RESPONSE IS ENOUGH
There’s a fine line between reacting to a match and overreacting to it. The difference is so subtle that, in the heat of a full‑time whistle, we often don’t notice when we cross it. One minute we’re analysing, the next we’re spiralling, and at the same time convinced that we’re being rational. It’s part of the strange psychology of football that the game is only ninety minutes long, but stretches into every corner of our emotional life. Sunday was one of those days.
A 1–1 draw against ten‑man Chelsea was deflating, yes—frustrating, undeniably. I believe we all felt it. But what followed in the media was something else. It wasn’t critique; it was narratives declaring doom and voices convincing themselves that one draw was evidence of a deeper structural rot. So, when does analysis stop being insight and start becoming noise? For me, this was that line.
I’m not here to sprinkle positivity for positivity’s sake. Dropping points in a game we should have won, given the context, is a let‑down. Title races aren’t built on excuses, but perspective doesn’t mean we are being soft. Perspective is clarity and the ability to zoom out when emotion pulls us right into the thick of it. Because if you strip away frustration and look at it plainly:
We dropped points — yes.
It was against ten men — yes.
We should have won — absolutely.
But what’s the next best outcome when you can’t win? You don’t lose. And Arsenal didn’t. A draw against ten men is not a worthy achievement. But in a long season, draws still keep you alive because it’s the losses that kill momentum. And when you zoom out —and I mean really zoom out — the anomaly isn’t the draw; the anomaly is the expectation of perfection.
Two wins and a draw in a week against Spurs, Bayern and Chelsea.
League record? 9 wins, 3 draws, 1 loss from 13.
Top of the table.
Old Trafford, Anfield, St James’ Park, Stadium of Light, Stamford Bridge — navigated. City at home — done.
Champions League record — flawless.
League Cup — quarter‑finals.
If I swapped the names and stats and presented this as “Club X” in Europe, most of us would call it impressive, and some would even call it elite. But when it’s our own club, the standards inflate and affection turns into demand. We want constant proof, constant reassurance, and constant dominance. So one slip and it feels like the foundations are shaking. Why? Maybe because football isn’t just sport. It’s identity and a sense of belonging. It’s sometimes hope disguised as analysis. And with that in mind, nothing exposes expectation like a draw against ten men.
Sometimes too much analysis becomes over‑analysis, and over‑analysis breeds narratives that collapse under their own weight. If you detach from the moment, even briefly, what looked like a crisis becomes a bump in the road of a long journey. Mid‑week against Brentford was the perfect antidote: a professional 2–0 win that extended our lead back to five points and quietened the noise. This was by no means scintillating, but it was a response, and that’s enough in my opinion. Because, contrary to media sentiment, not every game demands a grand conclusion.
We’re entering the winter stretch now, where title races aren’t won but can slowly and quietly be lost. There will be points dropped and our emotions will fluctuate. There will be late winners, ugly wins, painful draws, and maybe even losses that sting. That’s the price we pay for a season worth caring about, and that’s what makes the final act meaningful.
A league campaign isn’t meant to be smooth. It’s a journey of turbulence and tension, of relief and rage and joy. It’s weekends that ruin your mood and mid‑weeks that repair it. It’s complaining about a draw and then refreshing the table, realizing you’re still on top. So feel the frustration and the disappointment. Let football move you, because isn’t that the reason we watch it? Just don’t let every stumble become existential. Don’t let a 1‑1 rewrite the entire season.
There’s beauty in perspective and zooming out. Because when all of this chaos fades and the season reaches its final chapter, we won’t remember how angry we were about a draw. We’ll remember the journey and remember that being in a title race means you care enough to overreact, but are wise enough to step back. And right now, we are in it. We are not perfect, but we are beautifully in the mix.