Arsenal Gentleman’s (final) Weekly Review

Arsenal Gentleman's Weekly Review


1. I am deeply in love with Harry Kane

I can restrain my passion no longer. I wish to make manly love with this strong-chinned love lump. I wish him to embrace me with his tentacle-like arms. I wish to run my aged tongue over his acne-ridden skin. I wish to palpate his hooter. I wish to listen to his unintelligible gargling voice whisper sweet nothings in my ear.

2. I am moving out to the Home Counties

London is no longer for me. It is not the city it once was. Once upon a time a moustachioed gentleman in pinstriped suit and Homberg hat could beat whichever peasant he came across with the blessing of the local Bobbies. But no more. So I am heading out of London to Tottenham, where my new suburban brethren await.

3. I am a secret arsonist

It started when I was a young whippersnapper, my love of setting things alight. A doll’s house here, a house there, perhaps the odd stable block, and on one unfortunate occasion a first footman. But I was protected by rank and privilege. Today, I wish to unleash my inner burn-fiend. I seek to set light to small businesses, shops, and people’s livelihoods just because I can’t have the training shoes I wanted. There is only one place for me, where they set light to their own town: Tottenham.

4. I no longer wish to have the burden of expected success

It has been all very well being a supporter of one of Britain’s most successful and historic clubs. Yes, the 13 league championships and the 12 FA Cups mean something, I suppose. But I wish to leave the pressure-cooker for a more genteel way of life, where failure is the norm. I no longer wish to have hope about winning a 14th league title. I shall be happier that way. All I can hope for is the occasional victory over Arsenal, which I shall go on about forever.

5. Chas and Dave are musical geniuses on a par with Debussy & Rachmaninov

Ever since I heard perhaps their most singular piece, Rabbit, a Gilbert and Sullivan-esque passion piece discussing the conflict between one’s beau, or in modern parlance one’s ‘bae’ having a most delightful countenance, and one’s amour being overly loquacious. This song’s lyrics are as if Mr. Coward himself has risen from the grave: “Now you is just the kinda girl to break my heart in two/ I knew right off when I first clapped my eyes on you/ But how was I to know you’d bend my earholes too?” Messrs. Charles and David then go on to extol the virtues of this unknown muse’s smell, arms, and ‘air. How can I resist? ‘Tis to Tottenham I head.

6. I don’t like having a nice stadium

Yes, yes, yes, it’s all very well having a majestic curved hall of the gods to watch the football in every other week. But you can keep your elegance and ambition. I wish for a stadium that is a bit like The Emirates, but not quite. Like a market stall counterfeit version of The Emirates. A Laccoste sweater, if you will. Or a Tommy Hilfigger rainproof jacket. Or a Ron Lauren polo shirt. In Middlesex.

7. I wish for a life of petty criminality

Frankly I’m bored with having limitless funds. A life of bowling between The Garrick, the casino, The Emirates, Klosters, the townhouse in Islington and the weekend pile in Whitstable is tiresome. I am going to learn a new way of life at White Hart Lane, known colloquially as The University of Crime. I hope to become proficient in car theft, burglary and mugging with my new partners in crime.

8. Arsenal women are too attractive

Is there anything more damnably frustrating than when one is watching a game to be distracted by a finely turned ankle a few seats away? A coquettish glance from a pretty filly? A flash of delightful elbow? A glance from a typically agreeable feminine face? There is not. SO I am henceforth finished with the overall attractiveness of Arsenal’s female contingent. I wish to go to a club where the women are some kind of special type of hairless genetic experiment, whose faces are so terrifyingly ugly that grass turns brown as they walk past. I wish to be distracted no more.

So that is it, Arsenal fans. Adieu. It has been a wonderful 120 years but I am off to the land of comfortable failure.


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