Ham-fisted rivals have my sympathies

THERE have been a few awkward silences at work on Monday mornings in recent weeks.

I mean what else are you going to talk about, other than the weekend’s footie? Yet we’ve all been treading on eggshells, for fear of making matters even worse for our West Ham-supporting boss. I’ve grown almost as desperate as him for the Hammers’ fortunes to take a turn for the better, just so normal service might be resumed and I can get back to bragging about the Arsenal, instead of feeling the need to apologise whenever we’ve sneaked another three points.

And after the miserable outcome of West Ham’s “must win” match against Watford, I’m not sure I’d have had the front to show my face this Monday if we’d gifted our game to their closest rivals.

For all Egghead Magnusson’s money, the Irons can’t seem to buy a goal at the minute and I really have my doubts about Curbishley’s scatter-gun approach to trying to solve the Irons problems, by spunking up £19m of the Icelander’s millions on eight new players.

Rumour has it that Freddie Ljungberg turned down a massive £70.000 a week wage packet on offer at Upton Park; which in turn might lead one to conclude that the likes of Upson, Neill, Boa Morte etc. have all been tempted by similarly ignoble motives, rather than any burning desire to sweat blood effecting a rescue mission.

Moreover it’s hard to picture this somewhat random selection of panic buys playing their hearts out to avoid the prospects of lower league football, if they’ve all got escape clauses enabling them to bale out long before the Championship beckons. Between counting their money and nursing every slightest niggle, I wonder if some of them will find the time demonstrate whether they’ve a taste for the battle ahead?

With all those millions at his disposal, you’d think Curbishley’s job would be a doddle compared to Paul Jewell. With 14 players in and 11 out of the JJB since the end of last season, including the sale of most of Wigan’s more influential players, Jewell has virtually started again from scratch.

Even the most blinkered Gooner had to have some sympathy with the Latics on Sunday, as they were extremely unlucky to be returning from their first appearance at our new stadium, with nothing but a burning sense of injustice.

Although I do get more than a little peeved at how everyone seems to focus almost exclusively on the pressure faced by managers and clubs involved in the relegation struggle. Relatively speaking, the three points on offer in Sunday’s game were no less vital to the Arsenal. Can Arsène Wenger’s job be any less stressful, when, with a fraction of the financial muscle that’s now been made available to many of our competitors, Arsène is expected at the very minimum, to deliver a top four finish every season? Additionally, with the Gunners entire operation having been turned up a good few notches, to tie in with the scale and the setting of our grandiose new stage, it would be an unmitigated disaster if we failed to achieve Champions League qualification in our first season at the new gaff.

Arsène wasn’t the only one sweating, with 10 minutes left on the clock on Sunday. I was fortunate to find myself watching the match from the plush surroundings of an extremely posh Club Level perch. As our prospects of all three points dwindled with each passing minute, I grew increasingly convinced I was going to be personally culpable for our first defeat, due to having forsaken my customary seat. Having been offered a seat that costs an unbelievable £173 per match, gratis (never mind my complimentary half-time cuppa, it should be foie gras and Dom Perignon at those prices), I felt obliged to pass on the goodwill, by giving up my own ticket, to enable someone to take their six-year-old son to his first live game.