Any match against “The Arsenal” puts me in mind of a sonnet by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
You may know the first line or two. It is often included in lists of the greatest romantic poems. This is how it starts:
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach . . .
WTF? Love Arsenal? No way, Jose!
But change just one word, obeying Newton’s Third Law of Motion, and everything starts to make sense.
For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.
How do I loathe thee? Let me count the ways.
First, they play boring, cynical football, despite spending hundreds of millions of pounds on some skilful and creative young men.
Second, their pathetic fans glory in winning 1-0 with goals scored by foul means, such as obstructing defenders and the goalkeeper at Pulis-style long throws.
Third, their joke of a manager whinges that opponents employ “the dark arts” while shamelessly watching his team make cowardly assaults, playing the man rather than the ball in aerial challenges. Kai Havertz, Gabriel Magalhaes and William Saliba are particularly adept at conning the referee with this tactic.
Fourth, the club and supporters glory in the “wonderful traditions” of this legacy club, quietly ignoring the financial payments that secured their unwarranted promotion to the top division more than 100 years ago.
Fifth, some of those same fans, having watched their favourites top the Premier League for more than 200 days this season, boo them off the field when they are deservedly beaten at home by Bournemouth. Arsenal were still NINE points clear when the jeers rang out, by the way.
Sixth, they are so small-minded that no pubs within an easy walk of their Middle East-sponsored stadium (“dirty oil money, morally bankrupt, blah, blah, blah”) offer a warm welcome to visiting fans. Compare and contrast with Newcastle city centre on match day.
Seventh, their disgusting treatment of Newcastle United winger David Ginola at the Highbury library more than 30 years ago. Yes, it still rankles, especially when I watch a match on TV and forget to mute that snidey little disgrace who goes by the name of Lee Dixon.
Eighth, the way the Premier League and the FA are far more tolerant of Arsenal’s discretions on and off the pitch when compared with the treatment of less-favoured clubs.
I would like to add a few more “ways I loathe Arsenal” but the clock is ticking. Time to make tracks to north London. Perhaps readers of The Mag could list their reasons.