Ebooé
What the fuck?
Granted, it's been a while since I was an habitual attendee at football grounds, and I may have had missed the memo and me sat all too comfortably in my ass groove. But the ironic cheering when Emmanuel Eboué's number went up, and the boos that greeted him when he left the field? I mean...like...
What the fuck?
Are we to think that he played badly on purpose? If so, why? Is he a double agent? Did he do it because he wanted to personally offend every Arsenal fan in the ground? Was he about to murder their loved ones, smear himself in their blood and dance on the grave of Herbert Chapman?
By all accounts, this was an anxiety dream made real; the highlights I saw were painful. The man was having probably the worst game of his life, not through a wish to deliberately do damage to the club, but because he was just having a really shit day. Sorry to be all touchy-feely, but he needed an arm around his shoulder, not a hand around his throat. And those fans who booed him need a slap (I mean a metaphorical slap, peace fans). Surely there's something on the radio they can complain about.
Bah. End rant.
Sounds like the treatment Luke Summerfield gets on a week-by-week basis at Home Park, except Luke's is even more shameful given that he a) is only 21 and b) is a home-grown product of Argyle's youth system. It doesn't help that he's the son of the assistant manager of course, but there's no excuse for it, none....
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