Fuck me, it's started.
The season only finished a couple of weeks back, and the rumours are already flying around piloted by lunatic hacks in their red-top jets, drunk on Scotch, reeking of fags, curry sauce splattered down their ties and receipts from 'Secrets' falling out of their back pockets.
Morons on Twitter are joining in left, right and centre, claiming to be in the know, fanning the flames of fabrication.
Morons on Twitter are joining in left, right and centre, claiming to be in the know, fanning the flames of fabrication.
And I'm sick of it already.
I've decided that this summer, now that I'm all grown up, I am only going to get excited when we make a signing, and not wind myself up about a potential one that may never happen. Remember when George Graham was after some french chap called Martins from Auxerre back in the early nineties? Proper excited, I was. No? Don't remember? Oh well. I stuck three quid on at the bookies when we got a tip off that Jan Molby was at Highbury to sign for us. Three quid wasted. That was a couple of pints. Gone. Just like that.
What bothers me, is that at the grand unveiling of our new players, we'll all shrug our shoulders, and just think, great, Scott Parker, great, Chris Samba, great, Phil Jagielka. Decent Premiership players, don't get me wrong, but really? Whatever happened to FUCK ME - DENNIS FUCKING BERGKAMP?
We've got money to spend. Not as much as City, Chelsea and Man Utd have and indeed will spend, no, but we've got some. I'd just rather we spunked it at Waitrose than fucking Morrisons.
Look Samir, behind you, it's a cunt
Samir Nasri. Nasri. Nasri. Nasri...
Now, Samir. I don't have a problem with you and your agent asking for an improved deal (ok, I do, but that's the way it is nowadays, isn't it?), but on the basis of a good first half of a season, I think it's a bit rich. When you play consistently at a high level throughout a whole season for more than one season, then we can talk. When you want considerably more than the top earner at the club, the club captain, a world class European Championship and World Cup winner, I might add, you're having a laugh. I know it's all a game of brinkmanship, I do, but do us a favour. A little perspective, please.
However, when you're asked if your agents have been contacted by Manchester Utd, here's one of the few things you shouldn't say -
I have to see if there is anything true about it. Then we'll have to ask the right questions and talk about it with the club after the Poland game with France.
A better response, in my opinion, would have been -
Non.
Or, better still -
Fuck, non.
All you've done now is upset a large amount of already uneasy Arsenal fans who now think you're a bit of a cock. If you want more money, all I'm saying is there are better ways of going about it. If you want to leave, just leave, you'll get your few extra quid and you can get your teeth lengthened, you gummy twat. It's disrespectful. End of.
And the madness continues. Gervinho, will he won't he? Cahill? Oxlade-Chamberlain? Hazard? No doubt in the coming weeks Mertesacker and Subotic will be mentioned again, and you know what? It's boring. Bore with a capital RING.
So Phil Jones went to Manchester United. Two reasons I'm glad we didn't get him. Firstly, for a nineteen year old, albeit a very talented one, it's a lot of money, and with limited premiership experience is precisely the sort of player we don't need at the moment. Fans were going mad when we didn't get him, but I suspect they'd have been going equally mad if we did. Secondly, he's got the most boring name ever. Phil Jonezzzzzzzzz.
The Cesc saga grinds on. I reckon he'll go, and I'll be gutted when he does, but I can't blame him. The boy wants to go home and play for his club. Let's just get as much money out of the gits and pack him off to the welcoming arms of his somewhat stalky Catalan lovers. I shall never set foot in that fucking city again, with their unfinished cathedral, stupid park, shit picky food, weird looking houses and hairy women. Bitter? Nope.
We have signed Carl Jenkinson for the princely sum of £1m from Charlton Athletic. He's a Gooner and he loves a bit of it. Signing for your boyhood club is the stuff that dreams are made of, and I'm sure we've all had them. He has a name that smacks of public school, straw boaters in the summer and the sound of leather on willow.
Jenkinson!
JENKINSON!
Yes, Sir, sorry, Sir.
What in GOD'S name are you doing, BOY?
Masturbating, Sir.
IN MATHS?!
Sorry, Sir.
PUT IT AWAY, BOY, AND SEE ME AFTERWARDS.
Sorry, Sir, I couldn't help it, I've just signed for The Arsenal.
Fucking brilliant. I got suspended for that.
The window's only been open about a week. So let's all calm the fuck down, shall we? Let's wait and see exactly what happens before we all judge.
And the madness continues. Gervinho, will he won't he? Cahill? Oxlade-Chamberlain? Hazard? No doubt in the coming weeks Mertesacker and Subotic will be mentioned again, and you know what? It's boring. Bore with a capital RING.
So Phil Jones went to Manchester United. Two reasons I'm glad we didn't get him. Firstly, for a nineteen year old, albeit a very talented one, it's a lot of money, and with limited premiership experience is precisely the sort of player we don't need at the moment. Fans were going mad when we didn't get him, but I suspect they'd have been going equally mad if we did. Secondly, he's got the most boring name ever. Phil Jonezzzzzzzzz.
The Cesc saga grinds on. I reckon he'll go, and I'll be gutted when he does, but I can't blame him. The boy wants to go home and play for his club. Let's just get as much money out of the gits and pack him off to the welcoming arms of his somewhat stalky Catalan lovers. I shall never set foot in that fucking city again, with their unfinished cathedral, stupid park, shit picky food, weird looking houses and hairy women. Bitter? Nope.
We have signed Carl Jenkinson for the princely sum of £1m from Charlton Athletic. He's a Gooner and he loves a bit of it. Signing for your boyhood club is the stuff that dreams are made of, and I'm sure we've all had them. He has a name that smacks of public school, straw boaters in the summer and the sound of leather on willow.
Jenkinson!
JENKINSON!
Yes, Sir, sorry, Sir.
What in GOD'S name are you doing, BOY?
Masturbating, Sir.
IN MATHS?!
Sorry, Sir.
PUT IT AWAY, BOY, AND SEE ME AFTERWARDS.
Sorry, Sir, I couldn't help it, I've just signed for The Arsenal.
Fucking brilliant. I got suspended for that.
The window's only been open about a week. So let's all calm the fuck down, shall we? Let's wait and see exactly what happens before we all judge.
I leave you with a little tune, which may or may not be better than the picture of the horse I left you with last time. It's a personal thing. If you're into horses, that's great, wonderful animals. Kool And The Gang your thing? Even better.
Enjoy the summer madness.
.
