Filling in for the fabulous Susanne Offerman this week, I take a stab at venting my end-of-summer frustrations. Can’t wait to have you back, Suzy!
It hasn’t even been 48 hours since the transfer window closed, and I am already losing patience with it all. How much longer must one wait before everyone is satisfied with (or at least quietly resigned to) this summer’s events?
I don’t think I would be alone in admitting that I was, literally, counting down the hours, minutes, seconds until the clock ran out.
I don’t say any of this out of bitterness. Atleti, the only club I support, made at least one spectacular deal this year in bringing Villa to the Calderón. So no green-eyed monsters here, I assure you. But this particular transfer season felt like it dragged on for years. Seriously.
Remember when the Neymar-to-Barça talk first began? No, neither do I, it was that long ago, and despite all the “No, I’ll stay put until the World Cup” chatter the box-blond Brazilian dished out, we all knew then that today, he’d be where he is now.
So, when it finally came to his presentation, I was over it. When it finally came to his debut, I was doubly over it. And then finally, his full-90-minutes-omigosh-starting-11 debut… well, you get the point.
And then there was Bale. And then there was Bale. The broken record that is Bale. Another obscenely-valued, record-breaking transfer for the folks across town. Sigh. At least it’s over now. Please, let it be over. Between him and Neymar, there’ll be enough fodder for Spain’s sports journos to feast on for the next millennium. Or, at least the next year, which is also way, way too long for my taste. Is it too much to ask for a little respite before the frenzy starts in earnest?
All of the above being said, though, I can understand the reaction at Madrid’s other last-minute deal. Why they let go of Özil is beyond my fathoming. Good form, Wenger. I find myself both appalled at our city rivals (for letting it happen) and elated for us (for not having to worry about that midfield maestro any longer). Unless, of course, we have to face the Arsenal in Champions. But I digress.
Because no-one saw it coming (unless it was just me who was out of the loop — highly likely), I shall politely tolerate well-thought-out musings on Özil’s move to London. But the rest of it can just stop now. I am not amused by the endless, inane twaunting (Twitter taunting, or taunt-tweeting, you heard it here first). Just let him play, Gooners.
And of course, as our own club stayed true-to-form with last-minute wheelings and dealings of their own, I shan’t begrudge our new men-in-stripes the warm welcome they deserve. But my less-than-jubilant attitude at their arrivals just goes to show how truly exasperating the last few months have been.
I have to admit, I am glad that the ludicrous rumours surrounding Atleti can finally cease. Mata to Atleti, really? How would that fly, if Cholo huffed and puffed, and still the board couldn’t give him Diego. Mata? Come on.
I waited and waited, and now enough with the talk. I just want to see my team play.
Is the international break over yet?