Dear Arsenal Fans,
Before Friday, I really didn’t have a problem with you. Actually, I felt a bit sorry for you; always playing bridesmaid to either Chelsea or United. And before you say, “we won it in 2003 – 2004!” let me just tell you, in 2003 – 2004, I was still in high school. Still a teen. Still getting phone calls home when I skipped a class. In 2003 – 2004, my biggest worry was if I could trust friends to remember to book a limo for prom. In 2003 – 2004, Jose won CL with Porto. In 2003 – 2004, Greece was the greatest European country.
Does that put it into perspective a bit for you?
Anyway, the point I’m getting at is that, my dear Arsenal fans, you’ve caused me no grief. In fact, you’ve caused me nothing. I find you boring—uninspiring, even—but generally okay. Whenever I am introduced to an Arsenal fan, my response has always been the same: a confused, “oh. Alright.” In fact, the only time I have ever taken notice to Arsenal as a team at all, was two years ago: I bet them to beat Barca in a leg of CL and ended up buying the whole lot of rounds.
I shouldn’t like you on that fact alone, but because you’re so “whatever” to me, I don’t even hold that against you. You’re kind of the soccer version of Ann Veal to me.
I don’t really mind you, Egg.
However, after Friday, that’s all changed. Right now you’re public enemy number one. And your team is shite. And you’re about to get your asses kicked. And your kit is ugly. And you’re players are dumb. And your coach is okay, but for now, I will say he’s an idiot.