January 10th. Selhurst Park. Seven-forty-five in the evening. Carabao Cup semi-final, first leg. Arsenal.
I had thought about starting the academy. The full youth squad, the way I had done against West Ham in the quarter-final, the way I had done against Port Vale in the FA Cup. Blake and Eze and Morrison and the rest. The principle was sound. Rest the legs. Protect the bodies. Trust the pathway. But the principle had a flaw, and the flaw was named Arsène Wenger.
Wenger was not Alan Pardew. Wenger was not Port Vale. Wenger was a manager who had won three Premier League titles and seven FA Cups, who had built two generations of Arsenal teams, who had forgotten more about football than most managers would ever learn.
