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.

Monday, August 3, 2009

T-minus 12 days

The beautiful game returns in only twelve days. Twelve! Less than 90 days ago Arsenal faded out of memory with a meaningless 4-1 win over Stoke City and with that left behind a lingering sensation of disappointment. The parallels between Arsenal last season and a regretful hook-up are plentiful.

Before the night began, and while you were still sober, you had already decided that you weren't going to do it, she's not worth it, done. Decided.
Before last season Arsenal lost Flamini and Hleb with no replacements. Jim and I knew this was a problem. We'd say things like, "Who's going to play alongside of Fabregas?" Or, "I know we'll miss Hleb. I just know it."

Then... you start drinking.

Arsenal started off with beer; a nice win over West Brom, a pleasant outing against Fulham. Shotgunned one against NewCastle (that was fun). Beat up on Blackburn. Come from behind against Bolton! Uh oh. I'm feeling it... and it feels good. There aren't many feelings in this whole world that can beat buzzed off of beer. Then the Carling Cup happened - we did some shots, and oh shit, Jim and I were both drunk. Carlos Vela played the role of that friend who shows up to the party late, needs to catch up, and needs someone to do those shots of tequila with. And just like that friend you know in the back of your mind that whether or not you love him or hate him, what just happened throws this whole night up in the air. "Let's make some bad decisions tonight!" you joke. But still, your fate isn't sealed just yet. You can stop here and enjoy the night.

Those shots just settle down and guess who comes walking over - That Girl. Don't worry, you decided not to hook up with her. The reasons are obvious. You start up conversation and realize, she looks good.
Hull city wins 2-1 on a wonder goal. It's a fluke we said. These things happen. Whatever. Anyway, the real night is starting - Champions League! And you leave for the bar.

The girls don't pay for the cab, typical, and Sunderland draws 1-1. But whatever, you've made it, and rescued a point. These things seem trivial but it's all part of a season.

You make it past the bouncer, get inside and before you know it, Low by Flo rida and T-pain comes on and the grinding has begun. On the bar-TV show highlights of Arsenal beating Fenerbahce 5-2. It's gonna be a good night, yes I will do that shot of Beam.

Well well, who's this? Girl in the dress keeps looking over here. Oh my gosh she is. I should approach. She clearly wants to talk, I should approach. What will I say? Oh, oh, I know, I'll say, "hey, what's up?" No. That's horrible. "How's it going," is way better. Way better? That sounds square. I'll say, "..." wait a second? Where did she go? F#$%! Tottenham 4, Arsenal 4. I need a drink to forget this terrible luck (no you don't). One more down the hatch. Oh come on! Ms. Dress Girl is talking to some other dude now. Arsenal 1, Stoke City 2. Tequila please, Montezuma Blue. Ehhh. Nice (no, it wasn't).

Begin fragmentory black-out.
Arsenal 1, United 2 - Girl spills drink on your shirt.
Arsenal 3, Wigan 0 - It was a vodka tonic, no stain!
Arsenal 0, Aston Villa 2 - But your shirt is all wet and girls laugh at you as you leave the bathroom.
You're feeling pretty dizzy. Not good. Definitely shouldn't have done that last one... Manchester Citasdfkjf... Chelsejaskksk... Aston Villa at the death to steal two points. Time to go throw up.

Glass of water at the bar, Arsenal 1, Everton 1, and let's see if we can salvage this season. The Premiership didn't matter anyway, we were here for the Champions League. Let's get it together, Roma is up next.

Leave the bar for the after party at, excellent, FA's house. That FA Cup sure is a cutie. Wouldn't mind getting with her. The mere thought gives me a second wind. Arsenal 4, Cardiff City 0 (Eduardo brace). And what's this? Oh my goodness, at the afterparty is Ms. Dress Girl! This could be an epic night after all! Arsenal signs Arshavin. Damn, she has a boyfriend, but clearly not for long, they don't look happy. Arshavin is cup-tied.

The boot and rally works well as the budlight goes down without a problem. Everything tastes like water now anyway. Great conversation with FA Cup, she's always been a flirt. Always there, but for some reason it just doesnt mean that much to you. We all have those girls. Not to mention that Ms. Dress Girl is alone, the boyfriend has left. Ah yes, you remember why you came here in the first place. Arsenal squeek by Roma on penalty kicks.

Can this happen? Can we actually win the Champions League? Is Ms. Dress Girl really coming over to talk to me on the couch? The party is dying down, this is when moves are made.

"Hey there," she says as she sits down on the couch, "you must be Lucasz Fabianaski."
"Hahaha, no, who's that? I'm actually Arsene Wenger," you reply. "Where are you from with an accent like that?"
"Liverpool." She replies hastily. "You may know my older brothers, Fernando and Yossi."
Suddenly you feel nauseated. Looks like those budlights aren't going to stay quiet for long. Oh no. This isn't going to work.
"Excuse me," you ask politely, not wanting to screw things up for next time. You head for the door and wander around outside.

(beep, beep, beep, beep, beep...) What a terrible noise. Oh my god, my head... I feel like death. I'm alive, but I feel lik... Huh? Jesus where am I?

You've woken up next to That Girl. Manchester United 3, Arsenal 1. Sigh. I knew this would happen.