It’s official, I have got the glums!
I woke up this morning to the Daily Mirror regurgitating an old Patrick Vieira quote to build a complete load of old tosh about Arsene Wenger leaving because of the treatment of Dein. They didn’t stop there. Apparently Thierry Henry is also leaving despite the fact that he has spent the last few weeks telling anybody who would listen that he is heartily sick of the speculation about his future and is staying.
As if that didn’t have enough of an effect on me I strolled down the pub this evening to cheer myself up and what is on the three hundred and twenty eight televisions in the bars and toilets? A re-run of the first FA Cup Final at Cardiff when those thieving Scallys’ robbed us blind in the closing stages after Henchoz had played his own personal game of basketball in the area.
Doubtless that is meant to wet the appetite for the poor so-and-sos’ who will actually be watching tomorrows game. Personally, I intend to take a five mile hike around a golf course (in a distinctly zig-zag route you understand!) and settle myself at the nineteenth hole until the coverage starts. I will then return home and beg Mrs ‘Holic to allow me to take her shopping.
Thankfully at the final whistle, or thereabouts, we are due to head for an evening of dining and imbibing with some friends who are mad keen on fishing, and hopefully will not wish to engage in small conversation about a game I have not seen.
Eric has been told, we can discuss the gazillion shots it will have taken me to circumnavigate the course tomorrow, I am even prepared to be submitted to the finer details of his latest ‘sitting on a riverbank and waiting’ expedition, but one mention of THAT game and I will make it my personal mission to reduce his humble abode to rubble and his pets to puree!
Now, where are those bright yellow trousers and the diamond pattterned jumper?