Let me have a stab in the dark here. There will be cries, or more probably crying, for a Manager who still has a team in the Champions League, after all, you can only be a winner in the here and now. It’s the nature of short termism, but hang on, things get worse.
I smell something fishy. Well, to be more precise, the pong of John Paul Gautier’s “Homme”, or whatever his latest odour is called. It’s the whiff of the ponce.
We live in the Era of the Celebrity, and to fit the bill, even a football manager must have the necessary accoutrements, for increasingly he is becoming a fashion accessory. Take a gander at the new breed, the in-set, and it must be more than coincidence they share the same stylist as well as perfumer.
Klopp, Jose, Pep and Conte. It’s all about the hair, the teeth, the slim fit suit, tight continental underwear and designer stubble. What a bunch of complete ponces.
Oh, and what about all the touchline hysteria. The “Ooooo look how much I care”. Oh shut up and stick your passion up your arse. We don’t care. We bleed our club, not you. Grow up.
Honestly, all that leaping up and down, over animated pre-school level play acting, tearing around the touchline waving yer little handbag in the air like an over excited little girl, hugging everyone. It’s pathetic.
Recently I’ve watched a few games involving the aforementioned “look at me, look at me, look at me” managers, and they all make me sick. Big girls’ blouses the lot of you. I wouldn’t have your sort within 100 miles of The Arsenal.
We’re somewhat more reserved than that at Arsenal. You know, keep it zipped up rather than leaving it all hanging out. Your type are for the needy selfie generation.
I sincerely hope that Arsenal recognize the need for style and dignity as and when appointing the new face of our club.