Category: General
On contracts…
“When is a door not a door? When it is ajar…”
“When is a contract not a contract..?”
It bothered me during the Great Cescape – when our club captain, with four years remaining on his contract, was allowed to throw the world’s longest, sulkiest hissy-fit – making himself useless to the Club, and forcing a move back to Barcelona.
It bothered me this week, when Alex “Blingalicious” Song slouched off to follow Fabregas to basque in golder pastures. (Our Top Deck midfielder was supposedly unhappy with his mere £55 000-per-week salary – hence the insolence? – and before you could say “WTF..?” he was gone). This despite two, maybe three years remaining on his contract.
Penis Over Brain had us bent over a barrel for nigh on a year – before he practically took a dump in it with his July 4th Declaration of Independence: the footballing equivalent of a ‘Dear John’ letter – and turned what should have been a routine contract extension into a drawn-out, messy divorce. (A divorce that left us with the house and the memories: he got to marry the home-breaking slut; and keep the kid. (Kid was a Man Utd supporter anyway, so, no loss there…)
Even as … Read More »
THE TOWER
“Misery, distress, indigence, adversity, calamity, disgrace, deception, ruin.
It is a card in particular of unforeseen catastrophe.”
Hmmm. Maybe I need to find a more optimistic Tarot deck. It’s behaving rather like a black-bag-Gooner at present… The urge to ‘cheat’ and draw another card was almost irresistible, but I guess there is an Arsenal-appropriate lesson to be learned by accepting the hand I’ve been dealt, and making the most of it.
“Misery, disgrace, deception”
Do I wish that our traitorous captain hadn’t issued his foolish and ill-advised Independence Day statement? Yup. Do I regret that he backed his Manager, his Club, into a corner – forcing them to sell him to the only club that showed interest? Yes, sirree. And most of all: do I regret that that club was our sworn enemy? Of course I do.
I would have loved to have seen him be true to his many words, and only win trophies with his beloved childhood club. For a gray-haired, glass-ankled donkey, he sure had a great last season – “dragging us over the finish line” (with a little help from his friends…) But the donkey has joined the Dark Side and gone off to join Shrek at you-know-where. Too … Read More »
Adversity Alex Song Arsenal Busby Babes Calamity Cazorla Champion's League Clichy Deception Dennis Bergkamp Diaby Disgrace Distress Donald Rumsfeld Fabrice Muamba Giroud Heysel Stadium Hillsborough Indigence Leonard Cohen Misery Nasri Podolski qualification Robin van Persie Ruin St. Totteringham's Day Tragedy traitor Transfer window Trophies Unforeseen Catastrophe Wilshere
VI * THE LOVERS (reversed)
“Failure, foolish designs”
***
Aaah. That magical number, 49… The number of games the Invincibles went unbeaten. A number that is unlikely to be breached in the near future, unless the Man City Oilers or the Chelsea Mobsters, or some other hideously wealthy club decides to buy every top player available and benches all but their Chosen XI, thereby eliminating the competition entirely.
Could happen.
There are a few top division clubs who could field two perfectly competitive First Teams from their 25-man squads, their benches are that ‘deep’. Then again – there’s depth, and then there’s d e p t h…
Looking in from the outside, (as I am), it seems a little skeezy. A bit like having a spare jet. You know: overkill. What with the insurance, maintenance and finding a spare parking spot at the airport… But this new breed of ultra-wealthy superclub seems to subscribe to the “Waste, want.” school of thought, rather than the “Waste not, want not” ideal that binds those of us more financially …um …retarded.
To them it makes sense. Nothing but the best. Actually, that’s not entirely true. Nothing but a few of the best, more like.
Anyhow. I digress. Where was I? Oh yes: 49. That magical … Read More »
Hello world!
I’m not an Arsenal fan. Fans blow hot and cold. I’m an Arsenal supporter.
It’s different.
I was a fan of Olivia Newton-John for a week or two, back in the day – when she urged me to get Physical with her, flirting at me, upside down, from between her shapely leotarded legs. I’m not a fan anymore. And I walked through the rain singing Erasure’s “Sometimes” after a particularly messy adolescent breakup. That song’s not on my iPod anymore. Doubt it ever will be.
Fans are fickle. They lavish their attention on whatever tickles their fancy in that moment. (SQUIRREL!) They give you their undying devoted love forever. Or for the half life of a Seaborgium-266 isotope. Whichever comes first.
I’m in it for the long haul.
Supporting something means carrying it around with you forever. Like herpes.
