"Live each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influences of each."
- Henry David Thoreau.
(An Italian new clip about Ronaldo and the transvestite - if anyone speaks Italian, I'd like to know what it says)
Okay, the 14 regular readers of this blog (thank you all, so much!) would know I only delve into smut if it's funny, embarrassing, or if I've nothing else to talk about. All three apply here.
I'm talking, of course, about Ronaldo's encounter with the transvestite, Andrea Albertino. As the story goes, he took her home, found out she had extra bits, and backed off. He offered to pay her for the night anyway (he's a nice guy), but she demanded 50,000 euros for her silence.
It's not hard to feel sympathy for the guy. She's not bad-looking, despite her mannishly large jaw and nose. With beer goggles, she looks a bit like a low-rent Milene Dominguez (his ex-wife). I imagine that a downcast Ronaldo, having had a few too many, took one look at her and thought "if only I hadn't fucked it up with Milene, I wouldn't be a washed-up ex-footballer at 31."
People say that we should live life and never look back. It's biblical; Lot's wife was turned into a pillar of salt when she fled Sodom and Gomorrah. But it's something I've never been able to do. Doubt sits on my shoulder like a parrot, chirping back all the fucked-up things I've ever said or done. I try to live like it's not there, but my pockets are full of crackers and its talons are very sharp.
It's not easy to live life the way Thoreau advocates. To live for the moment, to have no recollection of the past, to experience everything as if for the first time... it's impossible. You'll always look back on things with regret and sadness and the nagging sense that things could've been better. And the reason is that you're often right. Things could have been better, if only...
Anyway, I've got sympathy for Ronaldo. We've all had moments like that. Despite being one of the greatest footballers ever, he's human. On those lonely, sleepless nights, there's nothing to keep you company but your thoughts, your memories and your unrequited longings. We all have vulnerable moments where our judgment is clouded and we do things we later regret. It's just that our mistakes aren't plastered all over the media.
Poor guy.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Monday, April 28, 2008
Goodbye, Flamini
"Flamini can earn more somewhere else that is for sure because it would be a free transfer - but how much is he ready to sacrifice to stay here?"
- Arsene Wenger with a variation on "how long is a piece of string?"
A long time ago, on a website far, far away, I said that selling Diarra and keeping Flamini would all end in tears. And it looks like my prediction is coming true.
How did it come to this? At the start of the season, Diarra, Flamini, Gilberto, Denilson, Diaby and *ahem* Song, were all queuing up like randy suitors to ask Fabregas to the ball. And now? Because we plumped for the ugliest, most money-grubbing midfielder, we're going to be left standing alone on the dance floor while other sides are slow-dancing to "Time Of Our Lives". We'll be watching Carrick tangoing with Anderson, or Essien and Lampard and Ballack groping each other in a darkened corner, and... I should stop with the dance partner analogy, shouldn't I?
Wenger says:
Anyway, I've two points:
1/ Flamini is really, really ugly.
2/ Flamini is really, really greedy.
Wenger knows this, and I think he's resigned to the fact that Flamini will move to a club that matches his greed and his countenance. Juventus are the club of the establishment, of old money, of greedy, ugly, inbred high society. Because of the free transfer, Juve are in a position to pay much more than we are (although, he came to us for free as well). And I'm sure he'll fit right in. That's very bitter, isn't it?
Goodbye Flamini, and thanks for all the fish.
- Arsene Wenger with a variation on "how long is a piece of string?"
A long time ago, on a website far, far away, I said that selling Diarra and keeping Flamini would all end in tears. And it looks like my prediction is coming true.
How did it come to this? At the start of the season, Diarra, Flamini, Gilberto, Denilson, Diaby and *ahem* Song, were all queuing up like randy suitors to ask Fabregas to the ball. And now? Because we plumped for the ugliest, most money-grubbing midfielder, we're going to be left standing alone on the dance floor while other sides are slow-dancing to "Time Of Our Lives". We'll be watching Carrick tangoing with Anderson, or Essien and Lampard and Ballack groping each other in a darkened corner, and... I should stop with the dance partner analogy, shouldn't I?
Wenger says:
"There is something in this team which is stronger than a few bucks here and there. What is really important is that this team says 'lets go to the end of our potential together and not walk out for any simpler reason' - and that is where I expect them to show strength, and care what they can achieve together. We are not any more in a period where you get £100 more at another club and it decides your life."
Part of me wants to ask Wenger whether HIS desire to keep this team together is worth more than "a few bucks here and there". Flamini fits in very well with our side, and it'll be difficult to find another player who could do his job. It could be the difference between challenging for the title next year, and winning it. But I understand his doubts about Flamini and his desire keep the wage structure. I wouldn't want to pay 70,000 a week for him either.Anyway, I've two points:
1/ Flamini is really, really ugly.
2/ Flamini is really, really greedy.
Wenger knows this, and I think he's resigned to the fact that Flamini will move to a club that matches his greed and his countenance. Juventus are the club of the establishment, of old money, of greedy, ugly, inbred high society. Because of the free transfer, Juve are in a position to pay much more than we are (although, he came to us for free as well). And I'm sure he'll fit right in. That's very bitter, isn't it?
Goodbye Flamini, and thanks for all the fish.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
My dirty underwear
"It's interesting, but... I wouldn't have thought a 27 year old would be so angsty."
- my sister-in-law, a couple of days ago, with regards to my blog.
Once, I wore a single pair of underpants for a whole week.
I'm not completely sure why. It's a bit hazy. It might've been on a school camp that I'd under-packed for. It might've been during a week when I forgot to do the laundry, and when it was too wet and too dark to do during work nights. It even might have been something as simple as finding a good pair of jocks that really, really fit, and not wanting to surrender them to the hamper.
I'm starting to think that I've done it more than once.
Anyway, I've been thinking it over, and my sister-in-law's right. I do whinge too much. Like dirty underwear, angst can be comforting once you wear them in and get used to the urine stains, but it's hardly healthy. Sometimes, it's better to throw away those crusty jocks and just get a fresh pair from the cupboard.
I'm going to stop whining about Arsenal. For a day or so. Until we play Derby.
P.S. Oh, and I just found out there's a blog called "Another Arsenal Blog". I've changed my name accordingly. How fucking embarrassing.
- my sister-in-law, a couple of days ago, with regards to my blog.
Once, I wore a single pair of underpants for a whole week.
I'm not completely sure why. It's a bit hazy. It might've been on a school camp that I'd under-packed for. It might've been during a week when I forgot to do the laundry, and when it was too wet and too dark to do during work nights. It even might have been something as simple as finding a good pair of jocks that really, really fit, and not wanting to surrender them to the hamper.
I'm starting to think that I've done it more than once.
Anyway, I've been thinking it over, and my sister-in-law's right. I do whinge too much. Like dirty underwear, angst can be comforting once you wear them in and get used to the urine stains, but it's hardly healthy. Sometimes, it's better to throw away those crusty jocks and just get a fresh pair from the cupboard.
I'm going to stop whining about Arsenal. For a day or so. Until we play Derby.
P.S. Oh, and I just found out there's a blog called "Another Arsenal Blog". I've changed my name accordingly. How fucking embarrassing.
Friday, April 25, 2008
On Limerence
For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
- William Shakespeare, Sonnet 147
Limerence.
It's the third prettiest word in the English language (1st and 2nd being "cellar door" and "fucking"). It's caused by a chemical disturbance in your brain when you meet someone you like; it flushes your brain with vasopressin and dopes you up with dopamine, and you end up with vivid, dizzying highs and crushing lows. Some days, you're so flushed with it that you feel like you're bullet-proof. Other days, you're so drained you want to crawl up in a hole somewhere and die.
It's a bit like following Arsenal.
There's nothing now but a niggling little pain. I can look at the ladder without blubbering like an overweight infant. Last night, I could watch highlights of the Champions League semi-finals without rolling on the floor and throwing a tantrum. There's regret and longing and a sense that it'll never, ever happen. But there's also a feeling that all this crap is worth it, because when everything clicks, it's like walking in a Disney Technicolor feature with fluffy bunnies and puke-green grass and birds that tweet.
I learnt last night that we need a world-class keeper. Petr Cech is fucking brilliant - technically and positionally perfect. He kept Chelsea in the game. He wins games for Chelsea. He wins titles for Chelsea. He is a super, super player. And what are we stuck with? Alumnia. You realise that the greatest compliment Almunia's had this year is that he doesn't fuck up every game? Kind of depressing when you compare him with the best keeper in the world.
I don't have the heart to think about it, though; like I don't have the heart to contemplate the 25 million pound transfer kitty, the on-going saga about resigning Flamini, Hleb and Fabregas, or the distinct probability that I'll be mulling over another failed title challenge this same time next year.
Sometimes I think I hate Arsenal. And other times, I really do hate them. They contrive to make me love them, and believe in them, and then they crush my heart with the sort of clinical ruthlessness I wish they had in front of goal. You can't help but fall in love with a side that can beat beat Juve and Real Madrid on a Champions League run, and go 1-0 against mighty Barcelona. You can't help but love a side that plays football the way it's meant to be played. You open your heart up to those little buggers, and then they rip it out of you like the capricious, dillentente footballers they really are.
Fucking hell.
At the moment, there's nothing but a melancholic resignation; We're not going to win anything this year, and the way things are heading, it's unlikely we'll have the squad to win it next year. We will get better, we will improve. If we can keep Flamini, heal van Persie and teach Adebayor to shoot, we might even give it a firm shake. But we're still a world-class 'keeper and a brilliant striker short of ruling the English league.
Maybe Shakespeare was in a bad mood when he wrote Sonnet 147. Maybe he had a bit of chafing, or gout. I hear English people get gout a lot. Whatever. I'll end it with a bit of Doris Day; it probably would've been a better choice as a quote:
Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours, to see
Que Sera, Sera
P.S. I realise I'm going over old ground, and no one really wants to hear my ranting, stream-of-consciousness posts about Arsenal. But there really is nothing to write about. Nothing interesting, at any rate.
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
- William Shakespeare, Sonnet 147
Limerence.
It's the third prettiest word in the English language (1st and 2nd being "cellar door" and "fucking"). It's caused by a chemical disturbance in your brain when you meet someone you like; it flushes your brain with vasopressin and dopes you up with dopamine, and you end up with vivid, dizzying highs and crushing lows. Some days, you're so flushed with it that you feel like you're bullet-proof. Other days, you're so drained you want to crawl up in a hole somewhere and die.
It's a bit like following Arsenal.
There's nothing now but a niggling little pain. I can look at the ladder without blubbering like an overweight infant. Last night, I could watch highlights of the Champions League semi-finals without rolling on the floor and throwing a tantrum. There's regret and longing and a sense that it'll never, ever happen. But there's also a feeling that all this crap is worth it, because when everything clicks, it's like walking in a Disney Technicolor feature with fluffy bunnies and puke-green grass and birds that tweet.
I learnt last night that we need a world-class keeper. Petr Cech is fucking brilliant - technically and positionally perfect. He kept Chelsea in the game. He wins games for Chelsea. He wins titles for Chelsea. He is a super, super player. And what are we stuck with? Alumnia. You realise that the greatest compliment Almunia's had this year is that he doesn't fuck up every game? Kind of depressing when you compare him with the best keeper in the world.
I don't have the heart to think about it, though; like I don't have the heart to contemplate the 25 million pound transfer kitty, the on-going saga about resigning Flamini, Hleb and Fabregas, or the distinct probability that I'll be mulling over another failed title challenge this same time next year.
Sometimes I think I hate Arsenal. And other times, I really do hate them. They contrive to make me love them, and believe in them, and then they crush my heart with the sort of clinical ruthlessness I wish they had in front of goal. You can't help but fall in love with a side that can beat beat Juve and Real Madrid on a Champions League run, and go 1-0 against mighty Barcelona. You can't help but love a side that plays football the way it's meant to be played. You open your heart up to those little buggers, and then they rip it out of you like the capricious, dillentente footballers they really are.
Fucking hell.
At the moment, there's nothing but a melancholic resignation; We're not going to win anything this year, and the way things are heading, it's unlikely we'll have the squad to win it next year. We will get better, we will improve. If we can keep Flamini, heal van Persie and teach Adebayor to shoot, we might even give it a firm shake. But we're still a world-class 'keeper and a brilliant striker short of ruling the English league.
Maybe Shakespeare was in a bad mood when he wrote Sonnet 147. Maybe he had a bit of chafing, or gout. I hear English people get gout a lot. Whatever. I'll end it with a bit of Doris Day; it probably would've been a better choice as a quote:
Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours, to see
Que Sera, Sera
P.S. I realise I'm going over old ground, and no one really wants to hear my ranting, stream-of-consciousness posts about Arsenal. But there really is nothing to write about. Nothing interesting, at any rate.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Don't mention the UCL
"Not one proposal has arrived from the Gunners."
- Maurizio Zamparini, Palermo president, stating the bleeding obvious about Arsenal's transfer policy
I'm not going to talk about the Champions League semi-finals. Like Wenger, I find it distressing. However, I am going to talk about two things:
1/ Hleb's 3 game ban. It's a surprisingly long time, considering the three-match ban on Mark Taylor. But I agree with it. No form of physicality should be tolerated. A player has the right to play a game without being slapped. I just wish Hleb had done something more manly, like headbutting or kung-fu kicking. A player's disciplanary record goes with him to his grave, and Hleb will forever be known as a slapper.
2/ Wenger's 25 million pound transfer budget. I found this from a piece on ANR from Nigel Phillips, a spokesman for the Arsenal Supporters Trust. I was surprised, because I was lead to believe we had a 70 million pound transfer kitty. However,
"Of the near £70m of cash balances, £25m is unavailable as it is used to partially secure future repayments of the debt facilities and one also assumes some is set aside to meet the probable £20m of additional transfer fees payable on existing squad members. This does however leave maybe £25m for the squad building (transfer plus wages) that appears all too necessary to sustain a season long challenge for honours on several fronts."
I don't understand economics, so I'll take Nigel at his word. I am disappointed, because when the Arsenal board tell me that there's 70 million spend, I expect mountains of cash in a Scrooge McDuck-esque vault on a hill. I don't expect a transfer facility that is eaten up by existing transfer fee commitments and future wages.
25 million pounds doesn't buy much these days. If we buy Ben Arfa, we'll need 12 million in fees, and maybe 8 million more to secure a three-year contract. That leaves 5 million more. I'm starting to understand why Wenger keeps insisting on only one "super, super player". I'm also understanding why Wenger's reluctant to go over that transfer facility and buy big guns like Torres. Not only is Wenger responsible for on-field management, he's also responsible for the off-field stuff. He knows that a four year contract for a misfiring Torres is also four years worth of money that he can't spend on the next exciting prospect. He can't take that risk, not even on an exceptional player.
What I don't understand is why Wenger is willing to cover for the Arsenal board. They lie to us, and push the blame onto Wenger's shoulders. The board are cowards. If they treated us like rational people, we would accept that stadium repayments are more important than title concerns. But they don't respect us enough to give us that honesty. I find that very disappointing.
And I hope Wenger isn't over-exterting himself by leading this double life. He does look very old at times.
- Maurizio Zamparini, Palermo president, stating the bleeding obvious about Arsenal's transfer policy
I'm not going to talk about the Champions League semi-finals. Like Wenger, I find it distressing. However, I am going to talk about two things:
1/ Hleb's 3 game ban. It's a surprisingly long time, considering the three-match ban on Mark Taylor. But I agree with it. No form of physicality should be tolerated. A player has the right to play a game without being slapped. I just wish Hleb had done something more manly, like headbutting or kung-fu kicking. A player's disciplanary record goes with him to his grave, and Hleb will forever be known as a slapper.
2/ Wenger's 25 million pound transfer budget. I found this from a piece on ANR from Nigel Phillips, a spokesman for the Arsenal Supporters Trust. I was surprised, because I was lead to believe we had a 70 million pound transfer kitty. However,
"Of the near £70m of cash balances, £25m is unavailable as it is used to partially secure future repayments of the debt facilities and one also assumes some is set aside to meet the probable £20m of additional transfer fees payable on existing squad members. This does however leave maybe £25m for the squad building (transfer plus wages) that appears all too necessary to sustain a season long challenge for honours on several fronts."
I don't understand economics, so I'll take Nigel at his word. I am disappointed, because when the Arsenal board tell me that there's 70 million spend, I expect mountains of cash in a Scrooge McDuck-esque vault on a hill. I don't expect a transfer facility that is eaten up by existing transfer fee commitments and future wages.
25 million pounds doesn't buy much these days. If we buy Ben Arfa, we'll need 12 million in fees, and maybe 8 million more to secure a three-year contract. That leaves 5 million more. I'm starting to understand why Wenger keeps insisting on only one "super, super player". I'm also understanding why Wenger's reluctant to go over that transfer facility and buy big guns like Torres. Not only is Wenger responsible for on-field management, he's also responsible for the off-field stuff. He knows that a four year contract for a misfiring Torres is also four years worth of money that he can't spend on the next exciting prospect. He can't take that risk, not even on an exceptional player.
What I don't understand is why Wenger is willing to cover for the Arsenal board. They lie to us, and push the blame onto Wenger's shoulders. The board are cowards. If they treated us like rational people, we would accept that stadium repayments are more important than title concerns. But they don't respect us enough to give us that honesty. I find that very disappointing.
And I hope Wenger isn't over-exterting himself by leading this double life. He does look very old at times.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Happy Birthday to me
"Do you know that old wives' tale - how you feel on your birthday is how you'll be for the rest of the year?"
- my nurse, an old wife, about half an hour ago.
26 years and 364 days ago, Connolly's agent's mum started pushing. 26 years, 364 days and 23 hours ago, Connolly's agent's mum gave up. The midwife told her that if she didn't push, her baby would suffocate and die. Connolly's agent's mum said "Then let him die - I can't push anymore."
I don't want to sound ungrateful to my mum, but that's not an encouraging way to start life.
I'm 27 today. Fucking hell. On days like this, you wonder where the time went. I had a brief pang of regret last year when I left the comfort of the 18-25 year old bracket, but this year, I'm really feeling it. I'm not a young man anymore. I'm out of the iPod-wearing, high discretionary income demographic (so beloved by advertisers) and I'm marching reluctantly to woolen cardigans, fluffy slippers and watching asinine dramas on Channel 7.
I was feeling a bit melancholy, so I browsed through the Arsenal player profiles. I'm older than most of the first team. I'm about a month younger than Kolo, and a week older than Hleb. It's depressing. You think of Arsenal as still young, and then you realise that half the team is in their prime or over. As a wise man with maracas once sang:
Time is a traveller
Tenterfield Saddler turn your head
Ride again Jackaroo
Think I see Kangaroo up ahead
I like using Arsenal as a metaphor for my own life. Nick Hornby did such a charming job of illustrating it in Fever Pitch that I've pinched the concept. I hope he's not reading this. I live in fear of being sued.
Arsenal are ageing. Arsenal are waiting for their youth to mature, but they're not actively doing anything to help them mature. As a result, their youth are ageing without getting much better. I wrote something similar last week in my post "On Inertia", and I'm not going to repeat myself much more.
I have to leave. I don' t have much time left. I've got to do it soon.
So anyway, with reference to my nurse's quote... I'm really going out of my mind here. I hope this restlessness takes me somewhere good.
- my nurse, an old wife, about half an hour ago.
26 years and 364 days ago, Connolly's agent's mum started pushing. 26 years, 364 days and 23 hours ago, Connolly's agent's mum gave up. The midwife told her that if she didn't push, her baby would suffocate and die. Connolly's agent's mum said "Then let him die - I can't push anymore."
I don't want to sound ungrateful to my mum, but that's not an encouraging way to start life.
I'm 27 today. Fucking hell. On days like this, you wonder where the time went. I had a brief pang of regret last year when I left the comfort of the 18-25 year old bracket, but this year, I'm really feeling it. I'm not a young man anymore. I'm out of the iPod-wearing, high discretionary income demographic (so beloved by advertisers) and I'm marching reluctantly to woolen cardigans, fluffy slippers and watching asinine dramas on Channel 7.
I was feeling a bit melancholy, so I browsed through the Arsenal player profiles. I'm older than most of the first team. I'm about a month younger than Kolo, and a week older than Hleb. It's depressing. You think of Arsenal as still young, and then you realise that half the team is in their prime or over. As a wise man with maracas once sang:
Time is a traveller
Tenterfield Saddler turn your head
Ride again Jackaroo
Think I see Kangaroo up ahead
I like using Arsenal as a metaphor for my own life. Nick Hornby did such a charming job of illustrating it in Fever Pitch that I've pinched the concept. I hope he's not reading this. I live in fear of being sued.
Arsenal are ageing. Arsenal are waiting for their youth to mature, but they're not actively doing anything to help them mature. As a result, their youth are ageing without getting much better. I wrote something similar last week in my post "On Inertia", and I'm not going to repeat myself much more.
I have to leave. I don' t have much time left. I've got to do it soon.
So anyway, with reference to my nurse's quote... I'm really going out of my mind here. I hope this restlessness takes me somewhere good.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Trust me, I've a Master's in Economics
"House prices are at a record high. People can't afford to pay their mortgages. Interest rates are going up. House prices are going to go down, just wait six months. Trust me."
- my Dad, on Melbourne property prices, 2005-present
In 2005, I could buy a run-down, 30 year old house in Blackburn for $350,000. In 2008, the same house would cost $500,000. In 2005, I wanted to start buying, and my dad told me that there wasn't a rush. Nowadays, my dad looks through the property section and shakes his head. "Too expensive", he mutters. "Just image how hard it would be for the the average person to pay off the mortgage.".
I just image what his back would look like with dagger wounds.
In one sense, I'm a statistic of the Melbourne property boom, the one which was caused by the generous negative gearing incentives introduced by the Howard government, the flood of new Melbourne residents, the chronic lack of housing, and the almost psychotic need for the quarter-acre block. The baby-boomers sank their retirement funds into property. The residents protested about high-density development. The government refused to let the urban sprawl continue. Which leaves little poor me stuck in the middle without a house to call my home.
In another sense, however, I'm a statistic of the guy who has a compulsion to believe in authority figures. If only... In the time between 2005 and now, there were a few houses I liked. When I asked my dad's opinion, however, he'd always tell me to wait. And like a fucking fool, I agreed with him.
Now, you might wonder what my lack of nerve has to do to Arsenal. But the discerning amongst you would realise that my dad's attitude is remarkably like that of Wenger's - the refusal to pay the going price, purely because the market value is above what any sensible person would pay.
As a metaphor:
1. Ribery is the house on Wavell Rd, Box Hill - $345,000 in 2004, now worth $525,000.
2. SWP is the house on Kangeroo Crt, Wantirna - $290,000 in 2004, now worth $400,000.
3. Torres is a unit on Brougham Street, Box Hill - $300,00 in 2004, now worth $400,000; and I've always had the feeling that if I'd bought this unit then, it would've been the difference between 3rd place and the Premiership.
The thing is that the talent pool, which had always been a bit opaque, has become crystal clear. You won't find the next Pele in the favelas, or the next Maradonna in the slums around Buenos Aires. Scouting networks are wider, better financed and more precise. Every top club in the world has a folder on every top youngster in the world. The days of picking up an unknown in France or Brazil are long gone. Pato was bought for 15 million by Milan when he was still 17. Benzema won't leave Lyonnais for less than 30 million. These are the market prices for the best youngsters in the world. If we're serious about recruiting the best, we've got to start paying the market rate.
Once, I was so frustrated about my dad's negativity that I vented to my mum. She made a rather astute observation - my dad's old, and he's frightened because he knows what can go wrong. My dad's been burnt by the property market - in fact, looking back, he's done the exact wrong move at the wrong time, for as long as I can remember. He doesn't trust the boom, because he doesn't trust his judgment.
It made me realise that the reason you can take risks when you're young is because you haven't been burnt yet. You don't know how it can go wrong, and you've got no experience about how much it can hurt. You don't have much of a stake in anything, so if you lose, you can always start again. It's different when you've a mortgage, kids to feed, and responsibilities. You've got to be sensible, and you've got to err on the side of caution.
I think we're blinded by Wenger's Master's of Economics into thinking he's some financial wizard. Yes, he spots kids that no one else does. Yes, he is brilliant with crafting technical young teams. Yes, it's incredible that he breaks even in the transfer market. But we've also got to realise that he's also a 60-ish dad who's seen it all before, and knows that if he pumps $30 million on a Torres, there's every chance that things will go wrong. He's seen Reyes shine like the sun, and flicker out in the cold. He's seen Anelka throw a hissy-fit and go to Real Madrid. He's seen our Ashley turn into the most hated man in England. He knows that Torres could've been like that. And if we'd bought him, there was a huge risk that he would've failed in England.
So next time we see a starlet slip through our fingers, and hear Wenger say "I would've like to buy him, but he was too expensive", I'm going to try and understand it from his point of view.
Oh, and if my brother's reading, don't tell Dad - especially about the stab wounds.
- my Dad, on Melbourne property prices, 2005-present
In 2005, I could buy a run-down, 30 year old house in Blackburn for $350,000. In 2008, the same house would cost $500,000. In 2005, I wanted to start buying, and my dad told me that there wasn't a rush. Nowadays, my dad looks through the property section and shakes his head. "Too expensive", he mutters. "Just image how hard it would be for the the average person to pay off the mortgage.".
I just image what his back would look like with dagger wounds.
In one sense, I'm a statistic of the Melbourne property boom, the one which was caused by the generous negative gearing incentives introduced by the Howard government, the flood of new Melbourne residents, the chronic lack of housing, and the almost psychotic need for the quarter-acre block. The baby-boomers sank their retirement funds into property. The residents protested about high-density development. The government refused to let the urban sprawl continue. Which leaves little poor me stuck in the middle without a house to call my home.
In another sense, however, I'm a statistic of the guy who has a compulsion to believe in authority figures. If only... In the time between 2005 and now, there were a few houses I liked. When I asked my dad's opinion, however, he'd always tell me to wait. And like a fucking fool, I agreed with him.
Now, you might wonder what my lack of nerve has to do to Arsenal. But the discerning amongst you would realise that my dad's attitude is remarkably like that of Wenger's - the refusal to pay the going price, purely because the market value is above what any sensible person would pay.
As a metaphor:
1. Ribery is the house on Wavell Rd, Box Hill - $345,000 in 2004, now worth $525,000.
2. SWP is the house on Kangeroo Crt, Wantirna - $290,000 in 2004, now worth $400,000.
3. Torres is a unit on Brougham Street, Box Hill - $300,00 in 2004, now worth $400,000; and I've always had the feeling that if I'd bought this unit then, it would've been the difference between 3rd place and the Premiership.
The thing is that the talent pool, which had always been a bit opaque, has become crystal clear. You won't find the next Pele in the favelas, or the next Maradonna in the slums around Buenos Aires. Scouting networks are wider, better financed and more precise. Every top club in the world has a folder on every top youngster in the world. The days of picking up an unknown in France or Brazil are long gone. Pato was bought for 15 million by Milan when he was still 17. Benzema won't leave Lyonnais for less than 30 million. These are the market prices for the best youngsters in the world. If we're serious about recruiting the best, we've got to start paying the market rate.
Once, I was so frustrated about my dad's negativity that I vented to my mum. She made a rather astute observation - my dad's old, and he's frightened because he knows what can go wrong. My dad's been burnt by the property market - in fact, looking back, he's done the exact wrong move at the wrong time, for as long as I can remember. He doesn't trust the boom, because he doesn't trust his judgment.
It made me realise that the reason you can take risks when you're young is because you haven't been burnt yet. You don't know how it can go wrong, and you've got no experience about how much it can hurt. You don't have much of a stake in anything, so if you lose, you can always start again. It's different when you've a mortgage, kids to feed, and responsibilities. You've got to be sensible, and you've got to err on the side of caution.
I think we're blinded by Wenger's Master's of Economics into thinking he's some financial wizard. Yes, he spots kids that no one else does. Yes, he is brilliant with crafting technical young teams. Yes, it's incredible that he breaks even in the transfer market. But we've also got to realise that he's also a 60-ish dad who's seen it all before, and knows that if he pumps $30 million on a Torres, there's every chance that things will go wrong. He's seen Reyes shine like the sun, and flicker out in the cold. He's seen Anelka throw a hissy-fit and go to Real Madrid. He's seen our Ashley turn into the most hated man in England. He knows that Torres could've been like that. And if we'd bought him, there was a huge risk that he would've failed in England.
So next time we see a starlet slip through our fingers, and hear Wenger say "I would've like to buy him, but he was too expensive", I'm going to try and understand it from his point of view.
Oh, and if my brother's reading, don't tell Dad - especially about the stab wounds.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Pride and dignity
"It has been difficult for all of us. We lost a 100 metres race on the photo finish, and last week was the lowest I have had here. The players are down, like me. But what do I expect from the final four games? Twelve points. We must finish the season with pride and dignity."
- Arsene Wenger, bloody fucking brilliant manager
I quite like starting my posts with a quote. It adds a veneer of substance to my meanderings. I think I might start every entry with one from now on.
Wenger's right in that we do need to finish the season well. When you get down to it, it doesn't matter whether we finish 2nd or 3rd. What does matter is how we finish. Four wins would be great. It would lay a foundation. It would send the message to Man Utd and Chelsea that next year, we'll be strong for the full 38 games. It would send the message to our own players that to treat every game as important, because their own professionalism demands nothing more than 100% effort.
However, Wenger's deluded if he seriously thinks we lost in a photo-finish. We were effectively out of the running after 32 games, with that loss to Chelsea. Moreover, we'd been limping since January. If there's a photo-finish, it'll be between Man Utd and Chelsea, not us. Those teams have the depth of squad to fight every match of the season. They can weather poor form because they've got the options within the squad to cover for injured players. They've got experienced internationals as squad players.
We don't. And we're unlikely to get those reinforcements soon. Case in point, David Villa wants to join Arsenal. Wenger is "flattered", but doesn't want to hurt Bendtner's and Walcott's feelings. I wish he'd consider my feelings as much as he does their's. I hurt just as much that we're not buying a super, super player. Anyway, let's hope that the player Wenger does have his eye on is as good as Bacary or Eduardo.
One spot I think we'll need a ready-made reinforcement is central midfield. Will Flamini sign? No. He has valued himself as a 20 million pound player, and wants a 70,000 pounds a week contract. Honestly, does think he's worth that much? I don't. He has been phenomenally good this year, but I have doubts. Will he be as good next year? And the year after? And anyway, who amongst you would be willing to see such an ugly bastard in the heart of our beautiful side year-in, year-out? I believe Wenger has doubts about his ability to play at this level long-term. Otherwise, why else would he be willing to let Flamini go now, after he bound the team together so well?
And even if Flamini signs, we still need someone to deputize. Gilberto's past it. Denilson's too young and not the same type anyway. Song... we'll probably see more of him next year. I hope that kid's going to be good.
Anyway, Reading next. Pride and Dignity.
- Arsene Wenger, bloody fucking brilliant manager
I quite like starting my posts with a quote. It adds a veneer of substance to my meanderings. I think I might start every entry with one from now on.
Wenger's right in that we do need to finish the season well. When you get down to it, it doesn't matter whether we finish 2nd or 3rd. What does matter is how we finish. Four wins would be great. It would lay a foundation. It would send the message to Man Utd and Chelsea that next year, we'll be strong for the full 38 games. It would send the message to our own players that to treat every game as important, because their own professionalism demands nothing more than 100% effort.
However, Wenger's deluded if he seriously thinks we lost in a photo-finish. We were effectively out of the running after 32 games, with that loss to Chelsea. Moreover, we'd been limping since January. If there's a photo-finish, it'll be between Man Utd and Chelsea, not us. Those teams have the depth of squad to fight every match of the season. They can weather poor form because they've got the options within the squad to cover for injured players. They've got experienced internationals as squad players.
We don't. And we're unlikely to get those reinforcements soon. Case in point, David Villa wants to join Arsenal. Wenger is "flattered", but doesn't want to hurt Bendtner's and Walcott's feelings. I wish he'd consider my feelings as much as he does their's. I hurt just as much that we're not buying a super, super player. Anyway, let's hope that the player Wenger does have his eye on is as good as Bacary or Eduardo.
One spot I think we'll need a ready-made reinforcement is central midfield. Will Flamini sign? No. He has valued himself as a 20 million pound player, and wants a 70,000 pounds a week contract. Honestly, does think he's worth that much? I don't. He has been phenomenally good this year, but I have doubts. Will he be as good next year? And the year after? And anyway, who amongst you would be willing to see such an ugly bastard in the heart of our beautiful side year-in, year-out? I believe Wenger has doubts about his ability to play at this level long-term. Otherwise, why else would he be willing to let Flamini go now, after he bound the team together so well?
And even if Flamini signs, we still need someone to deputize. Gilberto's past it. Denilson's too young and not the same type anyway. Song... we'll probably see more of him next year. I hope that kid's going to be good.
Anyway, Reading next. Pride and Dignity.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Remains of the day
Pathetic Classless Idiots, at the start of the season you lot were hell of a lot more quieter at the start of the season when you expected to win nothing, you got what you expected NOTHING.
Your season is over & now I have seen this post it makes me proud that we had the pleasure in puting you out of the FA cup & PL.
Oh, and just one more thing - He Is Class With A Brass, And He SHITS On Fibreglass - Ander-son,son,son.
- Ander8on, Man Utd fan, comment from the-cannon.com
Starting a new blog is like moving out of home for the first time. After the initial thrill of freedom disappears, there's a bit of a lull. It's a bit boring, tell you the truth. You log on, click "new post" and sit in front of the computer wondering what the fuck you can write about. You need a certain amount of tenacity to keep at it. I'm really starting to appreciate people like arseblogger and GS, both of whom have blogged every day for years on end.
It's tough. And sometimes, you feel a bit homesick, and visit the blogs of your formulative years. Occasionally, it's nice to read posts you didn't have to write yourself, and comment in populated forums instead of looking at that depressing "0 comments" label in your own posts.
There's nothing like Mum's home cooking to make you feel a bit better.
It's 4:00pm on a Friday afternoon, and I spent the whole day trawling newsnow for something to write about. I didn't find anything, so I visited a few of my favourite blogs. And on the-cannon.com, I did find something interesting - the Mancs who come onto Arsenal blogs and trash Arsenal (e.g. ander8on, above quote).
I don't resent it, and I'm not angry about it. However, I find it really weird that people have that much spare time (and this comes from a guy who blogs from work), and are that twisted that they'd provoke strangers. It's okay for Bloghead, who's a good sport when he gets insulted in return, but these Mancs are humorless, angry sods.
The question is why? I honestly don't understand these people.
Anyway, it's Friday. Going home.
P.S. Oh, and apparently, Henry was paid 10 million pounds in fees and wages last year to be injured, make moon-eyes at Barca and cheat on Nicole Merry. We should've sold him a year earlier and kept Nicole Merry. She's fucking fine.
Your season is over & now I have seen this post it makes me proud that we had the pleasure in puting you out of the FA cup & PL.
Oh, and just one more thing - He Is Class With A Brass, And He SHITS On Fibreglass - Ander-son,son,son.
- Ander8on, Man Utd fan, comment from the-cannon.com
Starting a new blog is like moving out of home for the first time. After the initial thrill of freedom disappears, there's a bit of a lull. It's a bit boring, tell you the truth. You log on, click "new post" and sit in front of the computer wondering what the fuck you can write about. You need a certain amount of tenacity to keep at it. I'm really starting to appreciate people like arseblogger and GS, both of whom have blogged every day for years on end.
It's tough. And sometimes, you feel a bit homesick, and visit the blogs of your formulative years. Occasionally, it's nice to read posts you didn't have to write yourself, and comment in populated forums instead of looking at that depressing "0 comments" label in your own posts.
There's nothing like Mum's home cooking to make you feel a bit better.
It's 4:00pm on a Friday afternoon, and I spent the whole day trawling newsnow for something to write about. I didn't find anything, so I visited a few of my favourite blogs. And on the-cannon.com, I did find something interesting - the Mancs who come onto Arsenal blogs and trash Arsenal (e.g. ander8on, above quote).
I don't resent it, and I'm not angry about it. However, I find it really weird that people have that much spare time (and this comes from a guy who blogs from work), and are that twisted that they'd provoke strangers. It's okay for Bloghead, who's a good sport when he gets insulted in return, but these Mancs are humorless, angry sods.
The question is why? I honestly don't understand these people.
Anyway, it's Friday. Going home.
P.S. Oh, and apparently, Henry was paid 10 million pounds in fees and wages last year to be injured, make moon-eyes at Barca and cheat on Nicole Merry. We should've sold him a year earlier and kept Nicole Merry. She's fucking fine.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
What did Myles write?
"Last night I wrote an ANR piece that was original and penetrating. Reading it this morning, it was one of those where I think, "The audience isn't ready for this." I do four or five of those every season."
- Myles Palmer, Arsenal News Review
Modest man, isn't he? Every year, he writes four or five pieces that are original and penetrating, and then files them away because we're not ready for them. Does that mean that during the other 360 days of the year, he writes unoriginal, obtuse pieces that the audience will lap up like perverts at a strip joint?
I like reading ANR. It's interesting. It's an Arsenal blog written by someone who isn't an Arsenal fan. He's got opinions that don't make a lot of sense a lot of the time, but that doesn't matter. It's sometime nice to have a second opinion.
I'd like to devote this post on speculation as to what Myles thinks Arsenal fans aren't ready for:
1/ Wenger should be sacked - can't be this, because it's repeated in every bar, on every blog column and newspaper article every time we lose. It's not original.
2/ Wenger should buy big name players - can't be this because I think we're ready to buy our Benzema and Ben Arfa shirts.
3/ Man Utd are great - can't be this because Myles says it in every post.
4/ Gallas should be stripped of the captaincy - can't be this because every tabloid in England has already made the same comment.
I've been racking my brains for the past ten minutes, and I can't think what could've been said that was both original and penetrating. Maybe it means that I'm not original nor penetrating, but we're not going to discuss that today.
Then again, perhpas I've been approaching this incorrectly. What's the one thing Arsenal fans aren't ready to hear? I think I've got it:
No matter how well you play, sometimes life isn't fair. Nothing to do but buck up, be a man and try again.
But it can't be that simple. Can it?
- Myles Palmer, Arsenal News Review
Modest man, isn't he? Every year, he writes four or five pieces that are original and penetrating, and then files them away because we're not ready for them. Does that mean that during the other 360 days of the year, he writes unoriginal, obtuse pieces that the audience will lap up like perverts at a strip joint?
I like reading ANR. It's interesting. It's an Arsenal blog written by someone who isn't an Arsenal fan. He's got opinions that don't make a lot of sense a lot of the time, but that doesn't matter. It's sometime nice to have a second opinion.
I'd like to devote this post on speculation as to what Myles thinks Arsenal fans aren't ready for:
1/ Wenger should be sacked - can't be this, because it's repeated in every bar, on every blog column and newspaper article every time we lose. It's not original.
2/ Wenger should buy big name players - can't be this because I think we're ready to buy our Benzema and Ben Arfa shirts.
3/ Man Utd are great - can't be this because Myles says it in every post.
4/ Gallas should be stripped of the captaincy - can't be this because every tabloid in England has already made the same comment.
I've been racking my brains for the past ten minutes, and I can't think what could've been said that was both original and penetrating. Maybe it means that I'm not original nor penetrating, but we're not going to discuss that today.
Then again, perhpas I've been approaching this incorrectly. What's the one thing Arsenal fans aren't ready to hear? I think I've got it:
No matter how well you play, sometimes life isn't fair. Nothing to do but buck up, be a man and try again.
But it can't be that simple. Can it?
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
On Inertia
"Every body perseveres in its state of being at rest or of moving uniformly straight forward, except insofar as it is compelled to change its state by force impressed."
- Issac Newton, Principia Mathematica
I am so fucking ready to move.
This post has nothing to do with Arsenal and everything to do with the fucking inertia of my life. Then again, maybe it is. Our "transition" phase keeps being extended every year (what year are we looking at for the next title - 2010, 2011?). Arsenal are the side of fucking inertia.
I've been having dreams about the beach. There's something iconic about it; I'm not even an outdoorsy person, and I'm longing for the ocean. I've been frequenting job agencies during my office hours. There are jobs on the Sunshine Coast, up past Noosa. There are jobs that offer the kind of things my soul needs at the moment.
And I'm still fucking here.
We should never have sold Vieria. We should never have let Campbell and Lauren go to Portsmouth. We should've let Henry leave (humanitarian reasons), but not Reyes. We should've found some way to squeeze a couple of productive years out of the Invincibles. Worst fucking mistake in Wenger's career.
But what's so fucking irritating is that the inertia. There's no sense of progress with Arsenal. We have a young side that we've been waiting for, and waiting for, and waiting for... and meanwhile the youth team graduates are banking up and we're no closer to winning the Premiership than we were when Vieria was still a Gunner. van Persie is 24. Flamini is 24. Hleb, Toure and Rosicky are in the prime of their footballing careers. And yet, we still think of them as impish young scamps who will rule the Premiership, one day.
The problem of living for the future is that you lose track of the present. You have airy dreams of winning things and dominance and brilliant, effective play. You overlook the fact that you still have to do a fucking lot to get to that stage. You overlook the pain, the dead weight, the sheer hard yards you've got to do before you can emerge from that fucking chrysalis as a fucking beautiful butterfly. You just sit and wait, wait and sit, and twiddle your fucking thumbs as your teams gets older and not discernibly better.
Fuck that shit.
Buy Benzema. Buy Nasri. Buy Ben Arfa. Buy Hugo Lloris (good player on FM08). Buy for the present and hope that they will be around for the future. Why do we skimp on reserve players and hope that Rosicky and van Persie will make it through a season? Who amongst you have gained a year of life by worrying about the future? Live life and be happy. Build it and they will come.
Ferguson has, all of a sudden, created a fucking awesome side by mortgaging the future to pay for the present. The debt overshadows the club like Usmanov's beergut shadows Arsenal, but who cares? The present is happy, and shiny and wonderful. The future will look after itself. I'm not advocating we hock our brains out to buy the best starlets in the world, but we can afford to spend some money for some good players.
It's time to just fucking apply to those jobs in those sleepy beachside towns in Queensland, pack my bags and fucking leave. What's the fucking point of hanging around?
N.B - it's about fifteen hours later, and after a good night's sleep, I realise I was a bit emotional. It's just the ennui of living a life I really didn't mean to get involved in. I do have to fucking move, though.
- Issac Newton, Principia Mathematica
I am so fucking ready to move.
This post has nothing to do with Arsenal and everything to do with the fucking inertia of my life. Then again, maybe it is. Our "transition" phase keeps being extended every year (what year are we looking at for the next title - 2010, 2011?). Arsenal are the side of fucking inertia.
I've been having dreams about the beach. There's something iconic about it; I'm not even an outdoorsy person, and I'm longing for the ocean. I've been frequenting job agencies during my office hours. There are jobs on the Sunshine Coast, up past Noosa. There are jobs that offer the kind of things my soul needs at the moment.
And I'm still fucking here.
We should never have sold Vieria. We should never have let Campbell and Lauren go to Portsmouth. We should've let Henry leave (humanitarian reasons), but not Reyes. We should've found some way to squeeze a couple of productive years out of the Invincibles. Worst fucking mistake in Wenger's career.
But what's so fucking irritating is that the inertia. There's no sense of progress with Arsenal. We have a young side that we've been waiting for, and waiting for, and waiting for... and meanwhile the youth team graduates are banking up and we're no closer to winning the Premiership than we were when Vieria was still a Gunner. van Persie is 24. Flamini is 24. Hleb, Toure and Rosicky are in the prime of their footballing careers. And yet, we still think of them as impish young scamps who will rule the Premiership, one day.
The problem of living for the future is that you lose track of the present. You have airy dreams of winning things and dominance and brilliant, effective play. You overlook the fact that you still have to do a fucking lot to get to that stage. You overlook the pain, the dead weight, the sheer hard yards you've got to do before you can emerge from that fucking chrysalis as a fucking beautiful butterfly. You just sit and wait, wait and sit, and twiddle your fucking thumbs as your teams gets older and not discernibly better.
Fuck that shit.
Buy Benzema. Buy Nasri. Buy Ben Arfa. Buy Hugo Lloris (good player on FM08). Buy for the present and hope that they will be around for the future. Why do we skimp on reserve players and hope that Rosicky and van Persie will make it through a season? Who amongst you have gained a year of life by worrying about the future? Live life and be happy. Build it and they will come.
Ferguson has, all of a sudden, created a fucking awesome side by mortgaging the future to pay for the present. The debt overshadows the club like Usmanov's beergut shadows Arsenal, but who cares? The present is happy, and shiny and wonderful. The future will look after itself. I'm not advocating we hock our brains out to buy the best starlets in the world, but we can afford to spend some money for some good players.
It's time to just fucking apply to those jobs in those sleepy beachside towns in Queensland, pack my bags and fucking leave. What's the fucking point of hanging around?
N.B - it's about fifteen hours later, and after a good night's sleep, I realise I was a bit emotional. It's just the ennui of living a life I really didn't mean to get involved in. I do have to fucking move, though.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Man Utd 2, Arsenal 1
I didn't watch the match. I didn't want to. There were too many good things happening at 1:00am for me to be sucked into 90 minutes of horrible, fruitless introspection. So, I said "no" to Arsenal. Actually, I said a big "fuck no; not if this was the last fucking football match ever, and it was the decider for greatest team of all time".
And boy, did it feel good.
That night, for the first time in three months, I slept like a fucking baby. I dreamt a positive, optimistic dream about sandcastles and the beach - and not the normal post-Arsenal dream where I'm being chased by mobile-phone waving Ashley Cole (I'm too scared to try to intepret that one). I woke up refreshed and ready for a new day.
I wasn't even that hurt when I found out the score. And after I read the match reports, the score even seemed like an accurate representation of our season at large. We played Man Utd off the park in the first half, Adebayor scored one goal and missed many, and we went into the break 1-0. Then, second half, Man Utd clicked into gear and got two more. Everything we've known about Arsenal was, apparently, displayed in that match - we have the talent to be the top side in Europe, but we don't have the setup to sustain our form, we don't have the clinical edge needed to grind out games, and we can't hold onto leads.
This could be the basis of an all-out whinge about the state of our squad, Wenger's transfer policy, whether 4-4-2 is better than 4-5-1..., but I'll resist the temptation. It's pointless.
However we dissect our troubles, we can't get away from the fact that our season's over. Four meaningless games to go, where we've got to try and chase down Chelsea. After the great start to the season, it'll be a shame if we finished 3rd. 2nd is something to hang our hat on, and comfort us during the season of "I-wanted-to-buy-X-but-he-was-to-expensive". Still, it doesn't really matter. 2nd or 3rd is largely academic. What's important is that we know we've a solid basis to mount a proper premiership challenge next year. Our players will be one year better. Walcott and Bendtner will be able to support Adebayor. Vela will be here and, although I have reservations about pinning our hopes on a 19 year old, he does peak my curiosity. He's a brilliant player in FM08.
Next season, I firmly believe we'll be in it until the last round. The wheels fell off the wagon this year. Next year, our backups (Denilson, Djourou, Walcott, Bendtner etc.) will be better, stronger and more experienced. Maybe they'll be ready to take some of the burden away from the first team, and we'll be strong enough to finish off matches in 2009. At any rate, whatever we do, we'll be in a stronger position than we were at the beginning of the year. When you get down to it, consistent improvement is all any fan can hope for, and we're achieving that with the natural progression of our youngsters. So really, I'm happy and hopeful for next season.
But I'll be REALLY happy if Wenger would buy a quality, quality 'keeper. And maybe Kaka. And Messi. And Benzema, Ben Arfa and Nasri....
And boy, did it feel good.
That night, for the first time in three months, I slept like a fucking baby. I dreamt a positive, optimistic dream about sandcastles and the beach - and not the normal post-Arsenal dream where I'm being chased by mobile-phone waving Ashley Cole (I'm too scared to try to intepret that one). I woke up refreshed and ready for a new day.
I wasn't even that hurt when I found out the score. And after I read the match reports, the score even seemed like an accurate representation of our season at large. We played Man Utd off the park in the first half, Adebayor scored one goal and missed many, and we went into the break 1-0. Then, second half, Man Utd clicked into gear and got two more. Everything we've known about Arsenal was, apparently, displayed in that match - we have the talent to be the top side in Europe, but we don't have the setup to sustain our form, we don't have the clinical edge needed to grind out games, and we can't hold onto leads.
This could be the basis of an all-out whinge about the state of our squad, Wenger's transfer policy, whether 4-4-2 is better than 4-5-1..., but I'll resist the temptation. It's pointless.
However we dissect our troubles, we can't get away from the fact that our season's over. Four meaningless games to go, where we've got to try and chase down Chelsea. After the great start to the season, it'll be a shame if we finished 3rd. 2nd is something to hang our hat on, and comfort us during the season of "I-wanted-to-buy-X-but-he-was-to-expensive". Still, it doesn't really matter. 2nd or 3rd is largely academic. What's important is that we know we've a solid basis to mount a proper premiership challenge next year. Our players will be one year better. Walcott and Bendtner will be able to support Adebayor. Vela will be here and, although I have reservations about pinning our hopes on a 19 year old, he does peak my curiosity. He's a brilliant player in FM08.
Next season, I firmly believe we'll be in it until the last round. The wheels fell off the wagon this year. Next year, our backups (Denilson, Djourou, Walcott, Bendtner etc.) will be better, stronger and more experienced. Maybe they'll be ready to take some of the burden away from the first team, and we'll be strong enough to finish off matches in 2009. At any rate, whatever we do, we'll be in a stronger position than we were at the beginning of the year. When you get down to it, consistent improvement is all any fan can hope for, and we're achieving that with the natural progression of our youngsters. So really, I'm happy and hopeful for next season.
But I'll be REALLY happy if Wenger would buy a quality, quality 'keeper. And maybe Kaka. And Messi. And Benzema, Ben Arfa and Nasri....
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Winning IS Entertaining
"This is the way we believe football should be played, and I really believe we can win big things with this type of football. For me the basis of football is to entertain people. We are like 11 actors and we have to entertain the people who buy tickets."
- van Persie, Sunday Mirror
I like van Persie's sentiments - I really do. I believe Arsenal DO play football the way God intended it to be played. I believe Arsenal CAN win things with this type of football. Most of all, I am willing to endure the perpetual frustration of seeing our side fuck up title challenges, as long as they hold with the ideals of playing pretty, pass-and-move football. There's more to life than lifting big shiny things on raised bits of wood, and I'm glad van Persie sees that too.
However, I hope someone will tell van Persie that the fans would like to see Arsenal winning trophies soon. The basis of entertainment (for a fan) is to win. Winning is entertainment. Trophies are fun. Armchair Corinthians enjoy the spectacle of pinpoint passes and elegant one-twos, but they aren't gutted when Arsenal lose 0-1 against the run of play.
I love Arsenal. I really do. I love our style of play. I love our players. I love Wenger. I love his vision of a young, multi-national team, playing a brand of football that is the equivalent of improvised jazz. I love how his players play with the same idealism. When everything clicks together, the football that is produce is simply breathtaking.
However, sometimes I wish that Wenger had time for a little pragmatism as well. Would it compromise his vision that much to have a coherent back-four? Or spend 20 million pounds for a world-class 'keeper? Or even buy a few mature squads to cover for the inevitable injuries?
Using van Persie's film analogy, most commercial features must negotiate between artistic integrity and mainstream comprehensibility. The director may like to use panoramic shots and meaningful silences, but it'll be to the detriment to the film if they're used too much. Ever noticed how most director's cut DVDs are bloated, self-indulgent messes? It's because directors are too closely involved to have a clear picture of what should be kept and what should be cut. Editors are needed to make the director's vision accessible and efficient.
I think all Arsenal fans wish that Wenger would make use of a good editor, if only to cut those unnecessary scenes. Such a thing would not only make Arsenal more successful, but would also open up Arsenal's style and beauty to a mainstream audience. At the moment, Arsenal is like an Almodovar film - beautiful and moving, but only accessible to a minority. It hurts to hear people hammering Arsenal for being too young, too thin, too foreign, too weak. I want to argue that their football is beautiful, but what's the point? Arsenal's beauty is incomprehensible to football fans who believe "winning is everything".
Most films strike up a balance between art and commerce. It is possible to have an artistic film which is accessible to a wide audience, which is critically acclaimed and makes a lot of money. The Godfather movies and The Deer Hunter spring to mind (actually, anything featuring Robert De Niro is usually a winner on both counts). And Gladiator and A Beautiful Mind are more recent examples. In footballing terms, you can build a side like Man Utd with pace, skill power and ruthlessness, or a Milan with tactical nous and technical abilities. Sides like these show us that you don't have to sacrifice your ideals in order to succeed. You can have your cake and eat it, too.
- van Persie, Sunday Mirror
I like van Persie's sentiments - I really do. I believe Arsenal DO play football the way God intended it to be played. I believe Arsenal CAN win things with this type of football. Most of all, I am willing to endure the perpetual frustration of seeing our side fuck up title challenges, as long as they hold with the ideals of playing pretty, pass-and-move football. There's more to life than lifting big shiny things on raised bits of wood, and I'm glad van Persie sees that too.
However, I hope someone will tell van Persie that the fans would like to see Arsenal winning trophies soon. The basis of entertainment (for a fan) is to win. Winning is entertainment. Trophies are fun. Armchair Corinthians enjoy the spectacle of pinpoint passes and elegant one-twos, but they aren't gutted when Arsenal lose 0-1 against the run of play.
I love Arsenal. I really do. I love our style of play. I love our players. I love Wenger. I love his vision of a young, multi-national team, playing a brand of football that is the equivalent of improvised jazz. I love how his players play with the same idealism. When everything clicks together, the football that is produce is simply breathtaking.
However, sometimes I wish that Wenger had time for a little pragmatism as well. Would it compromise his vision that much to have a coherent back-four? Or spend 20 million pounds for a world-class 'keeper? Or even buy a few mature squads to cover for the inevitable injuries?
Using van Persie's film analogy, most commercial features must negotiate between artistic integrity and mainstream comprehensibility. The director may like to use panoramic shots and meaningful silences, but it'll be to the detriment to the film if they're used too much. Ever noticed how most director's cut DVDs are bloated, self-indulgent messes? It's because directors are too closely involved to have a clear picture of what should be kept and what should be cut. Editors are needed to make the director's vision accessible and efficient.
I think all Arsenal fans wish that Wenger would make use of a good editor, if only to cut those unnecessary scenes. Such a thing would not only make Arsenal more successful, but would also open up Arsenal's style and beauty to a mainstream audience. At the moment, Arsenal is like an Almodovar film - beautiful and moving, but only accessible to a minority. It hurts to hear people hammering Arsenal for being too young, too thin, too foreign, too weak. I want to argue that their football is beautiful, but what's the point? Arsenal's beauty is incomprehensible to football fans who believe "winning is everything".
Most films strike up a balance between art and commerce. It is possible to have an artistic film which is accessible to a wide audience, which is critically acclaimed and makes a lot of money. The Godfather movies and The Deer Hunter spring to mind (actually, anything featuring Robert De Niro is usually a winner on both counts). And Gladiator and A Beautiful Mind are more recent examples. In footballing terms, you can build a side like Man Utd with pace, skill power and ruthlessness, or a Milan with tactical nous and technical abilities. Sides like these show us that you don't have to sacrifice your ideals in order to succeed. You can have your cake and eat it, too.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
The Lesser of Two Evils
This joke was doing the rounds in the early nineties:
Question: You're on a boat with Saddam Hussein, Hitler and Paul Keating (then Australian treasurer and architect of the "recession we had to have"), and you've only got two bullets. Who do you shoot?
Answer: Paul Keating twice in the head.
My 4th Grade teacher loved that joke. Along with getting us to scout for the cheapest petrol prices in Melbourne, telling politically-biased jokes to impressionable kids was her raison d'etre. But I never really found it that funny. There was something profoundly sad about hating someone so much that you'd choose to whack him instead of two of the greatest villains of the twentieth century. I couldn't work it out, then.
But I'm starting to understand it now.
We're playing Man Utd next. In January, didn't our mouths water at the thought of this match? Arsenal vs Man Utd. The Title Play-Off. The two best sides in the league. Fucking hell, that would've been some match. To emerge from all these seasons of disappointment to come-of-age (for real, this time) at Old Trafford would have been something.
So this Sunday will be a bit of an anti-climax. There's a certain bitterness to it. What are we playing for now? Pride? Respect? An attaboy from the media for putting up a fight against the champions-elect? All I know is when the Arsenal walk onto the pitch, I'll be seeing double. As well as Cesc and co., I'll be seeing the crushed dreams and faded ghosts of yesterday. Remember when Hleb, Cesc, Flamini and Rosicky were irrepressible? Remember when Cesc scored goals from midfield? Remember when Gallas-as-captain was a stroke of genius? I could go on, but I'll stop for the same reason you don't pick at a scab.
The fact is that this match doesn't mean much. I imagine Wenger will make a show of how we're still in the race, and Gallas or Cesc will come out and rally the troops, but I suspect they'll be going through the motions. Our guys will play hard because it's against Man Utd, but half their minds will be on Euro 2008. It's not worth putting your body on the line for a meaningless fixture. And part of me understands.
However, there is one thing we should be playing for - making sure Chelsea don't win the league. I don't know what the logistics of throwing a match are, but it's something I hope Wenger seriously considers. I don't want to see Ashley Cole win the league before us. I don't want to see John Terry and Frank Lampard celebrate. And I'd rather endure a Man Utd double than see Avram Grant succeed.
I doubt any gooner would deny that Man Utd are worthy champions. Yes, they're arrogant. And yes, their success has been bought in much the same way as Chelsea's. But you can't deny that Cristano Ronaldo is the best player in the league, and that he deserves to win the Premiership. And you can't help but admire Ferguson's accomplishment with this side, especially if they win the Champions League as well. He is a very, very good manager, and his team plays very pretty football.
It is profoundly depressing that, after eight months of dreaming a young man's dreams, we're stuck with the role of the spoiler. There's nothing classy about a spoiler. You're the dirty, drunken hobo trying to tackle the bride in her pristine white dress. There's nothing dignified about that.
This Sunday, I don't want us to stop the Man Utd procession. I want us to lose. Yes, I want us to try hard and make a good match, but in the end, I want us to just roll over and die. I'd rather Man Utd retain their lead, their league and their superiority over everyone. I can't believe I wrote that. It's sickening, but true. Because given the choice between Man Utd or Chelsea, I'll choose Man Utd every time.
Anyway, I've finally understood my 4th Grade teacher's joke. In my proverbial boat on the lake, I've got Saddam Hussein, Hitler and Ashley Cole in my sights, and I'm weighing up the cost-benefit of both bullets. Rationally, I should kill Hitler and Saddam and give millions of families some semblance of closure. If there's ever any justification for murder, those two are it.
But in the end, those two bullets are heading straight for Ashley's head.
Question: You're on a boat with Saddam Hussein, Hitler and Paul Keating (then Australian treasurer and architect of the "recession we had to have"), and you've only got two bullets. Who do you shoot?
Answer: Paul Keating twice in the head.
My 4th Grade teacher loved that joke. Along with getting us to scout for the cheapest petrol prices in Melbourne, telling politically-biased jokes to impressionable kids was her raison d'etre. But I never really found it that funny. There was something profoundly sad about hating someone so much that you'd choose to whack him instead of two of the greatest villains of the twentieth century. I couldn't work it out, then.
But I'm starting to understand it now.
We're playing Man Utd next. In January, didn't our mouths water at the thought of this match? Arsenal vs Man Utd. The Title Play-Off. The two best sides in the league. Fucking hell, that would've been some match. To emerge from all these seasons of disappointment to come-of-age (for real, this time) at Old Trafford would have been something.
So this Sunday will be a bit of an anti-climax. There's a certain bitterness to it. What are we playing for now? Pride? Respect? An attaboy from the media for putting up a fight against the champions-elect? All I know is when the Arsenal walk onto the pitch, I'll be seeing double. As well as Cesc and co., I'll be seeing the crushed dreams and faded ghosts of yesterday. Remember when Hleb, Cesc, Flamini and Rosicky were irrepressible? Remember when Cesc scored goals from midfield? Remember when Gallas-as-captain was a stroke of genius? I could go on, but I'll stop for the same reason you don't pick at a scab.
The fact is that this match doesn't mean much. I imagine Wenger will make a show of how we're still in the race, and Gallas or Cesc will come out and rally the troops, but I suspect they'll be going through the motions. Our guys will play hard because it's against Man Utd, but half their minds will be on Euro 2008. It's not worth putting your body on the line for a meaningless fixture. And part of me understands.
However, there is one thing we should be playing for - making sure Chelsea don't win the league. I don't know what the logistics of throwing a match are, but it's something I hope Wenger seriously considers. I don't want to see Ashley Cole win the league before us. I don't want to see John Terry and Frank Lampard celebrate. And I'd rather endure a Man Utd double than see Avram Grant succeed.
I doubt any gooner would deny that Man Utd are worthy champions. Yes, they're arrogant. And yes, their success has been bought in much the same way as Chelsea's. But you can't deny that Cristano Ronaldo is the best player in the league, and that he deserves to win the Premiership. And you can't help but admire Ferguson's accomplishment with this side, especially if they win the Champions League as well. He is a very, very good manager, and his team plays very pretty football.
It is profoundly depressing that, after eight months of dreaming a young man's dreams, we're stuck with the role of the spoiler. There's nothing classy about a spoiler. You're the dirty, drunken hobo trying to tackle the bride in her pristine white dress. There's nothing dignified about that.
This Sunday, I don't want us to stop the Man Utd procession. I want us to lose. Yes, I want us to try hard and make a good match, but in the end, I want us to just roll over and die. I'd rather Man Utd retain their lead, their league and their superiority over everyone. I can't believe I wrote that. It's sickening, but true. Because given the choice between Man Utd or Chelsea, I'll choose Man Utd every time.
Anyway, I've finally understood my 4th Grade teacher's joke. In my proverbial boat on the lake, I've got Saddam Hussein, Hitler and Ashley Cole in my sights, and I'm weighing up the cost-benefit of both bullets. Rationally, I should kill Hitler and Saddam and give millions of families some semblance of closure. If there's ever any justification for murder, those two are it.
But in the end, those two bullets are heading straight for Ashley's head.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Grumpy Old Man
"For me personally, it is a tragedy, particularly since I did not have a chance to prevent it."
- Jens Lehmann, Arsenal reserve goalkeeper.
You wouldn't think it, but it IS a fucking tragedy. Lehmann's character - his ego, drive, eccentricities and fucking inability to handle failure with grace and humour - is both the reason he became one of the best 'keepers in the world, and the reason he was relegated to the bench.
For instance, it takes a special talent to be German No.2 for eight fucking years behind Oliver Kahn and still genuinely believe you're the legitimate German 'keeper. It takes a strong mind, enormous amounts of self-belief and a great deal of delusion. Those are admirable qualities in an up-and-coming 'keeper, because it helps sustain you during those lean periods when you're doing well in training but the incumbent is still being picked. It's less attractive when you're 38, on the bench, have had a full and entertaining career and still throw hissy-fits over whether you're picked or not.
Most people mature over time. A typical young man is the definition of selfish ambition. It's understandable. Life is just beginning to open, and you want to do everything you can as soon as you can. There's no time to wait. You develop tunnel vision, and the things that aren't in your immediate field of vision fades away. It happens. Time moves very fast when you're young.
However, as you begin to age, you start to look around and realise that achievement is pretty fucking useless without other people. You discover that achievement is an empty, resounding gong unless it's meaningful. You start to invest in people with the same determination that you once invested in things. That's natural.
That's not to say you've got to give up once you're past it. A naturally competitive person will strive to achieve until their dying day. It's their nature. I don't expect Lehmann to give up hope of regaining his place, and just pocket his pay. But there's the right way of doing things, and the wrong way. If you had the choice between two pathways, with both leading to the same destination, would you chose the high road or the low? Lehman has unambiguously chosen the low road.
There's a brilliant example of the high road the Arsenal squad - Gilberto Silva. A very good defensive midfielder, and a fucking brilliant person. Like Lehmann, he's been snubbed by Wenger. Like Lehmann, he's lost his place to a journeyman player who I suspect doesn't have the quality needed to play for the Arsenal. But unlike Lehmann, Gilberto has taken it with good grace. He hasn't erupted every other fucking week. He's bided his time and contributed to the club. He's accepted that the torch has been passed, that his light has been dimmed, that this is the inevitable consequence of the passing of time. And, I suppose, he's taken stock of all his accomplishments and found some measure of solace knowing that he's given his best and played football at the highest level. He's mellowed.
Lehmann never learnt to mellow. He's still being driven by the same elemental forces that drove him as a kid. And that's the real tragedy.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
- Dylan Thomas, "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night"
- Jens Lehmann, Arsenal reserve goalkeeper.
You wouldn't think it, but it IS a fucking tragedy. Lehmann's character - his ego, drive, eccentricities and fucking inability to handle failure with grace and humour - is both the reason he became one of the best 'keepers in the world, and the reason he was relegated to the bench.
For instance, it takes a special talent to be German No.2 for eight fucking years behind Oliver Kahn and still genuinely believe you're the legitimate German 'keeper. It takes a strong mind, enormous amounts of self-belief and a great deal of delusion. Those are admirable qualities in an up-and-coming 'keeper, because it helps sustain you during those lean periods when you're doing well in training but the incumbent is still being picked. It's less attractive when you're 38, on the bench, have had a full and entertaining career and still throw hissy-fits over whether you're picked or not.
Most people mature over time. A typical young man is the definition of selfish ambition. It's understandable. Life is just beginning to open, and you want to do everything you can as soon as you can. There's no time to wait. You develop tunnel vision, and the things that aren't in your immediate field of vision fades away. It happens. Time moves very fast when you're young.
However, as you begin to age, you start to look around and realise that achievement is pretty fucking useless without other people. You discover that achievement is an empty, resounding gong unless it's meaningful. You start to invest in people with the same determination that you once invested in things. That's natural.
That's not to say you've got to give up once you're past it. A naturally competitive person will strive to achieve until their dying day. It's their nature. I don't expect Lehmann to give up hope of regaining his place, and just pocket his pay. But there's the right way of doing things, and the wrong way. If you had the choice between two pathways, with both leading to the same destination, would you chose the high road or the low? Lehman has unambiguously chosen the low road.
There's a brilliant example of the high road the Arsenal squad - Gilberto Silva. A very good defensive midfielder, and a fucking brilliant person. Like Lehmann, he's been snubbed by Wenger. Like Lehmann, he's lost his place to a journeyman player who I suspect doesn't have the quality needed to play for the Arsenal. But unlike Lehmann, Gilberto has taken it with good grace. He hasn't erupted every other fucking week. He's bided his time and contributed to the club. He's accepted that the torch has been passed, that his light has been dimmed, that this is the inevitable consequence of the passing of time. And, I suppose, he's taken stock of all his accomplishments and found some measure of solace knowing that he's given his best and played football at the highest level. He's mellowed.
Lehmann never learnt to mellow. He's still being driven by the same elemental forces that drove him as a kid. And that's the real tragedy.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
- Dylan Thomas, "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night"
Thursday, April 10, 2008
The Morning After
The morning after.
It's fucking horrible, isn't it? There's a foul taste in your mouth, a throbbing artery in your skull and a nagging feeling that you've exposed yourself in every fucking way possible. And then there's that deep well of despair that keeps growing as your cognition returns, as your powers of self-doubt, self-loathing and self-pity rise anew from the dregs of languid lassitude... and you know you've got to face reality as well.
Fucking hell.
I had a read of the papers. Fuck those know-all fucks who toasted us in January, and are slamming us know. Where the fuck were the claims of under-spending and inexperience when we were top of the league and Adebayor did a passable impersonation of a top-quality striker? People laugh when they say a goldfish has a 3-second memory, but it's a fucking national tragedy that journalists of respected newspapers have the collective recall of a lobotomised amnesiac.
It's a curiosity of life that while individual journalists are often intelligent, perceptive people with nuanced views of the major issues, a herd of journos tend to act like a pack of fucking lemmings. Yes, Arsenal fucked up, but we don't have to march into the fucking North Sea. It's not that fucking bad, and we don't need to start again from fucking Year Zero. The team that wowed the journos in 2007 are the same team that are being pitied/mocked today. We have a team that is able to compete at the highest level, and which can challenge for trophies. It needs to be augmented and tweaked, but it's still a powerful, powerful team.
But that's not to say that we don't need to change.
Wenger had some of it right; the refs paid the penalty that wasn't, and didn't pay the penalty that was. We out-played Liverpool over two legs, and got burnt in return. But like every delusional fucker in denial, Wenger can't see past his fucking nose.
We've got to realise that we're the cause of our tragic circumstances. Over two legs, we took the lead three times, and after each time, we leaked soft goals: Flamini lunged at Gerrard at Emirates; Senderos didn't mark Hyypia; and no one marked Babel. We need to admit that we were fucking poor in defence. We had the run of play, we were rewarded with the lead three times, and we fucked it up each time. Wenger is deluded if he thinks he can blame the ref and leave the squad alone. Fucking defensive frailties have been the bane of our existence, and it's time we acknowledged it. Soft fucking goals are the result of fucking soft training regimes. Is it any wonder that our Champions League run of 2006 was inspired by a defence looked after by Martin Keown? We need to bring in some fucker to oversee our defence.
Otherwise, I'm going to go fucking crazy watching Arsenal fuck it up season after season after season.
It's fucking horrible, isn't it? There's a foul taste in your mouth, a throbbing artery in your skull and a nagging feeling that you've exposed yourself in every fucking way possible. And then there's that deep well of despair that keeps growing as your cognition returns, as your powers of self-doubt, self-loathing and self-pity rise anew from the dregs of languid lassitude... and you know you've got to face reality as well.
Fucking hell.
I had a read of the papers. Fuck those know-all fucks who toasted us in January, and are slamming us know. Where the fuck were the claims of under-spending and inexperience when we were top of the league and Adebayor did a passable impersonation of a top-quality striker? People laugh when they say a goldfish has a 3-second memory, but it's a fucking national tragedy that journalists of respected newspapers have the collective recall of a lobotomised amnesiac.
It's a curiosity of life that while individual journalists are often intelligent, perceptive people with nuanced views of the major issues, a herd of journos tend to act like a pack of fucking lemmings. Yes, Arsenal fucked up, but we don't have to march into the fucking North Sea. It's not that fucking bad, and we don't need to start again from fucking Year Zero. The team that wowed the journos in 2007 are the same team that are being pitied/mocked today. We have a team that is able to compete at the highest level, and which can challenge for trophies. It needs to be augmented and tweaked, but it's still a powerful, powerful team.
But that's not to say that we don't need to change.
Wenger had some of it right; the refs paid the penalty that wasn't, and didn't pay the penalty that was. We out-played Liverpool over two legs, and got burnt in return. But like every delusional fucker in denial, Wenger can't see past his fucking nose.
We've got to realise that we're the cause of our tragic circumstances. Over two legs, we took the lead three times, and after each time, we leaked soft goals: Flamini lunged at Gerrard at Emirates; Senderos didn't mark Hyypia; and no one marked Babel. We need to admit that we were fucking poor in defence. We had the run of play, we were rewarded with the lead three times, and we fucked it up each time. Wenger is deluded if he thinks he can blame the ref and leave the squad alone. Fucking defensive frailties have been the bane of our existence, and it's time we acknowledged it. Soft fucking goals are the result of fucking soft training regimes. Is it any wonder that our Champions League run of 2006 was inspired by a defence looked after by Martin Keown? We need to bring in some fucker to oversee our defence.
Otherwise, I'm going to go fucking crazy watching Arsenal fuck it up season after season after season.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Post, The First
Fuckers,
This is the first in a series of fucking fantastic posts filled with fucking insightful tidbits about all things worth knowing. As such, a large part of this blog will be devoted to Arsenal FC, and in particular, how fucking frustrating it is to follow the most beautifully ineffective football team in the world.
Although the web is over-populated with Arsenal blogs, I believe I can still carve out a niche as the most deranged, garrulous and purple-prosed fucker out there. There's GOT to be an audience of my particular brand of amusingly inarticulate ranting. From personal experience, I know that fuckers in the office will read anything to keep their minds away from the mundane realities of being a white-collar grunt. In many ways, this blog is a creative outlet of my overwhelming dissatisfaction with my own work-life; and if I have to read another fucking Arsenal blog pondering the differences between a 4-5-1 with Hleb as a withdrawn striker vs a 4-4-2 with Bendtner partnering Adebayor.... I'll have to slit my fucking wrists.
Which brings me to my charter. If you subscribe to my fucking blog, I WILL make these promises to you, my passive patrons:
1/ I will not give out match previews
2/ I will not give match reviews
3/ I will not tell you who Wenger should be buying
4/ I will not tell you whether we should play 4-5-1 or 4-4-2
5/ I will not get my knickers in a knot over the colour of our away-shirt
Of course, only a complete fuckwit would hold himself accountable to self-imposed rules, so think of them more as guidelines. Some days, my disgust will overwhelm my better judgment, and I'll wade into areas I know very little about. If I inadvertently post anything analytical or thought-provoking, be assured that it's completely unintended. I firmly believe that there are excellent blogs out there which provide sophisticated analysis of all things Arsenal. If you're looking for that, I suggest you fuck off and visit one of goodplaya, gunnerblog or the-cannon.com. However, if you want to laugh at a fucking fruit-loop whinge and moan and get his fucking anger out on the fucking screen, pull up a fucking chair and enjoy.
Judging from the inarticulate and barely literate comments I've read over the years, I'm sure there is a place for a blog like this on the internet. But there's only one way to find out. Build it and they will fucking come. Hopefully.
P.S. As I'll find it incredibly boring to only whinge about Arsenal, I'll be blogging about whatever suits my fucking fancy. Yes, that's right; it's my fucking blog, and I'll blog whatever the fuck I want.
This is the first in a series of fucking fantastic posts filled with fucking insightful tidbits about all things worth knowing. As such, a large part of this blog will be devoted to Arsenal FC, and in particular, how fucking frustrating it is to follow the most beautifully ineffective football team in the world.
Although the web is over-populated with Arsenal blogs, I believe I can still carve out a niche as the most deranged, garrulous and purple-prosed fucker out there. There's GOT to be an audience of my particular brand of amusingly inarticulate ranting. From personal experience, I know that fuckers in the office will read anything to keep their minds away from the mundane realities of being a white-collar grunt. In many ways, this blog is a creative outlet of my overwhelming dissatisfaction with my own work-life; and if I have to read another fucking Arsenal blog pondering the differences between a 4-5-1 with Hleb as a withdrawn striker vs a 4-4-2 with Bendtner partnering Adebayor.... I'll have to slit my fucking wrists.
Which brings me to my charter. If you subscribe to my fucking blog, I WILL make these promises to you, my passive patrons:
1/ I will not give out match previews
2/ I will not give match reviews
3/ I will not tell you who Wenger should be buying
4/ I will not tell you whether we should play 4-5-1 or 4-4-2
5/ I will not get my knickers in a knot over the colour of our away-shirt
Of course, only a complete fuckwit would hold himself accountable to self-imposed rules, so think of them more as guidelines. Some days, my disgust will overwhelm my better judgment, and I'll wade into areas I know very little about. If I inadvertently post anything analytical or thought-provoking, be assured that it's completely unintended. I firmly believe that there are excellent blogs out there which provide sophisticated analysis of all things Arsenal. If you're looking for that, I suggest you fuck off and visit one of goodplaya, gunnerblog or the-cannon.com. However, if you want to laugh at a fucking fruit-loop whinge and moan and get his fucking anger out on the fucking screen, pull up a fucking chair and enjoy.
Judging from the inarticulate and barely literate comments I've read over the years, I'm sure there is a place for a blog like this on the internet. But there's only one way to find out. Build it and they will fucking come. Hopefully.
P.S. As I'll find it incredibly boring to only whinge about Arsenal, I'll be blogging about whatever suits my fucking fancy. Yes, that's right; it's my fucking blog, and I'll blog whatever the fuck I want.
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