No matter how long we endured the barren run, we always had a weapon primed for severe cases of Banteritis. Under rigorous negative focus, the majestic steed we rode into battle atop was always our flowing play. We could unlock a packed defence with our masterful artisans. We had passes up our sleeves that would flummox even the most astute defender. Continue reading Wengerball or simply 3pts please?→
Any opportunity to meet one of the men who we have idolised from afar must be taken with a sure grip. Once more my good friend @thedanielcowan extended an invitation to add to my burgeoning collection of restraining orders. The details? the venue was a casino in Piccadilly. The Galatasaray match would be screened. Nigel Winterburn – vital piece of the immortal Arsenal ‘Back5’ – would be attending and fronting an informal Q&A. Quite an opportunity indeed. Continue reading Nigel Winterburn, a chilling offer and drinking dip→
The season thus far has been more notable for fan unrest than our exploits on the field. For every goal scored – another hot mess of a scandal involving hurling vitriol at Arsene Wenger. For every injured player returning to the frontline we get an acerbic video that is more car-crash TV than an episode of ‘An Audience with Dean Gaffney’. You get the gist, we haven’t exactly been blessed. Continue reading Kos is the Boss.→
Alarm blares it’s monstrous melody, forcing him to face 7am head on. He looks over to his partner who is miraculously still ensconced in dreams. He allows himself a few seconds to view his beloved in slumber, then his rigid discipline kicks him out of his dream state & reminds him firmly that training comes first. He clambers out of bed & into the en-suite. Shower turned on, the torrent of hot water serves not only to clean but revitalise. The finest of cleaning products produce a good lather but the scent of jasmine & coconut remind him of last summer in the Maldives. Shower off, then grab a towel off the rack. Dressed & straight downstairs to the kitchen to grab a quick bite, the Boss would frown on training on an empty stomach but worse would be a bowl of the sugary cereals his dozing darling upstairs enjoys so much. A quick fruit smoothie & he grabs his keys to……..erm, what to take, what a joyous conundrum to have. The Lamborghini Gallardo? No, it needs a wash. The Range? No, he grabs the keys to his gun metal grey Aston & beeps the gargantuan garage doors. The beep serves as a mute ‘open sesame’ to the garage doors & they smoothly open to allow the Aston to purr through. Continue reading Homosexuality in Football→
In the early days of social networking, my attempts to integrate with the indigenous fauna were laughable. I had tweets regarding biscuits, work dross & morose bobbins. Mostly though, I was on a warpath with morons who were bastardizing the English written word. The Queens English being repeatedly punched full force in the face, like Dale Winton Vs Mike Tyson in his pomp. I took to the cyber-streets, criticizing unwanted abbreviations &; giving typed lashings to vagabonds who fell into the snare of internet-speak. ROFLMAO my fucking ballbag. Continue reading Define a Legend….→
Two matches attended in one week. Whilst my wallet has felt the pinch, every time you ascend the stairs and the pitch comes into view, the last thing on your mind is whether you have the spare £50 to buy your niece the latest useless piece of One Direction paraphernalia. No matter how often you’re exposed to the wonderful sight of The Emirates carpet and each stand as they rise to your eyeline, the impact is not dimmed. Continue reading Matchday Vs Southampton→
I’ve been sans phone for a week. Phoneless. Without my sleek, metallic, personality-bereft friend. No bulky weight in my pocket ( easy ladies! ) to remind me of the exciting potential & window of wonder that is my mobile. It has been ridiculously tough. Why? I hear you cry in your sarcastic, I really-don’t-care, tone. Well, I’ll tell you. I’m a 20-a-day smoker. I used to be 6″4 before I started ( Zing! ), but seriously, I do enjoy a cigarette. I’ve found though, that the nicotine hit that is supplied by these small, pencil-sized cancer bringers is supplemented by my phone. Hold your equine-based creatures for an iota. Not for a second am I suggesting that phones are the harbingers of death, oh no, we let The Big Guy decide all that stuff. No, what I was trying to say, is that the feeling that is supplied by the cigarette & it’s combo of noxious chemicals is aided, boosted, by my phone in my hand. Continue reading Life without Arsenal→
It would seem every decision that Arsene Wenger makes is being scrutinised more than a Bolivian coming through customs. Defensive tactics, team-sheets, training methods. Hell, if he were to champion the virtues of penicillin, there would be a smattering of naysayers who would outline the benefits of holistic healing rather than conventional medicine. At this present moment in time, for a large portion of Gooners he is the fulcrum of our problems this season.
You could say he has brought this upon himself. It wouldn’t be unduly negative to highlight our weakness facing counter-attacking opposition to showcase that some chinks in our armour haven’t been addressed. Cynicism though, is like bacteria. It spreads and affects all it touches. No one has been immune to this. Even the staunchest of Arsene aficionado’s have courted the dark side this season. Continue reading Chambers and The Ox→
Picture the scene; I was ambling along my routine days path, sipping on a jug of gravy whilst ruminating on whether or not I could get away clean from a heist on Piebury Corner, when an unremarkable man clad in a trenchcoat and shades sat next to me. No words. I was startled but my needy nature meant I was more than pleased to finally have a companion to exchange opinions with and train my hamster army. The clandestine man put a briefcase on the table, the metal clasps snapping open efficiently. He removed a padded envelope with no markings on it whatsoever. It was at this time the enigma uttered his only words. ” The Red Fox only consumes the contents of a single wheelie bin “. With this, he closed the case, stood up sharply and left the scene abruptly, rendering me quizzical but also slightly sad that my potential Sargeant of the 1st Corps of Hamsters had gone. What might have been. Continue reading Carl Jenkinson’s Diary→
Each letter was scribed on the finest parchment. Despite being daubed using a fountain pen – not one accidental blot spoiled what was the most elegant of handwriting. Each letter had been placed in a thick sheath and had been delivered by hand in the wee hours. Every detail had been seen to. The invites were completed.