I’ve the oddest means of preparing a blog post. Many across our glorious sphere of Arsenal writers prepare their pieces lovingly, taking time to craft each word and thought for you, the delicious peruser. Me – I’m not one of them. Don’t take this admission as a startling declaration of ambivalence to those of you that pop by – far from it. I love you all with the very fabric of my being.
I just don’t plan what I write. Instead of sculpting words into ethereal sentences, I sit back and allow whatever is occupying my head to splurge all over the screen in whichever way it chooses. There’s an honesty in it – what you read isn’t doctored or drafted, it’s fresh from the source; warts, grammatical blunders and all. It’s who I am.
Currently, I’m sat in my pants occasionally breaking from typing to dance (I love to dance) to this wonderful, wonderful song. Pants and music are what I use to prepare. And I look quite lovely dancing in my pants.
Ain’t no motherf*cker out here got nuttin’ for me.
Yesterday I criminally neglected to mention our FA Cup draw; a home tie against Middlesborough in what is, suffice to say, a favourable draw by comparison to others. The words “favourable draw” fill me with dread. We should beat Middlesborough. SHOULD.
Kinda smacks of tempting, fate doesn’t it? You need only look back at the previous weekend’s cup ties to see what can easily occur to teams in matches they should win. We should beat Middlesborough, we should beat Monaco in the Champions League. Until we actually go out there on the pitch and do so, “should” means f*ck all.
That said, now I’ve put my ugly bout of pessimism to one side, I do expect a Arsenal team firing on all cylinders to comfortably dispatch our friends from Tyneside. I’m just not thinking about the next round until we are there.
The main news today surrounds (at the time of writing) confirmation of the signing of Gabriel Paulista. Nothing appears to be happening, which, of course, leads those of an angry disposition towards uncomfortably bunched panties and the expression of their dismay. Sometimes I think certain members of our online community could find a reason to explode with vitriol from anything. For example, tweets like this wouldn’t surprise me at all:
“I’ve just spoken to my 95-year-old grandmother on the phone for 3 hours. She can’t cast any light on the Gabriel Paulista situation. Typical Arsenal, keeping the infirm uninformed. #WengerOut.”
Often, I fully expect their spurious blathering to look more like this:
“sdflke2rt89y23 4lurtbwe.kjfblqw eiufrl2i3unr.kewsjncaioshf;oiwej hf;ldksn cajks.ncv.ajklshfpoiewh fg;ode nfvl;ksd ncv/lkasncv ;lksdfv;oie whnf;ok sdnv;lksnfvkl; snvk;snv;snbv;kj osn’ovisw iofgls/ v/,ms ;sjhfvpoi uwnv;o jnsw;ovhs”
Which essentially is what happens when and incredibly cretinous individual drools over their keyboard and then passes out face first onto it because they’ve wound themselves up so much.
I’d say we’re in calm waters with this one, especially when you consider Joel Campbell has already gone in the opposite direction on loan.
Poor old, Joel. He must be sick and tired of constantly moving around, being unable to make friends and settle into the community. A life of crime beckons without a stable family environment. First he’ll be pick-pocketing on the subway (is there a subway in Villareal?), before committing insurance fraud and trying to shoot his way out of a Burger King (is there a Burger King in Villareal?) with an air rifle.
Truth be told, he’s a useful player. But not a player quite good enough to command a regular starting place at Arsenal. I can understand why he’s been used to sweeten the deal and I feel the brief cameos he made this season are about as much as we’ll see of him, now and in the future.
I’m sure something will happen today… Don’t quote me on that mind you.
Right, I must leave you all and head to work. I’ll be back tomorrow, but there’s a treat on its your way later this afternoon. Occasionally, Dyllan Munro sends me a guest post, and that exactly what he’s done. It’ll be up in a little while and it’s not for the faint hearted. Keep your eyes peeled.
As always: thanks for reading, you beautiful bastards.