After a good, long dream in which Quincy, Cesc, and Loopy Lupoli vanquished all before them in a shiny, new stadium, it was time to put the boys on hold last night and concentrate on some other meaningless Champs League footie involving Chelski and Manure. I mean, OK, we'd prefer Chelski to beat Barca any day, especially with the English backbone they have, but I just have this sneaky feeling that people are starting to get pissed with Mourinho and even if they do lift the Champs League trophy, there'll be this feeling of, er, OK, so what, they bought their success...he's a great tactician, if boring and defensive is your cup of tea, and knows how to organize a team, but come on, with that dosh available, who couldn't build a successful team? As for Manure, I'm just pissed that G and R aren't here in the corridor to share my joy.

Tonight, it's the turn of London's finest to sweep away Bayern. Am I making a big mistake in inviting some of the boys round to share in my sorrow joy? The beers are piled in the fridge, my fingers are primed for dialing the local pizza place and mrs. liam brady's left shinpad has been banished from the house.

Meanwhile, Arsenal's next 'big thing', who is currently lurking in mrs. liam brady's left shinpad (that'll be Mrs. LBLS from here on in, just can't be arsed to write all that out in full every time I mention the other 'alf) womb, has been kicking his way to victory the last few days. I've got a feeling he's going to end up a real bruiser or at least have a mighty fine free-kick...

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