Arsenal Season Review (SPOILER ALERT: It Rhymes)

Down a dark, shady road I did wearily trudge

Daisies and sunflowers wilted under my touch

I walked a sad walk and hummed a sad tune

It seemed like unchecked night more than cloudy afternoon

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It was with moist, red eyes and droopy, furrowed brow

That I navigated past people and the odd straggling cow

I had seen my nerves abused and my hairline recede

But to my sincere request The Lord did not accede

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I buried face in hands as it began to mildly rain

The hopeless clowns had gone and done it again

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Arsenal now seem to follow a set season template

Sunny August-iffy February-April irate

Veteran suicide artists in this London team reside

Who revel in sorrowfully falling by the wayside

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This season’s commencement saw me baring the pearly whites

Due to Theo Walcott hat-tricks and other surprising sights

November saw the fingernails chewed to naught

Losing to Newcastle and Braga- what absolute rot

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Things started looking up at the turn of the New Year

When Nasri and co. spared the blushes of our dire rear

We were cool, confident, in a four-pronged trophy hunt

We even managed to half turn over those Catalan cunts

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But then came Carling Cup final, last minute self-rape

And a spiralling spiral from which no escape

Despite Robin trying for all he was worth

We did an Arsenal- from second to fourth

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‘Argh!’ I mimicked a wounded beast

Head still buried, brow still creased

Like a seasoned sailor I ranted and cursed

And fell into a muddy ditch headfirst

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I sighed resignedly and started to get up when-

‘Excuse me, I’m stuck in your mouth. Please open.’

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I complied and tentatively parted the maw

Out of which a green, scaly limb began to withdraw

I promptly retched and out fell a fully-grown frog

He said, ‘Sorry for that little food-tract clog’

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‘Wait, you talk?’ I said, interest suddenly piqued

‘More than that, I give the answers that you seek’

‘I’m an agony frog, the toad for all your troubles’

It said. I ‘hmm’ed and reflectively massaged the stubble

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‘Might as well give it a try, even if it fails’

I said and recounted my team’s sad tale

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‘Oh, I know all about Arsenal of the red and white’ it said

‘And I’m baffled that you’re sad, you should be chuffed instead.

Arsenal have humility and class, their style of play is merry

You’re in the Champions League, and you don’t have John Terry.’

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‘I concede your Terry point’ I said, not wanting to sound rude

‘But other than that, you’re talking like Wenger’s stooge

What the fuck do I take from merry style of play,

When we’re out of all competitions by the beginning of May?’

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‘Granted, you’re going through a kind of lean spell

But there are plenty of reasons for your anxiety to quell

Wenger will get the mix right, he will, you’ll see’

It croaked, ‘Who better to lead you to victory?’

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I bristled angrily and said, ‘Victory my balls

I’m not sure Wenger is the right man to take the calls

He’s forgotten the concept of transfers, he’ll just go mad

And lodge a cheeky last-moment bid for Sylvestre’s dad’

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It tutted, ‘I think you’re exceeding yourself

It’s far from the end for Wenger’s life on the shelf

And as for transfers, he’ll know best for the nonce

He’s an economics major, and you’re just a jobless ponce’

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‘And you love Wenger, no matter how much you try and digress

You have his bloody name on your e-mail address’

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‘That’s true, I love him to bits’ I said, beaten and forlorn

‘And he’ll surely win trophies again, overturn public scorn

But that’s for later, what about last season’s train-wreck?

What do I take from these ten months on poop-deck?’

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‘You take memories’ it said, solemnly nodding its head

‘Frustration, ecstasy, fury, dread

For isn’t it emotions that keep a person ticking?

That keep him alive, that keep him kicking?’

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‘The only thing that similar emotions bestows

Is a girlfriend- want one of those?’

‘No, no, no, no’ I said, experiencing a mini-seizure

And said ‘No’ ten more times just for good measure

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Mr. Croak spoke sense, what he says I’m going to hear

And take a few lasting memories from this bell-end of a year

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Szczesny’s smirk, Robin’s incredible goal rush

Arshavin’s slaloms, Rozza’s long hair lush

Jack’s left foot wand, Nasri’s right foot trigger

Cesc’s lion-like leadership, Chamakh’s endless vigour

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Koscielny’s heart-on-sleeve and giving hundred percent

Arsene Wenger’s awesomeness, wit and French accent

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My mouth may swear but Arsenal, I heart thee

You’re a mystical, temperamental mistress and you’re free

I’ll happily walk you down the aisle and say ‘I do’

You’re one I’ll gladly make googly eyes to

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Please try and do better next season then

At least don’t lose to West Brom like fucking pansies again