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 20, 2010
There Is Vomit Everywhere
Last week, I used Ice Cube's line "drunk, but no throwing up" to characterize how Arsenal dealt with taking a two goal lead against Everton. Applying that to today's match against Spurs, I can only conclude that the Emirates Stadium is drenched with metaphorical vomit. Dripping with vile, alcohol-laden vomit. Swimming in a hastily-chewed half pound bean and cheese burrito from Del Taco and reeking of bile and acid. How on earth did this happen?
Arsenal got a little tipsy when Nasri broke the deadlock. Even the boss was fist-pumping and smiling in a manner that he usually saves for goal number seven. Who could blame him, though? Arsenal were good value for their lead, dominating proceedings in the midfield, and pressing Spurs high up the pitch. Chamakh made it two, and suddenly, we were on top of the world (let alone the league table). Beating Spurs at home, business as usual. After all, they hadn't taken three points on Arsenal's home field since 1993. We had the three points draped over us, she kept touching our arm and laughing at all our jokes. Fantastic.
But we couldn't let things plateau. We just kept drinking. And drinking. And suddenly, Denilson was staggering around the field, forgetting to track back and help out his defense during a Spurs break. 2-1. And then during a free kick, Fabregas and Chamakh raised their arms like frat boys clamoring for another round of shots, desperately trying to get the bartender's attention. And they succeeded, as Cesc's blatant resulting handball gave Phil Dowd absolutely no choice but to throw us out of the bar. 2-2. And then, utterly demoralized and disoriented, Arsenal watched, powerless and thick-tongued, as Younes Kaboul spit game at the three points and convinced her to come home to White Hart Lane. 2-3. As Kaboul sealed the deal, Arsenal vomited copiously onto the pavement and collapsed in a stricken, moaning, weeping heap of misery.
William Gallas is laughing at us. Harry Redknapp is laughing at us. Jermaine Jenas is laughing at us. I can only hope that we were blackout when this went down because it might be the only way that we'll be able to rebound from it. Would that Arsene's Sleeping Bag Coat were a Time Sleeping Bag Coat. We could go back in time and salvage this. As it is, we need to get out a mop, some Pine Sol, a healthy helping of humility, and promise ourselves (at least until next week) to never drink again.