beating at Liverpool's hands today, and I see things through more modest and specified lenses.
I see 6'3 Alberto Riera turning 5'9 Nigel Reo-Coker into his bitch on one flank; I see 6'0 Luke Young playing out of position on the opposite; I see a fit Nicky Shorey (not to mention Zat Knight, who could shove the 6'3 Cuellar over onto Riera) languishing on the bench entirely, an all-too-common occurance for the smallest squad in the PL. Warming that same bench I see a 22 year-old Gabby Agbonlahor, saving his energy after the exhausting one-game-in-two-and-a-half-weeks schedule he just labored through; I did not see Emile Heskey do absolutely anything of note before being yanked besides drift out left and clog any drains Ashley Young would normally flow through. I see five-nil from four set pieces and a Pepe Reina masterstroke (of which should be regarded at Delap-like levels and defended accordingly from now on, it's such a weapon), and I see said goalkeeper saving a duo of beyond solid Carew attempts when the score read much more favorably.
But most importantly? I see Martin O'Neill. I see Old Trafford looming in a fortnight's time, coinciding with an improbable and unthinkable hiccup in Man Utd's blessed step, which are either the best or worst circumstances to play there under. The tactical miscues above, I suspect them abberant, and to be eliminated in but a game's time. There's work to be done, yes, but after everything this year, I just don't see Villa collapsing with but a whimper in late March, their story to be forgotten faster than it could have ever been conceived. Not in 08/09--it wouldn't seem right. Don't get complacent, Gunners. It's not over quite yet.
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