Happy Presidents’ Day! (ed note: the Chicago Manual of Style dictates the “s-apostrophe” — go figger.) Presidents’ Day is the day that America celebrates the greatness of all our Presidents. Yes, even George W. Bush.
Actually, the Federal holiday is still officially Washington’s Birthday. Never a country to waste an opportunity to kow tow to corporate interests the government has sort of officially renamed the day “Presidents’ Day” so that we could have a day off and get some stuff at really good prices. “1/2 off for Washington’s Birthday!” just doesn’t have the same ring to it.
And on this day celebrating Washington’s birthday Arsenal are sort of laying low. There’s a match on Wednesday against Champions League holders Milan but little news from the North London squad. I imagine they are regrouping. Actually, I imagine they are circling the wagons and having some chili by the fireside while Gilberto tells a story called “Perdition’s Pride.”
It is a story that about a group of young men who go out on a road trip to the dark forests of Manchester. Along the side of the road, at the gates of hell the locals refer to as “Old Trafford,” they are attacked by a square-headed, jug eared, squat, gap-toothed beast and his filthy companions. During the assault, one man is lost due to his own stupidity: he shot off his own foot after he overslept and then awoke in a panic in the second half of the battle. But even by then the battle had been lost. So much so that when the cavalry came and rescued the young men, it was already too late, the losses were too deep and the men demoralized. They beat a hasty retreat home bandaged and beaten only to find some fiendish Italians assaulting their castle and stealing their women.
And as the fire dies down and the chili is burbling in the young men’s stomaches Gio gives them a hint at part two: “The battle of Ashburton Grove.” A fierce confrontation between the young men from London battling to protect their women and children from the filthy old men from Italy. Part two of this story ends with the two generals named Gattuso and Flamini drawing swords on each other in the middle of the field of battle. And that’s all I can reveal right now, as it is a cliffhanger you see. So, tune in tomorrow for the exciting conclusion.
Until then.
Timmy, stay off the drugs. I feel like I’m reading the ramblings of someone who isn’t allowed to use an uncorked fork.
COYS.
However, I did have to come back and compliment you on the choice of name (but clearly not subject matter). Nice.