Lukas, Je Ne Regrette Rien


We swore we would not fall in love again. Many of us had foresworn it. @littledutchva cautioned us in the strongest way to love the club and to love the shirt but to trust no one else but ourselves. @arseblog has been similarly detached from the individual vagaries of player-driven emotions. @sandrahelena39 is guarding her heart. @arsenalvision had spoken of his near despair with the state of the game before sewing again the seeds of his own hope.

I have tested and tasted too much, lover – Patrick Kavanagh.

Cesc, then Robin slipped from our bed into another’s before our sheets were even cold. In one way or another they all have let us down. I should have known with Alex Song – he wasn’t doing all that hair-styling for me. Andrei Arshavin is worse still. He continues to give me passionless, uninspiring love-making and yet he still doesn’t leave me. There he is, staring at me. Please, put us both out of our misery. Nasri used me, plain and simple, until he found someone he desired more. Must I shame myself by naming every lover. I shall not.

This time around, it was Giroud we were supposed to fall in love with. He had the looks of a Romance Novel cover. It was Cazorla that was supposed to seduce us with his dazzling skills and his soft, soft feet, and he did. But it is Poldi who stole my heart.

What’s more, he feels the same way about me. Yes, it is early days in our relationship. Sure, the sex has been great. It may be infatuation flooding my and Poldi’s brains with dopamine but it sure feels like the real thing this time. Special. And I should know, I’ve banged a bunch of them over the years.

I think it’s getting serious, too. He’s talking about getting a Tattoo. I hope it’s going to be a tramp stamp: “Arsenal” just 5 inches above his coccyx.

Who could have thought anyone could have filled the hole vP left so quickly. No, not that hole. The hole in my heart. In fact, now that I have Poldi in front of me I see Robin more clearly. His movement and touch were beautiful, but he never gave himself fully. He was a leader, but a leader with some distance. Robin was in it for Robin. Ask Thomas.

And now there he is hugging the pigman, sharing each goal with the screaming Mancs of Old Trafford, sucking up to the slurring, semi-incomprehensible Scot.

Van Persie tweeted from the dressing room at half-time at Old Trafford the other day. He seemed a little non-plussed to be honest:

RT @persie_official I am witnessing my first Hairdryer at halftime. I am not impressed. It is all spittle and “fucks.” None of us know what he is saying. His head is a beetroot. We have learned this much: He is upset about something. We know not what.

But Poldi, he is already one of us. He tracks back deeper than a fullback. He wins the ball back from the Liverpudlians,  to turn defense into attack. He runs the length of the field and instead of weakening, improbably, he gains strength as he nears the penalty area. Like a hurricane he gathers strength as he approaches the penalty area: Category 3, Category 4, Category 5. He powers through to take a deft touch and finish low under the defender’s leg and beyond the reach of the keeper, finishing what he himself had started.

To his right, Giroud uses his hypnotic looks and moves to distract and attract the centre backs. Ahead of him, Cazorla uses both his feet…because he can, to give Poldi what he needs.

Poldi is puzzled that we are surprised. He wonders out loud, why would I run the length of the field just to fuck it up in front of the goal. If I was going to do that, I would not have run 160 metres to defend and then attack.

His Teutonic logic is hard to argue against. So, we don’t. We wonder why we have been doing it for all these years only to bollox it up at the last moment. We resolve never to do it again, ourselves.

Against the Saints, he is mugged by 2 or 3 of them in midfield. He loses the ball and yet through his strength he appears out of the ruck pushing the ball ahead of him towards goal. How did that happen? Force of will. He powers towards the penalty area paralyzing the defenders awaiting him. He finds the gap between them and feeds the pass to set up Gibbs.

Those sneaky Frenchies finagle a penalty and go a goal up within a few minutes. Gervinho remembers how to finish after Jenks remembers how to cross. Now Poldi reaches in to rip the heart out of their chest and blasts another goal home. Cazorla to Diaby to Giroud to Poldi. Podloski sends the goalkeeper the wrong way. He does not use his power because he chooses not to.

He impresses us on the pitch. He impresses Steve Bould in training. I expect that takes some doing.

But more important than impressing me or you or Steve Bould, can you imagine the impact that training with Poldi has on Chambo, Ramsey and Gibbs. It is why they came to our club, to learn to be Jedi. Chambo, Wilshere, Ramsey and Gibbs: They are the Padawans, Jedi Novices. Podolski is a Jedi Knight. And he is becoming a Jedi Master before their very eyes.

This is why they came to this club: to learn the secrets; to be in the presence of greatness. They thought it would be Cesc and Robin that they would rub up against to steal some magic, to learn their secrets. Instead, it will be Poldi, Santi and Arteta.

Like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, I swore I would not kiss Poldi on the lips. A working girl should not be getting her wires crossed. But, sorry, here I go again, giving my heart away. Je ne regrette rien.

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