Can Arsenal again astound the Etihad?

How the once-mighty have fallen. This one was meant to decide the Prem title. Instead, it has slipped a few rungs and will now merely split the difference between third and fourth place in a season in which one had dedicated itself to winning the Champions League and the other had, well, shot itself in the foot more than it had shot its way past opponents. While it's true that each has taken home silverware, these will feel more like tin-cup than trophy.

Man City's down and out, or is it bound and determined?

Despite putting almost all their eggs in the Champions League basket, Man City crashed out against Real Madrid, losing Vincent Kompany yet again to injury. The Belgian limped off just ten minutes in, having reaggravated the same calf injury that has Diabied him all season. On one hand, there's reason to celebrate ahead of our trip to the Etihad: a depleted, depressed squad will greet us. On the other, there's ample reason to worry: that same squad now has to fight a bit to stay in contention for a Champions League spot. Would it have been better for our own fortunes had the Citizens advanced to the final?

Open Letter to Bottlin'ham—er, Tottenham: yes, we hate Chelsea, too...

First things first, let's all congratulate Leicester on a wondrous, glorious Prem title. They've fought hard and won it well, and no one outside of Hollywood could have written a better fairy-tale than this—other than to have let the Foxes win it outright at Old Trafford, denizen of the dominant for so many years, rather than having to wait on results elsewhere. Even if Tottenham's hopes for a Prem title were razor-thin at best going in, we at Arsenal understand how it feels to let something that was oh-so-close slip through one's fingers. I won't go so far as to suggest that I was gunning (catch the pun, eh?) for you to win the Prem, but there's just enough in this one to let us commiserate—if you're willing.

We're all Fàbregas-fanboys now...

So, it's come down to this. We've eked past Norwich to secure another vital three-points, but the bum-squeaky tightness of it all only reminds us of just how piss-poor we've been over the last five to seven weeks months. Still, it's a marker of just how bang-average everyone else has been that we now find ourselves in third place three points clear of Man City after they were thrashed by Southampton. After a season in which we've been frustrated and infuriated in equal terms, dare we still dream of finishing above Tottenham? Irony of ironies, our chances of doing so depend in part on the prodigal pariah-gal son: Cesc Fàbregas. Tottenham goes into Stamford Bridge on Monday, and anything short of a win lets Leicester win the Prem. Should they stumble to a draw or, better yet, defeat, I daresay we swallow our pride and hope that Fàbregas does them in.