Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Did he say "no", or "not yet"?

“I have not spoken to any media, so it's frustrating to read quotes that I have supposedly said about my future. I have spent the summer relaxing with my family, friends and girlfriend. I think that some people are just trying to make mischief, but my intentions are clear. I am happy here at Arsenal and the priority is to achieve success and win trophies at Arsenal.”

- Cesc Fabregas, deliberating on whether "no" means "no"

This is the picture I have in my head.

There's this car parked outside London Colney. The windows are fogged up and the chassis' rocking slightly to the movement of licentious love. Inside, sit our two protagonists. Ramon Calderon's all sweaty with carnal inflammation. His greasy paws are groping our sweet young thing. Cesc's of two minds - he'd like to be faithful to Arsene Wenger, but he knows that Ramon can show him a world he's never known. Cesc's equivocating. Cesc's flustered. Should he keep his virtue intact and stay faithful with the Arse, or should he succumb to the wanton charms of his swarthy Spanish suitor?

What's a starlet to do?

In courtrooms all over the world, this scenario's been played out countless times. And it basically comes down to this - does "no" mean "no", or does it mean "not yet"? It's difficult to adjudicate. Firstly, because there's no impartial witness to the event, and secondly, because it's such an emotional thing. If you wanted to legislate, you'd have to say that no means no, but really, it's a case by case thing.

I liken the Cesc-Arsenal-Real Madrid-Barcelona love quadrangle to Wuthering Heights. Cathy's been pretty solid with her beau, but she's quite taken with the reappearance of the dashing, brutish Heathcliff. Cathy's torn between her duty to what's-his-face and the memories of her first great love.

I'm not sure where Real Madrid fits into this, but I'm sure we'd all prefer Cesc returns to the heaving bosom of Barca's ample embrace, rather that enjoy the fetid, squalid charms of Real Madrid's Bernabeu. At least that way, we can wander those lonely, desolate Pennine moors and weep sweet Cescy tears with a certain romantic gusto. After all, we'd know he left us out of love, and not for money.

So don't do it, Cesc. Resist Calderon's charms. Save yourself for Barcelona.

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