When the news reached my ears that Arsenal would finally be crow-barring open the dusty vaults, taking out a wodge of crisp fivers and getting in a striker and a defensive midfielder, I must admit that I was struggling. You see I heard we were after Diarra. I rejoiced that it might be Malian international Mahmadou Diarra. Nope. “French answer to Ghanaian, Chelsea’s Michael Essien”, Alou Diarra, he of exactly half an hour in a Liverpool shirt before playing for nearly three different French clubs as a loanee? Uh-uh.

Or maybe Didier Zakora of St Etienne? Was he the player that former gunner Gilles Grimandi had been wooing in Ligue 1. Guess again. Perhaps the newspapers meant the other Diarra — Lasanna? No, he’s off to Chelsea. But aren’t we in a tug of war with the great bottomless blue sea of roubles for one of the Diarra’s?. Sorry, you’ve got that backwards.

We finally heard that it was French Under 19 Captain Diaby, not Diarra, upon whom we were about to blow our wad. His first name was not Alou, but Abou. I’ve had this problem for a while (what you might call footballers name dyslexia). There were two Edu’s and we got the other one; two Juninho’s and we didn’t get either of them. For half a day in August 1996 I actually thought we were getting Christian Vieiri! But it was Vieir-a that we have been so desperately trying to replace.

His departure caused the first consternation I can remember amongst the Arsenal management team; that they might not have a full house and that the flop (and maybe even a river card) might have to be relied on.

All of the above-mentioned Diarra’s, and Diaby himself, are six foot plus defensive midfielders of African descent playing their football in France. If Vieira is the model - and Claude Makalele is the exception that proves the rule — then one can be forgiven the idle suspicion that there is of some sort of cloning operation going on among the African nations. These guys are all tall, strong, comfortable on the ball, assertive tacklers, good headers and adept passers in the Paddy mould.

Well-known impotence expert, Pele, famously said that an African nation would win the world cup by the end of the twentieth century. He may have gone off a bit prematurely, but perhaps we are finally witnessing a flowering of talent from that mysterious and beautiful continent. More than 800 African players now play in European professional leagues, not to mention the huge number of second generation Africans turning out for European nations. South Africa hosts the World Cup in 2010 (not a moment too soon) and Africa held its first ever FIFA congress in September last year. The recent African Cup of Nations was the most watched tournament in the Cups history.

The new difficulty is not telling our new players apart form their comrades by the similarity of their surnames. It’s having a moments of brain-itching deja-vous watching them play. The resemblance of Diaby (even having the correct number of syllables for a similar song) to Paddy may be down to the demands of the modern game for those physical attributes in midfield I’ve just mentioned. But Adebayor’s “separated at birth” likeness to Kanu though is a different and very uncanny matter. Strikers can be made out of all sorts (short, tall, thin, fat — keep scoring goals and we don’t give a monkeys what you look like), but very few warrant the accolade “Kanu-esque”.

Peter Crouch might lay claim, but he is just a very lanky git with better than average feet. Kanu had the mark of genius and it remains to be seen whether our Emmanuel can emulate that. Kanu had the mark of genius and it remains to be seen whether our Emmanuel can emulate that.

So far he appears to have one key attribute — the ability to bundle in a goal off of some part of his body. I note with interest that he also runs with the ball as if he is about to fall over but doesn’t — like he has two centres of gravity and can choose which one to employ. That is certainly reminiscent of the great man. And the physical resemblance is uncanny — even down to not being able to decide what to do with his unruly hair (Kanu settled on plaits in the end).

The only measure of a striker is goals though and it’s what can make a striker the loneliest man in the world. Defenders and keepers have their unions. Midfielders are judged on their teamwork and combinations. Some support strikers augment a front man and perhaps contribute enough to call the end product a “pairing”. And there are the very gifted payers who you want as far forward as possible because they have the time to make choices and the ability to carry out their will — as a description “the man in the hole” seems derogatory really. But the out-and-out striker is judged on goals, first, last and always. In Glengarry Glen Ross you saw that no matter how much of a team you might create, in a sales force the buck finally stops with you and how many condo’s you shifted.

Strikers are the door-to-door salesman and compare themselves to their peers not to their mates. They want to be top and they want to be recognised as top. I don’t envy any striker pushing Thierry Henry for a berth . But I admire anyone who wants to take on the challenge and has the self-belief to think they could inherit the sable, sceptre, crown and the legacy of Arsenal’s greatest ever striker. Being a bit like Kanu will certainly help us to allow him some time. Scoring an audacious individual hatrick of astonishing alacrity against Chelsea wouldn’t hurt either.

Dear Hammers,

this is an open letter in the manner of those nasty round robins from slightly smug relatives overseas; you know, where they think you give a toss that they have a new car and that Helen is getting engaged to Brad, who went to Yale, and now works for IBM; but they don't actually give even half of a toss about you really; not enough that they would write to you personally.

I know it's a bit risky singling out one group of football supporters in their entirety for a tirade (and that's whats coming folks, an avalanche, please ring a bell and warn someone). And I also know we're all supposed to love you. For good reasons we keep a warm space in our chests for the claret and blue. The East End really was bombed, Alf Garnett wasn't actually being serious, and we feel quite strongly about not using unlicensed mini-cabs. And you are like plucky little brothers who we're quite proud of. And you seem to really hate Spurs (which is such an overwhelming sign of good character that it ought to be a tick-box option on dating websites).

But I for one won't be carrying on with the old West Ham/Arsenal love-in any more. Sorry chaps and chapesses. So you caught us in a very bad week. What's with the rubbing it in, eh? The second most surprising thing last week was that one or two of you know how to use photoshop. But the sheer volume of shadenfreude beaming in to my inbox, and doubtless those of other Gooners, was Surprising Thing Number One by a good 3 lengths. Since when didst THOU, tiny flea, stand and mock the horse that thou hast bitten?

Seems some Hammers are merrily burning bridges behind them at the moment. Maybe not you, the recipient of this missive, but a fair few. Well, I've lost it. My rag, I mean. It's gone. Some fucker's got my rag. Next time you play us don't expect any kind of ovation from me when the announcer tells us all to "welcome our guests from East London..." (By the way, you would normally hear me applaud, as well, because everyone here is so fucking quiet, right?) Before you protest that I should untwist my red and white knickers because it's just a wind up', and you still respect us', and you really, really hate Chelsea'... Well, with Chelsea, what's to like? Seriously. Saying "I hate Chelsea" is the same as saying "I like to breath air": it's not a badge of honour, it's a common denominator. Alright you hate Spurs too. Actually, the present Spurs I have some grudging admiration for because they are almost an England B team and it's a world cup year.

'Twould be churlish not to doff one's cap on Seven Sisters road and say well done Jol for making us forget what a pile of old sh!te Lilleshall turned out to be. I've always had a soft spot for West Ham (and Charlton too, everyone likes Charlton...in fact Charlton fans would never fill your email intray with smart-arse remarks; they'd be after you instead to attend a charity match to help erect a special seating area at the Valley for blind first world war veteran ex-footballers with alzheimers... and they'd lay on a coach for the day, gratis). Teddy the Tosser aside, you've got a team that looks a bit like an old Arsenal team - mainly southern boys with lots of pace, not the best passers in the world, but they like to get forward and they take their chances well, and they just have a winning mentality and a good team spirit and just a sprinkling of grisly old pro's to help the kids out.

Just like the days when I started supporting Arsenal. And, naturally, you're a renowned retirement home for old Gooners, as well. Disliking West Ham on those terms would be like withholding Nutty's pension money at the Post office counter. For instance, Reo-coker is the sort of player we used to buy and should be buying still (and keeping Bentley and a few more of the English academy. Starting to sound like a cab driver here, but don't worry, your job's safe). As for respecting Arsenal and just being glad to beat such a great team (which is the excuse I've heard when I mentioned that you seem to've come on a bit Pete Tong since your win at THOF), well you're too late.

Our new kids aren't yet household names who make a mockery of defences, so you'll get no change for your stake there. And our old boys haven't quite cut the mustard this season (Henry aside). They now look beatable running on to the pitch; not after 70 minutes when they've run out of ideas. So there's little for anyone to have to RESPECT out there in an Arsenal shirt right now. You have to earn it, baby and (to paraphrase Morrissey and Manure fans), we just haven't, yet. Anyway, with any family, outsiders are throwing stones from far too far away to break any windows. You should see what it's like at point blank range. You may have thought you put a good twist on the knife, but we were up to our wrists in it by then. Gooners have been a benign and blessed bunch for many years and we'd eat Sheringhams shit before we'd paint a bedsheet with 'Wenger Out' on it.

Most fans moan, we don't. But when we do, though, it's internecine strife on a grand scale with shit flying everywhere. The Jacob's and the Esau's are measuring arm hairs in the tent and it can only lead to war unless someone intervenes. personally, wheen it comes to Arsenal, I'm usually chirpier than a budgerigar with a large hard-on, but I actually have some of my own wood for the fire at the moment. I hate dissing players, but Sol Campbell let his team mates and us fans down badly. If he was anyone else's player, he'd not have a bib or a parking spot at training today, let alone some flipping relationship councillor that Arsenal have probably forked out for. We'd also never carry a player. We never have before - not even Merson and Adams, pissed from the night before. They still grafted so hard that, if you've ever been to work with a hangover and got nothing done of note that day, the very shame of watching them sweat out the booze chasing a wayward clearance down to the corner flag made you bleed shame out of both your ears. And they probably shared the man of the match bottle of bubbly, which inevitably started them off again on the next legendary bender.

But Girl-berto is just getting a free ride. I no longer accept this is a Languorous Brazilian Maestro' we are paying to watch. If I saw those words on a postcard in a phone box, I'd know straigt away I wasn't really looking at a 'GENUINE PHOTO' - with him it's the same thing; less than the sum of his parts. When he was out with back pain for much of last season we really missed him. Now he's back in, we miss him even more. Ashley Cole is allowed to go to tribunals about his astronomical contract and is not told to sit down and fucking shut up as he would have been in the GG era. Any player we have who is any good is now tapped up by the newspapers before even the agents have sniffed around them. Some newspaper men really have it in for us because they are MAKING exclusives. OK, more fool us for having players so easily swayed by the stinky winds of the rumour monger. But your Arsenal career is like getting Goldman Sachs on your CV now. Even the toilet cleaners at Goldmans will get a trading desk anywhere else.

Talking of transfers, Theo Walcott is a fucking miracle, because we can't get near quality players normaally before the blue chequebook comes out and they swan off to join Roman's legionaries. But when we could have bought, we didn't. And that's much worse. I'd rather buy a few who don't work out, just to chivvy up the encumbents, than keep my powder dry only to realise, with the Apache's bearing down on the wagons, that it had leaked out of my pocket. Mighty Arsenal? We haven't had a settled line up in 18 months, really. In fact, I challenge you to name the starting 11 against Bolton. I can't. What with selling Paddy (when he didn't want to go, we now find out), Ashley out with a wallet injury, shit-loads of debt on the new stadium (yet to be remaned The White Elephant Bowl but give the Evening Standard time), Thierry not signed up yet, and these iffy "redcurrant' look-great-with-jeans shirts that are starting not to feel like look-like-a-Gooner shirts...it all makes my conservative, softly-softly, don't rock the boat, little Arsenal ticker do star jumps.

The respect people have for Arsenal is a finite commodity in serious danger of being squandered. Edelman is spending goodwill, right now, like a New Jersey hooker in Macey's with a stolen credit card. We don't rile easily, but when we do we make enough rile to put traditional rile makers to forming unions. The ticket prices for Ashburton are disgraceful. Ashley Cole can't understand why people don't sing his name anymore? Well, quite apart from not remembering what he looks like, he's practically pulling fivers out of our pockets.

The stadium is over budget, yes, and it's an expensive project, yes, but I didn't realise you needed me to mortgage my own property to enable you to build yours! Anyway, that's all real estate. The core of the club is still the 11 men on the field and if they go alright we can manage the rest on instinct (the same one you say you have) which is..."They're Arsenal, they do things the proper way". Our worst run of results in the Wenger era isn't really all that bad, but we have standards you just wouldn't believe... The team don't look like Arsenal at the moment. Funny shirts, kids from the reserves, unknown quantities. It'll take some time before we feel like it's settled down.

Any pain gooners are feeling is actually self-induced. We actually know it won't be like this for very long. But you really haven't helped. I know you're not meant to either, but all the same...you know. 6 wins and that Pardew (who looks a bit CID, I reckon) who you thought was cack, is now verging on manager of the month. let's see if he cracks aa smile when he's ranked up alongside Danny Wilson, Alan Ball and Brian Little on that illustrious trophy. And Bobby Zamora, who was a swapsie for your darling Jermaine, is starting to pay you back big style. That great oaf you were yelling at all last season, called Marlon Harewood, is now centre forward de nos jours. Repka is gone and you have another Ferdinand (avec le 'aircut d'imbecile that is his family trademark) at the back, so you can actually risk breathing out when the ball comes down your end. But big fucking deal.You know that we're better than you. And that we always will be. Little brother may have won a school prize, but if he grins a bit too much at supper, he'll still get a wedgie when the lights go out.

You are storing up some credit in the Bank of Defeat for the day when we actually recover from our malaise, probably sitting in some very unfamiliar seats, looking at a pitch that someone tells us is the new altar of our new temple, and we start playing a bit of football on it...lucky for you you'll probably still be in the Premiership to enjoy it.