Re: Piers Morgans Column....
Found it: 24 November 2008
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sport/art...r-company.html
Quote:
Right. That's it. Season over, and it's not even bloody December. Arsenal were pathetic yesterday. No, hang on, that's too generous.
Pathetic means 'causing or evoking sympathy'.
I don't feel any sympathy for the team who capitulated so appallingly to Manchester City. I feel blind fury, bitter resentment and a slow, seeping, horrible realisation that one of the great love affairs of my life is rapidly coming to an end.
Not with William Gallas; he's just a loudmouthed, fading, Gallic version of John Sergeant on a dance floor - leaden-footed, useless in the air, and prone to dragging his partners down with him.
No, with Arsene Wenger. For 10 years I have worshipped this charming, intelligent Frenchman as he won Arsenal trophy after trophy with the type of dazzling football even opposition fans drool over.
But I think he's hit the wall, I really do. His obstinate, ridiculously blinkered insistence that he can 'win it with kids' has now been cruelly, horribly exposed.
We've won nothing for three years with this strategy, and I've said since I started this column in August, we're not going to win anything this year either.
Worse than that, we're now in real danger of finishing outside the top four and thus failing to qualify for the Champions League for the first time since Wenger arrived in 1997.
Gutless, uninspired, creatively devoid, and technically incompetent, yesterday's shambles was the worst performance of a season of awful performances.
Beaten by Fulham, embarrassed by Stoke, humiliated by Hull, thrashed by Aston Villa, and now murdered by Manchester City.
We've become a laughing stock, and I blame Wenger. He is the one who let Gilberto, Flamini and Hleb go in the summer, ripping the heart, lungs and technical genius out of our midfield. (ey  )
He is the one who refused to replace them, despite repeated claims by the Arsenal board that he has 'at least' £30million to spend. He is the one who believed that we could genuinely compete for big titles with a squad full of boys young enough to be his grandchildren.
He is the one who kept telling us it would all come good, and that buying established stars was a waste of money.
He is the one who made Gallas captain, when everyone else cried 'No-oooo!' and he is the one who then stuck by him even when he blubbed on the pitch at Birmingham like a two-year-old with colic.
And he is, therefore, the one who has just got it massively, horrifically, wrong. Wenger is as charming, smart, amusing, and cultured as you would imagine.
But I refuse to let those personal qualities, and my huge gratitude for what he has achieved at Arsenal, cloud my judgment of his recent track record.
For the harsh, undeniable fact is that Arsenal are disintegrating before my eyes as a major club.
His factory line of frighteningly young players look shellshocked, mentally shot to pieces, and weak in both mind and body.
They don't know how to fight, to scrap, to battle. Wenger's teams who won the Double in 1998 and 2002 were full of real men: Adams, Keown, Winterburn, Dixon, Bergkamp, Pires, Parlour, Vieira, Petit, Ljungberg, Seaman, Lehmann, Lauren, Campbell, Cole, Edu, Henry.
They tackled furiously, bled for the cause, got booked, sent off and frequently warned about their behaviour.
Wenger's winners had the worst disciplinary record in the League, and we were proud of it. Because it showed we weren't to be messed with. And it showed those players really, really cared.
Today's squad is full of boys who would run back to mummy at the first sign of Roy Keane's snarling shadow emerging into a tunnel.
They're physically small, emotionally immature, and psychologically fried.
With no leader like Adams or Vieira to guide them, and no older, experienced players to look up to, they don't know what to do as the pressure intensifies, the fans get on their back, and the losses accelerate.
Everyone is desperate to play us now, because they smell the one word that nobody ever associated with a Wenger-led Arsenal: fear.
Once the toughest team in the Premiership, we've become a soft touch.
And that, I'm afraid, is down to the manager. Wenger stood on the touchline for most of the second half yesterday looking like a Death Row inmate waiting to be taken to the electric chair.
He looked angry, frustrated, careworn, and suddenly very old. I never thought I would say this, but I think it's time Arsene Wenger and Arsenal parted company.
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One week later:
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sport/foo...Wenger-go.html
Quote:
There have been numerous occasions in my life when I have woken up, head raging, eyes burning, Jack Daniels coursing through my veins, and found my mind worryingly blank about the previous evening's activities. And then, after a few long seconds, hideous realisation kicks in.
For instance, I remember stirring one morning and finding blood splattered over my gouged forehead, and suddenly remembering that Jeremy Clarkson had whacked me three times the night before. And then there was the day when I came to, found Scarlett Johansson lying next to me, and felt almost overwhelmed with self-loathing. (Oh, all right, I made that up. The self-loathing, I mean).
But I have never gone to bed stone cold sober and then sat bolt upright at 3am, sweat-drenched and shivering, thinking: 'What the **** have you done, Piers?' Until last Sunday, that is.
You may recall that in this column, I demanded that Arsenal 'part company' with Arsene Wenger. I had written that demand precisely 17 minutes after we had been thrashed 3-0 by Manchester City. Our fifth, and worst, Premier League defeat of the season.
I was depressed, frustrated, consumed with blind anger and behaved like most football fans behave in the immediate aftermath of a terrible loss - irrationally. Foaming at the mouth, I scrapped the column I had already written (The 'Gallas must go' one) and ripped into Wenger instead.
'Enough was enough,' I stormed. 'He must go!' And for the rest of the evening, I congratulated myself on my fearless one-man campaign to oust the greatest manager in Arsenal's history. Then I went to bed and, at 3am, reality dawned with the power of a demented 10-inch maggot crawling inside my ear. What was I thinking? How could I do this? Had I lost my mind?.
I got up and paced the house. I felt like Gordon Ramsay must have felt when he woke up last Sunday morning - ashamed by my behaviour, appalled by my lack of judgment, and guilty, so terribly, horrifically guilty.
But my self-inflicted misery was only just beginning. For the last six days, I've been bombarded with texts and emails. They came from furious Arsenal fans (the vast majority). 'I've been going to the Arsenal for 52 years,' wrote Nigel Tremlett, 'and I've never lost the faith when things were not going how I wanted. You're typical of those morons who sit around me at the Emirates and boo when we lose a game, and only when Wenger's gone would you realise how stupid you've been.'
From Arsenal fans (yes, there were some) thanking me. 'I couldn't agree more,' said Mark Smith. 'Wenger's French arrogance will destroy our club.'
From fans of other, less successful clubs, like Leeds, Grimsby and Nottingham Forest, (erm, check the record books Piers) all scoffing at my treachery and pointing out that they would dream of being in Arsenal's so-called 'crisis' position of fifth in the League, through to the second round of the Champions League and still in the FA and Carling Cups.
'You epitomise what's wrong with the modern game, where everyone expects instant success,' said Ken Lawrence, a 'trophyless-for-40 years' Birmingham fan.
'My heart bleeds for you, three whole years since you won anything! Try telling that to supporters of Fulham, Bolton, Northampton or Rochdale, who tour the country every year knowing there won't be a pot of gold at the end of it.'
Others were more enterprising: 'In the spirit of great generosity,' said Tony Slater, 'we at Charlton Athletic are prepared to offer Mr Wenger the opportunity of becoming our manager. The offer is made with the proviso that you don't come, too.'
And then came the ones that really hurt. From Manchester United fans like Myles Bailey: 'How can you Gooners want to throw the baby out with the bath water? I remember certain individuals advocating getting rid of Alex Ferguson in 2005 - two titles and a Champions League later, where are they? Wenger's made a mess, but if anyone can get Arsenal out of it, it's him.'
And, worst of all, from Spurs supporters. Dozens of them. All hooting with laughter, and praying that I get what I want. 'There's nothing better than seeing you Gooners on the way down,' wrote Mike from Upminster, 'and I have to agree that Wenger should go. Keep up the good work and long may Arsenal fail.'
Geoff, from Maidstone, concurred: 'Us Spurs fans have been waiting a long time for Wenger to leave, and now he's being hung out to dry by nouveau plastic Gooners like you. Are you mad? Wenger's petulant and myopic, but as a coach he has no peers.'
I read every one. And felt the ice-cold blade of revulsion stretching further and further into my intestines. And, then, in my darkest moment, I looked at my mantelpiece and saw Wenger smiling back at me, in a photo of the pair of us together at an awards ceremony. I turned my eyes away, too ashamed to catch his warm, trusting gaze, and read one last email from Andrew Baxter of Essex.
'Hi Piers,' he wrote. 'Your comments about Arsene Wenger seemed very "five minutes after the final whistle, let's murder someone because we've been hammered 3-0 and nothing else in the world matters!" We've all said similar things but deep down we don't really mean it, do we? As a fellow Gooner, we all love the great man really, and he'll get it right. I just wonder whether Monday morning you had any regrets about what you said?'
Andrew was right, that's exactly what happened, and exactly how I felt. So it's time to take a deep breath, break the habit of an obstinate lifetime and admit a few harsh facts to myself.
A real fan wouldn't call for a manager with Wenger's track record to be sacked just because he's going through a blip in almost endless trophy-winning. A real fan wouldn't betray the man who has so brilliantly transformed his club into the most exciting to watch in Premiership history.
A real fan wouldn't run for the hills the moment things get tough, causing club morale to plummet even further.
A real fan wouldn't panic and would realise that things can't be that bad if we've just beaten Manchester United. A real fan wouldn't forget that Arsenal have been ravaged by injury (Rosicky, Eduardo, Walcott) and mercenary defections (Henry, Hleb and Flamini).
A real fan wouldn't conveniently erase the memory of the dark Arsenal days, when whole decades seemed to drift by with nothing but mid-table mediocrity, and woefully tedious football, to boast about. A real fan wouldn't, in summary, be such a pathetic, limp-wristed, squealing, prawn sandwich- eating, disloyal little prat.
I'm not going to make a habit of apologising for what I write (so don't get too excited, Cristiano), but on this occasion the sheer force of response from real football fans of all persuasion demands it.
Arsene, I still think you are wrong about this kids' policy, I still think you need to buy a new goalkeeper, centre-back and midfield hard-man in January. I still don't think we're going to win anything this season and I'm fairly certain we're going to lose at Stamford Bridge today.
But I shouldn't have called for you to be sacked, and I'm sorry.
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Course they went on to get to the Champions League Semis that very season.
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14-03-2010, 01:00 AM
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