Written by Camberwell Gooner
Resumption of hostilities is just around the corner. Like the starving dog stumbling through the streets on his last legs in search of a morsel, we’re starting to catch whiffs of steak wafting from a nearby kitchen, giving us renewed hope that we will actually make it to the new season before the municipal authorities bundle us in a van and drop us off at the city pound. Or something.
In a mere two and a half weeks, genuine, real, tangible football will be with us again and no longer will my Saturday nights be aimless, no longer will I look forward to the weekend with only a vague sense of what I’ll be doing and no longer will I have nothing to listen to when I’m washing up. Yes indeed, life will have purpose again.
And this also means that, for the next nine months, none of us will have to put up with any of the following: pre-season posturing between fans egged on by the slimy little life forms known as journalists (depressingly familiar announcement: Arsenal are doomed to 5th again while Pool, Manure, Citeh and Chelsea will take the top four spots), industrial amounts of tripe in the media about new transfers, waiting for Wenger to actually sign someone. (Insert pre-season irritant of choice here.)
The problem is, all of the above are so many insect bites on the arse of every fan. They itch like bastards and you know that scratching them will only make them worse but each scratch brings delicious, momentary relief. Then back comes the itch, the desire to find any little scrap of info about a new signing.
And wouldn’t it be just fantastically, arse-kickingly, John-Terry-stampingly, Stoke-beatingly awesome to log on and find Wenger has signed who we need and that we’re ready to challenge seriously for the title while stamping on John Terry and beating Stoke (in the face, repeatedly)? It really would, but you and I know about as much about what’s going on behind the scenes at the Ems as I do about Wenger’s favourite boxers.
*tries not imagine Wenger in boxers, fails, shudders*
Sadly, the same goes for our final league position come next May – we’re all in the dark, and that includes the know-all gobshites from other clubs and our friends the cow-manure-spouting hacks. We can all agree more signings are needed if we really want to challenge, but (a) they don’t guarantee us a trophy and (b) will the sky really fall in if we only get one more and lose one or both of the Annual Super Arsenal Summer Selloff Boys (aka ASASSB 1 & 2)?
If any part of (b) happens, I will not be a happy bunny. I’ll probably even be put off my breakfast egg (one of my Favourite Things). But what I won’t do is go around with a face longer than Southend Pier and start chucking my toys out of my pram (nanny would only make me pick them up again).
Whatever happens, I just want to enjoy my football without fixating on trophies and the Champions League and the top-four mini-league and all this other stuff which is icing on the cake of course, but do you only eat the icing? I know dessert can be the best part of the meal but before you get your paws on the sticky toffee pudding you’ve got to get through the leek and potato soup and your meat and two veg. So you might as well enjoy your starter and main because in football there’s no guarantee of dessert.