Rocky

 I doubt there'll be much to say in today's blog that hasn't already been said in the hundreds of other Arsenal blogs. So I'll keep this short and sweet.

Rest In Peace, Rocky. You were a gentleman and an Arsenal man through and through. You are missed by all and will never be forgotten.

Enough said.

BORED

I'm so bored, I really am.

With no Arsenal until next Saturday, I am at a loss what to do. I've tried working, but the boredom has crept insidiously into the small part of my brain labelled 'self motivation', which has left a bathroom that I've been putting off all week unpainted.

It's all Big Dom's fault. Since he left to go and live in Bury St Edmunds (?), it's just me, the van, some tools and tea making equipment. I'm not responsible for anyone else anymore, work wise. It's just me. And I'm bored. What steps have I made to ease the boredom and lack of motivation? I tell you what I've done -

I've bought a fucking ukulele.

So far so good, you know. It's easy to play, easy to transport from gig to gig, and very shiny. It cost thirty quid, constantly goes in and out of tune, but sounds impressive enough to make Simon Amstell Hair smile. And that, my friends, is a good thing.

Back to football. Or the lack of. We are slap bang in the middle of an 'interlull' of fortnight proportions. International football is something that I don't give a toss about, and never will. The last time I cared about it was the infamous 'Battle Of Highbury' on November 14th 1934. I was but a tiny twinkle in my three year old Father's eye, but I remember it well. Ish.

Seven of the England team that day played for The Arsenal, who were, at the time, considered the greatest team in all the world - Moss, Male, Hapgood, Copping, Bowden, Drake and Bastin. With the help of a young Stanley Matthews and a few others, they beat Italy, the world champions, 3-2 at The Arsenal Stadium, Avenell Road, N5.

That's a fucking England team.

I'm club before country, me. If you want to go and cheer on John Terry, Cole, Lennon, Lampard and all those other twats that you slag off week in week out, then fill your boots. Not me. The only thing I'll be doing is praying that our players turning out for a multitude of countries don't get knackered for the rest of the season, because we've got quite enough injuries at the moment, thank you very much.

Saucy Jack will be playing tomorrow, so good luck to him and no-one else.

Aaron Ramsey will captain Wales. Some achievement for a young man whose leg was hanging off just over a year ago at The Britannia Stadium. Congratulations, you deserve every little bit of it.

So until sometime next week when there will be pre match waffle about the Blackburn game, I'm going to learn 'Raindrops keep falling on my head', have a nap, then a curry and a beer or two.

Circus Circus

Fuck a duck.

This is all starting to get a bit tedious isn't it?

Scoring twice away from home against lowly opposition would be enough to take three points for any top four team with title aspirations. Not this team. Oh God no.

The Circus that is Arsenal arrived at the Hawthorns three points behind Man Utd with a game in hand. The changing room beforehand was a scene that Billy Smart himself would be proud of. The team jogged into the away changing room wearing bright coloured costumes, spinning bow ties, squirty flowers and carrying buckets of tiny pieces of paper. The West Brom players in the changing room next door must have been wondering what was going on amid the shrieks of laughter and the honks of noses.

Arsene Wenger followed the team in and gently pushed the door open. It promptly fell off. 

'Play time is over.'

'But, boss!' Screamed Almunia.

'No, Manuel. Play time is OVER. '

They sat down, wiped off the face paint and got changed.

Out they trotted into the sunshine, ten resplendent in their rhubarb and custard kit and shiny boots, the hilarity of the changing room antics left behind them, one of them in black still wearing his big shoes. Time to focus on the job in hand.

Three minutes in, and we conceded a goal from a corner. The prolific Andy Reid towering above Aaron Ramsey to power a header past the hapless Almunia, rooted to the ground. At the other end,  Ramsey should have done better from a rebound of Van Persie's header, three yards out, he had time to compose himself and stick the ball either side of Scott Carson. Nope. He hit it straight at him. Shattered limbs and full fitness issues aside, he had to do better. 

Changes were made at half time. The utterly useless Denilson made way for Chamakh and we went 4-4-2. A quick word on Denilson, if I may. This pillock has been at our club for five years now. He was never good enough to play for our team and never will be. He offers literally nothing, except accurate sideways passing and an uncanny ability to turn the ordinary into awful. I've seen enough, now go away.

Chris Brunt should have made it two from a sweeping move, but with fifty eight minutes gone they doubled their lead, with more than a little help from us. Roll up, roll up!

A long hoof upfield from Mulumbu panicked Almunia into tear arsing out of his penalty area to deal with a situation, that frankly, had nothing to do with him. It was Squillaci's problem, and under normal circumstances with the keeper being where he should be, a header back to him would suffice. However, he found himself face to face with the onrushing Almunia, the ball broke clear of the two of them and Odemwingie rolled it into an empty net. Seriously, Manuel, if you're going to come and deal with it, then deal with it. The look on his face said it all. Honk Honk.

He may be the third choice keeper now, but he's been playing at the top level long enough. It was an awful decision, a schoolboy error, something you expect to see at Sunday league level, but not in The Premier League. Shocking, astounding and unbelievable. No excuses, mate, pack your big fucking shoes in your bag, stick Denilson in there and all while you're at it, and clear off. You dick.

Yeah, we scored two goals and snatched a point, but another goalkeeping error three minutes from time up the M6 handed Man Utd three points. Leaving us five points behind with a game in hand, nine to play. We've dropped four points in our last two league games against teams that we should beat, and I can feel this running away from us. What hurts most is not the actual results, just the shocking predictability of them. I've mentioned before that this team lacks the necessary bollocks, and nothing that I've seen from yesterday has changed my opinion. So what if we scored two? It's how we conceded two that angers me. With comical performances like this, hand on heart, we're going to struggle to finish third.

Cesc, Theo and Song should all be back fit for the next league game in  a couple of weeks, so it'll be down to us outscoring teams to beat them, because at the back we're just plain awful. Get the mad German in, at the very least to try an organise those in front of him, he surely can't do any worse.

This sorry shit has to stop, and stop now. Our season is in imminent danger of falling to bits.

Boing Boing

Afternoon.

It's been a funny old week in Goonerdom. From the bleak disappointment of the last two weeks when literally everything that could go wrong did go wrong, we are somewhat buoyed by the return of a mental German and the hilarious news today that S***s have drawn Real Madrid in the quarter final of the Champions league. Beat them, which of course they will, and they'll probably have to play Barcelona is the semis. Yeah, I'm bitter, but it doesn't get any funnier than that.

Also, of humorous note, Man Utd and Chelsea will play each other in said (worthless) competition, thus rendering them both utterly useless in the closing stages and race to secure the Premier League title - leaving it well and truly open for us to drag ourselves kicking and screaming over the finish line in first place.

Or something.

Welcome back, Jens. You mad fucker. We've missed you, your stunning hair, your Fraulein melting good looks and your odd little foibles. Your penalty save against Villareal in the dying moments of the semi-final and your sending off against Barcelona in the opening ones of the final. For all your madness, you're loved - an Invincible, and no mistake, who knows what it takes to win. It ain't going to do any harm having him around the place is it? 

Well, helloooo

The fact that Almunia and him don't get on is no secret, but if it helps Manuel focus on his job and not flap around like a good'un, then it can only be a good thing.  

Tomorrow, we play West Bromwich Albion at the Hawthorns with a still weakened team. No Djourou, Song, Fabregas or Walcott. I'm presuming that we still have enough to beat them, and if the sound whipping they gave us at The Emirates (and it was sound) isn't enough to motivate the team, then I'm buggered if I know what is. They're five points off the bottom of the league and we're three off the top with a game in hand. There is a gulf in ability, as the twenty five points between us should indicate, but with this Arsenal team, fragile as it is, one never knows.

For what seems like the hundredth time, this is another mugantic game, and it's three points at all costs. I urge the players to go at it and stay going at it until the ninety fifth/sixth/seventh/eighth minute until the job is done. Anything less and we'll probably be looking at points dropped again, and the two weeks of unmitigated misery that we've all suffered will be stretched to a semi-suicidal third.

They'll be reading this blog - all the players do. Saucy Jack, when he went for some new 'ink' had 'Blarsenal Blarsenal' done all gothic like across his back, and Henri Lansbury had '@buxtongooner' done just above his pubic mound. Class.

So come on lads, we're more than in this, it's in our hands. Get up there, give the Baggies a good thrashing and all come home in one piece. 

If nothing else, it'll piss off Frank Skinner, who's a cunt.

Just when you think...

...it couldn't get any worse, it fucking does.

Oh Dear.

It's not easy being a Gooner at the moment is it?

In just under two weeks, we've gone from being in four competitions, to being in one. Just like that. I know we were never in with a realistic chance of all four, but we reached a final in one and fucked that up, we got what we deserved for finishing second in our Champions League group - a beating by Barcelona, and on Saturday we all but limped out of the FA Cup at Old Trafford against a weakened United team. 

Up against a team playing seven defenders, we enjoyed enough possession, but once again were found wanting in front of goal and creating problems for ourselves at the back. Yes, again.

I'm frustrated and angry, I'm sorry to say. I'm positive before games when I look at the talent that we have available to us, but all to often I feel that I'm being let down. And at the moment, I'm being let down at every turn.

We have got ourselves into a horrible habit of making things difficult for ourselves. From hogging posession, we make basic defensive errors and concede goals. When the going gets tough, we look at each other, shake our heads and plod on. Plodding, I'm afraid, will not win you football matches. We are depending on a young man too much in his first full season. Saucy Jack is playing his heart out in every game, and that his efforts are being rewarded with man of the match performances is no coincidence. Just like with Fabregas four or five years ago, an outstanding talent is being let down by the players alongside him. Players that should know better. Denilson has perfected the art of being average, and Diaby has developed an uncanny knack of slowing the game down when we're attacking and speed is the key. Arshavin, after recovering some of his form, is going backwards again. His body language is at best shoddy, and his efforts are sometimes not much better. Nasri is trying, but not affecting games as we know he can, especially stuck out wide.

We were beaten, again, by a team that simply wanted it more than us. You can slag off drunken old red nose all you like, whether his players are all shit scared of him I don't know, but they play like they are. They don't give up and they generally do just enough to win games when it matters most. I'm not saying we don't care as a team, just that we need to learn how to respond as a team when things get tough. I just think sometimes we need more fire in our bellies, a bit more fight. If Scholes can be so fucking nasty (and get away with it), why can't we?

 More of this please

Tiredness could be a factor. We've played more games than anyone else, but that's what happens when you're in (were in) all four competitions, and unescessary replays add to that tally. Is Gibbs tired? No. Denilson and Diaby? No. If they are, they shouldn't be. All teams are getting tired at this stage of the season, not just us. The injuries are mounting up, Djourou's unfortunate dislocation couldn't come at a worse time, but Cesc and Theo should be back shortly and Ramsey's return is a boost. Yes, we're going to struggle at the back, that's a given, so we're going to have to out-score teams to keep out title hopes alive. And that, mes amis, means we have to find the back of the net.

A mention to the nine thousand that went on Saturday. We could hear you. You were brilliant, and kept going to the end. You are the faithful with unshakable faith, and I salute you. That Eboue was one of the few that came over to applaud you shows that although a crazed lunatic, he appreciates the effort and support of the fans. He may not be the best player we have, but he does have the right attitude. More of that please, everyone.

However, the one trophy that means more to me than any poxy cup competition, The Premier League, is still within our grasp. With our current injury toll, it's going to be a massive ask for these players to win it, but sometimes you've got to roll your sleeves up and get on with it with what you've got. They have to step up.

Patience is wearing thin in some quarters for Arsene. Not with me. However, I do think it's about time that the players he has so much faith in should start repaying that faith, regroup and get their act together, before this season that has promised so much falls completely apart without so much as a whimper. May I suggest a team meeting much like the one after we lost at home to Blackburn in 97-98?

Bottom line. This team don't need a comforting arm around their shoulders, they need a kick up the arse. A fucking big one.

Farcelona

I don't know where to start today, I just don't. What a horrible evening that was. The result compounded by possibly the worst steak and cheese baguette I have ever had - chewy beef that slapped against your bottom lip in full strips and dirty stringy pale cheese, and as for the onion rings,  don't even get me started on them.

Now then. Thoughts? A few, yes. Some you'll agree with and some you won't. On a night with a few flops, I think it only fair to start with the biggest.

Massimo Busacca. Step forward, please. You're first up, and please remove your tongue from the anus of Mr Guardiola when I'm talking to you. What the UTTER FUCK do you think you were playing at? I've seen some piss poor decisions in my life, but this is right up there with the best of them. Kicking the ball away? Time wasting? Are you sure? It was an abominable decision and a schoolboy one. As the news creeps in today that both Wenger and Nasri are being charged by UEFA over comments made to your good self, hold your hands up, sunshine, what did you expect? I tell you what I expect - at this level, the very pinnacle of European football, I expect at the very least a referee that is capable, not swayed by the histrionics of players, nor the baying screams of thousands upon thousands of supporters, and if at all possible - able to make sound decisions, not frivolous bookings in a game that matters so much. Admittedly you missed a chance to give Barcelona a penalty, but you more than made up for it by ignoring various scissor tackles, play acting and throat grabbing. If UEFA can charge players over comments, then I see no reason why a referee cannot at least be asked to explain his decisions. Then charged. Then hung, drawn and quartered. Then fed to the pigs. Big fat ugly pigs.

Cesc Fabregas. Oh God, this is going to be painful. Much as I hate to say it, I thought he was awful last night as he was in the first leg. If he was not 100% fit, then he shouldn't have played. If he did feel a pain in his leg after fifteen minutes, he should have come off, and if he did feel the need to back-heel a ball on the edge of the box, I can only suggest he does it up the other end next time. Suicide, Cesc, pure and simple. You may as well chuck in arrogant, unthinking and a tiny bit egotistical. His bleating tweet last night, if I'm honest, sounded a bit needy -

'Great support from the Arsenal fans. I take full blame for the result tonight. One of the worst moments of my life. I apologise.'

My clever, thoughtful, supportive and incisive reply -

'Don't be a twat. Get over it, and move on, Son.'

I haven't heard back yet, but I'll let you know when I do.

The match itself pretty much went as we all thought it would. Barcelona attacking, us defending and trying to catch them on the break. We defended brilliantly at times, but down to ten men, the result was inevitable. I had hoped before the game that Chamakh would start before Van persie's Lazarus-like rising from the treatment table was sprung upon us. I just felt that in a game where we would need to keep the ball up top when we had it, his strength and hold-up play would have been a better option, not to mention an aerial threat from set pieces. In the middle,  how we missed Song and his mad-haired ability to nick a ball. Diaby didn't cut it, Rosicky was again ineffective and Nasri struggled. The Barcelona midfield didn't make it easy with their high tempo pressing game, no, but I just expected a little more from our boys. Saucy Jack? Once again, brilliant. I can't speak too highly of him.

Scrabble went off with a dislocated finger and was replaced by Almunia as we all looked away and shook our heads. Amazingly, he kept us in the game, fair play to him, and how he might now be needed. Fingers crossed (dislocated or otherwise) however, that we don't.

The goals? You've seen them. Messi's opener was something so daring and beautiful I could watch it again and again, had it not been against us. Ours was an own goal courtesy of Biscuits from a corner, and for a few minutes we dared to believe. The sending off put paid to that and the seige continued. We were cut through the middle for Xavi to slot in the second and Pedro fell over Koscielny's leg before any contact was made, and Messi calmly stroked in the inevitable penalty.

So we fucking lost. Three one. Four three on aggregate. Against the best team in the world. The shame of it is that they couldn't even be gracious in victory. There is a snidey side to Barcelona that I despise, and it's unbecoming of a team with such brilliant, mercurial talents. They should be winning games on their footballing merits alone, and definitely not with the help of a weak-willed referee. 

Bring on United.

Same Old Arsenal

Now, I'm typing this five minutes after the end of the game, and I'm angry, no, I'm livid. I can't wait to read this back when the dust, and indeed tonight's mojitos have settled. So I'm going to leave it on here and see how I feel about it tomorrow. So read on for my first knee-jerk blog.

A quick phone conversation with Gooner In Exile 2 during midweek predicted today's result, and as much as we were both obviously wanting the three points, we agreed that this team didn't have enough in them to get them. It's all about bollocks, you see. And when the going gets tough, I just don't think this team has enough, if last Sunday's result didn't show you that, you're losing it. It pains me to say it, but today's game is exactly the sort of game that Man Utd would have won. Sorry, but it is.

So, two fucking dodgy decisions have threatened to de-rail our push for the Premier League. A push by Bramble on Arshavin should have been a penalty, and Arshavin's goal should have stood because he was onside. Fact. End of. How convenient. But...really?

Here's an idea, and I'm really just throwing it out there - why not start games as we finish them? Let's not bleat about the decisions, they didn't go our way, that's football - it shouldn't be, but it just is. But where the fuck were we for the first hour? We need to be more urgent from the off and not just urgent in the last twenty.

Diaby, who, hands up, I was championing in my last post, and Denilson were plain awful (Ramsey, anyone?). Doing nothing and offering even less. Big game Bendtner again, when it mattered most, just didn't get going. It's all right being a flat track bully against lower league opposition, but he needs to stand up and match his ego with performances against bigger teams when the pressure's on. And the pressure is on, most definitely, chum.

It's ok with me for a lot of people on twitter staying positive, saying it's a point gained, and the ref and the assistant ref costing us the game, but deep down I know they're all as angry as me, just putting on a brave face - it's two points dropped. It's not negativity to slag off the performance, it's honesty. We were woeful for the first hour, and the longer the game goes on if dodgy decisions are made, it makes it harder to take, of course it does. If, however, you start a game as we normally finish one, we'd have probably been a couple of goals up and the decisions would have meant nothing. Sometimes at the end of a game you have to look at yourselves and wonder if you could have done anything different to win the game, and if not then look at the referee. I believe we could have done a lot more both tactically and with sheer effort, and blaming the ref just doesn't cut it with me.

Without Fabregas, we look lost. Yes, he's our best player and certainly our most influential, but are you telling me that Nasri, player of the season so far, isn't able to fill his boots. What's going to happen when the inevitable happens and Cesc pisses off to northern Spain? With Theo out we miss his pace and a different threat down the right, and with Van Persie missing we miss a regular (when fit) goalscorer. Saucy Jack, again, was the shining light, and if a nineteen year old is up for it every game, it beggars belief that the majority of the rest cannot follow suit.

However, amid all this, it's not the end of the world. But when a chance is thrown up again to close the gap on the leaders we have to take it. We blew it against Newcastle big time and we did it again today. The sad fact is that this team does not cope with pressure, and as the minutes and the games tick on, the pressure will only get more intense.
Over to you, Liverpool. Here's a picture of an impala shagging a zebra.



The Next Day....

Well I have to say I'm still pissed off. A party last night didn't lift the gloom of yesterday, and I still stand by pretty much everything I said. This team needs to take chances when they're offered and yesterday was one of those, they're not going to happen every week. In the cold light of day, the decisions by the referee and his assistant were an integral part of the result but they're not the whole picture.

So apologies for my angry, rambling, negative tone, but I've invested far too much time-wise, emotionally and financially in this great football club and I think if something needs to be said then I'll fucking say it. Whether you like it or not.

Sunderland and the destruction of Old Trafford.

Two things.

I'm still not over it, and we've still not located the genie, although after the Orient replay he may well have one wispy foot stuck in the spout on his way back in, and the glamorous pin-up Simon Amstell Hair off the hook at last. Fingers crossed.

Big game tomorrow, don't you think? Big? Try massive/huge/gigantic, or a cross of the three - mugantic. Spell check that, Mr MacApple.

Injuries. Where to start? After Theo, what about the wonderful news that Van Persie's out for a minimum of three weeks, which sounds to most like four, but in all reality will be five to six, and probably the rest of the season. Song is also out for tomorrow, and a doubt for the Barcelona game, whilst Cesc is definitely out but with a 'chance to play' in Spain. Bizarrely, Koscielny is back after his 'hamstring injury'/stern words from his Mother.

The walk in the park that was the midweek game against Orient made me wonder, and I'm sure I'm not alone, why the fuck we didn't try just a little harder in the first game. Well, we didn't, and so we played an extra game and breezed it five nil, with Bendtner grabbing a cool hat trick (more on him in a bit) and Almunia in goal *shakes head*. Miquel/Miguel looked solid enough, and Conor Henderson made his first team debut without too much fuss. A good result in a one-sided game that really shouldn't have needed to be played. And it still didn't make me feel much better. A little, yes, but not much.

So - Sunderland. Mugantic. With the mighty red army getting cheated out of the game at The Bridge by a dodgy ref and expecting the same (probably) at Anfield on Sunday, we now find ourselves sitting pretty in second position in a premier League table that looks like this, sort of -

Team                Played    Points      
1. Man Utd                28               60
2. The Arsenal         27               56
3. Shitty        bothered........
4. Cunts

Do the maths. Quite simple really, isn't it?

Manchester United are shit. You know it, I know it, even the glamorous bundle of delightfulness that is the life partner of the Tottenham-West Ham hybrid knows it. Shit they may be, but winners they are. So we need to put pressure on them, crank it up a bit, starting tomorrow with a win over Sunderland. The pressure will tell, Rooney will get his matching orders, Ferguson will get in more trouble with the FA, Evra's stupid head will come off, Berbatov will sulk until he's a bleating mass of Bulgarian shit and Giggs will run head long crashing into the Stretford end with his shirt off whirling round his head, starting a chain reaction that slowly raises the Theatre of Custard Creams to the ground and into a red bricked Giggs-hair rubble,  matted with Keane shirts, Kung-fu kicks and comb-overs.

Nicklas Bendtner's (see above, playing at golf) time is now. After his midweek mild heroics, it's over to him. I suspect he may start up front instead of Chamakh because a) he's got games under his belt ahead of the knackered Xerxes and b) he's so fucking good it's unreal. His words, not mine. He's an enigma, is Nicklas, probably more to do with his demeanor on the pitch than his actual talent, but we're never sure which Bendtner will show up.  We are all aware of his ability and I feel for him being stuck out on the right, but with the injury to Van Persie, he could well be back where he wants to be leading the line. Still, I have faith in him, sometimes it's sorely tested, but it's there, nevertheless. Onwards my young lion.

Ramsey is on the bench tomorrow. Being one of the thousands of Gooners at Stoke that day seeing his leg hanging off, I'm genuinely ecstatic that he's back. His loan spells at Forest and Cardiff will hopefully stand him in good stead, the rough and tumble of The Championship maybe going some way to eradicate any lingering mental doubts he has about the strength in his leg. I hope so, because this boy is special, and I'd love him to play a part tomorrow.

Scrabble (55 points if you must know) will return in goal, with Koscielny (ahem) and Djourou ahead of him. Diaby could start. Diaby should start. Here's another player that's suffered a severe injury, and the knock on effects have blighted him ever since hairdresser Dan Smith smashed his ankle. Back to his powerful marauding best against Newcastle, he then got himself sent off. Supid, yes, but not unexpected considering his injury history, not to mention Barton. With insane stats against Orient - 100% pass completion in the game (thanks to @OptaJoe), not bad against any opposition, and an all round encouraging display, he should slot in next to Saucy Jack in the middle.

Sunderland themselves are in no fit state either. With an impressive four defeats in their last four games, they boast a treatment table with Cattermole, Campbell, Gordon, Zenden, Onuoha and Meyler splattered all over it in a red and white stripey mess, although that little git Wellbeck could be back in the squad. Gyan is a bit of a worry. I like him as a player, and I like his attitude. I don't, however, like his mad, square head.

So come on boys, no more knocks, sprains, concussions, fractures, tears, twinges, whitlows, goitres, seizures or infarctions. Just three points, delivered effortlessly with a three in the goals for and with a nil in the goals against column. Keep the pressure on and let's see what the scousers can do on Sunday. No let up. Come on you Reds.

In other earth shattering Arsenal news, there's an article in the Daily Mail today where Samir Nasri explains the not very interesting seat on the French team bus story and how football isn't like Tennis.

Wow.