It happens around this time of year, every year in the Premiership. An in-form young player, much vaunted by his own manager and sought after by perennial tappers-up, pledges his future to his existing club in an anodyne series of meaningless epithets.
Cesc Fabregas breaks the news to us that he is committed wholeheartedly to doing what he is paid handsomely for, but it’s not about the money. Lucky old Arsenal. Monsieur Wenger (so much politer than calling him Aresne, don’t you think?) will be trés pleased.
Really, though, it’s the same of one of us announcing to our workmates – via the trade magazine – that ‘…because sales figures are going through the roof at the moment – pretty much down to me, single-handedly – I’ve decided to let you all know: it’s okay. I’m not going anywhere and I’m going to carry on doing what I’m paid for. Calm down, guys, I won’t be looking round for a better job, with more money, at one of our rivals. I’m staying because I love it here. So kiss my face!’
We reckon he’ll be playing in Spain next season.
(Image: from wonker's flickr stream)