READ THE BLOGS!

Like this delightful one. (above picture: Nick vs. The Sun)

So I've been off the blog for a bit since Nick has found a new passion for writing and nothing ridic-tacular has happened for me to poke fun at. Except maye this:

 Now, we all had a reason to be angry on saturday morning against City. In my opinion, we had three. I won't name them, but one of them is five years younger than me and two are six years younger than me. (I don't count Hoyte cause that was like chuckin Kitt Kittredge into a Michael Vick dogfight) Let's face it, we sucked a bit. I've never been one to panic, and so, I'm don't feel we are in crisis, but our lack of depth and performance do ask questions of a man who I won't name, though he is 33 years older than me. We did kinda play with the same intensity of my morning crawl to the bathroom; in fact, I think Bendtner's play can pretty much be summed up by the that half-burp/half-almost-vomit thing I do when I'm hungover.

So, as I said, we all had a reason to be angry. But I think this one guy showed up angry from somewhere else. Maybe, he was a victim of the economic downturn (Arsenal could probably use a bailout) or maybe his beloved had eloped with a Chelsea fan. Maybe, just maybe, he realized the inherent meaningless of life and felt alone and isolated to the point where he had wnadered into Nevadas in hopes that Arsenal's fast paced passing and intricate schemes could provided him with a glimmer of light in a dreary world. 

Yeah, he was pissed.

Now, if I can stay upbeat down 3 nil after two red bulls and no booze, then this guy has no excuse for his temper. At possibly every Arsenal mistake, Sir Furious (I won't name him, but he's 67% more of a cunt than me) would loudly curse the Arsenal members, screaming this and that to no end like he was having angry sex with the basement flatscreens. Now, I'm as Gunn-ho as the next fella, but this sort of negative attitude is simply uneccesary. We all know Denilson played with a brillance akin to Nick's hacking cough and that Diaby likes to mix up his drinks rather than take a fuckin shot, but don't ruin everybody's good time cause you wanna be the first to say it. You wanna bitch about how Eboue dives and Song telegraphs his passes, then write a blog.

Sir Furious just kept going though until The Captain stepped in. If you don't know this fella, then you must be down at the Clock End of Highbury. He is big and bold and can make up songs so fast, you kinda wonder whether he prepares them at home. Anywho, he popped on over and tried to give Sir Furious a warm shoulder to cry on (a St. Andrews Stadium to his William Gallas) but this man was not having it. As The Captain tried to convince him that anger was not the way, Sir Furious became Bendtner-like in his tirade and even provoked the watchful eye of Kieran from the bar. The battle to decide whether we should bash Arsenal or just "relax" was a mighty one, and Gooners in Exile watched in horror. But much like poor Nicklas, all Furious' efforts fell flat, resulting in a final desperate attempt to prove Arsenal's failure: "READ THE BLOGS!"

Now I know from experience that you can't invoke Arseblogger to your cause. Gunnerholic does not appear like Beetlejuice if you call his name three times. But Sir Furious felt he could call down the mighty bloggers from their internet to smite all joy. He was wrong, and in crafty so weak an argument, gave us all a reason to laugh. Which we needed after we went down 3 nil. After that, we had a bit of fun and got really jacked up for the Carling Cup.

So in closing, I have two pieces of advice for all you Gooners in Exile. You can't change what happens in Europe. It's way too far away, so relax. Come to the greatest of bars with a smile on your face and a good song to sing; whatever happens (which you Gooners did so well this weekend). Just take each game by itself and remember that you don't have to cheer for Newcastle or Tottenham who are truly in trouble. If your gonna bash the team, do what I do, bash Adebayor. It's consistent, usually right, and you both will smile about it. Plus, he always makes it up to you.

And secondly, READ THE BLOGS!! (but don't let them make your opinions for you)

 

fin

Well, those were a group of proper Villians

Well crap.



I headed to Nevada’s at the saner out of 9am, hoping for a repeat of last weeks victory against Man U. I was first to arrive, with Devo, and Mark close behind. Ajrun showed up bring his ladyfriend in tow. We all ordered our drinks, but Devo was not drinking, and Arjun’s ladyfriend wanted an Absolut Vanilla and coke. To say I was taken aback would be an understatement. But the lady was adamant, so I spoke to Jack. He got us the beers and asked what the other drink was. I told him, in the most apolgetice voice “Absolut Vanilla and coke”.

His response. “…. Wow.”

A Nevada’s first ladies and gentlemen.

The regular crew began to assemble. Elais and Dreads took their corners. The Captain took his spot on the helm. Blond Beard came by and hung out. A good band for what should be a great game.

But it was not to be.

Passion was the missing ingredient that morning. The team did not seem to have that extra fire. Bendter looked particularly bad, and playing Cesc up front did nobody good. I had such high hopes when Manuel stopped that penalty shot, but it was not to be. Not even the addition of Ade and Vela could yield anything for us. By the way, man does the Captain love Vela. He broke out like three different songs for the guy. Also, why did the Captain keep taking off clothing during the match? Weird.

The one high point was that the singing never stopped. Even as the game ended and we watched any hope of the title drift away, the Church was full of the voices of the faithful screaming “We love you Arsenal”. But kudos to the Villa fans for holding their own with a couple of good songs. Save that one guy who sung stupid songs by himself. We had to put him in his place once or twice. I feel that there are more supporter clubs now then there used to be. More teams seem to have representation at Nevada’s

I wasn’t drinking that morning, and had errands so I did not stick around to commiserate. So nothing wacky happened. Next week we head to Man City. I am nervous, but live in hope.

Nothing kills a man slower and more horribly than hope.

Who the F@#&%*k are Man United!

Now, that almost makes up for the two weeks.

I had been remiss in my futbol viewing, missing the Tottenham debacle, the Stoke failure, and the Champions league ‘eh’. But they had taken their toll on me, and I was nervous as I awoke Saturday morning.

I arrive in the East Village at 6:15. Since I was early, I grabbed a hot butter bagel, which would be key later (beer being easier to drink when it has something to play with in your stomach). I got to the Church at 6:35, first one in line. Hell I was there before Kieren. One does have to ask themselves a question or two as they stand alone outside a bar in the morning waiting for open, but not on such a day as this. I waited patiently out in the dark, watching the other faithfull arrive. It did amaze me how many people walked past me to the door. No, it’s open, I am just standing out here in the cold and the dark without a cigarette cause I enjoy it. Get back in the Line! But as Jack promised, the door flung open at Seven am, and I was the first to get a pint.

Mark and Arjun eventually arrived, Mark kind enough to bring my kit. We were also joined by Blonde Beard, I chap we had met last year on the 3-2 10 man comeback game. We all feared the worst but hoped for the best, and giggled as friends when Van Persie showed up dressed as Zoolander. But the time had come and the game was off.

Now the best part of the game was that we played like we should be playing. The defense looked less broken, Diaby proved why Wenger believes in him, and Cesc played like Super Cesc Fabergas. And god bless the king of New Highbury, for both his joy but terror inducing first goal (being up 1 nil is like getting away with the perfect murder, technically you should feel good but at any minute it could all fall apart), and his more reassuring second goal. It did help that United looked off, Ronaldo was at half steam, and Rooney was shooting like he was on International duty.

The viewing experience was mostly jubilant, with tinges of terror that it would all fall apart at any minute (man, Rafael’s shot was intense). Dom showed up at halftime to bolster our ranks (Dom is quickly earning a slot as an alternate in the 4 man army). Not even Arjun knocking my entire beer over could bring me down. We even outsung the Man U fans three times over, not something that happens often. It got to the point where Portly Asian Dude With English Accent (or PADWEA) had to break out “Do you hear United sing (cause I don’t hear a fucking thing). Although I have never seen or felt a longer stoppage time in my life. Six minutes for kicking our keeper in the face. We did not get that when Eduardo got his foot kicked off.

After the match, Mark, Arjun, and Blonde Beard enjoyed a celebratory shot and brew. I declined, due to work later, but did commiserate with a lovely lady who also had to go to work after the match. Take what you can get.

I had a good chat with Blonde Beard about what this meant for the Season, and headed off. This was the first in a series of tough matches for us, and I hope we keep this level of play up. In typical fashion, at our best we can beat just about anybody, we just got to do that every match.

I am on a one beer limit for the next two matches, leading up to a 2 derby Sunday after thanksgiving, but I will be at the Church, milking my single Harp and singing along. Come on you Gunnnnnnnners.