It’s been a week since we last spoke, and what an eventful week it has been. When the transfer window entered it’s final day, I had slim hopes of anything spectacular happening – I assumed we’d bring in a couple of loan players to make up the numbers and that would be that.
Then we signed Mesut blommin’ Ozil.
To say I was ecstatic would be a considerable understatement. I yelped with delight upon the confirmation. I actually yelped. Not like a distressed puppy with an injured paw, but in a manner you’d associate with the news of pending carnal relations with Scarlet Johansson (I wonder if she reads this blog…).
Ozil isn’t just a good signing and a good player – he’s arguably the best No. 10 in Europe. If you take Messi and Ronaldo out of the equation, I struggle to think of a better player across the top leagues, and that isn’t my bias talking. Pulling something truly magical from the hat at the last minute doesn’t excuse Arsene’s floundering during the off season, however, I’m quite prepared to overlook the past blemishes and focus entirely on the future. Now is a time to be hopeful, not a time to point out the mistakes with more verve than usual.
The reason I’ve given this post such an alarming title is because of my well documented hatred for the international break. Mesut Ozil hasn’t exploded on international duty, he hasn’t picked up an injury. I was just being silly as I like to be on occasion. When it’s these f**king tedious fixtures instead of glorious Premiership football, I invariably assume the worst; our players will come back to the Emirates in a crumpled mess.
I wince every time an Arsenal player is brushed gently by the trailing foot of an opponent. Mesut Ozil’s debut against Sunderland at the weekend is something I’m anticipating eagerly, and every crossable part of my anatomy will remain crossed in the hope the footballing Gods see fit to allow him to pass unscathed.
That’s about all for today. Last night I saw Twitter finally reach its horrific peak when the combined forces of temperamental football fans and breathtakingly defensive One Direction fans battled with one another over Gabby Agbonlahor clattering Louis Tomlinson of One Direction in a charity match for Stylian Petrov.
Wow. Imagine what would have happened had Flamini made that tackle and left the little One Direction fella in the top tier of the ground.
I’ll leave the comments open to you today, as I’d like you to pose me a few questions. I’m shall answer a few tomorrow as part of a new weekly blog I’m going to do. Feel free to ask absolutely anything you want. The best will be featured with full credit offered to those asking.
As always; thanks for reading, you beautiful bastards.