My nephew’s 1st birthday

"He likes you.”

- my brother, telling me that my nephew likes me

It’s nice to know that my nephew likes me. It’s hard to tell sometimes because he’s only one, and can’t talk beyond words like “Ma”, “Ba” and “car”. He smiles sometimes when I hold him, and he laughs occasionally when I try to make him laugh. Beyond that, there’s not a lot else to go on. I’m glad he likes me, though, because I love him to bits.

I think Wenger should sign my nephew. He kind of did a Cryuff turn today. His mother was holding him up, and he was kicking a plush football. He stepped on the ball with his left foot, rolled it forward, and rolled it back, and then flicked it to me - with the outside of his foot. Now, I realise that he’ll have to improve before he’s good enough to play for the Arsenal (I doubt he could displace Denilson this season), but he’s a very talented baby. Sign him now, bring him over to the Colney creche, and in 19 years’ time he’ll be in the Arsenal first team, a naturalised POM, and agonising between playing for the awesome Socceroos and the inept Ingerlanders.

So on the 268th last day of my 20s, I gave my nephew George a bright green Brazil futsal ball for his 1st birthday. I hope the shiny green paint is neither drool-soluble nor toxic, because he likes to chew his footballs. And I hope he uses it when he’s older and able to walk.

I suppose I’m projecting a great deal with this gift. I want him to be a sporty, co-ordinated kind of kid. I want him to be as freely expressive as the Brazilians of the 1970 and 1982 World Cups. I want him to be successful, and articulate, and able to create and appreciates things of great beauty. I want him to be able to wear loud, canary-yellow tops and be able to pull it off with aplomb. I guess I just want him to express the philosophy of jogo bonito through all the days of his life.

Happy birthday, George.

Barcelona players should buy Cesc with their own money

Carles Puyol has fired another shot at the Arsenal’s decision not to accept an appallingly low bid from Barcelona:

“He [Fabregas] is having to stay at a club where he no longer wants to be for another year. I wonder how intelligent it is keeping a player who doesn’t want to be there. After seven years of great service, I thought Arsenal could have granted him his dream move.”

"Cesc has given everything to Arsenal to try to win a trophy but they haven't matched his expectations. I won't say he is in a prison, as we know how privileged we are as football players. But after how clear Cesc made it that he wanted to be in Barcelona, I thought they would have granted him that."

The problem is that Cesc Fabregas is worth about £20m more than Barcelona are able to afford.We value him at £55m. Barcelona are only able to stump up £35m. There’s a £20m difference that can’t be bridged, no matter how many tapping up attempts are made.

However, there is a solution. Off the top of my head, the following players have pleaded with the Arsenal to sell Fabregas: Xavi, Ineista, Puyol, Pedro, Busquets, Pique, and even Messi had a snipe. Now these folks are obscenely rich. If the Barcelona players are that desperate to bring Cesc back to the club, I think they should pool together the extra £20m needed to get the transfer bid to an acceptable sum. Barcelona pay their players a great deal, but Barcelona are in a world of debt. Barcelona cannot afford Cesc Fabregas, but the Barcelona players can. If those seven players are as desperate to sign Cesc as they say, it’ll only be £3m or so.

C’mon fellows, put your money where your mouth is!

So on the 269th last day of my 20s, I finished off three of my long-standing patients and got within sight of finishing off the other two. After those two, I can quit and leave and never have to see that place again. There is a lot wrong with the set-up, I don’t have the will to argue.

Today, I bought a little futsal ball for my nephew’s 1st birthday. I spent last week trying to find an Arsenal futsal ball but I couldn’t find one, and had to buy a Brazil ball instead. That and an England ball were the only two that was inflated at the toy store, and I couldn’t stomach giving him an Ingerland ball. I think they say that a 1st birthday present is often a projection of what the giver hopes that baby will grow up into. So I better start pestering his parents into enrolling him in a Brazilian Soccer Skills summer school when he learns how to walk.

Still on the hunt for a centre-back

"We are still on the search for centre-halves. We have three and we need at least four. There are people we consider and are analysing and we look at the financial possibilities."

- Arsene Wenger, on the hunt for centre-halves

With the departure of Sol Campbell, it's getting alarming. Senderos has gone, Gallas is going, Sol's gone, Silvestre's gone. We're down to Vermaelen, Koscielny (who hasn't played in the Premier League yet), Djourou (who's injured), and maybe one of the kids in Bartley or Nordtveit. It's a bit thin on paper, and you've got to think that Wenger saying "we need at least four" is a gross understatement. Personally, I'd like us to buy two more experienced centre-backs.

But it's comforting that we're still on the search for centre-halves. I was told the other day that the way you find what you're looking for it is to stop looking and let it come to you. If you're too intent on it, it's not going to happen anyway. But I'm thinking it's a bit different when it comes to centre-backs, a transfer window that's rapidly closing, and a full season ahead with just one Belgian, one skinny French/Polish chappie, and an injured Swiss defender.

Time to get a bit more pro-active, Wenger. Don't worry about being creative about it. Anyone will do. Buy a Zapata, a Chiellini, a Cahill, a Kjaer... it doesn't have to be a transfer coup which will enhance your reputation - just get someone experienced and reliable.

Please.

On the other hand, we're always linked to young, small, creative midfielders who may or may not be great in a few years. The latest one who's been linked to us is Sebastian Giovinco, who at 5'5, may give Arshavin a run for his money at the annual limbo competition. I loved Giovinco in Football Manager, he was the heartbeat of my Juve side for ten years, so I'm pretty excited about this one. Also, imagine how funny it'll be to have Arshavin on one wing and Giovinco on the other. We could have the first attack which features players running between the defenders' legs.

So on the 270th last day of my 20s, my book fell apart, and I took the afternoon off because of lack of patients. Not to disappointed, since it's a bit of a relief to have an afternoon off. Makes it feel like it's a Friday. When you consider that I've got Saturday off this week as well, I'm feeling pretty good about it.

Spent most of the day thinking about something the GOMD said on the Tuesday. She said I was a lot like a friend of hers. She said it with a strange look on her face and a little smile on her lips. Her friend is a guy who she professes to have no interest in, but the way they act with each other.... there's something there. I keep going over all the possible permutations, and it's killing me. What did she mean? And is it what I want it to mean?

Going to have to ask her tomorrow.

The 271st last day of my 20s

So on the 271st last day of my 20s, I went to work and worked and came home. Very tired, didn't get more than a couple of hours sleep last night. Kept thinking about her. Might leave today blank. Nothing on today, other than Bendtner being injured for the start of the season. Other players are in doubt. What else is new? We're the Arsenal, after all.

The 272nd last day of my 20s

So on the 272nd last day of my 20s, I cruised through work but ended up fifteen minutes late. I raced back from work in order to watch Inception with a bunch of people, including the GOMD. Went to Maccas afterwards for supper. She’s amazing, just amazing. I think about her, and I just can’t imagine what it’ll be like to go out with her. My brain would probably get fried with a serotonin overdose.

I liked Inception. It’s a remarkably complicated film and I got the impression that they spent a good hour and a half trying to explain the concept, and then spent thirty minutes executing the premise. I like concepts about dreams and fantasy, illusion and wish-fulfillment, ambivalence and doubt about the fabric of reality. I like it when stories inhabit the gap between the two. The plot twist was a bit predictable, though. I get the nagging feeling that I’ve seen it before in another film.

The 273rd last day of my 20s

“He’d be in the top 1 percent of babies in terms of football skills.”

- me, to my brother, about my nephew George

Sometimes, my brother holds his son up and we play kick-to-kick. When I kick it at him, his eyes focus intently on the ball until it reaches his feet, and on a good day, he can kick it back a couple of feet. He already knows the principles of presenting, controlling and passing that the Dutch system is famed for. He can even do a lairy sort of flick step-over that I’m trying to iron out of his game until he’s gotten better at the basics.

It’s not bad for a 1 year old baby who can’t walk.

Sometimes, I look at George and I marvel that his potential is unlimited... within reason. Of course, it’s highly unlikely that he’ll play for Arsenal (Wenger has a problem with Australians, it seems), or have the technical skills to play for a top-class continental club unless he’s scouted early by an Ajax or a Barcelona and taught how to play properly. But if he really wanted to, he could probably carve out a career as a mediocre midfielder in a suburban weekend league. And that’ll be awesome in its own right.

And you know, there’s no harm in dreaming that he’ll one day run out at the Emirates in a red shirt with white sleeves...

So on the 273rd last day of my 20s, I’m feeling the days trickle past like sand through an hourglass, and I suppose, so too are the days of our lives. Worked today, ate a lot, came home and mucked about on the internet. I had a look at my entry on the 364th last day of my 20s, when I was still panicky and motivated about the fleetingness of youth. And I start to think that I should be doing a bit more in my last year than I’ve done at present.

Don't come to Arsenal, Akinfeev!

“I have spoken with Arshavin about Arsenal and London life. He has only had good things to say about the club and the city. He said some very nice things about me going on to be the best goalkeeper in the world – and that he would like me to reach that goal at Arsenal with him."

- Igor Akinfeev, from the Daily Star

The Daily Star is the same paper that Peter Hill-Wood talks to, so I'm a bit uneasy about relying on them as a source. As a casual observation, the Daily Star seems to lean towards the sensationalist and the silly. So while a story about Igor Akinfeev wanting a move to the Arsenal (and incidentally, calling us "one of the best clubs in the world") is heartening, it's something one should take with a grain of salt.

Firstly, a look at the last five years' results in the Premier League would show Akinfeev that we're not one of the top clubs in England. That honour belongs to Chelsea and Man Utd, both of whom have won recent trophies. The Arsenal is a big English club with a thin squad which is talented enough to qualify for the Champions League, but not to win a trophy.

Secondly, when did Arshavin say "only nice things" about Arsenal and London? He's complained about women drivers, the food, the nightlife, the traffic, the pay, the thin squad, the lack of experience... I think Arshavin's hilarious, but I'd be surprised if he's wholeheartedly endorsed the Arsenal without a single bad word.

Thirdly, if I was Akinfeev, I'd be wary of kind words said by a man who has to play with goalkeepers of the calibre of Almunia and Fabianski. Arshavin (and the rest of us) desperately wants a new 'keeper. At this point, we'll do anything to get someone of international repute... including trying to sell a dead horse to stable-owner. The reasoning is that Akinfeev signs with the club, we lock him in for a five year contract, and then... we only need two, maybe three top, top players to challenge for the league title.

Save yourself the heart-ache, Igor. Sign with Man Utd and win stuff.

So on my 274th last day of my 20s, I talked to the parents of this kid who's doing dentistry in Adelaide. They're family friends and he's such a nice boy. I've been kind of mentoring the kid. He reminds me a bit of Theo - polite, respectful, well-mannered. He's doing really well at uni, passed his first semester exams and has settled in nicely, really loves the fact that he's achieved a measure of independence for the first time in his life. Make me feel a bit envious, really - my uni experience was much like a continuation of high-school, when what I really wanted was something resembling Animal House.

I'm missing the GOMD like a phantom limb. I talked to her for like five seconds today, and that's not enough. For the rest of the day, I kept looking around, expecting her to be there, but she wasn't. I've this nagging urge to call her, or text her or something. Not a good idea, I think.