Dear Mikel Arteta, I remember

Dear Mikel Arteta,

I remember the day you switched Merseyside for North London. It was late August — we were still winless in the league, had conceded 8 goals in our previous game and had sold two of our best players. There was absolutely no reason to be hopeful in such dire times, yet your signing gave me faith. After years of buying unproven French teens, you were the first quality Premier League player to join us. There was just something so distinctly Arsenal about you — with your perennially well cropped hair and clean cut features, you oozed class. From the minute you put on that red top, it felt like you’d been with us for years. During such a turbulent period, you brought much needed calm to our midfield and the club. You’d only played a handful of games when I went out and bought your jersey on a whim. I just had a feeling about you.

I remember *that* goal against Manchester City. I must have watched it a couple of hundred times, and each time it gets my nerves tingling. It was just four touches — one to dispossess Pizarro, one to get the ball out of your feet, one to get your body shape right and the last one sent the ball crashing into the bottom corner. It was a watershed moment; in a season where our reputation had taken such a drubbing, beating the soon-to be champions was a crucial step to restoring our pride. You ran to us with your arms wide open…