I had the pleasure of two free tickets in Club Level yesterday. Did you know that that lucky lot get free beer and you know how good yummy free beer tastes? And, as if that wasn’t enough there is actually a Chinese noodle bar in there, yes, real people cooking fresh stir fry in woks right there in front of you, amazing, it really is another world.

So why I asked myself did one person swap two tickets in club level for my one ticket in the Upper West? Because, as I found, all is not what it seems in club level: I have long had my suspicions about a group of Arsenal supporters that collectively leave five minutes before the end, this may be a generalisation but you surely must have noticed how embarrassingly empty Club Level looks long before the final whistle? In short they collectively struck me as being a bunch of tossers, my suspicions were confirmed by one incident that made me feel ashamed to be an Arsenal supporter.

After taking my seat and adjusting my focus to being that much closer to the pitch I surveyed the people around me, like you do, and noticed three men in their sixties getting animated at the wrong time, then bizarrely, one of them let out a cry on “Come on Wolves” very strange behaviour, most people around just smiled. On the pitch they were the domesticated variety of Wolves that had made their way down from the Black Country and these three supporters were certainly the domesticated variety off the pitch. They really were no harm and if anything they were creating a bit of atmosphere where otherwise there would have been none.

Do three men in their sixties strike you as being a threat? To my shame there were Arsenal supporters everywhere with their hands up calling the stewards as if they were at school telling teacher, I really expected the stewards to tell these girly Arsenal supporters to get a life but to my shock they took them seriously and actually asked them to stop making a noise…for goodness sake they only said “Come on Wolves” three times in the whole of the first half. I thought that would be the end of it but no, sadly they never returned for the second half; the stewards ejected them from the ground at the break. I was truly ashamed.

Oh yeah, the game. The first half was a frustrating light weight affair with Walcott making good runs down the wing but no end product. Half time came; I now understand why the whole of club level is deserted: free beer.

Second half and we continued in the same frustrating way that looked like we weren’t going to score if the game were played for a month of Sunday’s. This all changed when one of their not quite so domesticated Wolves got himself sent off for a silly lunge at Rosicky. Down to ten men and things were better I now thought, rather than a month it would only take two weeks of Sundays’ for us to score.

Subs were made Nasri brightened things up as did Vela, although, it was clear why Wenger leaves him on the bench so much and last but not least on came Denmark’s finest: Nikki B, gone is the nonchalant smile suggesting that maybe, if I can be arsed, I will put in a bit of effort into the game and on is the more gritted look of determination and determination was exactly what he brought to the game.

But time was running out and along with it were our title hopes; then, deep into injury time, when all the obituaries had been written and many a “Supporter” from Club Level had left, Sagna sent over the best cross of his life, Nick forced his way in front of a Wolves defender to powerfully head it home. Unbridled joy, relief and my son keeps his one hundred per cent record of only ever having seen Arsenal win and his time stretches back to when Seaman was playing. I digress again; three points and we are still in the hunt. Next up Barça

By London

The morning after the night before, everyone’s a bit dazed or dazzled I am not sure which, Amazing display by Barcelona in what was without doubt the fastest tempo I have ever seen a game played.

For twenty minutes Arsenal hardly touched the ball while the Artisans from Spain painted a masterpiece of pure class all over the Pitch. We call the Emirates the home of football, fair enough, well football came home last night in the form of a lesson in attacking flair no one who saw it will ever forget.

There was only one side in it and only a show of personal brilliance and sheer luck from the much-maligned Almunia in the Arsenal goal stopped us from being buried under an avalanche of goals.

Wenger had gambled with several half fit players, who would have been tested in a normal game, at this pace they had no chance. Arshavin, Gallas and Cesc were soon revealed as passengers. AA being replaced by Eboue after 27 minutes Gallas by Denilson after 40, both of whom made significant contributions.

Brave Cesc stayed on and battled, a shadow of the maestro who normally illuminates this ground, driven by courage and adrenalin allied to a burning desire to show the team of his youth just what they were missing. Well tonight was not the night and his injury caused him to be booked for an innocuous mistimed tackle the agony of disappointment etched on his face when shown the card, underlining just what this encounter meant to him, he was out of the next leg.

Somehow we got to half time at 0 – 0.  Wenger looked relieved beyond measure as he strode off

Straight from the kick off Almunia true to form was caught in no mans land as along ball over the top was chased down by Ibrahimovic who lobbed the keeper, minutes later he blasted another through ball past Almunia’s left hand into the top corner. 2 – 0 game over.

Not quite. Barca relaxed and sat back, the game revolved around the middle of the park for twenty minutes until Gallas was replaced. Song moved to centre half. The newly arrived Walcott playing on the right of midfield, changed the game his pace enabling him to run into the spaces and cut inside the fullback, his second such run leading to a goal.

Arsenal were now up for it and pressed and harried, play switching from end to end until Cesc’s courage was finally rewarded as he was brought down in the penalty area the Spanish centre half sent off for denying a goal scoring opportunity, from the resultant penalty Cesc levelled the score, Unfortunately that may well be his last meaningful kick of the season. The tackle and tangle of legs may well have broken the leg; we await the result of scans this morning.

Both sides now with 10 men, ( Cesc a complete passenger) thought they could win it and continued to push for the winner but none came. So a second leg in Spain to come, the score level, but with away goals counting double Arsenal have much to do.

Injuries and suspensions will have much to say in the replay but the reaction to Walcott’s pace says we have a chance

A memorable night and a great game, to live long in the memory. At last the Emirates has a European legend of its own and 60,000 lucky fans can say I was there.

By our guest writer dandan

In 2006, Arsène Wenger stared transfixed across the lush green turf of the Stade de France focused only on the most prestigious and coveted club trophy in world football. Make no mistake, the Champions League is the trophy that Arsène and Arsenal know is required to put the official stamp of success on the Wenger years.

Wednesday, 17 May 2006 was not to be our night. We had fought our way through the group stages and somehow sneaked almost unnoticed into the final courtesy of an 89th minute penalty save from mad Jens in the semi-final against Villareal. If we are to reach the final this year, we will have to beat the best teams on the way starting with FC Barcelona at The Emirates Stadium tonight.

In 2006, we had a team about to go into transition.  Our talismanic captain Cesc Fàbregas, Manuel Almunia, the resurgent Emmanuel Eboué and unbelievably, a rejuvenated Sol Campbell are the only survivors of that game.

Since 2006 the team has gone through a gradual and sometimes painful metamorphosis. The inspirational brilliance of Thierry Henry, the gallic artistry of Robert Pires and the gutsy determination of Freddie Ljunberg have been lost in the sands of time. TH14 may play for Barcelona, but his heart and more significantly his best years are with Arsenal forever. Those players have been replaced with a new generation of Wenger protégés.

Whether you believe the development of these players was part of a brilliant master plan by Arsène or a consequence of having to make the most of limited finances, it has to be admitted that they have finally moulded into an outfit that looks capable of winning the highest honours, and they can only get better. Tonight we will see if we have reached and surpassed the achievement of the team of 2006.

This season has been full of the ups and downs we’ve become accustomed to over recent years. We’ve lost our best striker, relived the horror of seeing one of our players receive a devastating injury, been written off by the pundits and fought back to be in contention for the league and still are perceived by most ‘experts’ to have little chance of reaching this year’s Champions League final.

David ‘Rocky’ Rocastle died this day in 2001. He was an exceptional player and a true gentleman of the game. What more fitting tribute to this Arsenal legend than to dedicate a victory tonight to his memory.

I could have written about many aspects of tonight’s game, but the more I thought about it, the more I realised just how much it meant to me and to every gooner across the globe. The details of player selection and tactics seemed almost immaterial. It’s our chance to prove everyone wrong. The pundits, the experts, the armchair critics, the green eyed followers of other teams, they have no idea how it feels to be an Arsenal fan who has lived through these years looking forward to this game, this special night.

COME ON ARSENAL…. COME ON ARSENAL….COME ON ARSENAL……

We needed a miracle before Birmingham we still need a miracle now the only thing that has changed is that we need an even bigger one.

I would like to try and put a positive spin on the match but I can’t, the nausea in the pit of my stomach won’t let me. It feels like I have woken up with the mother of all hangovers and no matter how hard I try and remind myself what a good time I had at the party we call our season, enjoying exquisite football of the highest calibre — it doesn’t help, I still feel absolutely awful.

Wenger’s gamble failed, I am not about to launch into an anti Wenger tirade, I am fully aware just how easy it is to get things right with hindsight but Wenger stressed the importance of ignoring the Barcelona game and being fully focussed on Birmingham which surely included playing our strongest team – well he didn’t, and it cost us.

Playing Theo on a bowling green of a surface such as the Emirates when the play is tight is usually unproductive but playing him on a bobblely pitch like St Andrews and he is more than likely to go AWOL, which is exactly what happened, for seventy minutes he was anonymous — it was equivalent of playing with 10 men.

In normal circumstances playing with ten men against eleven does not deter the spirit of this team as they showed so admirably last week against West Ham but with Howard Webb so blatantly making it twelve against ten, things were tough, throw in an injury that reduced Fabrégas to a passenger and the odds were really stacked against us.

Still the nine men battled on with Rosicky mustering all the enthusiasm he possessed, Diaby was putting on a magic show in the middle, while Denilson albeit light weight was doing what he could but no matter how much they tried this midfield triumvirate just could not get the game under control and it remained deadlocked.

Then on seventy minutes Wenger decided to unwrap the big guns from Wednesday’s cotton wool; Arshavin and Nasri replaced Walcott and Rosicky, the difference was immediate, for the first time in the match there was eleven against eleven, well almost, they still had Webb but it certainly helped.

The two late arrivals were cutting through the Birmingham defence like a hot knife through butter, this galvanised the back line, lifted Denilson’s confidence and gave even more impetus to the Diaby show. It seemed like only a question of time before we scored and so it proved: our saviour was Nasri, a low drive through a sea of legs found its way into the far corner leaving Heart stranded — cue unbridled joy in the 12 Pins pub, Finsbury Park the place went absolutely mental.

Arsenal immediately took their foot off of the paddle and dropped a gear but with only ten minutes to go all seemed fine — wrong — out of the blue in injury time someone thrust their hand down my throat, ripped out my beating heart, throw it into the air and Almunia, instead of catching it, tried to push it over the bar which he pathetically failed to do — it hurts, it really hurts.

By London