I have some spare time today to write about something.  What something?  I don’t know.  I suppose I could write about the reason I have some spare time.  This spare time has come to pass because I’ve been awake since 3.30 this morning and have been in work since 6.  This is unusual as my daily routine generally consists of me getting up at 8.13am and getting in to work at 9.01am.

It’s not my by own choice.  The bunch of cuntlickers who moved into the apartment above mine about six weeks ago decided to throw another after-party at 3.30am in the morning.  Usually one of the other neighbours will go and knock on their door and ask them to keep it down but for some reason I knew that wouldn’t happen this time so at 3.35am I went upstairs and knocked on their door.  And I waited.  And waited.  Knocked again.  Waited.  Again, louder.  Waited.  Knocked again.  ‘Yeah yeah!’ one of the dickswillers sarcastically replies from the other side of the door.  Eventually I resort to thumping the door, and still the asshats refuse to have the decency to open it.  After a while I get bored and go back downstairs.

By 5am I’m lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the shiteaters give a very full-bodied rendition of “Ooh aah Paul McGrath” when my housemate finally gets up and decides she’ll ask them nicely to shut their cunting spewholes.  Despite her threatening to call the – ah for fuck sake, the alarm on my phone just went off… it is far too fucking early for this – despite her threatening, no, shouting, that she’d call the Gardai, they still wouldn’t open the door.  It was at this juncture that I decided I might as well get dressed and go to work.

I hope my housemate called the police. Either way, I’m going to have to shit in their letterbox. 

But hey, I can look on the bright side - at least Jack set another record.

A ray of sunshine breaks through the clouds after days and days of continous shit showers.

A win.

A new captain.   El Capitan.

A Champions League debut for Jack Wilshere.

I won't say any more.  I'm actually in a good mood.  I've been in a good mood all week, despite Arsenal's best efforts.  Now with the bonus of some good Arsenal-related news, I'm in an even better mood.  You wouldn't like me when I'm in a good mood, so I'll end this now.

Except, I'd like to post this.  It's cheesy and schmaltzy and emo and pretentious, but I love it all the same.  I've seen it around a few forums, and I'm not sure of the source.  Gunnerblog perhaps.  Anyway, El Capitan:

Arsenal reserves suffered a 4-2 reverse at the hands of the Norwich reserves last night, and unhappy fans were unhappy with their level of unhappiness over the unhappily fated defeat. Arsenal fielded a strong side including megawatt stars such as Jay Simpson, Amaury Bischoff, Kieran Gibbs, Francis Coquelin and Kyle Bartley, but it was the inclusion of hyperstar Jack Wilshere that sent expectations through the roof.  One fan outside the ground admitted:

‘I didn’t know Jack was going to play, but now that he is, Norwich may as well not even bother turning up.'

These sentiments were echoed by closet Arsenal-fan Ledley King:

‘Um… uh… Wilshere?  Uh…. Twelve-nil Arsenal.  Wait… Who are they playing again?  Where am I?’

However, things quickly went wrong once the game commenced and despite goals from Bischoff and Pingpong, Arsenal slumped to defeat, conceding an embarrassing four times.  Wilshere’s performance was described as “average” by one commentator, “poor” by another, “a load of effing waaaaaank, innit” by some geezer down the pub and “so bad it made you embarrassed for his parents” by Perry Groves.  

Angry tirades have been flowing into my inbox all morning from Jack-fans who believe his rise to superstardom has gone to his head.  Apparently, the excesses of booze, women and full-englishes (without toast) are becoming readily apparent through Jack’s lethargic performances on the field.  A live protest by two Arsenal fans wearing colours and a guide dog quickly turned ugly following the game last night, as the peaceful demonstration descended into a brawl which resulted in a dropped hamburger (with cheese, no ketchup) and a broken moped headlight.

Here at the JWCFW we are all gravely concerned.

‘We’ here at the JWCFW are proud to announce our new collaboration with Le Magagnosc Édition de Rapport de Gael Clichy.  Le Magagnosc Édition de Rapport de Gael Clichy is a print publication based in Magagnosc, a small village outside Cannes, France.  Cannes of course is the club where Gael grew up and apparently he still has a following there, or in Magagnosc at least.

Magagnosc is a hotbed of football radicalism and passion and is estimated that by 2013 there will be at least fifty people in the village with access to the internet, and as many as two percent of that number will be readers of Le Magagnosc Édition de Rapport de Gael Clichy, or as it will be then, The Jack Wilshere and Gael Clichy Centre pour le Worship.  This massive increase in ‘our’ readership can only be a good thing for all parties concerned.

What will the merge with Le Magagnosc Édition de Rapport de Gael Clichy mean for JWCFW?  Well, the boys at Le Magagnosc Édition de Rapport de Gael Clichy bring with them a wealth of journalistic experience and literary flair.  Here is a snippet of a pamphlet they produced recently (translated courtesy of John-Joe O’Toole). 

BANG!  The god of left foot strikes the ball into the goal of the might of Stoke.  The first butt of Clichy is a glorious imperialisation of the French hegemony.  Clichy, the quarter-master of the footballer sans ego, does not race to elate himself.  BOOM!  The Stoke Village is defeated.  Quel Disasteur!  Le Wenger is joyous of the king.  Clichy, 21 years, is the new lord of the Cannoneers.  What magnificent dilapidation.

The folks Le Magagnosc Édition de Rapport de Gael Clichy tell me that they have a similar flair for webdesign so I will be leaving the redesign of the JWCFW in their safe hands.  Over the coming days you should see dramatic and classy changes as TJWAGCCPLW comes into being.

Well, not really.  But I am in a good mood.

I was over in London on Tuesday night for the first time since the Emirates Cup, and it is safe to say that I got my moneys worth.  Nearly 60,000 of us filled out the ground and watched some sparkling football.  I was impressed by every Arsenal player, so much so that three-nil flattered Wigan.  Sure, there were negatives (Fabianski flapping, Randall passing to the opposition, Gibbs giving De Ridder too much room), but there were so many more positives.  Every player warranted a 7/10 at the very least, while there were also several exceptional performances.  Jack amongst them, of course. 

Mind you, I must say that the gigantic jizzbomb being exploded over young Jack's barely pubescent head by the UK press has been a bit ridiculous, even if Jack is the greatest player in the history of the game.

So, added to the game against Sheffield United, we've seen Arsenal score 9 goals and concede none, in front of a delirious combined crowd attendance of nearly 120,000.  Not bad for a team that disrespects the competition.  Meanwhile down the road, Chelsea show their respect for the competition by fielding a fringe team and getting beaten at home by a Championship side.  Nice.  Shove that up your cakehole Wilkins, you stupid bald cunt. 

One more win and we'll be in our fifth Carling Cup semi final in six seasons.  Again, that wouldn't be bad for a club that disrespects the competition.  And again, shove that up your cakehole Wilkins, you haemorrhoidic anal discharge.

I think it is important to sign off on a positive note, seeing as this will probably be my only blog entry this month.  So: I love Jack Wilshere.  And I love Aaron Ramsey.  And Carlos Vela. Ditto Theo Walcott.  Cesc Fabregas. Samir Nasri. Kolo Toure.  Gael Clichy.  Eduardo (looking forward to seeing you back!).  Robin van Persie. The list goes on.

Alex Song is a fine player.  I’ve rated him since I saw him bossing the midfield for the reserves against Portsmouth a few years back, when Denilson made his debut and much fanfare was present for a particularly young Theo Walcott partnering Jeremie Aliadiere in attack.  However, that doesn’t mean I won’t criticise him.  I’ve read a lot of very positive comments about his performance post-West Ham, apparently because he provides some semblance of defensive stability in the centre of a midfield which has been decidedly porous whenever Denilson has been present.  For me, this is not worthy of much praise.  This is a bare minimum requirement for our Flamini replacement. 

In the first half in particular, Song was crippling our attacking game because he offered nothing to it.  It was the Gilberto-Fabregas midfield of 06/07 all over again.  No urgency, no penetration, no aggression.  Every time Song got the ball, almost without fail, he’d play a five yard pass to Fabregas.  It reminded me of Henry’s last days at the club, young players terrified of ignoring or bypassing the main man.  Flamini did not have that concern.  If he saw an opportunity for a penetrating pass, he’d make it.  Hell, even if he didn’t see one, he’d hang on to the ball for a little while to see if he could create something.  With Song on Sunday it was this:  ‘Here Cesc, you’re the orchestrator.  I’m the waterboy.  I’ll roll you the ball and I’ll return to the fringes of the match.  Go do your stuff.’

The added pressure isn’t helping Cesc and it isn’t helping the team.  I like Denilson because he isn’t afraid to make things happen.  Unfortunately, he is missing the qualities that Song is getting praised for.  As always, the new boy or the unknown quantity, Song in this instance, receives a burst of popularity because the fans haven’t seen things go wrong with him in midfield (Sunderland aside), as they have with Denilson.  It’s like when Gilberto was out with his long-term back injury – he was the best defensive midfielder in the world by the time he came back.  Song is now resoundingly the best choice to partner Cesc. One or two nil-nil draws though, and that will quickly change. 

Of course, this isn’t really a surprise.  We knew this in August.  Unfortunately, there’s nothing we can do it about it now, so we’ll just have to muddle through until Arsene signs someone, or until Song or Denilson develop.  Personally, I can’t wait for my next trip to the Emirates on Nov 11.  The Randall-Ramsey pairing is also some way short of the required standard, but it is refreshing and intriguing to watch all the same.

Shiver me timbers.  Liam Miller looks set to start in place of the injured Steven Rosick… Reid tomorrow night for Ireland against Cyprus.  Do you find this amazing?  Are you interested in this fact?  No?  Well, neither am I really.  Unfortunately there isn’t much else going on thanks to the wonderful World Cup qualifying system.  One thing I do find amusing is how Cashley has picked up an injury that rules him out of the first game post Wembooley-gate, not unlike how he missed his first game back at Arsenal after he whored himself to Chelsea. 

It wasn’t as funny as the actual boos (which he worked so hard to earn), though.   At least his supporters are making some sort of noise in relation to him now.  Bad-love is better than no-love-because-Thierry-is-hogging-it-all, isn’t it?  Anyway, really nice assist, Cash.

While watching England versus Khakipants I noted how the commentators repeatedly spoke about England’s lack of a natural left-sided player.  May I note that by the 2010 World Cup, young Jack Wilshere will be a veteran of 18?  I may.  Admittedly he seems to prefer playing on the right side where he can cut inside – however, I posit this: even if he were on the left, had all his limbs lopped off, was blind and had a testicle bitten off by a rabid Spurs fan, his one gonad would still cause the opposition more problems than Stewart Downing.

And with that, I have a JACKFACT.

I'll have to be brief.  I realise I'm not posting very often, but the global financial meltdown is keeping me busy.

Arsenal.com brings us word that Amaury Bischoff is set to make his reserve team debut tonight against Stoke.  Hurrah!  We can relax, everything is going to turn out alright.  If I am honest, I think I may have been premature in renaming this blog to the Jack Wilshere Centre for Worship.  I should have dedicated to Amaury instead.  I think we all know that he is going to be the future, and I’ll certainly be watching keenly tonight.  Jack is dead, long live Amaury!

It's a special day.

I have worked hard for a long time to bring you this blog, and it finally is here.  'Blog, my arse' is no more, but 'The JACK WILSHERE Centre For WORSHIP' is here in its stead, and I think you'll agree, it is a more than fair exchange.

This blog will be your first stop for everything Jack Wilshere.  New features will include:

- The Jack Wilshere Stalking Diaries.
- Jack Attack - The latest Jack Wilshere clips, accompanied by the freshest rap music from America.
- Whos Jack? - Jack lookalikes
- And many more.

One new feature of the blog which I will be commencing today is the JACKFACT with every blog entry.  The JACKFACT will be immediately apparent, as it will be highlighted with the red bar below.  Here's our first JACKFACT.

#1  Jack Wilshere is left footed.  His other foot, is a right foot.  He also has two hands.  It is not known to man whether Jack is left handed, or right handed.

Finally, to celebrate the launch I donned my Jack Wilshere jersey (I was so clairvoyant that I got his name put on the back last season) and downed a bottle of my favourite whiskey.  Mmm!

Oh, I'm not wearing the shirt backwards.  My arms just go that way.  Til next time!

Every single game
And every pass you spray
Every match you play, every team you slay
We'll be watching you

Oh, can't you see
We belong to thee?
How the defence quakes
With every stride you take
Every shimmy you make
Every dummy you fake
Every shot you take, every ground you shake
We'll be watching you

Since you played we've loved that special grace
We dream at night, we can only see you race
We look around, the defence is giving chase
The ball flies in, it comes straight from your boot lace
We keep chanting Wilshere, Wilshere please,

Oh, can't you see
We belong to thee?
How the defence quakes
With every stride you take
Every shimmy you make
Every dummy you fake
Every shot you take, every ground you shake
We'll be watching you