March 29th – Random Thoughts

I’m so bored. Where is my football? We might as well be dead. This is like one of those infuriating international breaks except this one is not ending. Listen, I get this virus is deadly and all that. But, really, no football? Come on. Let them play. And then let us watch. I heard somewhere when it does come back they’ll have a game on every night in a scramble to get the games played. Why not do that now? All those hooligans are now at home darning their socks without even being able to go down to the pub to beat up some other half-wit. Let them attend the games as well. Then these nutters can infect each other – let Darwinism sort them out.

Anyway, talking about the cure being worse than the illness; throwing the baby (ouch) out with the bathwater. I’ve never really considered that phrase before. Why would someone do that? It must be pretty obvious there’s a baby in the bath water in the first place.

Anyway, I want my weekends back. Back to watch endless games of football. Instead I have to be socially distant. Though that is fine with me. I’ve spent my entire life practicing social distancing. Staying away from other people. That is one of the benefits of the virus. If only I could apply it to my family (but not Dennis) then I would have found happiness.

I want my football back. Every weekend now I’m under pressure to talk to other people. Whether it be zoom or some other torturing technology. Or even six foot away real-life people.

I miss screaming at a TV. I miss throwing objects at the TV. I don’t miss Tony Gayle commentating. I don’t miss random pictures of the crowd nor the managers. I miss suffering as Mustafa concedes yet another goal. I miss waiting for 5 minutes while VAR sends everyone to sleep. I miss waiting to hear how Sp*rs have dropped yet more points. I miss watching DarthVader rip apart that club. I miss not hearing our intelligent, informed manager provide real leadership.

Our manager was even astute enough to contract the virus while there were plenty of available hospital beds. Our manager was wise enough to get the virus ahead of playing Man City thus preventing that mauling.

They have to keep this season going. I don’t care about who wins the league. It’s obvious who should and will. But I want to see my team play. I want to see everyone healed from their injuries. By the time they finally come back – in June, I’d guess – we might even have Torreira fit again. For sure we’ll have Tierney back.

It’s quite ironic that this was the first year where England had a winter break. And then we have the Corona break. Everyone just needs to think of this as an early summer break. Let everyone come back well rested and then finish the season. Maybe 8 to 12 games. Take off another 3 weeks and then go again. The players won’t be able to complain that they are tired. Given the financial fallout of everyone else not working, they should be grateful to be earning an income. Then we can have 12 months of continuous football.

Maybe this will cause an alignment of the football calendar by dumping the international games – like the Euro 2020. They can keep the brand and play the thing in 2022. Then we can finally be shot with the Qatar WC. Anyway, with the Euro’s delayed, the season being jammed in and then having a delayed start to the next season, how will they get the WC qualifiers played anyway? Let’s just automatically give qualification to all the obvious teams and roll the dice (literally) for everyone else.

For Arteta, this is an opportunity to reset and evaluate before the season has actually ended. He had been on a roller-coaster since he was appointed. Now he gets a chance to reset and regroup. He gets a chance to work, albeit remotely, with everyone. He gets to instruct and guide his players. For Arteta this is a win. For Sp*rs, those poor players have to spend even more time with DarthVader.

When football returns they should be cramming as many games in as soon as possible. Initially, it will be without fans. Of course, there won’t be tickets, train schedules, or known times for the fans anyway. But at least we can get our weekends (and weekdays) back.

When football returns it will be different though. The economics will have changed. The money lost will not be replaced. Wages will sink; transfer fees will be less. At least for a year or so. The awareness of risk and the vulnerability to a situation like this will cause a collective reset in football. It will last just long enough until the billionaires and megalomaniacs see the markets recover along with their net worth. And then the usual madness will return.

Cesc spoke the truth. He reminded us how unique his talent was. It was inevitable that he had to return to Chelski – a la Petite – but his reason for leaving were both honest and understandable. We all sensed this. But who would want to be in a team with Bendtner? It also speak to why moneybags Robin left as well. It reminds us how Important it is to cease the moment and build a team. It also reminds us of unintended consequences. Cesc’s departure, followed by the decimation at Old Trafford, forced us to go on a signing spree. And know we’ve ended up with both the Head of the Academy and the manger coming from that batch of panic buys. Without Cesc leaving we would not have Arteta as manager.

Where is the cure for this damm thing anyway? China overpaid for all our least valuable, least talented players and gave this virus in return. The least they could do is hire DarthVader to manage a team in Wuhan.

I don’t know how I’ll be able to get through the next few months. I even started watching old games. That depressed me though as it only reinforced how blissful were our teams of the prior 2 decades and how miserable we’ve become over the last few years. I want Santi back. I want Pires, I want Thierry. I want Dennis (the original not my dog). Instead we had Denilson, Santos, Bendtner, Squillaci and Silvestri.

So give me back my football. Give me back my life. Before Corona takes away my reason for living. Give me back my Arsenal. Allow me to suffer again every Saturday or Sunday. Before I die of boredom. If this is real life I want none of it.


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