I don’t have a twitter account. Apart from the fact that some kid in Malaysia has already taken my nom de plume, it is not a fad I believe I have time for. I’m told however that the idea behind it is that you you record what you are doing or feeling at a point in time.
Well at this particular instant I am surveying the efforts of her majesty’s press, searching in vain for the pens of the great and good. What I am seeing is a particularly puerile reaction to a minor rebuke they received from Arsene Wenger in yesterday’s press conference.
He had the temerity to react to pointed questions about Eboue’s handball by reminding the assembled hacks, and some very good journalists yet to produce copy, that they sometimes overreact to such situations while ignoring more serious foul play that causes injury. Everybody knew what he meant, and just about everybody knows he was right to castigate.
So what do I wake up to this morning? A string of Eboue is a cheat stories. The Ivorian enjoyed one of his best games for Arsenal yesterday, but some low-lifes have decided he is to be the victim of this weeks irrational witch-hunt.
Isn’t that exactly what the guttersnipes rounded on Arsenal fans for in the corresponding fixture last season?
Oh, and while I am in rant mode, Mark Fleming at the Independent. Whoever bought you a typewriter for your seventh birthday did the world, and your better educated colleagues (which is just about all of them), a great disservice.
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