Dear Mr. Wenger
Being a City fan I would like to thank you. For many years whilst watching our boys in blue plummet towards the depths of the old Second Division, the only footballing beauty I derived from the domestic league was watching teams like Manchester United, Chelsea, Kevin Keegan’s Newcastle and of course your Arsenal. As a Mancunian I could never openly support a team from London, and I shamefully admit to claiming a geographical pride in the achievements of the Salford Reds. But during those epic Arsenal vs United games in the early Noughties I was rooting for you and your French wonderkid’s Arsene, I really was. You built a squad around one of the best defences in the Premiership in Winterburn, Dixon, Adams and Keown, adding half of the World and European cup winning French team to that steely foundation to create a squad of sheer class that mastered the art of The Beautiful Game to perfection. But now the memory of Henry, Viera, Pires, Bergkamp and the Invincibles of the 2003/4 season seem a long way off don’t they?
Many of my Gooner friends are now starting to ‘feel the blues’ – an expression that resonates painfully with me as a Blue when you consider what City fans endured during the 80’s and 90’s. Nobody should suffer that kind of footballing indignity – and to be fair Arsenal are a long way off from that degree of abject failure. But Arsene – the honeymoon’s over, the 7 year itch has turned into a rash and now it’s time to pull out before your reputation is tainted for ever.
You came to England as an unknown. A quirk in the game. Despite the Gallic style and flare we were all familiar with, you opted for an image styled on the look of a paedophile schoolteacher. However your image marginally improved in later years as you conceded to the vanity of contact lenses, adopting a Mr. Burns appearance – that of a stubborn, miserly man with sallow skin who is forever making excuses for his shortcomings. They say never judge a book by its cover, but perhaps your insistence on wearing those creepy glasses for so long was an indicator of the stubbornness that was to come in the future.
Arsene, you have done well. You’ve established yourself as one of England’s best foreign football managers, making some inspired signings (buying Anelka for £500k, selling him for £22.5million and getting Henry for £11million has to be the deal of the century) and becoming an Arsenal legend along the way. But now I think your ego has taken over. I think you are obsessed with building a team from scratch the way Fergie has, rather than improving on what was already a solid cast like you did when you arrived at Arsenal in 96. But what you have to understand about old Bacon Face is this, whilst the French are genetically predisposed to capitulation, the British are imbued with the ‘Dunkirk Spirit’, the culture of thuggery and that most Anglo Saxon of traditions – aggression. You are no match for Sir Alex. Not only is Sir Alex British, he’s also Scottish, which is like being English with studs. The Scottish are so tough and unruly the Roman Emperor Hadrian built a wall across the whole of Scotland to keep them out. You have as much chance of surpassing Fergie’s legacy as you have at beating him in a fight, so you may as well give up now and go and manage your national team – if nothing else to maintain your own dignity. You had a great run but you are now bordering on becoming The Forgotten Man. And with our own Bobby Manc now rising to ascendancy – a man who derives from Roman stock – you are only facing many more years of nearlydom.
There’s one last think I’d like to say before I sign off; first of all I’d like to thank you for Seaman, Viera, Toure, Nasri, Clichy – even Adebayor if only for that awesome goal celebration during the 4-2 drubbing we gave you at Eastlands in 2009. It must be painful to see all this talent move up the M1 to Manchester, but that’s modern football Arsene. Money and trophies is what it’s all about for these young scamps, with their millionaire lifestyles of Range Rovers, Rolex’s and roasting. Loyalty counts for nothing unless you’re winning and/or paying – and you’re not doing either. So please, before you decide to swan off into the French sunset to manage the squabbling in the French dressing room at Brazil 2014 – will you let us have Robin Van Persie?