By Daniel Finton (Deputy Editor)
What up, Pimps?
Welcome one and welcome all to the Finton’s Frolic right opinion zone. Today, we will be discussing the end of a once great football team. Actually, a once footballing side, full stop is perhaps a better description. Arsenal are no longer a thing. It was a great run, from the late 1800’s to 2021, but it’s over now. Goodbye everyone.
The side didn’t give Watford back the ball after one of their players got hurt. Something I’m sure the ever-classy Watford have never done. Claudio Ranieri was furious, because that’s the only thing that won Arsenal the game — they certainly wouldn’t have just scored another opportunity. Because of that, our club is cancelled. Rightfully.
The pundits chimed in as well. They claimed it was classless to do what we did (6.4 seconds after saying we need to grow a pair.) And they’re right. How could we do this? We’re so notorious for our classiness.
We tried to partake in the potentially football ruining super league, have our stadium named after a controversial airline, and moved into North London just to overtake Tottenham. That shows just how caring and polite we are right at the foundation. We’re built on kindness. No longer, I guess.
The only thing to do now is pull the plug on this once loving, compassionate club. Only nice teams like Chels(ki)ea and Atletico Madrid win trophies, being bastards will never win you anything, just ask the latter side who BARELY won La Liga last season. They, for one, are incredibly classy on the pitch, and I’m sure they always give the ball back after they break someone’s leg in two.
Arsenal don’t though. We’ve changed.
Don’t be a soft touch, but provide a soft touch and loving hug to an opposing player when they go down injured. Kiss them on the forehead and tuck them in to bed as they wear their snug pajamas.
Oh.. wait. He’s asked for a bed time story. Let’s tell him one, he’s getting older after all, he’ll no longer care about hearing your voice prior to a refreshing slumber as the years trickle by. Relish this moment. Take care of him while you can.
“There once was a cute, bald Italian manager. Everybody thought he was likable. Turns out, he’s a sore loser and a cry baby.”
“He impressively won the league with Leicester City, largely because of his players, and then was under the impression that he is the all knowing king of the sport. The judge and jury of what’s classy in football and what isn’t.”
“Luckily, seeing as he’s the coach of Watford, he’ll only last about three more weeks. After that point — you cute little Watford player crying on the ground like your cry baby boss, as I tuck you in and tell you a story — you won’t have to deal with him anymore. You’ll have a new boss for another good month or two after him that will cry just as hard when he loses, because he knows his job is on the line even as we walks through the over-oiled revolving doors.”
The Watford player or whichever team’s will look up, indescribably uncomfortable. But they’ll only be uneasy due to how little love they’re usually shown by the classless teams that never win like the Italian national team.
At that point, our player must give them a firm kiss on the lips and tell them how much they love them. The play will have stopped, everyone is watching. Applauding. This is what football is all about. Love and compassion, not winning.
But, it’s too late. We missed our chance. Arsenal are canceled. We’re “Ding Ding Dilly Gone.”
It was nice knowing all of you, I would say until next time, but there won’t be one.
Toodloo...!
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