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Henry Norris is the football correspondent of the Bugle newspaper and an ardent Arsenal supporter to boot. Each week he'll join us here at arsenalinsider.com to bring you his forthright views on all things AFC...please be advised, it is not for the faint-hearted! 

 

 

Porto put to the sword, we march on to, er, Hull. Yes, the Humberside deathbed of football that is the KC (Khazi Centre) Stadium welcomes the Royal Arsenal to its environs and a timely encounter with our old pals Insidious Phil Brown and Braindead Brian Horton. My goodness, this Tangerine Man and his dribbling pensioner sidekick must have been praying that a certain super Cesc Fabregas -- out for tomorrow according to our great leader -- overcame his hammy and made the starting line-up as we pursue the trophy-laden glory that beckons us.

 

Why? Well, our Spanish King would undoubtedly have upset the Odd Couple with a misdemeanor or two and provided them with someone to blame if (god willing) they are thrashed to within an inch of their lives and slapped further down the table to meet their inevitable fate that is relegation. Bye bye, bollock-breath Brown.

 

The likes of Brown and Horton make me want to empty my lower intestine and offer it to the Tate Modern as an installation entitled 'Mucas of the Day'. They are no more than also-ran journeymen masquerading as top-flight generals who would have their willing yet ultimately duped footballing public believe that they can mix it with the likes of the Royal Arsenal. This pathetic pair are no doubt part of that coterie of cretinous clots who bow down to their master, Slur Alex Ferguson and his omnipotent control of the obsequious objects such as Really Fat Sam Allardyce that make up this odious group of mostly northern monkey managers.

 

I know for a fact that they take great delight in taking the piss out of Lord Wenger when they have their snidey little boozing sessions with the Press Corps, some of whom are so busy tonguing various crusty rectums they don't even come up for air for a gulp of warm lager. You know who you are.

 

I ask the supporters of Hull (these chimneysweeps, clodhoppers and cackpipe cleaners) this: have you heard of Wilf Copping? Do you know of the Boy Bastin? Are you familiar with the work of Dennis Bergkamp? Have you seen the reading material on the bedside of Theo Foley? You have? Well, that's good then. Because you now know who you are coming up against on Saturday. Be sure to doff your (flat) caps as our parade comes to town.

 

 

I have imposed a fatwah on these two Arsenal legends for a heinous crime that has just been brought to my attention by my rather busty secretary Senga. She tells me Dicko and Keo'o saw fit to wear the shirts of the N17 Devil in a recent charity fundraiser on BBC's Match of the Day 2. Obviously, it's not a proper fatwah -- the like of which has caused Salman Rushdie a bit of bother over the years -- but a temporary, imaginary one to remind them never again to sign a deal with the Dark Side even if it is for a good cause.