Every season is make-or-break for Arsenal.

At least that's what you'd think if you paid any attention to any of the millions of things that delivered opinion to the 21st Century Gooner: Boobtube, Arsetube, Twit-tube, Intertube… Hell – I reckon there are even carrier pigeons out there with “MAKE-OR-BREAK SEASON FOR ARSENAL!” scrolls attached to their scaly little sky-rat diabys.

At the beginning of each new season, there is a collective urge – after patting ourselves on the back for last season's Bronze medal – to pile pressure on the Manager, and whatever players remain at the club. The dizzying height of our recent (who'm I kidding!) glory days was as addictive as that blue meth in “Breaking Bad” – we liked being at the top of the food chain. It suited our self-image, and gave us the right to puff up and gloat and insult all those other scumbag clubs out there.

But The Seven Year Itch is upon us. And after losing our Captain and key players for two years on the trot, there is a sense that one more year of settling for Champions League qualification just won't crack it. Arsene Wenger himself, while squashing rumours of a … Read More »

“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 »