So, it’s all over, Arsene. In a season in which we have celebrated 125 years of glorious tradition and history it has come to this. With the news that the imperious gladiators of global football have grasped an unassailable nine point lead ahead of our once proud team, surely it is time for Arsenal to fold? Call it a day. Thanks for popping in. As sad a conclusion as it may seem, it is, I am afraid, an inevitable one.
Even Premier League powerhouse Everton couldn’t withstand the omnipotent Lillywhites, who stormed to an unprecedented 2-0 hammering of the Toffees. Impressive, eh? It means they sit proudly in second spot. My goodness me. I am flabbergasted at that achievement. Indeed, if I had a hat I’d take it off. Brazil, Barca and Bognor Regis Town eat your hearts out. There is a new giant in town.
Take down the statues. Turn the pitch into a community garden. Allow the protestors at St Paul’s Cathedral to shelter within the soon-to-be redundant bowl that is the Emirates. Will the last man out of the ground unplug the floodlights.
For, tear-jerkingly, the doors must close on our erstwhile majestic club. Yes, there will be an orderly queue of desperate Gooners preparing to hurl themselves off the old East Stand at Highbury. For my part I shall avoid suicide and make do with some good old fashioned caterwauling.
David Danskin. Wilf Copping. Joe Mercer.Fred Street. Tom Watt. David Price. Igor Stepanovs. That bloke out off the telly, the short, rotund and unfunny one who is wheeled out as our celebratory fan when the occasion demands it. Thierry Henry. Fidel Castro. Ainsley Harriot. Your boys took a hell of a beating.
Forget three top flight titles on the bounce in the Thirties. Dismiss proper history. Forget The Invincibles. 49 games unbeaten? Pah! Mere bagatelle. Yes, we are London’s biggest club. Yes, we have won more silverware than those we once mocked as Tee Hee FC. And yes, we have a magnificent stadium, a manager who could retain his greatness by spending a few quid to bolster our depleted squad, as well as Abou Diaby. Champions League? Of course. For now. Top four. On cards. FA Cup? Possibly.
But come, come – let us face facts. We will never, ever, ever be able to match the heroic feat of Sir Harold Redface and his mighty fine footballers who are now odds-on title favourites. They say that the Prem bigwigs may even award them the title in the next few days such is their dominance and the obvious conclusion that they will lift the crown for the first time since 1961. It’ll put us others out of our misery.
Nine bloody points. It’s not a gap, more a gulf. A chasm. As Stephen Hawking would say: “You. Are. Light. Years. Away.” There is even talk of world leaders, heads of state and Mother Theresa’s cousin Audrey meeting to discuss honouring an amazing achivement and rename Uranus after Sir Redface but retain its former name…