In which your intrepid reporter reverts to being a school girl

You would think that the virus I caught in Liverpool would have knocked me out but all totaled I got about 6 hours of sleep last night. Which wouldn’t be that bad, except it was sleep of the 30 minutes here, 2 hours there variety.

So now I’m jet-lagged, sleepy, and sick but at least I’m not hung over!

I did get a chance to meet up with my friend Les and get a pint at the Tollington last night. We watched the Tottenham v. Man U match which was hilarious. HILARIOUS. Those Spurs fans must be going absolutely ape-shit right on their blog(s) right now. They have gone from 10 points up on Arsenal to just 4 and… I’m going to save the gloating for a while… except the gloating I already have done.

You won’t believe me but on the way to the Tollington I did bump into Alex Song. He was taking a big bin-bag of stuff out of his Range Rover, right there on Holloway Road next to the tube station. I was kinda nervous and so all I could do was say “Alex Song!” and wave at him like a school girl. Then I asked him for a handshake and he kind of looked at me like I’m crazy.

I started feeling self-conscious about taking up his time and the two people he was with were staring at me so instead of taking his picture or something I just walked away.

DAMNIT. I’m such a blouse. Why didn’t I get him to let me take his picture? I just hope I didn’t give him this Liverpool flu ahead of the match tomorrow.

Anyway, I have to go somewhere and buy something for my daughter, whom I miss considerably at this point.

Check out the By the Numbers post over at Arseblog news. Match preview in the morning. Cheers!

Serenity now: insanity later

I was searching through Shakespeare’s concordance today for the term “destiny” or “destined” and something struck me: the word as used in his day was not some glorious outcome that people looked forward to but instead was a burden — something cosmic that crushed the aspirations of mortals.

Destiny was a tragic term.

In modern parlance destiny is something wonderful. “It’s our destiny to win the Champions League!” you will hear people say with glee in their voice. As if the gods give two fucks about the games we humans play.

And perhaps that’s just it. I will spare you the thousand word essay on how and when man decided that he was a god and instead will simply say that most folks who read my blog probably believe that we make our own destiny. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that we believe we make our own destiny, with a smile from the gods.

Arsenal’s destiny, I’m guessing you feel, is something that they control. Sitting in fourth place they have but to win all 12 remaining games and fourth place is a lock. I would go a step further and say that if Arsenal win all of their remaining matches, then third place is a near lock, second place not impossible, and they even have a 4% chance of winning the League.

But it starts with a win on Saturday or more technically, it started with a win against Blackburn three matches ago. See, amid all the negativity, the worry about the FA Cup, the loss to AC Milan (whose pitch looks much better suddenly), Arsenal have quietly built a little head of steam in the Premier League with a three game win streak. Touch wood if you must, but the club seems to be in a decent run of League form at the moment.

Fourteen goals in three game and a 5-2 demolition of Tottenham is nothing to sneeze at.

Liverpool, meanwhile, have an unbeaten home record and are going to be buzzing from their League Cup win at Wembley last week. In fact, given our recent conquests and theirs, our away record and their home record, this is shaping up to be one hell of a contest.

We know that Kenny Dalglish is a throwback to the caveman days when football was football. Up until now, his philosophy has been defense first and that shows in Liverpool’s Anfield record which while unbeaten is a poor 4-8-0. Boos even rained down on King Kenny when Tottenham came to town and battled to a 0-0 draw. It was the second consecutive 0-0 draw at home and the natives were restless.

I don’t think 0-0 is in the cards but I do expect that Kenny will be very conservative against Arsenal — especially if he’s missing Gerrard as the papers seem to think he will. He will have seen what Theo Walcott does when teams give him space and will no doubt roll out the two banks of four, sit deep, and hope that Suarez can scoop another offiside goal on a counter attack.

Charlie Adam and Craig Bellamy are two of the most despicable characters in football. I expect them to start and to kick Arsenal’s midfield all over the place. Adam in particular is a dirty player who has miraculously managed to avoid several red cards this season. He will target Ramsey or Rosicky in the attacking midfield role with late tackles which will be followed by “hey, I’m not that kind of guy” gestures.

Who Arsenal will start in midfield is anyone’s guess but I’d be tempted to play the exact same team that beat Tottenham. They hunted in packs in the midfield and pressed very well when Tottenham had the ball deep which limited Tottenham’s ability to lump the ball forward to Adebayor. Liverpool will be looking to do the same with Mandy Carroll up front and their long ball specialists at the back so that same type of pressing effort is a must for all 90 minutes if Arsenal want a result.

Which is a major theme this season. Can Arsenal follow up an emotional, gut-busting performance with another emotional, gut-busting performance or will we have another Arsenal 0-0 Marseille? Remember, that performance followed Arsenal’s triumph over Chelsea and to say that we looked lackluster is an understatement. We don’t have the luxury of home field advantage this time, giving their all for the full 90 is the least us away fans deserve.*

It’s our destiny!

My destiny is to get on a plane tonight. That plane will land in London tomorrow. I will meet up with a pack of insane Gooners and have dinner and drinks. Then I will sleep on a man’s couch.

I will awake at 5am GMT and we will embark on our Anfield adventure. I will get in a coach and will be driven to Liverpool with madness wafting from every window. Six hours later, we will disembark and watch a football match, in the away end of Anfield. The return trip will be another six hours: this time of either drowning our sorrows or insane jubilation. There will be no in-between.

More drinks, more food, possibly vomiting all the while I am simply hoping I survive this Scouser safari.

Somewhere in there, I have to find the time to write. If nothing more than a few words.

So, if sentences arrive that describe scenes of mugwumps, talking assholes, and typewriters as secret agents you know that I’ve either gone off the deep end or that Naked Lunch wasn’t a piece of fiction, but rather a documentary.

Strange things are happening at the club. Not quite talking typewriters but Lady Nina has been crowned “honorary vice-president”. A role which holds no authority, doesn’t change the structure of the board, and was awarded to recognize her contributions to the club but only in the context of her Father in-law’s contributions and his father’s contributions.

Given that news, anything is possible. Even my computer turning into a mugwump.

Tomorrow morning’s post will be by Grimbo. I hope to have a pictures post later today as the flickr group is really doing well and I want to build on that momentum as well. Then I hope to have something to say on Friday or perhaps Saturday, when I am insanely drunk.

Right now, I have to eat breakfast and see a man about a suitcase. Hopefully the suitcase doesn’t have legs in it.

That is my destiny.

*heh.

Photojournal of Wembley

This is a bit of a drunken post so.. well.. take it or leave it.

First, I need to thank everyone who helped make this very special trip possible. Melissa, thank you for being there for me. Margarette, thank you for everything you have done. Dee, you are the man and I’m sorry that we didn’t win. Jay, Les, and Michael, thank you for the company. And for everyone else I met this weekend thank you for the moments.

Second, I can’t really talk about the match because I think… that in a sense I’m like a kid when it comes to matches. I know, I’m 40, but I’ve never done anything like this for any sports team I’ve ever followed. It’s one thing to drive 20 miles and see a game with some friends twice every year and it’s an entirely different thing to fly 5,000 miles and see your team well beaten in a cup match that you have been waiting for years to see. After today I’m convinced that cup finals should have an age requirement, or at least a match attendance requirement; you should have to see your team lose a meaningless game at least twice before you are allowed to see a cup final.

That walk back to the train was like a funeral dirge. I’ve been to matches that my other sports teams lost and it was never like that. I fuck near cried when people started singing “Perry Groves World” in sotto voce. It was as if they were pining for the days of old while there’s so much to look forward to with this club.

Third, I won’t write tomorrow. Sorry. Can’t do it. I have a flight to catch and maybe I’ll do something else instead. I’m really happy for you if the idea of this fills you with glee, like today’s commentator — the Stoke fan, “shawx”, who has decided to use his entire intellect to rub in the fact that a team he probably couldn’t give two fucks about beat Arsenal. Enjoy the shadenfreude.

Fourth, I’m going to bed. Next time I write it will probably be Tuesday. I hope you enjoy the photos.