It’s all a conspiracy. Tomorrow, Johan Elmander shot by person on grassy knoll causing Ryan Taylor to be sent off.
Evening all. Monday. For most of you, the beginning of the working week. Me? Half way through mine already. While you’re all getting up early on Thursday, I’ll be drinking at the fountain of lie in. Friday too. Then I will do, as I like to call it, a bit of pottering. Mrs X calls it lying around, doing nothing, but I know best. At least, I know best this time.
Another thing I know best about is European qualification. I know this because, and for those of you who are regulars here this should come as no shock, in the 70’s and 80’s, I supported Stretford United. Even had a season ticket to the Stretford End. I saw the error of my ways as a teenager, and swapped the glory days of the Ferguson reign for away nights in the rain at Rotherham.
Anyway, as a United fan, every year brought European qualification for finishing behind Liverpool. At the time there were what seemed like five UEFA Cup places to be had, four for places two to five and one for the League Cup Winner.
Over time, partly due to the Heysel Disaster and partly due to the behemoth of the Champions League expanding, these places have been whittled down to three, one for fifth place in the Premier League, one for the FA Cup Winners and one for the League Cup winners. However, you could usually guarantee one of the big boys winning the League Cup, meaning that sixth place in the Premier League became available. We are currently two points off sixth place.
So thank you very bloody much Arsenal, for bottling it at the last minute and allowing Birmingham to win the League Cup, meaning that we are now going to have to hear ‘we’re all going on a European Tour’ twice before the end of the season and effectively taking away any chance of us going on said ‘tour’ anytime soon.
I mean, I thought we were friends. You sent us Little Jackie Wilshere, we turned him into a man for you and sent him back like a diamond in the rough to save you and English football in general (copyright The Sun).
This was a time of entente cordiale. I see now that this was all some plan to get back at us for the amount of times we dumped you on your arse. Now, thanks to your inability to beat a team stumbling blindly around the relegation zone in the same sort of way Michael Ricketts stumbles round his house looking for a biscuit, it would appear that we either have to finish fifth or get through to the FA Cup Final and win the whole damn thing, or play either United or Citeh.
I would include you, but, after yesterday’s performance, I wouldn’t hold out much hope of you getting past Leyton Orient this week. No, sireee, bob.
So, thanks for everything, Mr Vinegar. You just made our job twice as hard. I hope you go another six years without winning a trophy, playing attractive football. In fact, play attractive football as much as you want. Play it until the earth plummets in a firey ball into the sun. With you on it. For I will never forget the day that you and your insipid bunch of blowhards couldn’t even beat Birmingham.
Om the other hand, thanks. They won’t be as hard to beat in the quarter final now.