Do I have to do this again so soon?

Well, Anthony Bourdain has gone the way of the dodo. I can't honestly say I'm surprised.

To say that "Kitchen Confidential" changed my life would be a childish understatement. To say that the bravado and gusto with which AB embraced living changed the way I chose to then live would not even come close to awarding him the hold and power he had over me. And he didn't want that.

He never wanted that.

"A Cooks Tour" the show was mind-altering, life-altering, nothing short of human race-changing television.

"No Reservations" took it beyond that.

"Parts Unknown" began to show a change in the way the world impacted AB. (For the record I always refer to him as "Tony" because that's just some dumb thing I do.) He was feeling. For a man who spent a very long time trying to remove that capacity from his brain, it was surprising. The world was no longer just an oyster to swallow from the sea. There was a story of humanity behind each tale.

I'm not surprised. That's all I can say.

I am curious, orange

What do I know about the Basque...let me think.

They like blowing up stuff.

They don't like being told what to do.

They have their own identity, and your opinion means shit.

You cross them at your peril.

(If any of that offends, remember, I'm recounting off the top of my head what I know about the Basque, not writing a goddamned manifesto.)

When I think of the Basque, I see a man with a shotgun over his shoulder, casting a wary eye about himself, wondering what the hell it is you want and why you're in his land in the first place.

So Unai Emery, then? Football. Bloody hell.

My flatmate in Manchester, the venerable Alejandro, was from Sevilla. He is well-versed in the ways of the Andalusian dog. He likes Emery. So that's ok with me. He also knows about derby matches, and hates Betis. So again, that's ok with me.

Emery didn't register with me until his years with Sevilla, but I have to say that 3 consecutive Uefa Cup/Zooropa League titles stirred me. By the third one, I said, "Well, Sevilla always win it, so that's that." I remember watching the quarter-final v Porto and thinking "This is nuts." And it was a pretty freaking great reversal.

Another thing I remember about Sevilla during that time is that they had Negredo (the Beast, the real one) and Navas. "What does Navas do?" asked my Arsenal-loving mate Devin. Well, when he was at Sevilla he played really well. And when Emery came in, he had to contend with Sevilla being a selling club and losing players like that, and he did just fine.

I don't know much more about the dude--I didn't see any of his work at PSG that sticks with me. I wanted Ancelotti to replace Wenger, and somehow he's at Napoli. Which, uh...Napoli? Ok.

I like the appointment of Emery because he has won things, he's not David Moyes, and I really don't have a choice not to like it because my liking or disliking it won't register with Stanley Kranky, the ghostly mustache.

Philip Roth is dead, and I don't feel so good either

When David Bowie died, the news was given to me by a woman that I assumed at the time I was going to marry. Early in the morning, the phone rang in Manchester, England. "David Bowie died."

It is stupid, the way I react to such things, but it is because I am confronted by the thought that this stupid planet populated with all these stupid chimp people is diminished when someone like David Jones Bowie meets his end. Bowie was not a chimp. If anyone had ever managed to transcend our own pathetic DNA, it was Bowie.

And so, last night, I open my web browser and "Philip Roth, American Novelist, Dead at 85." It is as perfunctory a headline as one might write on such an occasion, and equally as meaningless. Philip Roth was perhaps not a worthy compass, but my compass he was. His use of the language, his angry need for precision, his disdain for the stupid, and his unrelenting self-criticism and self-examination were nothing less than my aspiration. Yes, Philip, I admired you. I know you'd hate that, but there is no hiding from it.

There was no one more adept at stringing words together to form sentences, grouping them into paragraphs, and writing them down, top to bottom, left to right. No one. He cites influences and you see why. Turgenev. Conrad. Roth.

Specific, specific to the point of pain, was Roth's writing. I am sometimes ashamed at how horribly I attempted to copy his style, unintentional though it was. How badly I wanted to write like that. How specific. How critical. And how, much like the topic of self-pleasure, I chose such a mundane subject as football as my medium.

Onanism, in and of itself, is such an everyday occurrence that to devote so many words to it beggars belief. "I am wanking. I am wanking again. I am still wanking. At some point, I will cease to wank."

"Goodbye, Columbus." I am not Jewish. I am circumcised, however. I was raised by a mother who used the iron fist of religion (Southern Baptist, so perhaps we can sit down over some wine and discuss guilt at some point) to control her family, and in a community where everyone shared a commonality of some type of "faith" in a deity who in turn controlled all of us. I am not Jewish, but Roth's words, his place, resonated with me like no other writer of fiction.

Hell, I can barely stand fiction at all. And yet whose books sat on my bookshelf, who did I carry with me through multiple move after multiple move? Roth.

I will never be as good at anything, not even masturbation, as Philip Roth was at writing. The world is diminished today, and I doubt we chimps even recognise it.

Arsene Wenger retires after 13 years as manager

I remember when Arsene Wenger was named Arsenal manager. It was a curious time. Arsenal's previous manager, Arsene Wenger, was one of the club's most successful, rivaling Herbert Chapman and surpassing George Graham with 3 league titles and FA Cup victories over Newcastle, Chelsea, Southampton, and Manchester United. Under Wenger, the Arsenal regularly featured in at least the last 8 of the Uefa Champions League and had made the final of the Uefa Cup. He had even guided the team to a UCL final only to lose in heartbreaking fashion to Barcelona in 2006. 

It was logical that Wenger would move on to find other challenges after that final. He had played a key role in helping prepare the club to move to a modern, large stadium that opened a few months after the Barca loss. He had won medals, and his teams had done it with a flair that few other sides could ever hope to match. He had set a mark of going through an entire Premiere League season unbeaten--something that hadn't happened in the top flight of English football since Preston did it in 1649 when the ball was the severed head of King Charles I.

Wenger was a canny man who understood that as manager of Arsenal he would probably never again scale those lofty heights, and left to become an economics professeur at Le Nouvelle Ecole in his native Alsace. He continues to serve as a commentator for French international football and an adviser to the FFF.

An extensive search was undertaken and Wenger's replacement was named--an obscure French manager who was at the time playing footvolley in Brasil, Arsene Wenger. 

Wenger had enjoyed success in two previous stops in France and Japan, was known as an aesthete and a bit of a purist, and seemed a logical choice to follow the glory of the previous manager, as the club tended to make "unorthodox" choices. 

Unfortunately, Wenger's appointment in 2006 coincided with many boardroom machinations and behind-the-scenes schemes led by the previous manager's ally David Dein and likely fueled by a desire to "cash in" on the club's value by long-time shareholders such as Lady Nina. Chairman Peter Hill-Wood, whose family had served as stewards of the club was reportedly experiencing health issues. Dein himself, the vice-chairman, owned a large stake in the club and he too saw an opportunity to enrich himself by unloading his shares at their all-time high. 

Due to the debt loaded onto the club with the construction and financing of the Ashburton Grove stadium, Arsenal were about to enter a period of restrictive activity in the transfer market. The new manager was rumoured to revile capitalism and believed that through sheer force of will and personality could overcome the financial limitations on the club while continuing in his predecessor's footsteps, forgoing "pragmatic" football in pursuit of a pure aesthetic. 

As the vice-chairman brought in American business hack Stanley Krankey and Russian criminal Alisher Usmanov, and as the Hill-Wood family stepped down from leading the club, Wenger posited a theory that he could "raise a new generation" of footballers in "the Arsenal way," players who would grow up together and learn to love the club and one another. This oft-ridiculed undertaking was known as "Project Youth," which failed spectacularly as within a few years nearly the entire squad had either been sold, released, or badly injured. Despite losing his "prize jewels" and winning nothing, Wenger persisted in attempting to play "beautiful football" with little more than Sunday pub leaguers. 

During this era, Wenger regularly eschewed the defensive side of the game. Unlike his predecessor, he didn't inherit a back five that had been drilled and disciplined by George Graham, and in fact it appeared that Wenger gave little or no thought to defending at all. Arsenal under Wenger became known for conceding on set pieces and simple long-ball tactics, and his teams were often bested by novice managers such as Garry Monk. 

Having enjoyed great success under Arsene Wenger, Arsenal supporters became increasingly frustrated with such tactical naivete and insipid displays. Fractures became common among the supporters, the board were invisible, the "absentee landlord" American did nothing but charge the club "consulting fees," and through it all the manager insisted that the high defensive line and gung-ho attacking would work. 

Wenger's final few years brought 3 FA Cup wins in four seasons and a semi-final appearance in the Europa league. The club began to slip down the table despite featuring a host of international first-teamers, allowing local scum nuisances Tottenham to finish above Arsenal in the table. In Wenger's final two seasons, Arsenal fell from the Champions League places as younger, more dynamic, or more pragmatic managers delivered what he could not.

Wenger's three FA Cup wins in his 13 seasons will be fondly remembered, but he will always suffer in comparison to the man who sat in the chair before him. We here at the Existential Arsenalist wish him well in his future endeavours and thank him for his service to this great club.

Split the difference, go to the Grove

So Arsene Wenger manages his last match at the Ashburton Grove Spaceship Huge-O-Plex. Who would have thought so long ago that the structure that was supposed to give Arsenal somewhat equal footing with "big clubs" would then be used to excuse poor tactics, bad and sometimes inexplicable player purchases, and become a house of horrors for the same man who gave the Gunners two league-cup doubles and a 49 match unbeaten run?

The beautiful lunacy of the man who appeared at a debate in New York and simply repeated the mantra "The rent is too damn high" was first proffered in a different though somehow similar form with "The move was too damn expensive." Over and over, match after match, season after season, the excuse was repeated. Oh Danny Fiszman, what didst thou bring down upon us with Stanley Krankey? The ghostly mustache used Wenger's own natural "Money IS evil, not just the root of it" Marxist philosophy as cover to bilk the club and excuse brainless football.

Ashburton Mongoplex became the first evidence of Arsene Wenger's flaws--the game in England to that point was driven by aesthetes like Alex Ferguson and Wenger. Roman "I made my money honestly wink wink nudge nudge" Abramovich eschewed aesthetics to please a trophy-hungry chavvy fan base and chose to hire the most Philistine "special one" in the world. If Sam Allardyce's Bolton teams were "Kevin Davies and a cloud of elbows," just remember Mourinho's first Chelsea teams, "Frank Lampard, Drogba, and I seem to have lost my bus keys." Wenger was appalled.

And then what happened? Wenger spent the next 14 years clutching his pearls to his chest in shock as other people refused to play "pleasing" football. "Why are others not honouring my commitment and idealism?" he cried! "Why is what I did for 3 titles in 8 years now being undermined by pragmatism?" he wailed as his teams looked ridiculous and his player recruitment became the stuff of comedy legend.

Suddenly, as the glorious "high defensive line" started guaranteeing an annual tilt for the FOURTH PLACE TROPHY, excuses about Ashburton Grove, our supposed saviour in the high-stakes world of global football, became a foxhole into which Kranky and Wenger would hide. "We cannot compete financially, we are a poor club" sayeth the excuse makers. But Wenger, who is not only a purist but a puritan, refused to manage the club like any manager who managed a poor club did; PRAGMATICALLYISTCALLY SPEAKING, he wanted beautiful football, but wanted to coax it from clods and castoffs.

Ashburton Mongoplex drove a fissure in the fanbase initially because it simply wasn't Highbury. Then it created a fracture in the fanbase by excusing Wenger's utter tactical ineptitude by creating the AKB vs WOB scism. "He can't buy good players because of the stadium!" cried the AKBs! "The man is intractable and myopic!" bellowed the WOBs! And all the while, the Mongoplex stood, silent, immutable, unchanging.

A.E. Housman penned the lines "And while the world has still much good but much less good than ill, I'd face it as a wise man would, and train for ill and not for good." One of the greatest poems of our time, it could be rewritten as "Arsene, this is stupid stuff" every time Wenger was undone by such extremely simple tactics as not to be believed. Look at all the times Wenger sides were bested by managers thought to be the dimmest of bulbs, by clubs with budgets that were mere fractions of the Arsenal's. It's embarrassing. No, really. It is. AKBs continued to wail that those results were ACTUALLY the fault of the Mongoplex. The Mongoplex became Wenger's shield and security blanket. "No manager could have moved the club to the Grove and kept Arsenal in the Champions League!" they hysterically shouted for nearly a decade. Really? REALLY? NO manager, anywhere, not a one? "Raymond, I believe you are having a joke on me."

I know that Stanley Kranky is shit--this is fact. The Glazer family took 860-ish million quid out of MUFC, too. What is your point? It doesn't excuse what I like to call THE GLORIOUS TACTICAL INFLEXIBILITY OF ARSENE WENGER. The AKBs would go through such mental contortions to excuse Wenger's failings that their thoughts could join a Chinese acrobatics troupe. And still, the stadium stood there as Wenger's sentry, excusing every flaw.

So we have reached the end of the road at the Ashburton Huge-o-blob for the man who gave Arsenal three league titles in 22 years, no European silverware, and the high defensive line. Oh, and Captain William Gallas. Frank McLintock would be so proud. I will not weep today.

"Nobody ever says thank you," warned the greatest football manager I've ever known, and like Wenger, that man also sat in his seat too long. That man also oversaw a stadium "improvement" that shackled his club with debt. No one would say that Brian Clough didn't stay far past the time that he should have at Forest. I would hope they'd also have no trouble saying the same of Wenger, and saying it with honesty, and saying it without sentimentality. "Wenger manages at Grove for last time"--that should be the only headline.

"For too long you have sat here"

So it has happened.

The only leader that most of the "come-lately" fans have ever known at the Arsenal Football Club shall step down at the end of the season.

22 years as manager, a time in which the role of the "traditional gaffer" has radically changed, the last five of which I have loudly (though mostly unheard) called for his dismissal from that post. Unlike almost all American Arsenal supporters, I started following the club before Wenger arrived. My slavish devotion to the red and white, to "High and I," was not simply about Wenger. It was never a cult of the man for me, it was and remains the cult of the club. Of North London, of players like Alex James and Charlie George and our man McLintock and Bob Wilson. No, I'm not old enough to have watched Alex James play, although at times I feel as though I am.

My loyalty being to Arsenal, and not one man, has often set me at odds with those who have never known another manager. I respect and understand that from their side. Fear of the unknown, or clinging to a glorious past, happens in petty dictatorships as it always has. Yes, Wenger became no better than a banana republic generalissimo, telling people about record harvests, chickens in every pot, conspiracies against his glorious reign, and "Remain calm, all is well, spirit, quality, determination, and a little bit handbrake." Our friends in North Korea know what I mean.

Did Arsene Wenger win 3 league titles in 22 years? He did.

Did Arsene Wenger win 7 FA Cups in 22 years? He did.

Did Arsene Wenger manage the club during a time when "sugar daddy" owners (you know, ones not named Jack Walker) made football clubs their personal playtoys? He did.

Did Arsene Wenger manage the club as it moved from Highbury to Ashburton Grove? He did.

Were Arsene Wenger's teams set out to play a style of football that reflected his spending budget given to him by his parsimonious billionaire owner? No.

Did Arsene Wenger's tactics often reflect those of a man who, instead of drilling his charges to win no matter what, would instead draw a picture of a wolf on the whiteboard? You can decide that for yourself.

This parade went on for far too long.

I celebrate the good, I rail against the bad, I see the man in full. Thank you for the three league titles in 22 years. You stayed too long. Stanley Krankey is shit. God speed.