Premier League: Ipswich Town 0-4 Arsenal
The Gospel According to Arsenal: A Resurrection in Suffolk
The Easter weekend brought resurrection. It brought clarity. It brought, for a team in red and white, a reaffirmation of their heavenly calling. Arsenal, fresh from a night in Madrid that had hearts racing and lungs gasping, came to Portman Road not for repentance but to remind the world that they are not just participants in this Premier League season — they are artists in a game increasingly smeared by the crude brushes of cynicism and pragmatism.
On a pitch kissed by the timid Suffolk sun, Arsenal denied Liverpool their chance to grasp at the crown, and in doing so, they crafted their own narrative — one not of what might be, but of what still could.
No Hangover, Just Hunger
This had all the makings of a trap. The hangover game. The stumble after the summit. But Mikel Arteta and his orchestra knew the sheet music by heart. If there were weary legs from the battle at the Bernabéu, they were not on show here. What we witnessed instead was the perfect post-European tonic: a team in full voice, dictating tempo, expressing joy.
Ipswich, gallant but grim, were simply not up to the task.
Arteta, without Thomas Partey and mindful of Parisian evenings to come, shaped a side with one eye on the now and the other on what lies ahead. Declan Rice, redeployed as sentinel, anchored the midfield with a kind of serene authority that suggested not sacrifice but evolution. Alongside him, Mikel Merino returned to familiarity — a midfielder once more, not a striker in borrowed boots.
And then there was Odegaard — Arsenal’s conductor. The Norwegian, with his caressing touches and celestial vision, operated on a higher frequency. He played the game as though he were scripting it — and it was his quill that wrote the opening chapter.
A Saka Masterclass and the Trossard Tale
The 14th minute. Martin Ødegaard surged forward with intent — not his usual probing pass, but a purposeful drive into Ipswich territory. A touch to Saka, who, with that trademark elegance, swept the ball into the box and guided it to Leandro Trossard, who obliged with the finish. The story had begun.
Ten minutes later, it was Saka again — tormenting, teasing, irresistible. Another cross, another moment of brilliance from Merino with a deft flick, and Gabriel Martinelli arrived like a promise at the far post. 2-0. Comfort. Control. Class.
But football has its shadows.
Leif Davis’ tackle on Saka was not mistimed. It was not brave. It was not noble. It was ugly. Red card ugly. Intent ugly. And though some might dismiss the outrage as tribalism, there is a line — and Davis crossed it. Saka, still on the road back from the hardest injury of his young career, was hacked down with a challenge that belonged in the alleyways of the sport, not its grand stage.
Davis was ordered off, and Saka booed thereafter, is a stain. This was no heat-of-the-moment lunge. It was deliberate, dangerous, and designed to derail. That a segment of Ipswich’s support chose to applaud that act tells its own sorry story.
But Saka — brave, bright, beloved — rose. He limped, yes. He grimaced, yes. But he rose. And in that resilience, Arsenal found even more reason to believe.
Trossard Again and the Rise of Nwaneri
Trossard, who now stands on the cusp of a Champions League start, added a third. A short corner, a flash of movement, a crisp finish. The Belgian, so often the bridesmaid in Arsenal’s attack, is suddenly the one catching the bouquet. Arteta may have planned to rest him, to rotate, but Trossard is kicking down doors with these performances.
And then — a child with the soul of a veteran. Ethan Nwaneri, still fresh in his teenage years’ threshold, added a fourth with a sizable deflected finish. There is a certain symmetry to his story: a boy stepping into a man’s world and refusing to blink. This, now, is not a novelty act. Nwaneri is not a cameo. He is becoming central to the tale. And with Raheem Sterling soon out of sight and out of mind, the right flank of Arsenal’s future may already be found.
Missed Chances and the Balancing Act
There could have been more. There should have been more. Merino came close. Saka twice. But who can blame them for a touch of preservation in their play? The league title, that shimmering mirage, now belongs to Merseyside — but Arsenal must walk the line between rhythm and rest.
Arteta knows it. The fans feel it. A strange calm has descended. The league is no longer a battle — it is a backdrop. The real war is continental. And so Crystal Palace becomes a rehearsal, a test of connections and combinations, before the bright lights of the Champions League are lit up again against Paris Saint-Germain.
A Word on Ipswich and What’s to Come
For Ipswich, their survival hopes are hanging by a thread no stronger than gossamer. Davis’ red card summed up more than just the match — it encapsulated their desperation. This is not the Ipswich some had hoped, maybe yearned for. There is no magic here. No resistance. And frankly, as the curtain begins to fall on their Premier League chapter, there will be few neutrals mourning the final act.
The teams descending this year may be among the weakest we’ve seen — a collective collapse that has allowed the league’s underachievers a year of reprieve. But as one era ends, another begins. Better tests await next season. New rivalries coming up from the Championship will be reborn.
Looking Ahead: The Parisians and the Promise
Arsenal now turn their gaze to PSG — a test of nerve, of nous, of new ambition. Arteta’s mind is already there, though he would never admit it. The midfield reshuffle, the front three chemistry, the Kiwior-Saliba axis — all of it building to that European crescendo.
There is still caution. Saka’s ankle was wrapped tight, like the hearts of the supporters watching him limp off. But the message from both player and manager is optimistic. And in Trossard, in Martinelli, in Nwaneri, Arsenal may yet have the firepower to ignite something special, even if Saka needs to pause against Palace.
This is the tightrope walk of April football: rotate, but don’t rupture. Rest, but don’t rust. Protect, but don’t petrify. And in that balancing act, Arteta is not just managing a squad — he is nurturing belief.
And so, the Gunners go on.
Liverpool are champions-in-waiting. The title has drifted from north London. But this is no funeral march. This is a coronation of a different kind — the birth of a new Arsenal, sculpted not just to compete but to conquer.
The best European night of their lives may just lie ahead.
And as for Portman Road?
A footnote. A backdrop. A field once visited, not to be returned to next season.
Victoria Concordia Crescit