Walking Myles in ANR’s shoes

bloggooner Reading Myles Palmer’s latest screed on Arsenal News Review, I thought, how difficult it must be to be him. To really and truly know better than anyone, including Arsene Wenger, what’s best for the club, and yet to have ones opinions so often discounted or openly mocked by more sentient Arsenal supporters, must be a tremendous burden to bear. As I’m not without empathy, I tried to put myself in his place for one post…

Trudging wearily about the paean to the corporate ideal that is Emirates Stadium, I bumped into Culverton  and his daughter, Georgina.  Culverton is an old Gooner pal who expects me to to tell him the stuff I don’t dare put on ANR – you know, the things I’m forced to scrawl on the wall in the stadium loo.

Big Mitch’s friend Little Oliver appeared out of nowhere, told me to keep up the good work, adding, “Please, sir, I want some more.” They’re lifelong Arsenal fans who go back to the Dial Square days.

We saw David Dein, a golden god, resplendent in a distinctive, elegant silk suit, crafted in Italy using the revered sartoria method, but translating this tradition into a contemporary fashion statement. Embodying uncompromising quality and a consummate standard of workmanship, the sartorial method does not bond the outer fabric and inner lining using conventional cementing. Instead, the materials remain loose. As a result, the breast section is extremly soft, molding itself ideally to the wearer`s brilliant physical specimen of a body. The interlining is made of pure baby camel hair and fixed behind the lapels with fine hand-stitching, while the collar is sewn on by hand, guaranteeing an excellent neck fit. The sleeves are also attached by hand, with painstaking attention to a perfect fit and wearing comfort. And he wore a white shirt.

My friend had never met Dein but held back, knowing as a mere mortal, he might be the the dullest and most uninteresting person this possible god might speak to that day. Sensing his slavering deference, Dein stepped forward and extended his hand, so that my friend might kiss his ring. He didn’t have to do that, but that’s what Dein is like. For 25 years, he was magnificent, a study in perfection, always willing to give a little nod of the head to anyone who would prostrate themselves before him.

We walked on in the sunshine Dein had blessed us with, laughing, really up for the first game of the season, despite knowing the disappointing outcome ahead. Then we went to our seats and watched Arsenal dawdle to a 4-1 victory.

It was strange. Not a ballet. Not the dance that is the hidden language of the soul of the body. Almunia is a big 32-year old man with an 18-years old’s peroxide hairstyle.  The “obvious blonde” color goes well only on well polished sharp cut hair. It is a definite no for the disheveled look. Personally, I’d like to see him with a side part, a classic and ageless hair style that suits old and young men alike. This versatile men’s hair style can make you look like a classy businessman as well as a debonair. It is making quite a strong statement this fashion season as it suits most men’s face and head shapes. The hair can be cut short or kept long as per your liking, just make sure to apply high gloss pomade for shine and the desired look. Sadly, Almunia did not look stylish as all, allowing Kaboul’s goal.

Fabregas went off at half-time with a hamstring. I had begged, pleaded, cajoled, beseeched, threatened AW not to risk him. I had begun to spray paint it on the stadium wall near the players entrance but only got as far as “The great and wise Myles Palmer”, before Gunnersaurus chased me off.

Contrary to anything you may have watched on Match of the Day, Robin van Persie contributed nothing to the match. He was so shite in fact, he caused loyal Arsenal supporters to break into song. He and Arshavin hate each other.  It’s as obvious as the “Kick Me” sign, each had taped to the other’s back before the match.

Soon after I got home, my friend, Toady rang up to complain about the free seat he’d gotten in the director’s box. Sensing he was bit miffed Pat Rice hadn’t served his food personally, I attempted to commiserate.  “That’s where they miss David Dein, King of Kings,” I said. “I once saw him feed an entire stadium of fans on a bag of crisps and a Carlsberg!”

“It’s so sterile”, Toady went on, “That’s the only word I can use to describe it.  Sterile. Or neat. And professional. Or tidy. That’s really the only word to describe it”.

“That’s what I thought the first time I went to the Emirates. It’s so well-cared-for.  Do you know that at White Hart Lane, the bogs are so bad, they back up during the half and eventually you’re slogging through so much piss and shit, that you can actually smell the ambience. That’s real football atmosphere”.

“So many stewards! Outside there was one steward for every three fans,” he said.

“The stewards are good. They’re very well trained. Last year at the match when that chap said, “There’s that c–t, Myles”, I had him tossed out right away.  And when the entire block next to me was chanting, “Myles is a wanker, Myles is a wanker”, I simply texted a complaint and they came right away. But the club that existed at Highbury has disappeared.  They’ve just hired three execs – one used to work for NBA Asia and another was with MTV. And not one of them knows who I am.

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