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Finton’s Frolic: Arsenal Must Knock the Cocks off their Perch

By Daniel Finton (Deputy Editor)

What up, pimps?


Welcome one and welcome all to the Finton’s Frolic right opinion zone. Today, there is nothing else that can be discussed besides the forthcoming North London Derby. It’s huge as always but this season it’s even moreso than usual.


Jose Mourinho’s Tottenham sit atop the league table.


I’m not sure there’s ever been a more repulsive sentence ever written.


The Arsenal’s mortal enemy being led by such a colossal douce that once labeled our best ever manager, Arsene Wenger “A specialist in failure” is reason enough to want nothing less than a victory in this match. However, that’s not the main reason we’re all starving for a win.


Along with the fact that our side have had a dismal season this time around, also comes the Sp*** fans talking louder shit than I’ve ever witnessed, which just adds insult to injury. You’d think it’s the end of the season and they’d won the league with how cocky they’re being.

But they haven’t won anything yet and the fact is, Mikel Arteta and co could halt the Cocks’ momentum. In truth, it’s more than possible from my perspective. I don’t find them particularly impressive. They’re so overly reliant on that of Harry Kane and Son that if they’re absent or have a remotely bad game, Spurs are useless.


Furthemore, like Manchester United, they seem like one of the luckiest sides in world football. And I don’t think I’m just being biased either. They seem to get the benefit of the doubt for big calls week in and week out. They can take like one shot in a match and score fucking 9 goals somehow.


A win in this enormously notable North London Derby could not only put holes into the sails of the now high-flying, overly fortunate goblins down the road, but it could also wake Arsenal the hell up. We’ve been dormant thus far, but this occasion, being a spectacle and all could serve as the alarm clock that gets us to erupt again.

It is worth noting that in most cases, if we were going away from home to a side that was at the pinnacle of the league table, a draw would leave me more than satisfied, tomorrow that is not the case though. I want a win, and nothing less. This can be our most important match of the season—it can serve as the making or breaking of this league’s campaign.


I want to see the stadium-attending Spurs fans crying uncontrollably. I want Arteta to show Mourinho how to coach. I want our supporters to feed a humble pie to our inferiors—maybe even doing the airplane thingy parents do for babies. Of course, I’d never nurture a baby that cared for the Spuds though, so I guess that’s a pretty stupid metaphor.


Finally, I want to put the cocks in their place. You’re not a big club. Nor will you ever be. The Chickens seem to think they’re one of the big boys now that they’re at the dinner table with the proper clubs—what they don’t know, however, is that they’re merely there for consumption. It’d be stupid not to keep tabs on them and keep them nearby. Their hilariously entertaining ability to cock up everything they do must be why their symbol is what it is.

Anyways, that’s all for this weeks Finton’s Frolic. We have to win. It’s non-negotiable. The unwashed will inevitably be knocked off their perch sooner than later, but fucking hell, I hope we’re the ones to do the duty. Soon come, hopefully. Until then,


Toodloo...!

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