Theatre Of Dreams
Ancient Greece, Rome and Egypt were all fine pieces of history from which anyone could learn a thing or two. Firstly, their sense of futuristic scheming of societal matters , be it banal or preponderant, was truly impeccable. Secondly, they managed to survive without Uber, Gmail, Selfies, coffee and not happily being triggered so as to blow off steam. Thirdly, they were organised. Yes, they were outstandingly organised. Not that, let-me-get-of-my-humble-abode 10 mins late organisation however the type that would prevent you from having your water or electricity cut or even worse, your fingers (will the real Sicilian mafia please stand up)
There were 4 periods that any dynasty/civilisation traversed in order to reach the summit of functionality. Those being: when you’re woeful but have potential, when you’re average, when you’re leading the pack and when you’ve back to being as low as hell’s waste drainage system. This is where the ‘its-that-time-of-the-month’ side of Manchester found itself. Somewhere between broken pride and toothless threats. Where Frank Gallagher wouldn’t dare present himself for fear of being considered a low-life. A horror story that only Jesus tell the guardian angels so that they never scheme about going all Gilet Jaune on the heavenly territory.
‘It’s just Arsenal’ shouted the pub-goer, holding his pint close to his chest as if beer would hide the truth in some niche. Truth be told, Emery has done more in 3 months than Poorinho has done in 3 years (that’s almost dictator-like however I’m not here to stone the opposition), more than Ms May as PM, more than a black character in a horr—nevermind, the point has made and raised. Therefore, a win against the London Chipmunks’ was important however demonstrating a certain hunger and flamboyant style of play was well and truly the objective of tonight’s bean-feast. ¡May we be satisfied to the fullest !
United lined up in an unorthodox 3-4-3 with Dalot making his first start on the right flank whilst Herrera equally made his first in a while. The youthful three-headed monster of Rashford, Martial and Lingard were chosen to animate the affairs’ upfront.
Boom, the made started like a house on fire with United showing as much intent to be considered as much a side chick would, with relentless pressing high up the pitch resulting in a couple of interceptions, rattling the opposition early on. This didn’t lead to anything substantial as shots from Martial and Rashford were easily cushioned by the opposition goalie. The worldie jar would have to wait a bit longer to be opened. With that, Arsenal took the lead after a Mustafi header was horrendously parried up into the cold Manchester night by ‘Oh Dear’ Gea as if he was practising his volleyball serve. The ball managed to be cleared off the line by Herrera however the burglar technology named goal line deemed it in. Now we know how to catch El Chapo. United’s response was devilish as Martial equalised only after 4 minutes after a Rojo free-kick was turned away only for Herrera to plonk it back in for Antonio. All he wanted for his birthday was a big booty hoe. Half-time.
The second started a little less intense than the first period with both teams playing cautiously after several injuries and cards were picked up. Opportunities were more present for the away side as they exposed Dalots’ side several times through dummy runs, overlapping runs and Run-Dmc’s. Their efforts were rewarded when Rojo did the hardest part which was to pass the pass to Lacazette who had acres of space to score and did. I guess we know who is going to be dressing up as Uniteds’ Father Christmas this time around.
This lead then put United in a state of utter disbelief and discomfort, having to dig themselves from the dirt once again as they already have on numerous occasions this season. Then BANG, J-Lingz levels matters only after….wait for it, 13 seconds. That’s the average time it takes your girl to decide to end your relationship after you forgot to tell her that she forgot to buy shower gel. Same amount of time it takes you to become depressed, stressed and psychotic after you realise you didn’t save PowerPoint document that’s needed in a couple hours. 13 strokes later…
With that, the game ended and everyone fake-smiled and went back home to bills, bills, bills. Man of the match was Herrera. I wonder if he was asked if he knew how to twerk.
Good game from both teams and good luck for the next couple of match’s.