Will He Be Missed?

the-long-goodbye

So, as the 1989 Epson fax machine in ‘Arry’s office is unplugged and dumped back under the desk for another year- a gnarled mess of ink and paper, pissing black smoke from age and overuse- we reflect on a month which has seen us be among the busiest of Premiership tradesmen. Granted, not quite the exhilarating transfer bonanza of twelve months ago- times aren’t quite so anxious- but an intriguing saga nonetheless.

Alas, between all the mêlée of players wandering in and out- Kaboul and Gudjohnsen being part of the former- we appear to have lost our erstwhile team-captain somewhere along the way. Captain being a loose term, of course. It’s considered fairly difficult to exercise any kid of authority if your role is limited mainly to gesticulating and frowning from the bench. Nevertheless, Robbie Keane has gone to Celtic until the season’s end. As we’ve been informed, it’s been a long time ambition of Robbie’s to don the hoops of green and white; presumably it’s right up there with playing for Liverpool and swimming with bottle-nose dolphins. Gauging the general mood towards Keane this season, some quarters even might suggest an alternative sea dweller for the Irishman to cuddle up to.

A shark, for example.

In all seriousness, I think it’s the right move for him. From the onset of his return- ignoring all counts of treachery and betrayal- I was keen to see Robbie pick up where he left off. Call me an old romantic, but I assumed it would be like the good old days; getting up defenders’ noses, thumping goals from all angles, cartwheeling his way along the touchline in the manner of someone just happy to be there. Perhaps a few mimed pistol whips in there for good measure. What a hoot he was having. But, lately,  instead of getting up the nasal cavities of the opposition, he’s been generally getting on the collective tits of the Spurs faithful while doing whatever the opposite of thumping in goals is. Even the cartwheels have stopped- on the odd occasions they are called for.

A parting of the ways, then, can hardly come as a shock, despite the eleventh hour frenzied look about it. It’s become quite clear that we’ve moved on without him. And, while I wouldn’t suggest our striking options are now perfect- gawd knows Crouch isn’t exactly setting the world ablaze- at least now we’ve got the chance to progress unhindered while ridding ourselves of the spectre of a damaged goods which has been threatening to do naff all for some time now.

Or did he deserve one last hurrah in a Lilywhite shirt?

What say y’all?


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