Well that sprang upon us, didn’t it? Those 18 unbeaten league games, the vast improvement in form, two major semi-finals and a pleasant (though perhaps not yet comfortable) gap between ourselves and the gruesome Europa League.
From the gloom of January (and, to be fair, much of the preceding six months) comes the giddy chaos of April and May – and it all starts tomorrow, at Wembley, against Chelsea.
You don’t need me to remind you that in an extreme scenario, we could play the three sides above us in the league eight times over the next month and a bit. It’s a bit hard to get my head round, to be fair.
Our form and exhilarating football has taken us to this point. My god, how I yearned to say something like that between August and March.
It’s exciting stuff, and so, so hard to call. Of the six games already in the calendar, reality and many years of being a miserable sod tell me that we will not be able to win them all. Injuries don’t help.
Someone, somewhere out there has to be stabbing pins into Arsenal dolls because to have the run of injuries at the back we have had – six defenders injured in three games – is a rate of attrition that is no club can bear for long.
But let’s just revel in having our Arsenal back instead of fretting over that. There’s not a whole lot we can do about having to approach the first of these humdingers without an established defence; we can’t will those injuries away however hard we try.
So instead of scratching my head about that, I’m buzzing over the pace of Walcott, the guile of Fabregas, the deftness of Arshavin, the vision of van Persie, the goalmachineness of Emmanuel Eboue and the seemingly miraculous transformation of Alex Song from hapless bumbler to holding midfield extraordinaire.
It looks like attack will be the best form of defence over the next few weeks – so hold onto your hats and watch out for those Wenger shuffles.
And for more ramblings – I believe I make a guest appearance on this morning’s Arsecast.
Till tomorrow fellow rip-roarers.