Dear Mr. Wenger OBE,
As your pursuit of excellence is a
perennial
And all engaging excercise I appreciate
Your time with us is precious
But I hope you'd entertain
As you are known to do
A train of sentiments
Amateur, but long thought through.
Many times before, of course
I have tried to write, like in 08
With those young hopeful greats
When I prayed you'd bring in Seedorf
And once in 05 after some rash mistake
I wished to urge you send Jens Lehman
To Tibet to meditate.
And many times to express
The tour de force
That is the Pride
The paper lit the crowd alive
The dot to dot
Like verse in Morse
But this letter is my choice recourse
To praise a mastery oft ignored
Your mastery of the long game.
Its a shame
That since we last one the title
Smart money flew
The commodities super cycle
To Moss Side and Harrow Road
Rubber stamping stars like mints
And now you coach a squad
To play not clubs but
Carbon footprints.
When Nottingham are lost in woods
And Elland Road is owned by hoods
Blackburn were just a flash
And many others gone to trash
I admire how you've played it long.
How my hackles are unshackled
By the prattle of myopic hacks
Who's copy does not detail
Battling clubs that oil backs
Oh the reams of tittle tattle
Almost always lack
That critical faculty
And strategy,
But clearly you could see
This earlier than Xavi
It's incredible
In the days of the debt frenzy
With a net spend that South End envies
When Moneyball men descend
From across the pond
Buying clubs from County to Rotherham
That all the while you've played it
long.
And in the press, yes, there is praise
For Pulis and Allardyce
But when there's stats and figures
quoted
This mastery is rarely noted,
The credit
For this success I don't often see.
But clearly you read it
Earlier than Xavi.
Could I digress to reminisce
Of when I first witnessed,
The Colussus
Wednesday it was
Not any Wednesday
Furnace fresh steel
The educated industry
The artifice of empire
He echoed every bit that Wednesday,
To see ginger hair rise and fall
East to West like a copper sun
And Paddy off, on the run
Those days were more than fun.
But that stage was too small
For all the actors you have educated
Fashions you have dictated
And yet while others abdicated
You built a stage more elevated
Shown all how a small dog
Can maul a bear
And yet brought up puppies
With the greatest care
Built the greatest here.
For what could be coppers
You find boys strong as an Ox
Slicker than otters
Sharp as a guileful fox,
Houdinis with locks
Who run off their socks
How you taught a boy from olive groves
With feet as smooth as the gold that
flows
To squeeze as hard as those olive
presses
Play passes there's no second guessing.
The record is impressive
Officially, statistically the best.
Could I digress to discuss
An issue that is divisive
And that is ticket prices
The choir is too small
The circle lacking harmony
The entrance fee
Too heavy save
For those who already
For those who already
Have their glory.
So Highbury refugees
Sit six to a season ticket
Packed pubs, clipped pitches
Its just not cricket.
In the next chapter
An action to bring back terraces
Would be most merited
But I digress,
Your mark is indelible
What you've already done, incredible
Long after your last players have
played
In thousands of years in another age
Men will find what you have made
Look upon the work and say
This is a work of greatest endeavour
Thousands gathered here
Thousands did revere.
There can be no hesitation
Your canonisation
Is beyond question.
