Alex Steine
Nowadays, large corporations, multinational interests, and even governments operate in a dual fashion. Whilst proclaiming openness they usually disguise their real intentions, offering sound bites to the masses then pursue their chosen goals under a cloak of secrecy. We as Arsenal fans are not privy to the machinations of a real board meeting, so I offer no apology for the speculative assumption of this written piece. It is intended as a 'fun' article, and would just say with perhaps a defensive mien, possibly you should treat your fans in a more open fashion AFC, and endeavour to make your club statements less ambiguous. Or George Harrison might say, 'Ring out the old, ring in the new. Ring out the false, ring in the truth.'
The hostess quickly exited the boardroom with an awkward attempt at a curtsey which ricked her back, she'd suffer with that later. The young magnate's son, Josh, breezed in, hands stuffed deep in pockets. He hadn't even seen the woman. He thought he cut a dash. He had taken to wearing a long wrap around scarf, and wore his collar up since the popularity of 'Sherlock' had gone through the roof in the USA . 'Hi dudes.' he drawled, crashing down into the rich leather chair at the head of the polished oak table. He swung his calf cowboy boots up on to it, removing any sense of class it brought to the room. As always AFC can create the image, cretins can destroy it. The Chairman began to protest that it was his seat, but was stilled with a, 'Zip it!', delivered without looking at the dismayed chap. 'Hey, I saw that Les Miserables last night, (he pronounced it as 'Les' the name, and 'miserable' the mood), it was a crock man, I tell you. Just one big crock of Frenchie merde.' he planted both palms of his hands on the table, and seemed mesmerised at the smears they left as he lifted them. 'OK, guys. Nothing to report? Awesome!' Josh answered his own rhetorical question.
‘Well...,' began Arsene.
'Listen my little French fry, "Zip it" is for y'all. Got it? You know the deal. You get to sit in on these gatherings providing you keep it buttoned. Capiche?' Josh was a forceful idiot, yet only in his bullying circles. If he had a choice to make of which two ties to wear he'd be lost and five minutes later might be found hanging from the ceiling by one or both; on home territory he was a different animal, as all bullies usually are. His vocabulary was a mix of eclectic clichés and throwaways, which he'd garnered from many walks of life, but mainly through TV. It was naturally littered with insults and inappropriate comments, but he didn't concern himself with any such considerations, because he knew he was the boss, the chief, and he believed he was the king.
'Er, young sir, we have an item which, er, needs to be discussed.' offered Sir Chips.
'Look, Monster Munch, any paperwork garbage and you leave it to 'Old yella' to deal with; I don't want to know.' He glanced at Gazidis as he spoke the cutting remark. He enjoyed the discomfort his words caused. A voice came from the intercom, 'Mister, er, Sir, Josh, sir. The Puma group are here to meet with Mr. Wenger. They apologise for being early so I've seated them in the 'Anfield 89' room.'
'Hey, doll-face!' he said to the disembodied voice, who happened to be a mature woman in her late forties, 'Get me a jelly doughnut!' he released the intercom button, and swivelling in his chair said, 'Beat it!', and without protest Arsene left the room.
Sir Chips was agitated as he began again, ' Young sir I must draw your attention to the fans' unrest, as...'
'Fannies! Call them fannies that's what they are, and I don't give a crap what they think.' he threw a paper aeroplane he'd made from an AFC embossed serviette, which flew across the table, lodging itself in Sir Chips' grey hair. ' Yay!' Josh whooped. 'You couldn't have caught it there, Old Yella Face. Not with a head like a pool ball.' He chuckled at his own pathetic joke. Josh laughed in a 'gnhaa, gnhaa' way, which to others was quite irritating; no one was likely to ever tell the emperor that he wasn't wearing clothes though. Gazidis just squirmed.
Sir Chips quietly removed the plane as another skimmed the polished table and slid off the edge to the floor. The Chairman offered a mild protest at the dismissal of his point by beginning with, '...but...'.
Josh, intent on cleaning his nails then interrupted once more, 'No buts in this boardroom, except for your three butts, and that's only for me to kick when I need to. Got it?' He waved the nail file as if to emphasise the point. At this moment Arsene Wenger returned.
'It is not the main party, they will be along in little bit, and I shall go when they arrive to treat them specially.'
'Come in and sit down you old Kraut.' the young man ordered.
'I am not German!' insisted Wenger.
Laughingly Josh responded, ' You are from Alsace, right? You are an Alsatian - a German Shepherd - so clam-up buster!' He cracked his knuckles then said, 'Listen up you guys, I'm being hard on you. I know but my 'pa' has the perfect business plan. You don't need to win stuff to be a success. He has proved it for years so it's all cool. Now with this goddamn Champions' League we get rich whilst not trying to win stuff. It's a dream guys, we have found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Lighten up, and enjoy what we've got in our hands for Chrissake!' Ivan Gazidis nodded his approval, as if a fantastic revelation had been offered.
'Look you three stooges, just be grateful that the other clubs have greasy scumbags running their teams, and debts up to their 'pits'. Aw shucks, the big two have enough dough to just throw at it. If they suddenly realised they could get by without even trying to win anything like us, well we'd be in trouble.' he laughed out loud. 'Those big two want to win - they are on a glory hunt so compete against each other, let them! Their dumb-ass owners are in competition over the size of their own 'weenies', they don't give a hoot about their fans. Fannies!' he quickly corrected himself. 'Manchester are gonna crumble like the Berlin Wall, they have been running on empty for years just to keep up, and their time is over. They have mega-buck debts and a sell-out is the only thing that'll save them. We are in pole position against the wannabees, Liverpool Franchise, Everton City and Totteringham, so will stay ahead with our big pot of gold coming regularly. Though you've only just scraped it in the last two consecutive seasons Krauty, don't make me sweat this time around. OK?' Arsene nodded his agreement. Sir Chips stayed focused on the deep scratches the buckles of the boots were making.
Josh, and his father Stan had laid out the strategy before. It was understood by all. Times changed fast though, and occasional updates or 're-routes' as Josh called them, needed to be implemented sometimes; still those core values remained. As they saw it, based on their very own USA work model, success didn't have to be linked to silverware, in fact that could serve as a downright disadvantage. Win a pot, and they want you to repeat the feat. Here in England, with the advent of the money-spinning Champions' League qualification AFC had it made. They were becoming richer and richer. The omnipresent piratical satellite companies vying for match coverage, with their omniscient, yet strangely incoherent mutterings from their pundits, made sure AFC were constantly benefitting from the high profile it brought. 'Hey, we got that bug-eyed one, that shut up those 'fannies' - we didn't need a 'kraut' though.
Arsene spoke, 'We have three other Germans in my squad, Josh.'
'Do we? Anyway call me Josh the Man, that's my title - goddit?' Arsene with a pained expression in his eyes just nodded.
'Right guys, get this!' Josh spoke with a certain temerity. All three men turned their attention on him. He raised himself slightly on his elbows and broke wind, shouting, 'Hot dog!' He laughed so much he cried. As he wiped the tears away from his face with another AFC serviette, he suddenly stopped. The smile fell from his face. He looked with a cold intensity from one to the others. 'Just remember this you clowns, " Pa knows best." Now what does Pa know?'
