Relief.
Relief is what I felt at the final whistle. Not relief at qualifying for a competition that we already know Arsenal will not win--how silly would that be?
It was not relief at finishing in fourth place in the league table, which I still assume was the minimum expected achievement before the season started.
It wasn't relief at the money that Arsenal will supposedly gain from surviving the group stage of the "Big Cup" because we already know that Arsenal won't go mad like a lottery winner and spend that money on players that will help the club erase a 16-point gap to the top or win that competition that we've already agreed they won't win anyway. Money's lovely when it cushions one's posterior, isn't it? Oh and it's also not relief at Arsenal NOT getting that same money and then turning out their pockets like a madman in Las Vegas who has suddenly realised he has no means to get home--as in, "Dear lord, we had planned so earnestly to spend that money on practical things like a real goal scoring forward and now we don't have it!" That's comedy right there, my friends. Although, it may have helped Arsenal EXCUSE the not spending of money now that the albatross of Ashburton Grove seems to have been removed from the club's metaphorical neck. Hmm...
No, the relief was quite simple: It was relief at not having to listen to the yapping mouths of the planet's massed ranks of anti-Arsenal idiots who live for the moments of dangling their collective genitalia in our faces as though they've accomplished something. That means all the Sky pundits, all the former players, Stewart Robson, Warren Barton, Chris Waddle, Alan Mullery, Scotland, people I haven't met yet or have ever heard of, and most of all, anyone associated with THFC.
You have no idea what it's like to be devoted to Arsenal. We're the most hated club in the world. I find that to be stupid, because clearly it should be either Manchester United or Leeds United, but instead, it's us. We are the least fashionable, least liked, least respected, least appreciated club on the face of the planet which, as of this writing, is the only place in the universe known to support human life and football. Millwall wishes they were hated as much as Arsenal. Kim Jong Un was offered an Arsenal shirt and said, "Are you fucking kidding me, man? What, you think I want to be hated?" OSAMA BIN LADEN WAS AN ARSENAL SUPPORTER. Enough?
So to go into next season with the ejaculate of every so-called football expert in the known universe coating Lance Link, Secret THFC Footballer and his club, whilst at the same moment having the feces of every one of those same people being hurled, ironically, I'm sure, in chimp-like fashion at Arsenal, would have made football in and of itself too much to bear. I would have buried myself in press association reports and Andrew Mangan's comedy routines and that, I'm afraid, would have been that.
Relief.
I also must say that the way the table stood at the end of the season brought particular joy because of the words of that silly little bearded man in his hilarious little trench coat. You remember that little man, don't you? The little man who, when afforded a 7-point "gap" after a match on 3 March, made certain comments about how being in a "negative spiral" blah blah blah...the actual words aren't really important anymore, it's the IMPLICATION of the words, which seemed to be that Arsenal had fallen and they would not get up because of the dominance of the little man's club and the humiliation Arsenal had just suffered.
Well, you know what, you bearded little trench coat wearing elf, everyone thinks he has the prettiest wife at home. Tomorrow, you'll wake up next to a fat old hag who'll be driving you to Europa League matches next season, so make sure you stuff the schedule for that competition in your wee trench coat along with the bananas you'll certainly be feeding THE GREATEST PLAYER IN THE WORLD.
I think I heard today that a reporter asked the wee bearded man if the "denied obvious penalty" (dear God, is there any other kind with THE GREATEST PLAYER IN THE WORLD involved?) somehow changed the outcome of the matches. Hmm...because, let's see, that would've made Newcastle not give up a goal in the Arsenal match?
You people, all of you, who hate Arsenal so much, are so transparent. It was as if somehow Andre Mariner was conspiring with Arsenal, when in fact two of the match officials who have been proven to hate Arsenal just as much as you do (one of those clowns named Mike, not Riley, right? and PC Webb) were assigned to our last two matches. Really? Somehow, even though THFC won their match anyway, Bobo the Diving Chimp! and his inability to "win" a penalty affected the Arsenal v. Newcastle match.
World, shut your mouth.
I know you won't, because I know it'll be 5,000 days of summer with constant remarks about no trophies and Arsenal should've done better, immediately followed by how can Arsenal do better when other clubs have more money, immediately followed by other contradictory statements about not liking it up us (what is "it" exactly, anyway? A fist? Who other than some kind of moral reprobate likes a fist or anything else "up em?" Do you want something up you?) while saying that Arsenal became boring but also too soft.
(edit: Look at this pointless wind-up merchant's nonsense and tell me what you think: http://www.guardian.co.uk/football/blog/2013/may/19/arsenal-newcastle-arsene-wenger)
All of your blather bores me and makes football less fun than it ought to be, all because you're tiny little petty people who hate Arsenal and you know slating us will sell papers and generate web hits.
But at least we didn't finish fifth.
Relief.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
What was that thing I wanted?
That thing, do you remember that thing? I said I wanted it, and now I don't have it and I can't remember what it was, only that I don't have it now.
Arsenal have won another match. This one was not much to think about, it was more of the same but less so. Much less so, in fact, because the pragmatism was absent. This was a match played under what was perceived to be pressure on both sides, but in fact was played with one side sprinkled in faery dust and one side still unsure just what it is.
Arsenal won this match versus Wigan because Wigan ran out of steam, or maybe Wigan ran out of coal to make the steam, or possibly it was simply that the people shoveling the coal into the engine became so tired that they stopped shoveling at a pace rapid enough to keep the water boiling and the steam stopped being formed and then the whole machine powered by steam just stopped.
Wigan had about an hours worth of steam/coal/effort in them, and after that, it was over. They really did fight well, Mike Dean really did his usual panto (I'm sickened unto death with match officials who think they are given some right to become part of the story), Arsenal may have conceded a silly foul in a dangerous area (according to the magistrate). Then Wigan scored an equalising goal and Arsenal reverted to type.
For the record, I don't subscribe to magical thinking. A professor I admired at university once said "The history machine doesn't have an 'If...' button." So while it's fair to say that something almost happened, the truth is that it did not happen. Wigan did not score the go-ahead goal in the first 15 minutes of the second half, so you can stuff your almosts and nearlys and go on about your business. You can't magically factor in the goal that didn't happen and then go on about Arsenal being lucky or Wigan being unlucky. Watch enough football, and you just eventually learn that shit is ultimately shit, except for Anderson, who somehow has managed to keep his job in Manchester despite being shit.
That was it, really. Wigan didn't score whilst giving maximum effort, then it looked like they grew weary, and then Arsenal scored 3 times in roughly 8 minutes, and it was fare thee well, Wigan. Quite literally, as then discussions almost immediately turned to relegation, money, money, money, and money. You won the FA Cup, Wigan, you put the whores of Eastlands to the sword, you helped the oil moneymen find a reason to send silly scarf man packing, but the reality is, you're pathetic and that doesn't matter.
I'll be excused from that conversation because I think Wigan can be proud of what they accomplished, and can be proud of not pissing away the chance to have a glorious day out at Wembley and for giving their supporters a wonderful memory. Relegation doesn't have to be a death sentence--unfortunately you only need look as far as the Humber to see that. Well played, Wigan. One word of advice to whomever ends up managing Wigan should they gain promotion soon--you might want to try surrendering fewer goals next time around. Cheers, that advice was completely free!
So that is why I am not one of those people (you know, THOSE people) who are tonight saying "Alas, poor Wigan, such stylish and properly played football, and poor Bobby MAH-tinez, what a good bloke, did you hear he's a good bloke?" Hold the mirror up to Wigan and you see an absolutely wretched defence that has allowed 71 goals in 37 matches. 71 goals, sweet perforated bollox of San Sebastian that is really ridiculously horrible, just so profligate that can you really pity them?
At some point a football club becomes like a person and must make a choice between artful death and pragmatic survival. Wigan and Arsenal could be cousins if one takes that kind of choice into account. Arsenal chose pragmatic survival to avoid being relegated from the top four which is a league unto itself. Wigan chose glory--the wonderful Cup glory--and openness and an attempt at something more than the banality of pragmatism and paid for that choice with relegation.
What is better? To drive the machine to its maximum until it explodes, extracting every moment of performance and excitement from it no matter the end, or to drive it practically, so that it survives and survives and survives? Is it better to be Leeds United in the early 2000s or Stoke City now? (Trick question, obviously it is better to be a blind deaf mute than be either one.) Of the three sides relegated this season, only Wigan were attempting something that really exists for its own sake--giving something to the supporters that they could savour for years. I will not pity them. But neither will I praise them. It was a fair result.
Arsenal, however, live to fight another day. Arsenal have chosen survival over artistry when relegation seemed not only possible but rather likely. How strange that a man born of a fusion of French and German philosophies would exhibit such an English characteristic. At the moment that it all seemed hopeless, Arsene Wenger instructed his side to simply dig in, keep your head down and soldier on. Wigan have now paid for their reach. Arsenal may well be paid for their pragmatism. Who would have thought such a fanciful thing were even possible?
Arsenal have won another match. This one was not much to think about, it was more of the same but less so. Much less so, in fact, because the pragmatism was absent. This was a match played under what was perceived to be pressure on both sides, but in fact was played with one side sprinkled in faery dust and one side still unsure just what it is.
Arsenal won this match versus Wigan because Wigan ran out of steam, or maybe Wigan ran out of coal to make the steam, or possibly it was simply that the people shoveling the coal into the engine became so tired that they stopped shoveling at a pace rapid enough to keep the water boiling and the steam stopped being formed and then the whole machine powered by steam just stopped.
Wigan had about an hours worth of steam/coal/effort in them, and after that, it was over. They really did fight well, Mike Dean really did his usual panto (I'm sickened unto death with match officials who think they are given some right to become part of the story), Arsenal may have conceded a silly foul in a dangerous area (according to the magistrate). Then Wigan scored an equalising goal and Arsenal reverted to type.
For the record, I don't subscribe to magical thinking. A professor I admired at university once said "The history machine doesn't have an 'If...' button." So while it's fair to say that something almost happened, the truth is that it did not happen. Wigan did not score the go-ahead goal in the first 15 minutes of the second half, so you can stuff your almosts and nearlys and go on about your business. You can't magically factor in the goal that didn't happen and then go on about Arsenal being lucky or Wigan being unlucky. Watch enough football, and you just eventually learn that shit is ultimately shit, except for Anderson, who somehow has managed to keep his job in Manchester despite being shit.
That was it, really. Wigan didn't score whilst giving maximum effort, then it looked like they grew weary, and then Arsenal scored 3 times in roughly 8 minutes, and it was fare thee well, Wigan. Quite literally, as then discussions almost immediately turned to relegation, money, money, money, and money. You won the FA Cup, Wigan, you put the whores of Eastlands to the sword, you helped the oil moneymen find a reason to send silly scarf man packing, but the reality is, you're pathetic and that doesn't matter.
I'll be excused from that conversation because I think Wigan can be proud of what they accomplished, and can be proud of not pissing away the chance to have a glorious day out at Wembley and for giving their supporters a wonderful memory. Relegation doesn't have to be a death sentence--unfortunately you only need look as far as the Humber to see that. Well played, Wigan. One word of advice to whomever ends up managing Wigan should they gain promotion soon--you might want to try surrendering fewer goals next time around. Cheers, that advice was completely free!
So that is why I am not one of those people (you know, THOSE people) who are tonight saying "Alas, poor Wigan, such stylish and properly played football, and poor Bobby MAH-tinez, what a good bloke, did you hear he's a good bloke?" Hold the mirror up to Wigan and you see an absolutely wretched defence that has allowed 71 goals in 37 matches. 71 goals, sweet perforated bollox of San Sebastian that is really ridiculously horrible, just so profligate that can you really pity them?
At some point a football club becomes like a person and must make a choice between artful death and pragmatic survival. Wigan and Arsenal could be cousins if one takes that kind of choice into account. Arsenal chose pragmatic survival to avoid being relegated from the top four which is a league unto itself. Wigan chose glory--the wonderful Cup glory--and openness and an attempt at something more than the banality of pragmatism and paid for that choice with relegation.
What is better? To drive the machine to its maximum until it explodes, extracting every moment of performance and excitement from it no matter the end, or to drive it practically, so that it survives and survives and survives? Is it better to be Leeds United in the early 2000s or Stoke City now? (Trick question, obviously it is better to be a blind deaf mute than be either one.) Of the three sides relegated this season, only Wigan were attempting something that really exists for its own sake--giving something to the supporters that they could savour for years. I will not pity them. But neither will I praise them. It was a fair result.
Arsenal, however, live to fight another day. Arsenal have chosen survival over artistry when relegation seemed not only possible but rather likely. How strange that a man born of a fusion of French and German philosophies would exhibit such an English characteristic. At the moment that it all seemed hopeless, Arsene Wenger instructed his side to simply dig in, keep your head down and soldier on. Wigan have now paid for their reach. Arsenal may well be paid for their pragmatism. Who would have thought such a fanciful thing were even possible?
Sunday, May 05, 2013
"Please sir, could I have some more?"
When you're starving, even gruel satisfies the craving and does so to the extent that you will ask for another helping. Eat the weevils, they're rich in protein! And dysentery is a smashing weight-loss programme, so dig right in.
This is what Arsenal are serving up in an end-of-season slog toward whatever fate awaits them: A runny, watery, gruel that is doing just enough to sustain the hopes of supporters and the squad's own desire to play in the big cup next season.
And yet...and yet the form table says "Hang on a minute--this is quite different than last season's trip-stumble-fall across the finish line." Instead of defeating our wee sisters from up the road, launching a brilliant run, then repeatedly punching themselves in the face until the final day of the season, this year's model has used a loss to that lot as a cold splash of water to bring back some missing vitality.
It's a complete reversal, but the result is still the same. It will come down to the final day of the season, and an away match against a side that may or may not offer up the comical defending that has come to reflect its manager's silly personality.
Waking up in the middle of a long winter, one of those mornings where your bones are so cold that your body rightly aches from being clenched up all night, you saw that Arsenal had taken just five points from five January matches. After an unbeaten December that had supposedly righted the ship's course, the season had seemed to have completely crumbled. Rage and resignation battled for control of the Arsenal supporter's mind. An acceptance of fate seemed reasonable to me as I had so little energy left for rage anymore.
Two seasons in a row I've gone ahead and made peace with the idea that Arsenal would neither finish ahead of the Chickenballs nor qualify for the qualifying for the Champions League proper. That's not a load of fun when those things have seemed to be a given, even as challenging for the league has become a fading memory. But then Arsenal began to do what Arsenal are wont to do and the form table cannot lie: The Gunners have earned 29 points since the beginning of February, and dropped only 7.
What the hammer, what the change? "Why so pragmatic, Arsene?" Suddenly, and I mean literally from one match to the next, Arsenal went from being free-wheeling, devil-take-defence chokers to stuck in, grinding gears hard men content to win in the manner of George Graham's most turgid sides. Comic concession was replaced by 8-man walls of resistance. The captain--the man doing mock acrobatic routines and giving giving away free kicks like they were lollies at the doctor's office--was benched. One Pole was sacrificed for another that was long-since forgotten.
I looked at Wenger and said, "Who are you? What have they done with the real Arsene? SOYLENT GREEN IS PEOPLE! POSSIBLY EVEN MADE UP OF THE REMAINS OF ALEXANDER HLEB!" Benching players for crap performances? A steely resolve? Winning ugly?
The world has gone mad. Camus and Sartre have become chorus boys.
After the draw with United, I was "over it." I was bored with the classic Arsene feint, thrust, and parry. I was bent out of shape over Sagna's moment of madness. I was saddened that losing a player like Giroud could actually have a negative impact on a side. United had clearly fallen arse over tit after winning the league and yet the Gunners could do little to trouble them. "Meh," I said, with full shoulder-shrug included.
So...why did the 1-0 over QPR leave me both full and satisfied? Content, even? It's because of the result. The result is all that matters. The result is god. Worship the result. I would rather that result than another result. That was better than a 6-0 thrashing.
Why?
Because this squad is no longer deserving of handing out 6-0 thrashings. Sorry, I hate to say it (no, I don't) but that would only be papering over the cracks in a house that needs much restoration. A hiding given to QPR would hurt more than help. It would distract this bunch. It would have Theodore asking for more wages. It would serve to inflate an opinion of a side that deserves nothing more than a bitter, give it all and then give it more struggle to achieve anything resembling a reward.
That's the sort of effort that, if this team had approached every match with that mindset this season, would have the team at worst in second place at the moment. You don't need to get to February to discover the true nature of your side. You ought to know exactly what you have after you win 5 matches from your first 14.
A one-nil win over a relegated side full of overpaid mercenaries who are stepping out the door already is EXACTLY what this Arsenal team OUGHT to be doing every week. I don't need to channel basketball genius Rick Pitino to tell you that Bob Pires isn't walkin' through that door. You already know it. You know what this team is compared to its rivals.
1-0 over QPR was extremely satisfying. I'm not in the mood for beauty, for a fleeting glimpse of "what this team could be." This team can't be anything more than what it is: Gallic flair sacrificed for Teutonic pragmatism. The two players who have come to symbolise this "new old" Arsenal? Ha ha, it's Aaron Ramsey and Per Mertesacker. It's the all-energy running and effort of the Welshman and the rather dour, "it's Pear not Pair" German that have served as the example for the others. In Ramsey they see an unwillingness to give less than the maximum, and in BFG they have organisation, calm, a sense of purpose and devotion to the grubby work of defending. Neither player brings artistry to the match in his kit bag.
Arsene's earlier Arsenal sides featured a balance between the pretty and the ugly, between attack and defence, between goals scored and goals not conceded. I think this is what most bloggers are talking about these days when they say this version is unbalanced. It could never be both. Not this lot. Rebalancing the side is what lies ahead in the summer--either that, or a willingness to admit that next season, the entire season, will need to look a lot more like the 1-0 over QPR Arsenal than any of us would like to see. Boring, boring? One-nil to the...
This is what Arsenal are serving up in an end-of-season slog toward whatever fate awaits them: A runny, watery, gruel that is doing just enough to sustain the hopes of supporters and the squad's own desire to play in the big cup next season.
And yet...and yet the form table says "Hang on a minute--this is quite different than last season's trip-stumble-fall across the finish line." Instead of defeating our wee sisters from up the road, launching a brilliant run, then repeatedly punching themselves in the face until the final day of the season, this year's model has used a loss to that lot as a cold splash of water to bring back some missing vitality.
It's a complete reversal, but the result is still the same. It will come down to the final day of the season, and an away match against a side that may or may not offer up the comical defending that has come to reflect its manager's silly personality.
Waking up in the middle of a long winter, one of those mornings where your bones are so cold that your body rightly aches from being clenched up all night, you saw that Arsenal had taken just five points from five January matches. After an unbeaten December that had supposedly righted the ship's course, the season had seemed to have completely crumbled. Rage and resignation battled for control of the Arsenal supporter's mind. An acceptance of fate seemed reasonable to me as I had so little energy left for rage anymore.
Two seasons in a row I've gone ahead and made peace with the idea that Arsenal would neither finish ahead of the Chickenballs nor qualify for the qualifying for the Champions League proper. That's not a load of fun when those things have seemed to be a given, even as challenging for the league has become a fading memory. But then Arsenal began to do what Arsenal are wont to do and the form table cannot lie: The Gunners have earned 29 points since the beginning of February, and dropped only 7.
What the hammer, what the change? "Why so pragmatic, Arsene?" Suddenly, and I mean literally from one match to the next, Arsenal went from being free-wheeling, devil-take-defence chokers to stuck in, grinding gears hard men content to win in the manner of George Graham's most turgid sides. Comic concession was replaced by 8-man walls of resistance. The captain--the man doing mock acrobatic routines and giving giving away free kicks like they were lollies at the doctor's office--was benched. One Pole was sacrificed for another that was long-since forgotten.
I looked at Wenger and said, "Who are you? What have they done with the real Arsene? SOYLENT GREEN IS PEOPLE! POSSIBLY EVEN MADE UP OF THE REMAINS OF ALEXANDER HLEB!" Benching players for crap performances? A steely resolve? Winning ugly?
The world has gone mad. Camus and Sartre have become chorus boys.
After the draw with United, I was "over it." I was bored with the classic Arsene feint, thrust, and parry. I was bent out of shape over Sagna's moment of madness. I was saddened that losing a player like Giroud could actually have a negative impact on a side. United had clearly fallen arse over tit after winning the league and yet the Gunners could do little to trouble them. "Meh," I said, with full shoulder-shrug included.
So...why did the 1-0 over QPR leave me both full and satisfied? Content, even? It's because of the result. The result is all that matters. The result is god. Worship the result. I would rather that result than another result. That was better than a 6-0 thrashing.
Why?
Because this squad is no longer deserving of handing out 6-0 thrashings. Sorry, I hate to say it (no, I don't) but that would only be papering over the cracks in a house that needs much restoration. A hiding given to QPR would hurt more than help. It would distract this bunch. It would have Theodore asking for more wages. It would serve to inflate an opinion of a side that deserves nothing more than a bitter, give it all and then give it more struggle to achieve anything resembling a reward.
That's the sort of effort that, if this team had approached every match with that mindset this season, would have the team at worst in second place at the moment. You don't need to get to February to discover the true nature of your side. You ought to know exactly what you have after you win 5 matches from your first 14.
A one-nil win over a relegated side full of overpaid mercenaries who are stepping out the door already is EXACTLY what this Arsenal team OUGHT to be doing every week. I don't need to channel basketball genius Rick Pitino to tell you that Bob Pires isn't walkin' through that door. You already know it. You know what this team is compared to its rivals.
1-0 over QPR was extremely satisfying. I'm not in the mood for beauty, for a fleeting glimpse of "what this team could be." This team can't be anything more than what it is: Gallic flair sacrificed for Teutonic pragmatism. The two players who have come to symbolise this "new old" Arsenal? Ha ha, it's Aaron Ramsey and Per Mertesacker. It's the all-energy running and effort of the Welshman and the rather dour, "it's Pear not Pair" German that have served as the example for the others. In Ramsey they see an unwillingness to give less than the maximum, and in BFG they have organisation, calm, a sense of purpose and devotion to the grubby work of defending. Neither player brings artistry to the match in his kit bag.
Arsene's earlier Arsenal sides featured a balance between the pretty and the ugly, between attack and defence, between goals scored and goals not conceded. I think this is what most bloggers are talking about these days when they say this version is unbalanced. It could never be both. Not this lot. Rebalancing the side is what lies ahead in the summer--either that, or a willingness to admit that next season, the entire season, will need to look a lot more like the 1-0 over QPR Arsenal than any of us would like to see. Boring, boring? One-nil to the...
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