What I want to see

The most important game of the season is at hand. THE game. The game we have to win with at least 2-0.

Before your average league-game I normally feel an infinitesimal tingle in the back of my spine just before kick-off. If it is a United-game, I start to get the shivers somewhere around noon on match day.

But this game is worse. I have been trembling like an aspen leaf all day today and yesterday. Two pots of coffee later and even the dormant hair sacks, just below my receding hairline, are shivering with anticipation for this game. I think I just shook loose a tooth filling into my coffee mug. Klonk.

I want to see every Gunner on the pitch on Wednesday fight for 90 minutes to bring the team into the quarter finals.

I want to see blood, sweat and tears.

I want to see an Arsenal who finishes the game off, clinically, raw, without mercy.

No, pardon my French, fecking polished play, you don’t need to embroider the ball into the net. I don’t care if the ball rolls of your socks and into the net, it doesn’t have to be beautiful, just get the bloody ball in there. Twice.

Shoot, put the pressure on, score goals. Football is a very simple game. Whoever scores the most goals wins. We need at least 2.

I want to see Jens play a perfect game. Don’t even try to use your feet. If the ball comes at your feet, just kick it away. Play it safe for once, Jens. If you can’t reach the ball on fixed situations, then stand still and stop the ball on the line, if you can’t hold the ball, box it to kingdom come.

Please, Jens, play a game that will put you in the hearts of Gooners forever, even if you leave this summer. Give us an amazing performance to remember you by. Show Wenger he made a mistake in benching you. Show us why you should be the first keeper in Germany.

If the scoreboard shows 3-1 with one minute remaining of extra-time, be the bigger man: Let Aluminium take the penalties.

I want to see a back four aspiring for the title “The New Old Guard”. Show Dixon, Adams, Bould, Winterburn and Keown how a world-class defence should perform. Surpass the unsurpassable. Senderos has got it in him, you can see it in his eyes. Those cold, penetrating eyes, straight from the Swiss Alps, could put the fear in any forward on the planet. He is hard, tough and merciless. Wouldn’t surprise me the slightest if even Thierry stays out of his way during practice. Ash will be fabulous, I have no doubt. If anyone rises under pressure, it’s him. And Swedish high jumper Stefan Holm. 2,40. Wow.

I want to see Cesc Fabregas bulldoze the German midfielders to smithereens and put the ball through to Ljungberg, Henry or anyone else who can execute the ball in the net behind Kahn.

I want to see King Vieira. If I see Vieira slowly wandering about the midfield circle after passing the ball to the Germans I will personally take the next flight to London and kick his French behind all the way to Heathrow and onto the next transport to Madrid.

It is time for Paddy to work for his royal title, show us why we were worried sick for 2 months last summer. Show us that Wenger didn’t make a mistake in standing on his knees begging you to stay at Arsenal. Show the millions of fans that you are our King. King Vieira.

I want to see Freddie do what he does best. Run Freddie. Run like you have never run before.

“Run Freddie, Run!”

Run deep, run on the side, run backwards and run upside down. If you get the opportunity, show us all that you actually can shoot. Blast one in the top corner behind Kahn from the penalty box line so hard that the German twat passes out from the shockwave.

I mean, really, Freddie. If there is one time in your career when you should make a goal like that, it is in this one. Do it for us, do it for Gooners everywhere.

Henry. I want to see Henry. Period.

I want to see Henry when he plays football like only he can. I want to see those patented bursts of speed, leaving the German defenders floating like fish-scales in the wake of a north-sea fishing-boat.

Give them hell, Thierry.

Give them Sodom and Gomorrah.

Give them a blitzkrieg they will never forget.

All you need to do, Thierry, is to be you. That is all I want to see.

2 goals would be enough. And one assist as icing on the cake. 3-0. Whohoo.

Finally: I want to see Wenger coach this team as he has never coached them before. I want to see prompt substitutions if someone don’t measure up on the field. Don’t wait with critical substitutions until the 80th minute, get them out in half time if you have to. Nothing else than 2-0 matters come final whistle tomorrow.

I want to see Wenger inspire and lead the team to a performance which will make 1-5 Inter-game look like a Sunday League performance in comparison.

We can’t lose. We can’t be eliminated. We must win the game 2-0. At least.

Nothing else exists.

Very well, enough about that, I believe the players now know what I want to see.

But, if we, despite everything, are eliminated tomorrow, somebody is to blame. Somebody didn’t perform their rituals properly, somebody, somewhere didn’t believe in the team and I will make it my personal goal in life to find out whoever it was who didn’t kiss their Píres-poster before kick-off, who washed their 1979 home jersey or who broke whatever rituals Gooners perform before and during games in order to make the team victorious.

The only thing we as Gooners can do at this point is to support the team. From London, Stockholm, Kuala-Lumpur or Sydney, doesn’t matter.

I want to see Gooners all over the world to gather their strength and shower our Highbury heroes with love, support, belief, rituals and prayers.

Gooners, do whatever is necessary, sacrifice a goat to the Old Norse god, Loki, get your prayer-mat to the drycleaners, calibrate your compass and aim it towards Mecca, send an email to the son of Nazareth.

I don’t care what religion or country you are from, let us all do what is needed to bring victory to The Gunners.

We have to be victorious tomorrow, nothing else matters. Can you hear me? Can you hear me?!

“Is something wrong?” A voice behind me. A strong Chinese accent. My wife. Breaks my concentration.

My wife had been wondering what all the commotion coming from our study was all about and had peeked in through the door.

Suddenly, I realise that I have taken of my sweater, used her lipstick to write “Thierry rules” all over my chest and I find myself sitting on the desk, in a yoga position.

“Is that saliva running down the corner of my mouth?” Quickly I wipe it of and answer her, calmly:

“No no, my Chinese Lotus-flower, everything is fine. I just thought it’d be fun if Arsenal qualify on Wednesday that’s all. Nothing important. Just writing a few lines to Arsenal-Mania about it. Ready in a minute, sugar cup.”

She smiles, shakes her head and mumbles whilst closing the study door: “You love Arsenal more than you love me…”

“Well, I did meet Arsenal before I met you, love”, luckily she didn’t hear that last remark and I giggle to myself.

My eyes feel dry, haven’t blinked in 30 minutes. Won’t be able to sleep tonight.

Just to pass the time tonight, I was thinking about painting the wall of our apartment building with the Arsenal crest and make red and white paper-hats to hand out to random people on the bus tomorrow.

Oh well, I guess that’s all from me, for now.

I did mention we have to win tomorrow, right?

2-0.

At least.

That’s what I want to see.