Something Great

Arsene Wenger cobbled together starting lineups with spit and duct tape and Denilson and somehow the team dragged its ass over the finish line in third or fourth.

Saturday, November 22, 2008


The wheels have come off. The tires exploded, the hubcaps spun off, sparks were flying everywhere. The bus is currently careening towards a precipice as most of the inhabitants sit quietly on board. William Gallas is sobbing mercilessly and Arsene Wenger thinks to himself for a moment, "I wish I had gone out with some more style." Cesc Fabregas smiles briefly and thinks about Spain and Bendtner is sure he'll be the first to die.

Some onlookers were struck by the shards of metal, ripping open their chests and stomach cavities. Medics rush to the scene only to be caught on fire and burned alive. The scene is gruesome. And then, all goes black, and there is this image:
That gray highlighted area.

Let there be no more doubt. I would rather finish 16th than finish 5th. I'd let Tottenham come into the Emirates and score 10 goals in stunning fashion so long as we didn't finish 5th. Jim and I spoke about getting relegated today, and we weren't exactly joking. We had a pretty good laugh when we considered getting relegated and winning the Champions League. It's all we've got left.

And then Walcott got hurt. And then Gallas imploded again. And then, out of nowhere, this buddy of mine who is a Chelsea fan guessed that it was Sagna who was the malcontent... and I didn't rule it out. Oh my goodness if it's Bacary Sagna, that quiet god-loving man, if he's a lockerroom cancer I'll just die. Kind of like how I die a little whenever Gael Clichy messes up. And that face he makes afterwards that screams horrified disbelief.

There's always the Carling Cup.