Madness

It says a lot for our demented season that the only rare glimpses of joy we have had lately were the events at the Santiago Bernabeu last night.

I have to admit that watching that lot from up the road get a sound thrashing, thanks in no small way to the implosion of Peter Crotch, made me feel all warm inside - imagining the bars in Madrid, full of sickened supporters with little chickens on their shirts, drinking away their pain with some crap Spanish beer and after about two o'clock, deluding themselves that an early goal back at the lane next week will spark the greatest comeback since The Doors with that lairy prat out of The Cult.

Yeah, right, course it will. Year ends in one, my hole.

While we're on the topic of delusion - let's roll out the red carpet for Mr Emanuel Adebayor. The man says the reason he left Man City was because the fans weren't showing him enough love, and to top that went on to say that the Arsenal fans loved him and 'I think even today they love me.' Now listen here, squire, I love my girlfriend, but you don't see me picking up a camerman's stool, burgers and anything else that comes to hand and luzzing them at her, do you? The two goals you scored last night mean nothing to me, you're still a greedy cunt and I fucking hate you.

That's me, eighth in from top right in the red, giving you the wanker sign, or the 'love wave' as I imagine you might call it in the strange world you inhabit.

Honestly...

I was born in Fulham. You probably didn't know that, and growing up there I used to go to a few home games in the 80's and I saw some strange sights - the hairless Gary Lineker for one, the horrific Peter Beardsley, and little David 'Diddy' Hamilton. Not just at Craven Cottage were the freaks to be found - no - the filming of Noseybonk for the TV program 'Jigsaw', just what an eleven year old wants to see whilst getting muddy in the park.

Fucked up or what? Strangest thing ever seen in Fulham, or so I thought. Until last Sunday, when this appeared -

I've seen it all now, and if you ever wanted proof positive that the world has gone mad, then here it is.

This weekend sees the Gooner massive heading up the coast to Blackpool for our first game at their place since 1976 or something, and another chance for The Arsenal to redeem/make dicks out of themselves. Myself, Gooner In Exile 2 and our ladies are excitedly picking out our outfits for the weekend and readying the buckets and spades. There will be more on the Seaside trip either before or after the event, with the distinct possibility of a few photos chucked in as well for good measure. Until then, enjoy the rest of your week, and the whinnying of S****s fans all over the world.

Ta ta.

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Toothless

Morning all. And a fucking grumpy morning it is, too. Unless you're a Mother, in which case you'll be stuffing your face full of chocolates, arranging your flowers in a vase and looking forward to a nice lunch, a stroll in the park perhaps, and a shag for the first time in about two months.

There will be no match summary today because there's not a lot to summise. You watched the game like I did, and you saw how poor, void of ideas, toothless, and uninspiring we were even against ten men for the last twenty minutes, maybe all bar two players - Wilshere and Arshavin. That the mad Russian had a good game, may suggest the paucity of the players around him rather than his own performance. Just a thought.

Hands up, I didn't think we'd win the league this season, and it's fair to say after yesterday's performance nor did the team, and we won't. Unless a catastrophe occurs at Man Utd, the result against Blackburn gift wrapped the title to them in a lovely big-eared box with a pretty red bow and a card saying - 'Best Wishes, The Arsenal'.

Yes, Manchester United will drop points, so it's still possible, but can you really see this Arsenal team not dropping any more either? Nah, didn't think so. We don't even have the distraction of Champions League or FA Cup football, the only thing for us to concentrate on is the Premier league and we're flitting it away match after match. Man Utd, I'm sure, will win the league at a stroll and I still suspect we'll limp in third. It wouldn't be so fucking annoying but this is one of the weakest Utd teams I've seen in years, there for the taking, and they're going to run away with it.

We lack bollocks. The ability to fight. Add one or two players with the necessary steel to this team and we'd have a great side. Saucy Jack is one of the few that's coming out with any credit. A kid in his first full season, man of the match week in week out, seemingly carrying the team and trying to inspire those around him. But, oddly, those around him seem uninspirable, strange given the situation we found ourselves in before kick off - beat Blackburn, keep pace with Utd and still have a game in hand.

A clear-out in the Summer is needed, I don't have to name names, you know the suspects as well as I do. Bring a few in (of real quality) and ship more than a few out, the difference in numbers can be made up from players within. This team is so close, which is why it all seems so utterly frustrating - it just needs a helping hand or two.  Big shouty and sweary helping hands.

We look like a rudderless ship, an outfit without a natural captain. Cesc is without doubt one of the great Arsenal players, but a captain? No, not for me. I want a captain to shout, to scream, to clench his fists and sweat blood for the cause before, during and after the ninety minutes if needs be, and definitely not a player whose mind is seemingly elsewhere.

The last two games, both must-win, and we've seen the team play them out with entirely the wrong attitude. Complacent to say the least and a smattering of arrogance suggesting that merely to turn up is enough. No, it's not, it's about graft as well, by the bucket loads.

With rising prices at The Emirates and performances like these, supporters are having to put up with an awful lot. It's only a matter of time before they stop putting their hands in their pockets, and the 'Arsene Out' brigade starts gathering momentum (I'm not one of them, by the way). Our manager backs his players to the hilt and puts all of his faith in them, I would suggest it's high time that this faith was repaid.

You can have all the talent in the world, and we've got a fair portion of it, but without guts it will come to nothing. When Manchester United need to dig in, they dig in. When we need to, we are found wanting, and that's the difference between the sides. Football matches, and more importantly trophies are won with desire and belief, not ability alone.

.

Back to it.

Good morning.

It's been too long without The Arsenal. As all seven of you will know, I've been bored. The ukulele playing has coming on to such an extent that I now know about half of two songs, which in real terms makes one whole song, although somewhat disjointed, discordant and a bit shit. The bathroom that for so long remained unpainted due to my slump in now finished. Sort of.

Thanks to the cunts at BT, my fully planned David Rocastle tribute blog turned into a snatched measly effort done at Simon Amstell Hair's house whilst trying to cook bits of Hairy Biker chicken. So apologies if you were expecting a profound epistle, I was planning on posting it anyway after the event, but it simply wouldn't have had the same resonance if I had. 

 All the other blogs that I read wrote some beautiful, moving stuff, and the world of twitter was a very sad place on Wednesday. Bizarrely, I found it more upsetting than the day Rocky passed away, maybe because I was reading tweets all day from not only supporters of Arsenal, but Leeds, Chelsea, Man City and even that lot up the road, as opposed to chatting with the same mates about it in The Bailey that awful day in 2001. I don't know. Whatever, it was an amazing reaction from a legion of Gooners and the football world, remembering and celebrating a special talent, a gentleman and an Arsenal man through and through. I remarked to Uncle Jay (Gooner in exile No.2) that with a few more like him in our team we may well have had the Premiership title sown up already. RIP, Rocky, loved and never forgotten.

A special mention goes to Tim Stillman (@LittleDutchVA) for his blog. I just thought it summed up everything we all thought about the man and more. Good work, young man. I say young - he's pushing thirty, but as a forty year old he seems young to me - I'm old now, but not as old as my old man who's eighty, so in Dad's eyes he's a baby. Good work, baby.

Back to the ukulele football today, and our match against Blackburn. Amazingly, most of our players on international duty have come back unscathed, and those that were scathed are ok. Van Persie's in the squad after a clout on the knee, the ankle of Nicklas Bendtner has self-healed due to the ego-fluid coursing through his veins, and the usual injury suspects Cesc, Song, Diaby and Walcott all return. The only one missing is Aaron Ramsey out with a groin strain. After being thrust into the limelight as Captain of Wales last weekend and seeing the game pretty much pass him by (surprise, surprise), groin strain or no groin strain, he could do with a few days off.

It's yet another massive game, and we're beginning to run out of them. I literally can't emphasise enough how important this game is. Goalkeeper and first choice centre halves apart, we've got the first team back, and we can not, dare not, drop points tomorrow. I've said before we're going to have to outscore teams to beat them, because we sure as fuck can't depend on us not conceding, but with the attacking players available there should be no excuses.

Phil Dowd is the referee today, and why not, after his brilliant performance at St James' Park which saw us throw away a four goal lead (on the day of my 40th birthday, thank you), with just a touch of a helping hand from his good self. Untold Arsenal have a good piece casting an ugly shadow over him and today's game which can be found here. Well worth a read, I just hope to God they're wrong, or we're all fucked.

Man Utd travel to Scott Parker in a game they should win, Chelsea take on Stoke with Fernando Torres on fire, and Man City will no doubt bore everyone to death with a tight win over Sunderland, enlivened only by some Balotelli antics, (which is probably why they bought him in the first place) and S****s go to Wigan. Let's presume that they all win, which is quite probable, and our position in the table, should we drop points, will be seriously under threat. So, focus, please.

Welcome back, Johnny 'Faxe' Jensen, Arsenal goal-scoring legend with the strange thin moustache and hair of pubes and now assistant manager at Blackburn that bought me a beer in a shady nightclub way back in 1994 in Copenhagen. I hope today is miserable for you, but thanks for the drink, and this -

Right oh. Good luck to everyone in The Arsenal Family involved in 'Rocky Remembered' at The Rocket today. Hope it all goes well, everyone leaves legless, and you raise a ton of money for Great Ormond Street Hospital. A sterling effort for a great cause. If you want to donate, and you should, go here.

Hopefully there'll be no more problems with the Internet at Northern Gooner Mansions, but I can't promise anything. If there's no new posts for the next week or so, I suggest you call 0800 800 150 and take it up with them. The pricks.

Come on you Reds.

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.