No Bursting My Babble

And then the madness resumed.

Arsenal rode their luck, and as Arsenal struggled to cling on to Lady Luck's floaty, fluttering hemlines, Zlatan Ibrahimovic, Barcelona stiker, lofted the ball from a speculative long-delivery to beat Manuel Almunia. Arsenal 0 - 1 Barcelona. This was 26 seconds into the second half. Thirteen minutes later, Ibrahimovic repeated the feat. Another long ball, another lobbing effort. Arsenal 0 - 2 Barcelona. The rout, it seems, had been completed.

At that point, I really, really, really wanted to close the window of my choppy streaming, and Miko would know because I kept bothering her, but love is not love without faith, fervor, and fight, and as tempting as it was to begin trilling elegiac metrics in guttural vocals, logic reared its... lovely head, and with shimmering calm, bespectacled sagacity, life coach tones, reminded me that I had never before been absolutely disappointed by Beloved Team; I was prodded to persevere.

True enough, Blind Devotion (Barca had 70% possession? So? Xavi was plucking Barca's midfield strings with such virtuosity that North London's pride was exposed as amateur. So? Thomas Vermaelen, hands down, the purchase of the season, and who has never had a bad game in an Arsenal shirt, was having a torrid time. So? Barcelona were pinballing that all-important rubber sphere with inch perfect passes all across the field. So? Barcelona were bisecting the Arsenal defense with surgical precision. So?) duly rewarded The Steadfast in Adoration, Allegiance, and Love (yes, Love) with...

Theo Walcott.

Arsene Wenger pulled out the trump card in Miko's Little Firebrand. Almost at once, the Barca defense was carved open with Theo's sweet blurring run down the right flank. The final ball was not there (a little more fine-tuning, Little Boy, and you would be "It"), but Theo with his carefully groomed stubble (which should put to rest the debate on whether he can properly grow facial hair) had given one whippeting Declaration of Intent.

The air, already charged before Theo's introduction, had taken on the buzz of the electric. Where before was much wailing and gnashing of teeth, suddenly was... Hope.

Within three minutes of Theo's entry, the Big Game Mentality that he has made his hallmark came to the fore; Theo dashed behind Barca's left-back Maxwell to receive a measured pass from Arsenal's Great Dane, Nicklas Bendtner, to coolly sweep the ball under the side of Barca keeper, Victor Valdes.

Barcelona 2 - 1 Arsenal. The red and white persuasion was pulsating. Hope had bloomed into... Deliverance.

It was a night for myth-making, an open audition for heroes; and it was Arsenal's Numero 4, El Capitan, Francesc Fabregas, playing with a knock, movement restricted by injury, spirit deflated by the ref's harsh call earlier in the game (a second yellow meant that he would miss next week's second leg in Barcelona, his former club and current suitor) nailed the role of Legend in Arsenal lore.

Six minutes from time, Cesc, playing off Nik's smart header, was brought down in the box by Barca captain, Carles Puyol; the refereee, on the pulse in the unfolding drama (if nothing else; good judgment had certainly vacated his person) took an inordinately long time to make the call--- but just as my poor heart, pounding a million beats per sec, was about to give, he pointed to the spot! dared I hope?... a penalty! could it be?... a straight red! a chance for an equalizer? yeeeessss! and Puyol was off to the showers early! The circumstances of the penalty are said to be debatable; to me it was a stone cold call. If I am honest, it is not as if I would ever question Beloved Team or Darling Boy, anyway.

Cesc, hands on hips, after a couple of sniffs, to the clasped hands of The Emirates faithful and a million muttered prayers, picked his spot and unleashed a whipper; Valdes stood no chance. The scoreline was level! Arsenal 2 - 2 Barcelona.

Cesc tends to injure himself while/after scoring-- Aston Villa, Burnley, and now Barca; true to form, he fractured his fibula. Sighs.

I am not the only one to rave over Cesc, you know. He makes for excellent headlines all the time. Read the articles below:

Fearless Fabregas Shows Heart That Proves Barcelona Could Be Beatable At Camp Nou

Selfless to the end, Cesc Fábregas embodies the spirit of a leader

Fabregas gamble made for a great occasion

Fab skippers can change your luck

Cesc Fabregas finds redemption amid the pain and pressure

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