Roma Fanatics Stab Arsenal Fan. UEFA Plans to Banish Serie A from Champions League, Except Premier League Kinda Already Did That.

Rome's police are investigating the incident where a traveling Arsenal supporter was reportedly stabbed at this week's Champion's League match against AS Roma. Police have several leads which point to Roma's fanatical supporters the Ultras who plan to "stab" their way back into Champions League at the finals this May, in Rome. However, the wounded Arsenal fan is not pressing charges, predictably choosing to "just blame it on Eboue or Bendtner instead, and be done with it". 

Arsenal Fans: Bendtner at Fault for Goals by Juan, Vidic and Ronaldo

Despite being 21 years old, a striker, and almost 1,000 miles from two of the incidents, Arsenal striker Nicklas Bendtner is clearly to blame for preventing Roma and Manchester United's three scores during this Wednesday's Champions League match, accordingly to many Arsenal fans. This continues a spree of disappointments for the young danish attacker, though none are as embarrassing as allowing the reigning Kings of Europe to advance past Inter Milan into the semifinals. 

The first incident happened when Nemanja Vidic managed to leap onto a Ryan Giggs corner and bury it in the back of the net. ESPN broadcaster Tommy Smith's take on the incident was clear. "It was like he (Bendtner) wasn't even on the pitch. You can't give a player like Vidic that much space in the box. It's true, he's not ready to play defense at this level. For any team."

 

Vidic scores. Where is Bendtner?

 

Moments later, and half a continent away, disaster struck again for the striker as he failed to defend after the ball managed to gently roll through the box past various Arsenal central midfielders, right backs and two veteran center-backs on its way to Roma's Juan, who clearly should have been marked. An eyewitness who went only by the name of William G. recalls the event. "We were arguing about whether to come out of the locker room late this time, but we had our eyes on Nicklas as well when it happened. Kolo and I both know very much about defense from our years in football, so you can believe me when I tell you that when that ball went between our legs, Nicklas was not properly marking our, I mean his man." 

The third incident appears to have been a result of "failing to track back" when Manchester ace Cristiano Ronaldo headed in Rooney cross to put victory out of reach for Jose Mourinho's side. Camera footage shows the Bendtner was an astonishing 1,609,238 meters away from the Portuguese winger, which some pundits have described as "sloopy". 

This image, taken by composite satellites, clearly shows Ronaldo (#7) in the top left corner and the out of position Bentder (#26) in the bottom right.

Strangely though, a few Arsenal fans, despite claiming he has no work ethic and shouldn't be on their squad, seem to have given Bendtner a rare pass on this one. "That one's not his fault. That Ronaldo is just too good." To make matters worst, Bendtner, a striker, even failed to find the net in either game when he wasn't playing defense. Many frustrated fans point to absence of infallible hero Robin Van Persie who, according to many, "wasn't in the game at all." 

 

Seriously, if you don't get this joke, then you probably are one of the "arseholes" who blames everything  on Bendtner and apparently forgot all the fantastic things the Great Dane has done for us by the tender age of twenty one. (Tottenham, Liverpool, Dynamo Kiev and seventeen other goals which you leapt up and cheered for, in case you actually did forget) And don't tell me to read the blogs. I write the blogs!

JAI HO! Arsenal vs. Roma

Arsenal is one free kick away from beating Roma in the Champions League. How did they do it?

A) They Cheated

B) They're Lucky

C) Wenger is a Genius

D) It is Written

Obviously the answer is D, though there is certainly about 130 minutes worth of evidence for B. But who cares? We won!!! Sweet god we won! Jai Ho!

 AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!

That's is a Japanese phrase meaning: AAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!

and also Arabic for: AAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!

and means AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!! in French (though rarely used)

Indeed that is the universal sound of victory against all odds. Like watching that guy in the movies snip the right wire on the bomb, except he's doing it for like over two hours. That match just shaved another 5 years off my life which; thanks to the combined efforts of futbol, friends and life style choices, now leaves me about 3 months left to live.

But I lived long enough to see that victory!

AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!

This day is called the Round of Sixteen.

He that went to Nevadas, and came safe home,

will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,

And rouse him at the name of Second Leg.

He that shall live this day, and see old age,

will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbors,

And say 'To-morrow is Champions League.'

Then will he don his kit and show his scarf,

and say 'This gear I wore on the Second Leg.'

Shit fans forget; yet all shall be forgot,

But he'll remember, with some counseling,

What fear he felt that day. Then shall their names,

Familiar in his mouth as household words-

Wenger the King, Walcott and Denilson,

Nasri, Persie, Diaby and Sagna,

Be in their pints freshly rememb'red.

This story shall the Gooner teach his son;

And a Round of Sixteen shall ne'er go by,

From this day forth to ending of the world,

But we in it shall be remembered-

We few, we freaked out few, we band of Gooners;

For he to-day that almost died with me

Shall be my Gooner; though he complain too much,

That day shall even make him love Bendtner;

And those Arse-Fans in day jobs, then a-work,

Shall think themselves accurs'd they did not quit;

And hold there their manhoods cheap, whiles any speaks

That watched that shit at olde Nevada Smiths!

I just made that up (with some help). would have worked better if our King Henry wasn't reigning in Spain, but it scans perfectly and you'll notice that the mentioned gunners all made their PKs. Toure was omitted for a very obvious reason which happened around the 9th minute and Almunia isn't in there because no one at the Battle of Agincourt had a four syllables in their name. Tough luck. Lehmann would have made it.

But seriously, that was about as horrifying to watch as your parents doing the Kama Sutra. Yeah, you just thought about it. Sick. And I'm not talking about how badly we played, because I don't care. I'm referring to the shear terror that comes from being in a small, dark furiously packed cave watching grown men lose their minds over a bouncy ball that could very easily roll into the wrong net. But with great sacrifice comes great honor.

It's not a secret that futbol matches frighten me more than Zombies, Cylons or even Dick Cheney; but this one was the worst. I left with my hair looking like Don King from all the sweating and pulling I was doing to it. I actually  dropped into a pitiful squat when I saw that Roma player go down in the box. Hidden in the forest of Nevada Smith legs, head in hands, I thought surely, in Italy, in Champions League, there was no way this was gonna go our way. After a brief flirtation with suicide (FYI: Devon gets my laptop, Jakes my books, and Nick can have Deanna) I arose to a world unlike any I had known. A place where linesmen and officials did not actively seek to knock Arsenal out of Europe. I was wary, but reborn.

Then it all just kept sucking. No one played particularly poorly as an individual, but the communal efforts were like watching eleven of my drunken friends trying to Riverdance. No wait, that'd be funny. This was not.

Did I mention I hadn't slept? Not a wink the night before as I was up carousing with my better(?) half. We do that. Alot. She begged me to stay and nap that afternoon, but I was compelled. Where would Hector have been had he stayed with Andromache and not fought Achilles? Where indeed? Probably still alive! And indeed I would have been too, because I would have just napped and then read 7-6 on the internet. Then I would have gone "aaahhh" and watched the PK replay, safe in the comforting blanket of retrospect. Rubbish.

I rose and  heaved my exhausted corpse to Nevada's; an hour early to get a spot. Devo, after resolutely arguing such a precaution was not necessary, showed up later and predictably got sent to the basement. Jakes had to watch the game across the street, but came on as an impact substitute for the PKs. And a sub was needed. Working on no sleep, and having endured a match that look more like Golgotha than the beautiful game, I was waiting for Wenger to hold up the board with my number on it. 

But he said "No Mark, you must have great spirit and  maturity, and watch the PKs." This may have actually happened as I was hallucinating at the time. Each kick took a lifetime, each round was the high and the crash of super drug I've never known. But...

(with his eyes closed, Almunia may have been the last person in the world to know)

AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

I was screaming and leaping. My exhaustion vanished like a little bouncy ball over a crossbar, and, in a mosh pit of ecstasy and sweaty gooners, I was giggling and singing with a smile I haven't worn since I first knew the pleasures of a woman. 

And that is why nothing else matters. Because Munich won on a 12-1 aggregate, United thumped the Special One, Liverpool embarrassed the greatest club in the history kicking a ball, but none of their supporters felt as good as I did in that moment. And I hope they never do.

So rant and rave all you want about poor play, luck, Bendtner or whatever you want to, because none of it matters. Go enjoy yourselves! Stop with your angry blogging and commenting. Nothing is a given in champions league. All you can do is win, and we won a shootout in frackin Italy. We are in the quarterfinals. What's point of being a Gooner, of enduring the horrors of that game, if you can't enjoy these perfect moments? Wait, hold on-

AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!

It just keeps happening.

Go now Gooners in Exile. Live terror free lives until Saturday. Maybe some of you should get day jobs. Ok, that is crazy, but this victory seems to make anything possible. Leave Eboue be for a day. Call your Mother. Hug a stranger. Take up a new hobby. Drink a beer. Have a good cry. I did all these things and more. Because I am a true Gooner, because sometimes a win is all you need, and because.....

D) It is written   

 

Liverpool: A draw on the pitch, a loss to the XI, and snow in my shoe.

Getting to Nevada’s is always a pain from Queens, but this morning was especially bad. The three man army had all gone drinking at a local bar the night before (bar Christmas party, very cool), and all arose with too little sleep in their heads and too many beers in their bellies. The walk to the train was a hateful journey, as the rain was turning all the snow on the ground into slush. I also discovered that my shoe had a hole in the sole. Fun times.

But we persevered, and got to the church ahead of schedule. Our normal spot was taken by a variety of unknowns, so we grabbed a little space by the center of the bar. A bunch of boisterous Man U fans were celebrating their victory in the Club World Cup. Mark well described the Club World Cup as ‘that extra handjob you get for winning the Champions League”. Well said. We had a pint and chilled, the energy a little off due to the dank. That bald guy with the Goatee (nicknamed Goat) got the singing off nice and early, but kind of laid into the Liverpool fans a little too much and too early. Now while it is true that if I was asked if I heard those Skousers sing I would have to reply that in fact I don’t hear a fucking thing, lets let the game get going before that. Although, it is true that they will never win in England.

The game itself started promising. We looked dominant in the beginning, and Robin had a tremendous goal. But god damn that sunabitch Robbie Keane getting a set-up from a long ball and getting it past Manuel (who had some excellent saves, especially that free kick from Gerrard).

The second half, everyone was on edge. The bar was as packed as I had seen it in a while, and people wanted that those three points. Seeing Cesc not come back also scared the shit out of everyone (Update. FUCK!). And then the ref lost it. When Ade got the second booking, people lost it. In general, the second half was filled with some shady shit all over, and this was the high point. People at the bar were screaming. This woke up some of the Liverpool fans, who slowly began to cheer. But those Skousers could not do anything with the gift, and the game was a draw.

I had to bail to get to work on time, which was probably for the best given the feeling in the room. I had only had two beers, which feels like the perfect amount to have before work.

I am off for our next couple games, but will return in January, hopefully to see some new blood brought into the squad. Come on Arsenal!

Wigan gets beat, Eboue gets booed, Nick gets tipsy

It was a cold and lonely Saturday morning. The four man army had been felled by sickness/travel/up-all-night, and I was the lone soldier riding the N train to church. I arrived downtown, got by pre-game bagel (I am very in favor of this new tradition, as it helps with the drinking) and grabbed my usual spot at the end of the bar. I met two older Englishmen, one claiming to be a season ticket holder. It always amazes me the number of people who stumble into our little bar from across the pond. The faithful began filing in, a little later than normal. I forget that in these colder months, I don’t need to get to the bar quite so early for a seat. More sleep for Nicko.

The game was not so exciting. An early walk-in goal from Ade put us up, but we could not add to it at all. RVP continues to go high and wide, and Denilson hit the post so hard I swore I heard it in NY (In general, Denilson had a much better game than he has had in a while). Yet Wigan couldn’t put anything together either, so we were fine. Devo called the game ‘cagey’ but I felt safe the whole time. We should have put another two on the board, but three points is three points.

The Atmosphere at Nevada’s was lacking too. I suspect this was due to the cold, as the bar was a tad lighter, and everyone seemed lower in energy. The Captain, that scruffy guy (you know the one), and myself led some songs, but it took a little doing. The Captain did give me a pound after I was the only one who would sing the Sagna song with him (Sagna I still contest is our most consistently strong player). The Captain took this opportunity to break out some rarer songs that no one knew. I do want to learn the Denilson “Black Hole Sun” song though.

A word on the Eboue debacle. He sucked. You know what, he normally sucks. While we may have been fooled by this lesser sucking before he got injured, we are now reminded of his natural state of high degree suck. While I do not agree with booing anyone in an Arsenal jersey (it’s not like he is down thinking, “wait, the fans disprove of my sucking, well then I shall suck no more”), Eboue is just bad. That’s the way it is. I am amazing the whole thing became the issue that it did.

There was a rumor that Abramovich was watching the Chelsea match in the basement with two bodyguards at the same time as the Arsenal game. . I didn’t see the bastard, but if he was down there, never more have I wished for a cave-in.

Not much to add. A win is always lovely, even if it ain’t pretty, and a morning at Nevada’s is always fun, even if it ain’t jumping.

Stamford Bridge is falling Down...

Sunday after Thanksgiving was a big day, a double Derby day. Manchester in the morning, London in the later morning. I rose up, hung over from over-eating all weekend and over drinking all night, and went to meet Devo at the train. We rode down to Nevada’s and arrived at the end of the Manchester derby. The staff tried to basement us (bastards) so we went and got bagels while the game ended and the bar cleared out. We grabbed our normal spot at the bar, and watched the faithful roll in; the bar was already warm with the body heat of Man U supporters. The Chelsea fans came in, and started talking smack early on. We were worried, but not afraid. This would probably be the toughest game we had all year in the premiership, facing arguably the best team in England on their home turf. Pints in hand, we readied ourselves for the worst.

The first half gave us little hope. An own goal put us down 1 nil, and we were having a hard time finding the back of their net. Gallas had a kind of reverse Gallas game, where he was strong as a center back, but could not get those clutch goals he is so good at getting in big games. Even the return of Ade could get us nothing. The singing was also off. We had lots of supporters, but it was hard to unite the faithful into one clear song. Everyone seemed unfocused.

The second half, lady luck smiled on the boys in red and white. The linesman went out for a pint at the same moment that RVP slams one past Cech to tie the score. Devo is screaming, and thanking God there is no instant replay (hey, we have been screwed by the Linesman before, so I will take it). Mere minutes later, the flying Dutchman makes it a deuce to put us up. The faithful areoverwhelmed with joy. The singing is still disjointed, but the energy is up. And the most impressive thing, team Chelsea gets mighty quiet for about a half an hour. It is not until near the end of the game, where we ask if you can hear Chelsea sing (cause I don’t hear a fucking thing!) that they wake up, and cheer their team into a home loss. As the final whistle went out, Devo and I howled for five minutes after the match. The Captain’s sidekick (the skinny Asian kid who drinks all the sprites) rode the Captain like a donkey. The crowd was elated.

After the match, Devo and I had a celebratory round. We said goodbye to Dreads (who continues his tradition of a post-game ‘smoke’) and met the infamous PADWEA (whom Mark still believes does not exist). As it turns out, PADWEA is one of the founding members of The NY Gooners supporters club, so we owe much of this insanity to him. Good on ya PADWEA.

So the title is a possibility again, and more importantly, no annoying emails from my Chelsea supporting friends. What could be better then that.