Arsenal Cruises to a 4-0 Victory Over Ipswich

Oh man, football… it’s got a way of keeping things interesting, huh? It’s like one minute you’re in the edge-of-your-seat theaters of the Champions League—quite the adrenaline ride there—and next, you’re back to the regular season grind, facing off against Ipswich. And you know, after all that hype and chaos, Arsenal kinda needed something, dare I say, plain? Like a cricket match, maybe, if it could just swing by and break the madness. And guess what? That’s exactly what happened. Simple as that.

For starters, Arsenal with 11 players and Ipswich with… well, technically the same number, but it didn’t feel that way. Arsenal was like the big kid in a playground game, and let’s just say they really hogged the ball. Ipswich came out hot, pressing up like a kid trying to show off, but then… bam! Arsenal took over, and Ipswich fell back and crowded their space like they’d discovered a sudden fear of the ball. Arsenal was coming off some serious highs, beating Real Madrid, like, TWICE. Ipswich, on the other hand, had been dealing with… um, issues. Like avoiding the drop? Yeah, those.

Honestly, 9 minutes in and it was like Arsenal had put a spell on the ball. We’re talking 95% possession. That’s not a typo. Story of the game right there. And then boom—14 minutes. A goal! Odegaard officially on the assist, but Saka was like, “Hey, remember me?” He practically scripted the whole play. Moved that ball like it was choreographed before Trossard, all ninja-like, finished it off. 1-zip.

Now the second goal, oh boy! Right out of a FIFA game, I swear. Trossard, managing not to look down on reception, took Saliba’s balloon of a pass, juggled it to Saka, who by that point was jetting like he had rockets. It’s one of those moments when you’re all, “Did I just see what I think I saw?” And then Merino? Flicks it to Martinelli, who was just there, like “Okay, my turn.” Swish! That’s 50 goals for Arsenal. Nice, right?

Amidst the footwork, Leif Davis tried making it a contact sport, leaving a bit of himself on Trossard post-pass—a nod to some underlying frustrations perhaps. And things just got steamier. He later got himself kicked out for a wild and regrettable act of footwork from behind. Nasty—no debating the red there, pal.

There’s been a song about referees this season—if it wasn’t the right decision, it’d be another verse of complaints. But this call? Bang on! Ipswich now down to 10 blokes. Saka, strutted off a whack to his Achilles, got right back up. Resilient kid, this one.

Saka’s attempts at goals thereafter? It was like trying to find a good bagel outside New York—frustratingly elusive. Missed a couple of sitters post red card, the home fans eating it up! They made him the bad guy, only Saka’s blame was why it wasn’t a bigger landsliding. Can we blame the Achilles jab? Maybe. Could be.

The second half was nothing but a glorified practice session with Crystal Palace looming midweek. Ipswich did what any rational team would—hunkered down. Arsenal chilled, rode this comfortable wave, stayed in second gear. Rice threw in an assist for Trossard bagging his second… well, sort of, right? Shoes off, cigars out maybe? Strategy was key with that incoming fixture.

Odegaard grazed the post with one of those dream vision shots, young Butler-Oyedeji almost one-touching glory, forcing an "oh wow" save. Last but not the least, Nwaneri’s spill-deflection special ended in net-caressing bliss. 4 goals—Arsenal serving what they did order.

Post-ballet, Arteta vibed all positive. He was feeling the first half like we all feel hitting Friday swings. After Madrid, Arsenal played out some of its best stuff. Bossed the pitch, banged in a domino of goals. Enough said? Knowing the upcoming Paris mission, let’s say Arteta got something in the workshop.

And man, Rice is a hopeful gold mine for us in that PSG duel. Merino? I see something brewing, something more mercurial than his Sociedad days. Yeah, that’s a nugget for the keen-eyed’ observer—dude’s positioning could make a wizard’s playbook.

Comfortable win, check. No extreme hurt sustained, double check. Minus Saka’s sore spot—he’s “fine,” they say. Really, that’s about it, moving on with fingers crossed.

Leaving it here for you folks, but hey, if you’re on the Arsecast train, keep your eyes peeled for more. The ecosystem there’s calling for your questions, bouncing between BlueSky and Arseblog’s swirling domains. That too with a morning drop? Nice. Later, the weekend’s Premier spew comes alive in your pipeline too.

Peace till then!