Call it 'The Best League in the World!'

The English Premier League starts again today.

Yay.

Oh, well. After waiting for it most impatiently (since June, when the Golden State Warriors broke a forty year jinx to win the NBA trophy against the all-LeBron Cavaliers, and there was no other league I got to follow), it’s come back and I don’t feel as much excitement as loads of people I’ve come across. Not that I blame the league, though. There are times I’ve felt such extreme hunger for such a long time that when I finally got my eyes—and hands—on some food, I had no appetite to deal with it.

I’m positive I’ll catch the fever soon enough. I mean, there is so much to look forward to, considering this year’s pre-season drama. (Congrats, Wenger. You are proof that every dog has its day.) I do try to remain neutral, though. Try, because I still sympathize with Manchester United and Chelsea, having supported them both in the past (and simultaneously at one time, even), one boasting my face of Gillette Juan Mata, and the other with a Special coach whose seeming nonchalance at pre-match press conferences can make opponents shiver. (On a somewhat unrelated note I’ll add that I once supported Arsenal too. For about a week.

It was the most boring week of my life.)

There are those things that make the league up…

§  Arsene Wenger almost signing someone.

§  United fans wondering for only the nine hundredth time if Samuel Inkoom would not be better than Jonny Evans. (Cut the guy some slack, though. He obviously weathers more storms than a Thiago Silva-less Dante and David Luiz.)

§  A good striker who may not particularly run around much but will always be there to nudge the ball in. (Please, Diego Costa, do not be injured this season. Please.)

§  Eye candy (Walcott, Sinclair, Lallana, Mourinho, I see you).

§  Balding eye candy (insert names here).

§  Arsenal leading the pack for so long they wish it was May already, and then dropping to their trusty fourth place by December. (Great going, Arsenal. No playoffs this year. That alone must be a trophy in itself.)

§  Manchester City being themselves—Manchester City, a good club with a good manager and good money and a bad fan base.

§  Midweek evening matches.

§  Derbies that don’t disappoint. (6-1, huh.)

§  Flops like no other. (That Manchester United 3 – 5 Leicester City score line is one I cannot forget.)

§  Player flops like no other. (Shevchenko. Torres. Berbatov. Di Maria. I have no reason to believe—or disbelieve, come to think of it—that Falcao’s name will be here soon).

§  Arsenal winning Twitter polls. (Who’ll win the Liga? Retweet for Barcelona, Favourite for Arsenal. 300 RTs, 6.2K Favs.)

§  That keeper that delivers a save so breathtakingly stunning you thought it was only possible in a dream.

§  That player that delivers a miss so breathtakingly shocking you though it was only possible in a nightmare.

§  Eva beautiful Carneiro.

§  Interesting coaches who say they’ll soon run out of fingers to count the number of trophies they’ve bagged.

§  Worried coaches.

§  ‘Small’ teams that deliver sucker punches (aloha, Aston Villa.)

§  English commentators and their killer puns.

§  Pre-match discussions.

§  Post-match discussions.

And the fans, oh, the fans.

In other words the ten months before one team lifts that big deal of a trophy are undoubtedly the most exciting ten months spilling over from one year into the next. Methinks I’m already catching the fever. 

That being said, I’m looking forward to seeing if Van Gaal’s buying rampage pays off, if eye candy Depay is worth the hype he got, and the ‘Schmidfield’ is a force to reckon with, or if CNN’s Patrick Snell can say again of United after three matches, that ‘Even a triangle has more points’. I want to see how Liverpool recovers after losing their pre-season glory to Manchester United (it was their fans raving all over social media after buying Firmino, before the Devils decided it was time to show some muscle). I want to see Sterling walk all over his haters and show he’s worth the half a hundred million pounds, and I don’t think that’s impossible, because, face it, he was good at Liverpool. Most def I want to see the brothers Ayew (Brothers Ayew is how you say it after a lifetime of reading Brothers Grimm), after transferring from the Ligue Un, make their dad and country proud in England. (Or maybe I just want to bask in their glory with them. Every good player deserves to play in the EPL. It must be surreal.) And, of course, I want to see if the newly promoted sides are worth their salt, especially Atsu’s Bournemouth.

Oh well. In under an hour, the red and white clad lads of Manchester United and the visitors from White Hart lane will step out of the tunnel, unto the field, in full view of the screaming, singing, so-excited-they’re-weeping, seventy-six thousand stadium fans, and the hundreds of millions of television viewers and radio listeners who have done more than Napoleon could ever dream of, by surviving this long wait for the best league in the world to return.

Because that’s what it is. The best league in the world.

In the voice of Claudius Templesmith, ‘Let the games begin!’