31 December 2014

A peek at Morgan Schneiderlin's Diary...

Dear Diary,

It has been a trial these last few months, bearing up under the strain of continuing to play for this club for who I have so long laboured without ever tasting the sweet fruits of my bitter labours. To date, all I have to hand down to my heirs is a Championship championship, an accursed alliteration that threatens to hang over me, lo, these many days like the Sword of Damocles. Shall I ever ascend to loftier heights? There was a time, barely a season ago, when it seemed as if I might arrive at a Promised Land of sorts, but it seems as if those days are but a will o' the wisp, whispering to me but never whisking me away. I speak, of course, of being wooed unto London...

O, Olivier, that I may celebrate thusly more often...
These were heady days, dear diary, though I am loathe to admit it. There were many clubs that vied for my interests, but none so ardent or passionate in their pursuit as that one club from London, those lily-white lovers, who lavished upon me the praises that very nearly prised me from my prison. I even tried to fuel the flames on twitter, tweeting that "6 years of an amazing journey" were "DESTROYED in 1 hour."

Of course, had I known more about the fate that might have befallen me at the time, I would have thanked any god who would receive me. Woe betide any who find themselves adrift on the shoals that is White Hart Lane. I almost pity Mauricio and his maudlin messages. Suffice it to say that I have blocked him, so insufferable are his bleatings.

Nay, instead, it is the siren-song of Arsène that summons me forth. He needs a defensive midfielder; I am such a player. It is almost too perfect. I am French. He is French. How many Frenchmen has he elevated? Where would Sagna or Giroud or Koscielny or Nasri be without Arsène? Well, maybe not so much Nasri, but the point still stands. If I could find my way to this Arsenal, how might my future unfold? It it almost too stressful to contemplate.

It is with these thoughts that I wonder about how I have played. Did I earn this red-card against Chelsea to prove that I am, how do they say, a Gooner? I know how much this club it is hated by Arsenal. On the other hand, did this red-card I earn to prove that I am a Saint? This is I think irony. On yet another level, did I earn this red-card so as to avoid the existential ennui of facing off against a club whom we so closely resemble? There was a time, after all, when Arsenal were known for developing young players, yet losing them in their prime. Am I therefore sabotaging, however subconsciously, my destiny as a French footballer?

We know how much it hurts to see a club with much money poach players from us. I owe much to Southampton. And yet, I worry that there is only so far the club can take me, and so far I can take it. I see how well Theo and Alex and Calum have done. Does this prove to me that I should follow their path? Where lies the greater glory? Is it in helping such a club as great as Arsenal, or is it in elevating a club as small as Southampton?

In truth, diary, I do not know where my future lies. The question is all the more pernicious when I consider how well my current club has fared of late, and how ambivalent my suitors have been. We shall meet in just a few days, though I shall have to watch from afar. Will my destiny hinge on the result, or will I twist in the wind for weeks on end?