The Warm-Up: Arsenal go full Arsenal in the Carabao Cup

For the Premier League’s big beasts, the Carabao Cup serves two purposes. If a team gets to the final, then it’s a very important trophy that demonstrates the mettle of a team and the qualities of their manager. And if a team doesn’t, then it’s a good chance to blood the youngsters and have a bit of relaxed, team-developing fun under the lights.

Except that neither of these tells the entire story, for there is a Secret Third Purpose to this odd competition. To pour petrol onto any narratives that might be raging thereabouts; to make everything more itself. And Arsenal — oh Arsenal, dear Arsenal — are now blazing merrily away.

They began the evening with an own goal of remarkable complexity, a wrong-way knee-slide that Shkodran Mustafi couldn’t recreate even if he wanted to. They enjoyed a thrilling attacking performance from Mesut Ozil, the exiled genius, only playing because his manager can’t stand the sight of him.

They threw away leads of 3-1, 4-2, and 5-4, to a Liverpool side containing even more kids than Arsenal’s XI, picked by a manager who actively wants out of the competition. And then they lost on penalties.

“But … but what do you call this act?”

“The Arsenal!”

Everything that was going on before is still going on, but more so. Thanks, Carabao Cup. Job done.

Away from Arsenal’s caffeine jitters, Manchester United and Marcus Rashford were down at Chelsea with something of a point to make. For mysterious and largely stupid reasons, Rashford has recently come in for a good deal of Angry Online Nonsense from his own notional fans.

This despite his being (a) really quite young, as footballers go, (b) obviously one of the better players in United’s side, and (c) happy 22nd birthday, Marcus, if you’re reading. (He’s not reading.)

Anyway, he went down to Chelsea, and he did it. He did it. He scored the knuckleball goal:

The knuckleball free-kick is a fascinating thing. When it works, it is beautiful like nothing else. The body bends at the moment of contact, as though wracked by an enormous sneeze. The ball flies off, up then down, but not the way it should. It does things. Strange things, chaotic things. The fabric of reality glitches just for a second.

When it doesn’t work, which is most of the time, the ball yammers off into the stands or pings into the wall and everybody says: what are you doing, that never works. What a waste.

You can see why Rashford and his teammates looked so pleased. But there is a curse that comes with the successful knuckleball. Once you’ve done it, you want to do it again. And again. Into the wall. Into the stands. It’ll come back. It has to. Into the wall. Into the stands. It’ll come.

There’s no escape for Rashford now. He’s doomed. For he on knuckleball hath fed, and drunk the milk of Paradise. The only solution is to take him off free-kicks altogether. It’s never going to get any better.

Away from the fun of the actual game, a quick refresher on comparative footalling morality. Derby County have sacked Richard Keogh for his part in last month’s drunken car crash, after he rejected an offer that would have seen his wages slashed. Keogh (33), was a passenger and didn’t flee the scene, is out injured for the rest of the season and possibly beyond.

Derby County have not, however, sacked either Tom Lawrence (25) or Mason Bennett (23), who were driving their cars and did run away. Both were fined six week’s wages; both have since returned to the first team.

Now, perhaps there’s something to be said about the role and responsibilities of a club captain as set against two youngish squad members. But the iron law of football is one of utility. Lawrence and Bennett are both useful: young, able to play, plump with resale value. As such, they can stay.

But Keogh is not. He can’t play, and he can’t be sold. And so he can take his seven years service and his three hundred odd appearances, and he can take his broken body, and he can make his own way in the world.

How the fizzy are fallen. From “We had plans to have the draw in space!” to, “Oh hey, Zoe Ball is still a thing”. And a whole hour after the Warm-Up’s deadline? For shame.

Penalty goes in? Give that lad a pretty graphic!

Penalty doesn’t go in? No graphic for you!

And then Maitland-Niles scored Arsenal’s fifth, but he didn’t get a graphic either? Where’s the consistency?

When the Warm-Up is in charge of football, it will be mandatory for any club using celebration graphics to also employ a range of sad and ambivalent clips, to be deployed at moments like this. Dani Ceballos doing the Charlie Brown walk. Maitland-Niles clenching his fist, then remembering the wider scoreline, and doing his best to look serious. Vote Warm-Up. Vote often.

Since we’re talking about free-kicks today, wasn’t Juninho Pernambucano ridiculous? Happy Hallowe’en, goalkeepers. Don’t step to the side.

Not much going on this evening, but there’s a handful of La Liga games, the AC Milan rebuild/rolling nightmare continues at home SPAL, and Glasgow City take on Brondby in the Women’s Champions League.