Week Twenty One – North London is Red
The first thing I was going to do was wish you all a happy new year but if, like me, it’s your first proper day back at work today, after a nice Christmas break, the first person who says “Happy New Year, buddy, nice Christmas?” you want to kick them straight in the fucking throat, don’t you?
Or say “Oh…you know…quiet…” (While imagining kicking them straight in the fucking throat…) Ahem…Right that’s the pleasantries out of the way then…
I find myself in a strangely difficult position writing this. Firstly, as the last time we spoke was the day of the Chelsea game, and there has been a hell of a lot of football played since then, you’ve seen it, read about it, and don’t need me to tell you about it.
Secondly, as for some reason I’m finding it hard to explain how FUCKING GREAT IT FEELS TO HAVE KNOCKED THAT LOT OUT OF THE FA CUP ON SATURDAY!
Ok, the second one was a lie. Fucking great feeling isn’t it? Excuse me if I’ve just gone all #BlogWanker on you there, but it really is difficult to think of anything to write about just now. I spoke a few weeks back about how much more difficult it can be to write when things are going well, and there’s no way I’m getting sucked in to all that “I told you so” nonsense I read in some places after we humiliated that lot the other night.
Yes, he does, but you didn’t fucking tell him did you?
Anyway, rather than sum up the last few weeks that you already know about, let’s live in the moment – top of the league, just knocked that lot out of the cup kind of vibe – and take a look back at just how many times we have humiliated that lot of mugs up the road over the years.
One Nil Down 2-1 Up…
My favourite, if I’m honest. Hey, I even know a bloke who has a website named after it…
I was at the first leg at Highbury in the Junior Gunners, when Clive “handshake fetish cock-womble” Allen scored the only goal of the game, complete with the most ludicrous celebration I’ve ever seen – running to the centre circle, jumping up in the air and landing flat on his back.
Fucking stupid cunt.
They went one up in the second leg as well, a game I watched with my Dad and Brother, who are…erm…not Arsenal fans…and at half time the PA announcement was about how our North London neighbours could get tickets for the final at Wembley.
Looking back, I guess this was the first time I properly realised what a fucking hilarious bunch of deluded clowns that lot are.
Second half goals from Viv “Van Persie Stapleton” Anderson and Niall Quinn ensured the wanky Tottenham Hotspur weren’t going to Wembley just yet…
The replay at the shithole came soon after, and I was at Market Road watching my old man play football. He came out of the changing room to announce to me, my Spurs supporting brother and our Arsenal supporting friend that Arsenal had won 2-1…you know how it went down, you know the legend (and Ian Allinson); I’m not giving you a match report here.
Looking back though, I find myself wondering why the fuck my Dad was playing football that night. Must have known what was going to happen…
Anyway, we got it on video, and I never tired of watching it. I even remember the adverts at half time…Ariston…and on…and on….
Labelled it up proudly with “SPURS 1 ARSENAL 2 DO NOT TAPE OVER” My Dad must love me though, he never taped over it.
I’ve heard far too many Arsenal fans giving that crap Rick Astley looking bell-sniff AVB sympathy since Daniel Levy gave him his P45. Why? He’s a prick, another in a long line of pricks left trailing in Arsene Wenger’s wake. Even in an eight-year trophy drought. And his mother is a whore, naturally.
I don’t remember his exact words, and I’m not Googling them, but I believe he actually said we were in a negative spiral and they were in a positive spiral, or something. What chance have you got of being a success at anything if you don’t even fucking understand how a spiral works?
Bac to the Future
2-0 down, Cuntybayor scored, gap opening, power shift, etc, etc.
Then, this happened…
Some grey haired bloke who it turned out had a little boy inside him (not DLT, the other one..) equalised not long after, and the legend of 5pur2 was born…
Then, afterwards, Bac said this… “In our stadium, against the enemy, we could not lose.” I honestly believe Bacary Sagna’s goal was the moment that everybody knew that “gap” was a myth. Especially them. Sure, we might have given them a bit of false hope after that (see #NegativeSpiral above), but that was the moment they knew they would never have the bollocks to finish the job. Since then…well, have you ever seen a cat bring a mouse in from the garden, let it run away a bit, tap it with its paw a bit, then kill it at its own leisure?
Let’s Talk About Cesc, Baby….
Whatever you may think about Cesc, forget it for a minute and have a butchers at this:
“Ledley’s knee will survive…”
Looks like his vagina’s about to pack up in that pic though don’t it? What a goal, what a win that was. This could go on a while couldn’t it? I’ve not even mentioned Glenn Hoddle and his five year plan or the DVD they made yet…But, ultimately, the message I’m trying to put across here is what you already know….
North London is RED.
*Kicks self in fucking throat*
I should tell you a bit about myself. I’m not a stat man or a tactical genius, and you certainly won’t hear my opinion on Arsenal Football Club finances. Not that there’s anything wrong with any of that, it’s just not my thing. Don’t get me wrong, some do this very well but, for me, football has always been about what’s on the pitch, watching the game, discussing it over a beer with your mates after, then going into work on Monday morning either gloating or defending your team to the hilt, resisting the temptation to punch the token deluded Tottenham fan in the throat. Oh and my Dad and brothers are all with the Dark Side…