Once again, at *The Rifle Volunteer Inn*.
Two middle-aged Burnley natives, whose home game season tickets had been snatched by their kids, were at the pub as usual, watching the match with beers in hand. Alongside the crowd of Burnley locals filling the place, they loudly shared their predictions.
"We've got to win today! No, we *will* win!"
At someone's anonymous shout, the fans packing the pub roared in agreement.
"Yeah! Since Kim took over, we've never lost two in a row!"
"Two in a row? We haven't even drawn two games in a row!"
"OOOOOHHH!!!"
As the other fans fueled their expectations of victory, Henry Smythe drained his pint.
"Hey, do you really think we can win today?"
Looking at the worried expression on his longtime friend Mitch Tyler—a face that didn't match his hulking frame—Henry Smythe slammed his empty glass onto the counter with confidence.
"Oh, come on! Honestly, has Arsenal been Arsenal since Arsène Wenger left? They're just a toothless tiger now!"
"Well…"
Both friends, along with the nearby fans eavesdropping on their conversation, nodded as they recalled Arsenal's chaotic decline after Wenger's forced departure following over 20 years in charge. The team had slumped to 8th place in the last two seasons.
"Losing to Manchester City away isn't shameful!"
"Right! Kim's never lost at home!"
If Hyeong-min had been there, he might've cautiously pointed out that they'd only played seven home games so far, but fortunately, he was currently in the locker room at Turf Moor, going over final tactics.
"Turf Moor is impregnable!"
"Damn right!!!"
Amid the chorus of agreement, an energized Henry Smythe climbed onto a chair to rally the fans' spirits.
"Let's be real—Mikel Arteta isn't as good as Pep Guardiola! He was just Pep's assistant, that's all!"
"Right!!! Right!!!"
"If we lost 2-1 to Pep, then we'll beat Pep's disciple Mikel Arteta by about 2-1!"
If Helena had been there, she might've pointed out the lack of scientific evidence, logic, or even common sense in that statement, but the Burnley fans filling the pub didn't care about evidence, logic, or common sense.
"Victory!"
"Victory~!!!"
The crowd responded to Henry Smythe's rallying cry with fervor and high hopes.
If Hyeong-min had known about the passionate support and expectations swirling among the fans across Burnley, he might've emptied his already-empty stomach again out of lingering anxiety. Unaware of the outside excitement, he forced a calm expression in the home team's locker room as he faced his players, continuing the tactical briefing with composure.
"Mikel Arteta hasn't yet found Arsenal's optimal formation or stamped his own identity on the team."
The expected Arsenal formation on the tactics board was a 4-2-3-1.
"Alexandre Lacazette will play as the central striker, supported by Bukayo Saka, Emile Smith Rowe, and Nicolas Pépé in the second line. But Lacazette isn't fast, strong, or technically exceptional. Ben and James can handle him well enough."
Captain Ben Mee and his center-back partner James Tarkowski nodded seriously.
"In central midfield, it's Granit Xhaka and Martin Ødegaard. Xhaka's passing is excellent but his mobility is poor, while Ødegaard has good attacking ability but weak defending. If Nikki presses them every time they get the ball, with Hannibal and Brownie backing him up, we won't lose the midfield battle."
Burnley's young midfielders Nicholas Seiwald and Hannibal Mejbri nodded, while Josh Brownhill—now resigned to his nickname—sighed and shook his head up and down.
"Arsenal's center-backs, Ben White and Gabriel, are good passers, so they might skip the midfield and go straight to attack. Their right-back, Takehiro Tomiyasu, will play defensively, while their left-back, Kieran Tierney, will push forward."
On the tactics board, the opposing left-back was slightly raised, while the right-back was pulled slightly lower.
"Our matchup is the opposite of theirs. Karim can exploit the space Tierney leaves behind, and Dwight can drag Tomiyasu out wide."
Burnley's forwards nodded.
"Alright, let's go out there and show Arsenal what Burnley's really made of!"
He'd given those bold instructions with confidence.
And, to be fair, his strategy wasn't even that far off.
So why were they losing like this?
Watching the game, then glancing at the scoreboard with a hollow expression, then back to the game, Hyeong-min was interrupted by Arthur, who spoke with the calm wisdom of age and experience.
"Sometimes you get games like this."
"What?! Does this even make sense?!"
Hyeong-min snapped at Arthur, who sounded like a detached bystander.
"It happens, I'm telling you!"
"Why does it have to happen *here* and *now*?! It's infuriating!"
The irritated manager and his equally displeased assistant coach began bickering and grumbling at each other.
Burnley's fitness coach, Paulo Mourão, slightly embarrassed by his boss and assistant coach's behavior, glanced toward the adjacent technical area. There, Arsenal's Mikel Arteta watched the game with a serious expression.
*Maybe we should adopt a bit more of that seriousness,* Paulo Mourão mused.
Of course, he had no way of knowing that in every pub across Burnley, fans were having conversations eerily similar to those of his manager and assistant coach. Nor did he know that in one historic pub, two old friends had finally started throwing punches at each other.
Oblivious to his counterpart's thoughts but hearing the squabbling from the home team's technical area, Arsenal's Mikel Arteta gestured to his players and shouted, "Tighten up the defense!"
Following their manager's orders, Arsenal's players seemed intent on securing the win, locking down their half and occasionally launching counterattacks through left-winger Bukayo Saka and striker Alexandre Lacazette.
Of course, Mikel Arteta could fully understand the opposing manager's frustration.
If he'd dominated a bigger, stronger team at home to this extent only for the scoreline to defy him, he'd be furious too.
From a neutral standpoint, though, the assistant coach was right.
The ball is round, and Lady Luck is a fickle mistress.
His former boss, Pep Guardiola, was a romantic who'd openly said he preferred a beautiful defeat to an ugly victory.
But for Mikel Arteta, who'd taken over a rapidly crumbling Arsenal, the luxury of such sentimentality took a backseat to the immediate need for points.
Life has a funny way of balancing things out, though. The odds suggested that the three points gained from this shoddy performance today would likely be offset by a loss in a good game later on.
Still, Mikel Arteta set aside such philosophical musings and decided to gratefully accept the three points.
Who cares how the goals went in?
Whether football is beautiful or ugly, three points are three points.
If the Manchester City game had been a lesson in despair against a team superior in every way, the Arsenal match was a brutal reminder of what happens when Lady Luck turns her back on you against a defensively-minded opponent.
Over 90 minutes:
- Shots: 21 to 8.
- Shots on target: 7 to 2.
- Expected goals: 2.83 to 0.72.
- Even corners: 6 to 4.
In other words, Burnley had utterly dominated Arsenal for 90 minutes, hammering them relentlessly. Yet, none of their seven shots on target found the net.
Arsenal, meanwhile, managed just two shots on target—and both went in.
Both goals came from set pieces, no less.
The first: 15th minute.
Granit Xhaka, with a free kick just outside the penalty box, curled a perfect direct shot into the net.
The second: 45th minute.
Martin Ødegaard, from an indirect free kick near the halfway line, lofted the ball toward Burnley's goal. Takehiro Tomiyasu broke through Burnley's defense and headed it in.
"Don't give away direct free kicks in dangerous areas." "Defend better on indirect free kicks."
The press would undoubtedly chew on those points, but Hyeong-min knew better than anyone that such critiques were nonsense.
How could they avoid fouling Arsenal's Martin Ødegaard, Bukayo Saka, or Gabriel Martinelli outside the penalty box?
And who *wanted* to slack off defending an indirect free kick?
Arsenal's Japanese defender had simply outmaneuvered Burnley's backline—that's all there was to it.
Burnley didn't have a particular strength in set-piece attacks or a glaring weakness in set-piece defending, and Hyeong-min didn't have the time or energy to address it right now.
But because of that ordinary, unremarkable aspect, despite dominating the game entirely, Burnley couldn't break through the ironclad defense of a far more expensively assembled team and ultimately fell to their knees.
---
### The Day After the Match
On the first rest day after the lockdown was lifted, Hannibal Mejbri—one of the four loanees who'd resolved to head into Burnley town center for some fun—spoke with a hint of disappointment.
"Hey, Henry Tyler can't make it."
"Henry? Why not?"
Nicholas Seiwald asked while getting ready nearby.
"He says his dad's sick. He's got to take care of him."
"Oh? Shouldn't we go visit then?"
The upright Austrian, suddenly fired up about doing something for the fans, was quickly reined in by Karim Adeyemi, who'd glimpsed Hannibal's phone screen.
"Nah, I don't think that's it."
"Why not?"
"This guy said his dad's sick but added a smiling emoji right after."
As Nicholas Seiwald's face twisted in shock, Jacob Ramsey, overhearing the exchange, chimed in.
"Is that guy secretly some kind of delinquent?"
"No way, right?"
Hannibal Mejbri tried to defend his new Burnley friend, though he was just as bewildered.
In that moment, another casualty of the unexpected Arsenal defeat was confirmed.