Whilst my presence on this site is supposed to take on the guise of a weekly blog, my scribblings have become much like the appearances of Abou Diaby in an Arsenal shirt. They come in fits and starts and even when I’m here it’s probably for the best that I’m not. That being said, I shall still apologise for not making an appearance last week. Alas I went on a week long adventure down the rabbit hole to celebrate my birthday and this ended up with me going to Fabric at 6am on Sunday morning and promptly bouncing home four hours later. Needless to say, my writing is disjointed and a bit left field at the best of times so I think it was a wise decision to keep it to when I am sober of mind and not absolutely Pete Doherty’d.
Since I last wrote we seem to have acquired a world-class player and, oh my gosh my golly, the feeling when that square headed middle aged Caucasian male in a suit proclaimed to the world that Mr O to the Z was ours was better than anything that kangaroo in a top hat gave me in Fabric nightclub. Or was it an ostrich? Whatever they were, they sure did know how to dance to those silky smooth deep house grooves.
Sunday morning was spent in bed, curled up in the fetus position wishing I could rewind the clocks back three or four years to when all of the hoopla that I had just put myself through was funded by the Student Loans Company and not the degree that I failed to get as a result. I will tell you right now that I spent a total of around two hours watching videos of our new number 11 strolling around pitches making football look easy. The sheer sublimity of his play reached out to me like an angel with a cold wet flannel through the laptop screen to soothe all the self turmoil that tormented my very being.
Yet out of the ashes of my dignity that morning, came a little nugget of wisdom that I am going to share with you. Believe me, if you’re going to quote me on anything in this article then let it be this.
It must take a very good player to make Christiano Ronaldo look good. Mesut Ozil is that player and then some.
Trust me, mans done did da scout-ting. I did however watch all of those videos on silent because, quite frankly, there’s only so much European House or ripped jeans American Rock you can listen to. Thank you to all of the brilliant YouTube compilations that I watched that day. You well and truly saved me from that Kangaroo/Ostrich/Kyle Walker looking thing that followed me home from Fabric.
This Saturday we see if all those video compilations were true to life or all just a figment of my very fragmented imagination.
I love Arsenal,
and I love you too.
I would like to take this opportunity to say that no animals or Kyle Walkers were harmed in the writing of this blog. However Kyle Walker definitely condones the tone of this blog. That is all.
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