I remember Hornby writing, in Fever Pitch, that in the mid-1980s, the Arsenal were never good enough to win anything, but never remotely bad enough to go down, and the resulting stasis made him want to scream with frustration. Now, the situation has concertinaed: Arsenal aren't bad enough to drop out of the Champions League places, but aren't good enough to win anything. The frustration also makes me want to scream.
That's why I have proposed a trial separation between myself and the Arsenal. I didn't watch the match against Manchester United yesterday, but I checked the internet occasionally to see the score. (I could have watched it at home if I wanted to.) After their inevitable defeat, I felt a sadness, a hollowness, but not anger, not real involvement. I've finished a 33-year relationship; I'm still drawn to the other person, care about them still, but proximity only brings forth sadness.
It's been a long process. For while now, I've found it impossible to listen to the Arsenal on the radio, painful even; I turn it off if they're on. Then I found it difficult to watch them on television. I thought it was because I cared too much, but really it's because they ceased giving me pleasure.
I've now had enough of Arsene's theology, his faith in players who demonstrably are not good enough: Eboue, Senderos; or his unwillingness to criticise his players, to recognise their deficiencies. Arsene has become inflexible, paranoid.
After 33 years, we're now sleeping in different beds, different rooms. It's only a matter of time until I move out altogether. After a while, maybe I'll see them again. I hope so.
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