Morning Goonery boys ‘n’ girls.
Friday seems to consistently throw up bad news. Today is no different. Mikel Arteta’s solid and diligent performances in midfield are rightly credited as being the strength of our recent resolve. Like Gilberto Silva, he is often an unsung hero; his unflashy yet imperative work often goes unnoticed.
So it’s bloody bad news that our Spanish friend is highly unlikely to take part against Newcastle due to a particularly inconvenient calf problem. Currently he is being assessed by the club’s medical staff – who, I presume, can afford to take 5 minutes away from Abou Diaby – and we should know more about his chances at some point today.
If he does indeed miss out on the trip to St James’ Park, Arsene Wenger will have to decide wether it is worth risking Jack Wilshere from the start of the game. If he doesn’t, I can only assume Cazorla and Rosicky will play centrally with Ramsey doing the mopping-up behind. Giroud will be available having served his suspension, so Podolski will be able to drop back to the left of our attacking triumvirate.
That’s all speculative, however, and we will know a great deal more as the big fixture approaches. And that’s about the entirety of Arsenal stories. There are a few transfer rumours floating around, but nothing worth a mention. Most of what you see is the kind of guff that a certain site (Think; Emmanuel Adebayor is constantly…..) puts up with those irritating titles like,
“Hey!! Click Here! We want you to believe your favourite team are planning a mega, super, awesome, incredible, fantastic, daring, audacious, phenomenal double swoop for two Brazilian footballers that will cost a whopping £400m!! Please click on or site! Please!”
That same feculent rag attempted to take credit for this picture of a rather superb mock-up of what one of our kits might look like when Puma begins their sponsorship in 2014:
As it was pointed out yesterday on Le Grove, the person actually responsible, and the one that deserves the credit in full for a lovely bit of work is a very talented individual with the Twitter handle, @LAGVILAVA7. If you needed any more proof of the website I shan’t name’s utter abhorrence, then you have it.
And I think that’s were I shall leave it for today. With Sunday’s game approaching fast, I’m starting to feel the occasional burst of nerves, and my morning ablutions are less forgiving than usual. To say we have to win is something of an understaement. Failure to do so, to fall short and finish behind Spurs, to be dumped unceremoniously into the Europa League whilst that mob play with Europe’s elite, is unthinkable to me.
The very thought is about as appealing as attending a sex dungeon with John Terry as your date. In fact, I’m going to cease from mentioning it now, and punch myself repeatedly in the testicles until the resulting agony wipes my memory of this post.
All that is left if for me to point you toward the comments. Although – if you leave one I will have to come back to read it and be reminded of what I’ve said. And that means I’ll have no choice but to repeat the punching-testicles memory wipe. And that means I’ll come back should there be another comment…
This might go on forever. Don’t leave a comment.
As always, thanks for reading, you beautiful bastards.