Voy Por Ustedes

I'm about to eat a Heinz chicken and vegetable curry. They call it a 'Big Eat' and although it's only small I won't argue with them. Before I enjoy this microwavable repast though, I'd like to just discuss a few things.

I'd like to offer up my congratulations to Mr Twizzle for the first of many victories for Porter's War who won at Fontwell today thus allowing me to recover the monies I invested in various toxic poker hands last night. This will save me emailing Obama and claiming a slice of his tarp funds.

I'd also like to offer up a high five to myself for backing Birmingham to win each half last night against Wolves. Despite promising first halves of the season my team of singing squirrel had flagged up both Hull City and Wolverhampton Wanders as the Bismarks of their respective divisions.

I fully expect Hull to be relegated and Wolves to miss out on automatic promotion. Nature has shown us that anything sporting a combination of gold and black colouring is doomed to failure. This is why tigers are all but extinct.

I'm nervous about this evening's football. Arsenal could not really have hoped for a better draw, but my one reservation about playing Villareal is the ex-Arsenal factor. Players who have left Arsenal always tend to score against us when they return with their new team. Villareal have the legendary Bobby Pires and the legend in his own right Pascal Cygan. Not sure if both are playing tonight, but I fear the worst.


Pascal bless his bald pate was ridiculed by Arsenal fans for struggling to kick the ball in a straight line, but I loved him. In truth he was more French riot cop than centre back, but the one occasion when he caused little gob shite Alan Smith - then of Leeds United - to almost cack himself in the tunnel before a game just by staring at him was enough for me to forgive his many failings on the pitch.

Bobby Pires of course was the best number 7 ever to play in England. Better even than David Rocastle who was incomprehensibly awesome. Eric Cantona and that wife beating alcoholic from Norn Iron weren't fit to empty his wheelie bin and of course Kenny Dalglish was from Scotland.

We knew Robert woud be a legend the day he called turncoat David O'Leary, a whore. If Villareal must score, then I hope it is Pires, I shall cope if it is Pires. As long as we have scored three ourselves of course.

My curry grows tepid, I must go.