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.

EPL #9, Going to West Ham

Thank you England for having a different daylight savings than us Yanks. It means I get an extra hour of sleep and can still follow your crazy sports. This Sunday, I did not have to hit the Church until noon. Drinking at noon isn’t even weird.

I arrived solo at Nevada’s around 11:30, to a dismal sight. My normal spot is infesting with Skousers. The Liverpool fans were celebrating their win over Chelsea, and they were hogging the corner where we normally sit. Damn Skousers. I took post at the center of the bar, and waited for Devo and Margaret. I was just left of the West Ham crew, who started the singing early. Good boys. While the rest of the faithful was there, we were spread out, which gave a bit of an echo effect to the songs, but Devo and I brought the noise.

It is sort of sad having Theo being so good internationally, because all the old “Where is your Englishmen/ You need more foreigners” singing has dried up a bit. We in fact have England’s, England’s number one, Green be damned.

The game itself was a tad tense. We had a lot of shots go wide, and could not close at all in the first half. It was a bit of a Goalie game, as both Green and Manuel had huge plays. But it all changed when the man who is always tall took the pitch. Ade made the difference, forcing an own goal (there should really be a stat for that, called fool-making or something) and scoring one outright on a great break. Corn-rows or not, you give him the ball and he will score.

Also, was it me, or was Gallas playing like he has something to prove. Which he kinda does. Prove it William.

I had to bolt out the door after the match, but it was a good win, and it keeps us competitive for the league. It is always good to be at Nevada’s with a bunch of different supporter groups, and even better to win in front of them.

So it looks like I will be at work for the North London Derby, or possibly at a pot luck lunch (don’t ask). So either way, no mid week Nevada’s. I may just watch the game on my computer, distracting the entire office as I scream at a gamecast. Will check back in with you about that.

One derby down, one to go.

Tribute to a Great Gooner: Juande Ramos

As skipper of Gooners in Exile, I would personally like to congratulate Juande de la Cruz Ramos Cano for his great success in bringing joy to Gooners around the world by sinking arch rival Tottenham Hotspurs to the bottom of the Premier League. Thank you Juande for not only spending all of Tottenham's money, but also raising their sad expectations before dashing them down toward the Championship. But you, great gooner that you are, even went beyond the call of duty by keeping Chelsea from taking 3 points at Stamford and losing by 1 goal in 5 of your 8 games which must have thrilled you as you watched those wanky hotspur fans in agony. Ramos, we will miss you. Your mother was twice the whore that Mrs. Redknapp could ever be.  

Champions League: Sticking it to Fenerbahce

What’s better than getting Tuesday off work? Getting the Tuesday off work where Arsenal head to Turkey for some Champions League footer. BooYa.

For the first time ever, I went alone to Nevada’s, as the rest of the Army had work. Aided by some pre-game beers from home and a Blue 9 Burger, I set up shop in the church by my lonesome. Of course, you are never alone Nevada’s. The dreads guy from the Everton game showed up (hereby known as Dreads until I can think of a better nickname/ learn his Christian name), as did Elais and some other of the faithful.

Although if you have to go to a soccer game by yourself, this was the one to go to. It was like both teams met beforehand and decided that it would be more fun if no one played defense. Hell, even Silvestre went for a goal, he just got confused. I had not yet finished texting Mark about Ade’s goal before Theo put one in the back of the neck. Ramsey getting his first goal was just icing on the cake. Also great to see Diaby have a key game (we may have a midfield at some point).

The only complaint, no singing. It has been noted that the Champsion’s League crowd is more subdued than the EPL boys, but this was ridiculous. Two actual British people who sat next to me joined in for a tune or two (It always amuses me that people visit America from the UK and end up in this British bar, it’s like going to a Burger joint in Germany), as well as The Kid (that one Arsenal fan who is clearly underage, but whatever) but that was it. Come on boys, let’s get a little singing in if we are kicking that much ass.

After the match, I took some time and hung out with the faithful. Elais and I discussed Wenger’s strategy over a pint and one of those ‘I’m on Setanta Sports’ skits (which are freaking hilarious). Jack comped me a pint or two as I talked the visiting Brits. Then I went out into the courtyard and talked to Dreads, The Kid, and a female Man U fan who told me that ‘you can’t trust skousers with money’. Life lessons at the Church. I don’t think I had ever ventured into the back yard at Nevada’s, but feel I may have to more often.

It’s good to know that you always got a friend at Nevada’s, as long as you roll with the boys in red and white.

We got two London derbies coming up next week. I am not sure I can make either of them, but hope to post something next week anyway. Here’s for 6 more points come next weekend!

EPL Week 8, Everton

Hello all. New Guest write Ward here, relaying the boy’s adventure for the Everton visit.

Mark and I braved the early morning cold (We have officially hit the point in the season where the warmth of your bed in the morning makes you question your love of Drunk in the Morning FC) to get to church. The Chelsea game was on when we arrived, and to no surprise it was as quiet as a mouse. We took position at the center of the bar, at Jack’s advise, and began chatting up the other Gooners. We met a guy with dreads who had just moved back to the states from London, and was thrilled that there was a place for the footer. A heated debate about the worth of William Gallas broke out (Gallas has replaced Ade as the new Arsenal player the fans love to hate) and I threw in my two sense, mostly defending the guy due to his frequent game-changing goals.

The game was a good one, we came back from 1 nil to take it. The usual rants about the team “poor defense’ and such still stand, but three points are three points any way you slice it. The fans were not as boisterous as usual, which I blame on breaking up the Arsenal group, which usually corrugates at the end of the bar. Also we lacked many key players (Arjun, Devo, The Captain) which did not help. We did try a little “North End of Highbury” but the clock end was about 4 feet away from the North End. No Good.

The Liverpool game was also showing, and there is nothing more fun than messing with the Skousers. Hubris got a song war going, which he won with his “You’ll never win the league when I’m alive” chant. Liverpool fans are fun, because they love their songs, but we hate them so much less than Chelsea and Man U.

With the game done, we hit off 99 Miles to Philly for some sweet sobering cheese steaks.

Coming up next, Champion’s League Tuesday.