I'm not a hard hearted man. When a player I cared for over many years leaves Arsenal, I don't immediate forget him. I don't shut off the part of me that cared for him and worried about him and nurtured his talent. I continue to follow his development and remain emotionally invested in his fortunes. So when I was flipping through the television looking for Celebrity Big Brother or a program about cooking apples and found Robin van Persie making his Manchester United debut in their loss to Everton I was disappointed. I felt his pain deep in my soul and, I'm not afraid to admit, I wept for him.
OK, that's a lie. I laughed. I laughed and I laughed and I laughed. And when I thought I physically could not laugh anymore without choking on my joyous, gleeful laughter, I coughed uncontrollably while smiling a massive smile. Then I drank some orange juice and started laughing again mid-sip, which made me spit all over myself but I didn't care. I didn't care at all.
After sitting on the bench for 68 minutes like he was Michael Owen II: Cruise Control, the first thing Robin did was take a corner kick. First of all, who does that? Secondly, easy there, David Beckham. Third, I can't think of anymore snappy comments so I'll just say pffffffft. He accomplished exactly nothing with that and then, with Man United down a goal to Everton -- I repeat, Everton -- his new teammates proceeded to ignore him over the last 20 minutes more than Cesc Fabregas did my text messages when Real Madrid won La Liga last season. By the way, I still plan on self-publishing those texts under the title "Barca DNA? More Like Barca ROFLMAO :P". Alex Song will get the first copy. I will autograph it by drawing my middle finger.
I realize this was just one match, but it was all I needed to know that I did the right thing by dumping Van Persie on Man United for a tidy profit. Yes, he scored 40 percent of our goals last season, but what's 40 percent of Man United's none goals? He was with Arsenal through our trophy drought and then he goes to United and they lose their first match of the season to a club that makes me look like one of those fancy Russian Sheikhs who spends money and drinks bottled water. Coincidence? No. Plus he says he has a screaming little boy inside of him. That's just freaky and probably a sign of mental illness. Have fun babysitting, Ferguson.
Once I get Arsenal scoring goals, Robin's going to feel so much worse. And he won't get any of my cooked apples either. Checkmate Wenger!