From the onset, as soon as Handel’s Zadok, in the polished and approved UEFA version had faded into the north London night sky, Paris Saint-Germain embraced a different class of football – one where slick footwork, adequate positioning and prolonged possession prevailed. PSG knocked the ball around sweetly, whereas Arsenal were encumbered by their November hibernation that began with their 1-1 draw against Tottenham Hotspur.

They were elongating their form of the Manchester United match as well, or so it seemed, with a slow-mo start, plenty of dawdling on the ball and an overall insipidness. When they had the ball, they did not do much, if nothing at all. At times, the Londoners were an incubus inception of Wenger’s football visions. They did not have options on the ball. Arsenal only had Alexis Sanchez, who in his role on the wing dropped deep, sought the ball and wanted to play with minimum intent.

This time, Edinson Cavani required 18 minutes to score – in the first leg at the Parc des Princes he needed just 44 seconds. Thiago Motta and Marco Verratti had ample time on the ball. They could even dally on the ball – and possibly sop a madeleine, like Proust, into a cup of hot coffee somewhere in a Parisian bar – before deciding what to do. Verratti, PSG’s Xavi-to-be, delivered little, but the defence-splitting pass for Cavani’s opening goal came from Motta who, arguably, had his best game of the season. Blaise Matuidi crossed for Cavani to connect at the far post, with the onrushing Laurent Koscielny arriving too late.

Deserved lead

Was this Arsenal’s cunning plan and ingenious ploy to avoid Bayern Munich, who stumbled to defeat away to Rostov, in the knockout phase? The French lead was deserved after some hypnotic passing – not that PSG were that good; rather, they were a measure of how bad Arsenal played. At least this was not a smash-and-grab act from Unai Emery’s team with a Sevillian overcoating of quick transitions, but a constructive XI, who excelled in possession, a fundamental trait of PSG under Laurent Blanc. This was a team slowly adjusting to a mega-sized hole of 40 goals left by Swedish superstar Zlatan Ibrahimovic.

By the half-hour mark, the visitors had 61% of possession. In the absence of Santi Cazorla, Arsenal were bereft of any guileful play. Without the diminutive Spanish magician, Arsenal’s midfield was very monochrome and the task of carrying the entire team was left to Sanchez. A lone crusader, demonstrating much Wenger-ian desire and hunger, Sanchez must have wondered if he was straying into a vast wilderness of solitude. Had Arsenal forgotten how to play with Giroud up top? Where was Alex Iwobi? And Mesut Ozil?

The German wandered with indifference, neither chasing the ball nor pressing in his trademark aloof style. The languidness betrayed him as a melancholic player, but by the end of the first half, the romantic number 11, with his gossamer touch, was incisive with his faint and neat pass to Sanchez. Arsenal had been improving by ambling around the Parisian box, trying to cross from the left and the right with the precision of maladroit rugby conversions, a wretched and ragged manner of pinning Paris back into their own half. As it was, the hosts did force a penalty and Oliver Giroud converted from the spot.

Was a single decisive pass from Ozil, so often the target of bile for his peripheral role in the team, enough to absolve him? Not even the world champion could paper all of the many cracks. Arsenal’s baffling ineptness was still tangible after the break – panicky, and without resolution on the ball.

Farcical goal

From a free kick Lucas Moura walloped the ball goal-wards, the leather wobbling and dipping, carving a neat curve through the air, to eventually ricochet off the woodwork. In riposte, Arsenal began to exert pressure and a farcical goal – from PSG’s perspective – followed, with a goalmouth scramble, involving a poor attempt from Aaron Ramsey, a half clearance by Marquinhos, and the shins of Verratti for the ball to finally rebound past Alphonse Areola. Outclassed in the first half, Arsenal were now on their way to topping the group.

The test of character was reversed – the onus was shifted to PSG. They upped the intensity. Result? Another slapstick own-goal, with Iwobi, whom Wenger had wanted to sub before Hatim Ben Arfa’s corner kick, diverting a header from the unmarked Lucas into his own net.
Arsenal still felt entitled to winning the match and strode forward with the delightful innocence and naivety of a schoolboy team, allowing PSG to exploit plenty of wide space after a flurry of late substitutions, with Oxlade Chamberlain playing at right-back. But Cavani refused to inflict a defeat. He is no Ibrahimovic – through on goal, cue over-thinking, his elegant chip lacked any elevation. With very mundane laxness, he had contrived to squander a fine chance.

Next, he positioned himself well enough to connect with a cross from Lucas, but failed to head on target from close range. Cavani was, yet again, a perplexing choker. On the night, Paris were, however, the winners. They left London in pole position to win group A, and with a sense of making progress. Arsenal were retrograde, with the Wenger-ocracy possibly crumbling. The resolve in their game was not translated, for a third consecutive time, into a victory. This was not the statement Wenger had wanted from his players, but 90 minutes of frighteningly familiar stuttering.