The best match yet at the Emirates?

I watched last night's match in the company of a Chelsea fan, a Spurs fan, and a Manchester United fan; I thought it best they experience a proper football match for a change.

The first half was almost entirely Barcelona, and after 30 minutes a little box popped up on the screen with the most un-Arsenal-like statistic I have ever seen: possession 30% home, 70% away. There's no denying that our opponents were brilliant at the start.

Much like the first leg of last season's semi-final at Old Trafford, Almunia kept us in it, but I haven't seen a goalkeeping performance like the one he produced in the first half for a long time. I was out of the room fetching a beer when I heard a thirty-second explosion of gasps, cheers, shouts and even applause; and having sprinted back to see what had brought about all the fuss only to be informed that Manuel Almunia had just produced a moment of sheer goalkeeping genius, I imagined myself the victim of an April Fool's joke performed with such prematurity and lack of imagination that the recent words of a certain Chelsea full-back's former conquest sprang to mind. But the replay showed Almunia throwing himself like a man possessed at shot after shot, with the obligatory post-incident camera zoom-in on our triumphant keeper reminding me of Vito Mannone's performance at Fulham rather than the moments of malcoordinated flapping that have at times seemingly blighted our title challenge. He was just superb.

I can only imagine that the sight of Jens Lehmann being interviewed on the touchline and praising Almunia's performance as he would a two-year-old's completion of a meal was what turned the 45-minutes-young Casillas-alike back into the goalkeeper we are more familiar with. He went off for a late evening stroll outside his 6-yard-box only to see Ibrahimovic rapidly approaching, and by the time the Swede had scooped the ball into the air it was inevitable: that familiar sight of Almunia wading lethargically after a looping shot only to tumble along with it into the back of his net. A frustrating end to a dazzling performance, even more so that we were the first team in the history of football to let Zlatan Ibrahimovic look half-decent in a big match.

Thankfully, Victor Valdes wasn't to be outdone. The introduction of Theo Walcott in place of Bakary Sagna was predictable not only in its execution but in its effect, and the young winger was soon catching Maxwell out and causing mayhem down the right flank. The goal was lucky but deserved, considering Walcott's impact on the game; and having previously had almost nothing to do except for let Bendtner head the ball straight at him, Valdes responded to his first real challenge by letting it squeeze under his arm. It was to be expected.

Emmanuel Eboue was combining devastatingly well with Walcott down our right side (save for one or two spilt passes), Nicklas Bendtner was doing everything right except for scoring with some near-perfect positioning and constant harrassment of their centre-backs, while Samir Nasri continued to grow into the game after narrowly missing earlier on with a curled shot. Meanwhile, Gael Clichy showed Maxwell that a left-back can in fact add to his attacking wing play by remembering his defensive duties.

Alex Song thrived at centre-back just as he had in the holding role (which was successfully handed over to a thankfully solid Denilson), and his closing down was crucial in holding off the Barcelona forwards late in the first half - William Gallas had been less convincing in this respect, although such caution was clearly understandable. I must point out, however, that a good performance by Song was stained slightly by a fairly childish response to the awarding of a Barcelona free-kick, and if we are lucky enough to reach the semi-finals that yellow could come back to haunt us.

Cesc Fabregas perhaps wasn't one of our stand-out performers and was particularly quiet in the first half, but he improved considerably after Walcott's introduction and he took his penalty well. If he really was injured before the spot-kick, he is harder than he's given credit for; although Wenger maybe should have taken him off once we saw how badly he was hobbling. Perhaps we can be a bit less worried about the inevitable Barcelona stories this summer after seeing our frustrated captain battling like a technically able Joey Barton against the likes of Sergio Busquets.

The referee had been poor all night, and our opponents simply had to hit the deck crying like toddlers to win free-kicks. However, the continental diver-referee love-in went to new disgraceful extremes when Fabregas was booked for an immaculate challenge, indeed one of the best of the match. I have just found out that he is injured for the rest of the season - more on that next time - but to miss the second leg after that yellow card would have been ridiculous.

However, the ref eventually abandoned his Catalan lovers for the team in the ascendancy and, incredibly, we finally won a set-piece. Admittedly it seemed like a soft one and I might not have expected it in England, but it was definitely a foul and had to be given. Whether Carlos Puyol should have been sent off is less certain; but with both him and Pique out of the second leg, Victor Valdes will have to buck his ideas up when we travel to the Nou Camp.