So, let us all pause.
Take a breath.
And absorb, with the reluctant grace of reality, what unfolded yesterday — a summer skirmish cloaked as something inconsequential, yet carrying with it the unmistakable weight of rivalry. Tottenham 1, Arsenal 0. A pre-season friendly, they’ll call it. But really, there is no such thing when these two collide.
It felt… different. Because it was.
This, remarkably, the first time that the North London narrative ventured abroad in July’s quiet theatre. And to say it didn’t matter, would be to deny the essence of this eternal feud. For whether it’s the senior squad, the women’s team, the under-18s or Sunday in the park — Tottenham is always Tottenham. And the instinct, tribal and unrelenting, is to beat them. In every guise. In every grain of competition.
So yes — defeat stings.
Not merely for the number next to the name, but for the manner in which it arrived. The performance lacked conviction, cohesion… clarity. And the goal? A self-inflicted wound. A rare misstep from David Raya, a goalkeeper of daring disposition and trusted feet, who lives — and sometimes falls — by the sword of risk.
Critics were ready. Social feeds flooded. The pixelated pitchforks were drawn.
But Raya is not to be written off so casually. He is a guardian whose bravery often borders on brilliance. A man who will save us more than he costs us, whose presence at the base of our buildup is no coincidence. Let that mistake be flushed from the system now — not in March.
And yet, beyond the goal, the malaise lingered. The disjointedness of pre-season. The unfamiliarity of names still stitching themselves into red and white cloth. The yearning to see more of Viktor Gyökeres — but his arrival came too late, a footnote to a match already drifting away. Zubimendi, too, absent from the start. Understandable, but noticeable.
Set pieces unsettled us. Spurs were sharper, surer. And for all the summer’s sunshine, there are shadows Arsenal must address before the real campaign dawns.
Still, let us temper the tempest. This is, after all, the nature of pre-season: an exercise in rust-shedding, in rhythm-finding. Milan felt pedestrian. Newcastle had their moments. This was… a rehearsal without the music. But make no mistake — when the curtain rises, this company will be ready.
Beware The Red Tide
And while Arsenal reflect, Liverpool act.
The Merseysiders — quiet no longer. Heavy investment has been matched by heavy intent. They move with menace, with purpose. Over £100 million reportedly rebuffed for Alexander Isak — a statement bid. A statement ambition. Should they succeed, should Isak wear red at Anfield… the league best take note. It is a terrifying prospect.
I never truly believed Arsenal would move for him. Not at that price. But in the quiet recesses of hope, I wondered… what if? That level of audacity, that level of belief — it’s what champions are made of. But the reality is clear. That move belongs to the braver chequebook. To others.
And so, we look inward again.
There remains work to do — not just on the pitch, but off it. The clearing of space, the reshaping of a squad. Lokonga, Vieira, Nelson, Zinchenko… names whispered on the winds of potential exits. Balancing books. Making room. Because word has it, one more play is yet to be made — a final flourish.
Eze. The elusive, elegant Eagle. Could he be the cherry atop this summer cake?
Arteta, in his usual calm conviction, hinted at bodies needed. Depth desired. A wide player. A spark. Yesterday, Martinelli looked bereft. Trossard, perhaps, nearing a crossroads.
There’s a final act of pre-season now, back home, under the Emirates’ august sun. Two more games. Two more auditions. And then, the spotlight narrows. The music swells. The Premier League begins anew.
Victoria Concordia Crescit