And here’s what you could have had. No, maybe don’t look too closely. It is no secret Arsenal made attempts to sign Alexander Isak from Real Sociedad a few years back. There was some vague, whisper-on-the-wind talk of a bid again this summer. Good luck with that one now. How much would it take these days? A hundred and fifty million? A six pack of gold Fabergé eggs encased in Parmesan cheese? Ten thousand head of cattle and half of Hertfordshire?
Isak isn’t just a player Arsenal have wanted, but a type they have missed, a razor edge in a team that still basically wants to tickle you to death. No doubt after this 2-0 semi-final first leg victory for an excellent Newcastle team, driven by a wonderful performance from Isak, there will be some painful focus on the points of contrast with Arsenal’s own meanderings in attack.
Most notable was the moment on 58 minutes when Kai Havertz went sneaking on to a deflected cross right in front of goal, leapt, hung in the air, wrenched his neck muscles expertly, took the ball on his left shoulder and sent it weeping and sneezing past the far post in a sad dying arc.
It is of course an unfair comparison. Havertz is a different player, spending his time on the pitch wheeling around weaving complex forward patterns out of passes, flicks, decoy runs, pieces of driftwood. The problem for Mikel Arteta right now isn’t Havertz. It isn’t the absence of Isak, but the absence anyone who even remotely resembles him.
Although here it was also Isak himself, who basically killed this semi-final in the opening 52 minutes, scoring the first and making the second, and standing out as a genuinely pure attacking presence.
The Emirates was a bitterly cold place at kick-off, with something fun and light and fizzy in the cut-price pre-match light show, with its mass chip-pan-fire sense of event glamour. The opening minutes were slow-burn from Arsenal. There was one early corner, signal for Jason Tindall to rear up and stand motionless on the touchline, legs spread, radiating massive all purpose set-piece factotum energy.
From that point Isak made the difference. Early on Jurriën Timber made a point of clattering into his back by the touchline. Isak just turned and smiled. There is a rare kind of luxury in being the hottest striker in the country, 14 minutes into a two legged tie. I will be seeing you again you know. A long old game, this.
Isak’s opener came from Martin Dubravka’s punt forward and a touch from Jacob Murphy that became a super-skilled assist as the ball trickled past the Arsenal cover into Isak’s path. He lifted it into the roof of the net, a lovely finish.
Even the half-time numbers stacked up like a weary roll of the eyes. Arsenal: 14 shots, no goals. Isak: one shot one goal. That made it seven in five and 10 in nine. Isak tends to get them when the difficulty is high, or at least against opponents whose badge suggests it should be. This season goals have come against Liverpool, Manchester United, Arsenal (twice), Chelsea (twice), Aston Villa, Tottenham (twice).
Isak isn’t just a poacher, of course. He bullets in headers, smashes the ball in from 30 yards, creates as well as scoring, brings the best out of others. Newcastle is his fifth team in five different leagues, each one a step up the ladder of pedigree and heft. Erling Haaland has his numbers. But there isn’t a better centre-forward in England right now.
Isak made Newcastle’s second on 51 minutes. He sprinted deep to take the ball, snapped back around, fed it wide, took it again and shot low having stopped his run long enough to make the space. David Raya palmed the ball away, but Anthony Gordon finished it. The entire moment was made by Isak’s run and spin, enough on its own to cut open Arsenal’s defence.
It was a hungry performance all round from Newcastle. The midfield was a smothering presence. Dan Burn was impressively dogged at the back, and likeable as ever, for reasons that aren’t immediately clear. He just moves in a likeable way, like a shy overgrown schoolboy.
The presence of Burn in Newcastle’s defence, three years into the age of Saud, is held up periodically as evidence that this is still a slow burn project. But he played his part here in a victorious semi-final first leg.
The Carabao Cup is a venerable old endangered moose of a domestic cup competition these days, endearingly dogged and survivor-ish in its final years. This was a game that had seemed to ask some very basic questions. Things like: what is football actually for? Is winning a trophy good? Newcastle have gone more than 55 years without one, almost as long as England’s men. They ended the night here communing gleefully with the large scarf-twirling away end, and at least halfway towards another shot.