A little history and a little now

“You needn’t think you’re going to slob around the house all day you know”.

“I’m on holidays. I can if I want”.

“You insolent pup, you can get out at once and do those chores I set for you”.

“But Daaaaad …”

“Don’t you ‘but Daaaaaad’ me. There’s work to be done”.

“Awww, can’t I just-”

“No, you can not. Get out of here or I’ll take the big stick to you. You’re not old enough that I can’t give you a sound thrashing”.

“All right. All right. I’m going”.

“And don’t come back until it’s all done”.

“All of it? That’s gonna take ages!”

“Yeah, well if you hadn’t let it get into such a mess it wouldn’t be such a difficult job”.

“stoopid old man making me do stuff”

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Nothing. I’m going”.


“I’m home”.

“Ahh, there you are. I was wondering if you’d fallen into a bog or what?”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

“Not at all, son. Did you do the job I asked?”


“And all the snakes in Ireland are gone?”

“They are. Every last one of them”.

“You’ve made your father proud, Patrick”.

“I did?”

“Yes, son. You really did, so much so that I am going to invite you into a secret club that my father invited me into, and his father invited him, and his father before him, but not his father before him because he was a curious man with a leg that dragged behind him and a weasely face that not many could abide, but his father before him began the tradition. And I am proud to include you now”.

“At last, reward for my efforts and toils. The bashing with sticks, the driving out, and barely a sup of porter to keep me going all the while. What is it, father?”

“Son, you should be a Tottenham fan”.

“Oh. Fuck off, bollocks. You’re a cunt”.

And St Patrick returned to Ireland, got langered on poteen and had a fist fight with a man in the pub who looked at him the wrong way. And so the world’s most well behaved day of drinking was born.

Back in the real world and Johann O’Rou has been talking about his injury and his belief that we can go the distance in the title race:

I truly believe that we will be the champions. We are disappointed with our cup exits but the Premier League is still the main trophy, we are still on for it and we have to believe. We get a lot of stick because we haven’t won for a while and we just want to win to put an end to all that. To say, ‘That’s it, there it is, so it is’.

There’s still no news on the duration of the injury, at least from an official point of view, he seems vaguely hopeful that he might get back before the season ends. I presume we’ll find out something today with Arsene’s pre-West Brom interview with the official site. Fingers crossed.

Also kissing the league title Blarney Stone this morning is Maroon McChmack, who says:

I think we can win it. There are ten games left until the end of the season, there is no longer any room for failure, we have run out of excuses as we are out of all three Cups. We are frustrated but we can win this title this season. Tis the right time, so it is.

If nothing else it will certainly focus their minds. There are no distractions, no midweek exploits, no travel, just one more chance at winning something this season. Of course that brings its own pressure and the real task will be for this team to show that they can cope with that. Starting with West Brom on Saturday.

Bob Wilson on the return of Seamus Lehmann:

Well holy God, what an input he would have in the dressing room, having been part of unbeaten title team. For Seamus to be within the Arsenal set-up at this crucial run-in time I think could be terrific, so it could.

I agree, so I do. All that remains is for it to be made official and I suspect Arsene will do that at his pre-game presser tomorrow

Give-a-fuck-ometerMeanwhile it appears that The O’Walcott won’t be fit for England’s game during the upcoming Interlull. I’ve run this information through my patented ‘Give-a-fuck-O-meter’ and it’s barely registering.

This Interlull should be a time to take our players to the treatment centre, bathe them in a bath filled with water infused with the power of the wombs of a thousand lonely hippos, and then hope for the best when the drug testers come around and discover that instead of hippo wombs we’ve been using industrial strength amphetamines to prevent the players even feeling the ends of their own fingers, let alone their injuries.

Aside from all that not a thing going on. It’s been fairly quiet this week as I expected it would be. In times of disappointment we tend to do the whole radio silence thing as much as possible, but the football’s about to kick off again and we need reassurance that we’re ready for Saturday and that West Brom shall face a lash from the back and not one from the front which isn’t much of a lash at all.

Whatever you do today, do it safely. Back tomorrow with an Arsecast.


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