... and der Pussie gets 10

Watford 1
(Smith 23rd)

The Arse 2
(Gilberto 19th, der Pussie 83rd)

I first noticed it during the game at Stamford Bridge and then I saw it again last night.

When you start wincing at the crunchy goodness of the tackles being made, you start to look at the man in black to keep things in hand.

Bur Mr Dean elected to let things slide, probably relishing the prospect of a hard physical English game - only one yellow card was flashed, at Watford's substitute Damien Francis.

Watford came at us with relish. They were speedy, they were hard (not that sort of hard, Babe). They were evil-er than Big Sam's Crunchers.

And that heavy-bummed Hoyte (berat bontot, we used to call those of his ilk) had a torrid time. He got turned so often by Ashley Young that the normally adept Toure got frantic trying to cover both him and Djourou at the centre.

The Arse midfield started to give as good as they got - the harsh lessons gleaned at the battles at the Reebok and Stamford Bridge paid off but you could see that they were trying hard to keep within the spirit of the game.

Gilberto was his usual superb self - exemplified by his sliding tackle to block Ashley Young's shot in the 18th minute and then one minute later, slotting in a header off the Arse's 3rd corner of the game.

When Titi comes back to play, he will do well to use this bloody brilliant Brazilian as his enforcer on the field. In fact there are already Gooners on chat forums who believe that Gilberto has been a far more effective captain.

And Watford came back with a bit of flourish, a close range connection by Smith in the 23rd minute meant long periods of agony (and pain) as the crunches and wrestling went unabated in the middle of the park.

Senderos came in for Djourou in the second half, Arsene Wenger reminding me why he is paid millions and I am just another blogger airing grouses for free.

With that one stroke, he freed Toure to concentrate on covering the laggard Hoyte as Senderos showed how much more capable he was than Djourou as he waded into the fray.

Immediately the Watford threats of Young, Smith and Bouazza were neutralised and Gilberto felt comfortable enough to move up to support the midfield.

Cesc and Hleb are obviously drained by the physical contest as evidenced by the number of wayward passes as the game dragged on.

Hleb ran himself into the ground, his fatigue clearly displayed by his ashen face as he was taken off and Walcott came prancing in.

It wasn't a sight that I welcomed - I mentioned to my son that "Pristine Pants" Walcott will be the only Gunner who will end the game with his lily-white shorts unbesmirched (and I was right).

And Baptista came in for Rosicky and immediately we started to dominate the midfield as well.

Pristine Pants did make that pass to free der Pussie down the right flank who then beat his marker in similiar fashion as against Blackburn and smashed the ball inside the far post to nick the game.

This cat had nine to his name and he got his tenth last night.

And what was the thing that I had mentioned I noticed at top?

It was simply the Ashburton boys crunching Watford players off the ball and glancing at the ref as they were running off with their spoils.

They were glances that said,"Er, wasn't that a foul wot I just done? No?! Oh, okay,"

It was a look reflecting their bafflement at how much physical contact the ref was allowing that they could hardly believe it.

But they adapted to it. And adapted very well, at that.

By the end of the game, Hameur Bouazza, tormentor of Clichy at right back and stomper of Pussie's boots, retired with a dislocated shoulder and the burly but unfortunately named centreback Shittu, (right boot on Senderos head, and no yellow card), came off limping as well.

Both were injured after clashing with the normally benign Kolo Toure.

Replays show no apparent foul play but some are wondering if the two had somehow been taken out by the placid, ever smiling centreback.

The Arsenal team has grown leaner and meaner with each "typical English" game.

Looks like these boys are ready to rumble. At last.

Thank you, God (not you, Fowler).