febrero 16, 2017

Heart

It never ceases to amaze me how much, how deep a football club might get into your feelings. Yesterday I had a brief, slim line of hope lingering after 45 minutes of digging deep and having, against all odds, several chances to get on top in the scoreline. A draw in Munich? Of course it was good. Suddenly the second half began, our captain got subbed after getting his hamstring done and it seemed as if he took the heart of this team with him. Never had I seen the phrase "he is the heart of this team" so blatently proven as yesterday. Just as you would expect when you take a heart from a living thing, the team collapsed in a matter of minutes and died. I saw my team die on the pitch and no one, not the manager nor the subs or the fans, could do a shit to stop it.

We all died there. The hope of a decent closing for Arsene and his legacy. The consolidation of this group of players as the result of all this effort we did during these tough years. Our belief in the way the coach and the Board are doing things. The possibility of challenging anyone on anything. The high standards Arsene set up for himself and the club. Everything died there yesterday.

It will get worse. We'll end up below Sp*rs, we'll see them all celebrate. We'll go back to mid-table obscurity and intrascendence as it was before we were lucky enough to have Dennis on our side. Make no mistake: if you ever thought we were not that club anymore then you were deluded by how bright and shinny Dennis was. Eventually the structure of the club will improve to help whoever gets to be coach and won't expect them to be coach/manager/scout/visionary at the same time. Hopefully we'll get an eager coach willing to ask and to punish underperforming players rather than let them punish themselves. One that pushes them to run their asses off out there so we can see some decent pressing when we choose to concede possesion. That kind of, you know, decent football.

I felt heartbroken when they broke down to pieces last season. The goal against Leicester on stoppage time was supossed to be the beginnning of something, the light at the end of the tunnel. Instead, it became a simmering memory of something that was never meant to be thus eventually simmering down as a glorious failure. Another one. Now I'm just sad. Plain sad. Black-hole sad. So sad no sadness can escape.

We had years and years of arguments about how much possesion we had and how to score more goals. We are reduced to a keeper, a defender/vicecaptain and a winger who show some courage. The discussion now is how to get back the heart into the team. Into the bloody fucking club, if you ask me.

Note. I'm fucking done with my life and Arsenal's doom interlaced. My failures and delusion mixed with their failures and delusion. Neither seemingly getting to whatever we envision ourselves achieving.

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