Wednesday, June 29th, 2011 « Untold Arsenal: Arsenal News. Supporting the Lord Wenger; coach of the decade

An exclusive interview with the president of Barcelaonus

By our undercover reporters M. Adeup and T. Ruth.

Additional material by Lady Bracewell-Smythe, and her man, Bisket .

After a narrow escape from the dungeons under the Daily Stuff our reporters have been send on a new mission. A mission to the sun. No, not the paper.  A mission to outdo our rivals The Daily Snuff, the Morning Lark, and the Under 12s section of the Arsenal Supporters Club.  Not to mention The Sun.  No!  The sun shines in Barcelona!

I don’t know if you know that sort of feeling you get on those hot days at the end of June when the sky is a light pink or green with cotton-wool blobs and there’s a bit of a hurricane blowing from the west, and you know you haven’t yet recovered from last night at the pub? A kind of uplifting feeling that you can do it all again today. Romantic, if you know what I mean.

Now the men on the Daily Stuff are not much for romance, but on this particular morning it seemed to our reporters (or say they say in their account of what follows) that what they really wanted was some passing young lady of a certain vintage and size to trott along and ask the lads to save her from a bunch of maundering members of parliament who were harrassing her.  Or something.

A kind of bracing feeling that gives one the edge.

So it was this day as our intrepid fellows took their bags and filled them with coloured ink for photocopy machines, (a smart move as later turned out), donned their Lady Nina Bracewell Smith look-alike costumes and headed west for the airport.

Now we didn’t know this at the time, but airports are full of security people who are very suspicious about ink.  Not sure why that is, but there it is.

Ink.  They can’t stand the stuff.  Apparently you can make quantum bombs from it or something.

Anyway, after learning that we were from the Daily Stuff, and were going to help that aged and revered institution (Barcaloanus) sort out its stationery cupboard they told us that they were great Lady Nina fans and we went on our way.  (Actually we think they may have mistaken Lady Nina for Lady Gaga, but we don’t look gift horses in the gift horse, as it were, so we moved on.

At the second (of nine) security barriers we explained that we were Lady Nina (and her man, Bisket).  They asked the reason for our trip but we broke through by putting money in the hands of the border guards and all was fine.  It is vital to keep up the ancient British ways.

On the plane Bisket studied the menu devoutly before ordering a cup of cocoa, cold veal and ham pie, slice of fruit cake, and a macaroon.

When we came to Barcelona we took a cab that brought us to Nou Camp. Which isn’t that nou any more in fact.  It is rather a monument to the past.  A past when people had better eyesight and could see a football at 3000 yards.  These days, with the decline in carrot production in northern England, and the use of sonar, eyesight has declined, and those beyond the first tier at the ground pay reduced prices to listen to the roar of the greasepaint and feel the smell of the crowd.

Thus it was that us, the men on the spot (apart from Bisket who is our man with a spot) asked if we could speak with the Barceloanus president. When we said that we were from the Daily Stuff, (an association we explained that was closely associated with Untold Debts and Money-Laundering, a well known Spanish football blog) we were not allowed in!   Even the fact that Biskit had been practising Katalan (the local language) on the flight over, would not get us in.  We had given all our spare dosh to the border guards at Heathrow, and were sunk.

So we remained stationery and offered stationary (or vice versa) until Biskit  said ‘We bring you this” and pointed at the bag filled with the coloured ink.  (He also offered a bunny rabbit in the shape of Lady Nina but that clearly confused the poor fellow.)

Here sadly something got lost in translation for instead of hearing words concerning the working of the modern digital photocopier the doorman  understood: “We bring you Cesc”. The doors opened and we could enter the offices from the most successful club in the history of history.

Because of the savings Barcelona had to make it was very quiet in there.  No bouncers, no banquets, no books, no trophies (all down the pawn shop as we discovered later), no gentlemen tending each individual blade of grass, no one wiping the seats….

Even the doorman looked rather familiar.  He brought us to a door  where it said Mr. Rossel, President of FC Barcelona and told us to wait. The doorman entered the room and half a minute later he came back to the door and called us in. There was no other person in the room. But then us, acting as the paper’s “men on the spot” tumbled the ruse.

The doorman presented himself as Mr. Rossel himself! And yes it was him!!!  The boss would doubling as a humble man about the streets!!!!!!

Oh what democracy!  What fun!  What irony!  What a victory for the republican revolution and the overthrow of  the dictatorial fascist hierarchy of days gone by!  “Why don’t they do this at Arsenal?” said our man.  “Perhaps Lady Nina would do the door opening duties at the Ems!” replied Biskit, and there was much nodding of heads and general chortling in the direction of Gibraltar, for no particular reason other than when one chortles one needs to be pointing in some direction or other and that was the direction chosen by chance on that occasion.  There was no political significance in this at all.

“So you bring me Cesc,”  he (the doorman stroke President) asked

“No!!” I exclaimed (in the manner of Harry Enfield on one of those early shows, before it got a bit silly with all that Russian President intro).

Now I am by and large a man who never uses one exclamation mark will two will do.  “We bring you this!!” I said and showed the coloured ink for the photocopy machines.

You know the way love vanish from a man’s eyes and its disappearance can change a fellow’s whole  approach to life in seconds.  Well that’s what we got here.  It was really frightful to contemplate

If you ever have seen disappointment on a man’s face, this was it.  If you have seen the joy and laughter on the face of a seven year old when being given a puppy and before the notion that for the next ten years the child will be expected to clean up the mess, this wasn’t it.  If you have ever seen the smug grin on the face of a man who has not won the general election he has just fought, but knows he has persuaded the Liberals to join him in coalition and it will not only sustain him in power, it will also destroy that annoying bunch of radicals and long haired wierdos once and for all, this wasn’t it.

It nearly broke our hearts! “But this isn’t Cesc,” he said.  We admitted it wasn’t Cesc at all but was in fact coloured ink. But we pointed at the fact that for now they could use the ink to make colour copies. It wasn’t much consolation. But after thinking it over he said: “well we can use the ink.”  (He also asked if we had brought him a puppy dog or fought any interesting elections of late but we said no, we had not.  It doesn’t get to become too chummy with these foreign types).

But then, returning to our journalistic roots, and once more becoming “our men in foreign parts” we said, “We can only give the ink in return for an interview.” He looked at the ink one more time and agreed. And so we got our exclusive interview with the Barceloanus president.

Mr R began by addressing me:

MR R: In society circles in England, I believe, you have a fairly fruity reputation as a hostess, Lady Nina.   But you also have a reputation for being a dealer and a wheeler.  I am told no one can remember a single meal with you at which you didn’t turn the conversation sooner or later to the subject of Cesc.  You are always the same you English.  You are boiled fish!

M Adeup: Are you going to buy Cesc?

MR R.: Yes but we don’t know when.

MA: Have you made an offer yet as the press are reporting it?

MR.R.: Oh those boys from the press. They always try to help us. But in fact the only thing we did was go to the Sun and say that we are thinking of putting in a bid for Cesc.

MA: So the Sun is not completely telling the truth by saying you made a verbal offer? And all those other media who report the same? Are they lying?

MR.R. No, we only talked to the Sun about this. They are our privileged source. We thought it would be better if Arsenal also talked with the editor of the Sun. And Lady Nina.  You know English people amongst each other. We hoped it would help us in getting Cesc.

MA: So is the Sun acting as your manager and agent in this transfer?

MR.R.: Oh yes, they are. They are our go between in this transfer. We say what we want to them and they will make it public in the media.

MA: And did Arsenal reply to you or to the Sun?

MR.R.: No, to my surprise they didn’t reply to any of us. I don’t know why.  I was told that you, Lady Nina were a little late getting to a meeting (apparently the trams in the Kingsway tunnel were running a little late).  We are respectable, the Sun is respectable. In a way you could say that Arsenal is being disrespectful to all of us.

MA: Are you willing to pay the price for Cesc?

MR. R.:  Come on guys if we cannot even afford coloured ink do you think we can pay a decent price for Cesc?

MA: Would you consider a change of players to bring Cesc home?

MR. R.: Oh yes we would certainly do this. After all the only thing we want is to make Cesc happy, bring him home and make the fans happy!  In fact we are starting to look rather stupid, having let him go at 16, and then spending all our time hunkering around the lad, saying that he doesn’t have real human DNA but DNA made out of the local stone.  Very odd!  Strange no one has picked up on it before.  Not very good your local journalists, are they?  We had one round here the other day from the BBC and he kept telling us how he keeps eleven pet rabbits in his bedroom.

MA: So you would consider swapping another player who came to you at a young age with Cesc ?

MR.R.: Yeah we do anything to get Cesc back home except pay the money for him.

MA: So you would consider giving Messi to Arsenal in order to take Cesc with you?

MR.R.:  Who was your employer again?

MA:  I am Lady Nina of the Bracewell-Smith clan, and this is my man Biskit.  Now answer!  Are you considering this?

MR.R.: yes, no, er….

MA: Can I write the first yes as your answer Mr. President?

MR.R. You are not Mr Usmanov in disguise are you?  Hard to tell you English apart, you all look the same!

MA: Can I write it down as a yes Mr. Rossel?

MR.R.: SECURITY!!!! Where are those guys these days? Never around when you need them.  I will have you thrown out of here. You and your funny English website with all its funny spellings and odd words and jokes no one can understand and the way you always laugh at us having no money. Well let me tell you, your country is broke!

MA: I think Spain is also bust sir.

MR.R: Is it?

There was a long pause as Bisket smiled.  Or, rather, he had a kind of  muscular spasm about the mouth that they get in parts of Tottenham, which is the nearest thing he ever gets to smiling.  Then the president remembered that he had fired the security people along with the resident troop of belly dancers, cat tamers and pole vaulters.

MR R.: I must ask you to leave now or I will put my security uniform on.

MA: So you will consider a move of Messi in change for Cesc? (Our reporters are really hard men and known to push for an answer when the pubs are open.)

MR. R. (being distracted by pulling on his security uniform) yes I will do it…..

MA: Okay thanks Mr. President, this was the answer we have been waiting for.

MR.R.: …yes I will throw you out

M Adeup (dressed you will recall as Lady Nina, and putting on a female voice): No need El President we know the way out. Oh, and here is the ink.

The Barcelonaus president tried to run after our reporters but stumbled upon the bag with the coloured ink.

Back on the street we ran (as fast as the Lady Nina costume would allow) to the nearest internet pub and sent us this exclusive interview with the president of Barceloanus.  So it is final: Cesc will go to Barcelona and Messi is on his way to Arsenal. The deal is certain, it was written in coloured ink.

Lady Nina Bracewell-Locket appears courtesy of MegaDodo Publications Ltd.