Wenger Is Dancing With Danger

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"Hey there, my name's Susie. People call me Rock 'n' Roll Susie, y'know, after the song."

Anyone named after a Pat Travers song was bound to get my attention, add in 1980s rock chick hair, torn fishnets and assorted skimpy bits of leather and turning away wasn't really an option.

I'm a nice, gauche kid from the rough end of nowhere and this lass looks like an extra from a Whitesnake video. So I do what any one of you would do, I steam in there.

She's on the strip for what she called a Saturday Night Special which she explained in great detail meant rock 'n' roll, drugs and sex all washed down with Jack Daniels and coke. She made it clear that I was this Saturday Night Special's chosen son.

I had already realised that being English in these situations was never a bad thing. It conferred a bit of exotic glamour on you, even when you're a hairy Teessider. In California, no-one knew you were a dirt bag Northerner who had crawled out from under a cloud of pollution. So I reckon I've had my horizontal dancing card marked early on and spend the evening with the righteous glow of a man who knows that all the hard work has been done early in the night. You know that feeling, it's a good feeling. No late night dine-a-dance romance for you. The Saturday night lovin' is booked in nice and early. There's a lot of hip-to-hip dancing, thrusting into each other in the dark shadows of a hot club. Somewhere out in the neon and velvet black night, a motel room awaits the moist glory of your combined electric passion.
Wenger Is Dancing With Danger
But somewhere around midnight, she disappears to the restrooms and fails to re-emerge in the requisite time for most bodily functions to be performed. This disappearing act coincides with a number of our party discovering their wallets, cash and other valuables have gone missing.

Rock 'n' Roll Susie turned out to be a robber and a bloody good one at that. She was away and gone into the night like a heavy metal Vampira. In retrospect, the warning signs had been there. All questions about her family, job, life in general were evaded. We moved on a couple of times because she'd spotted what she called ex-boyfriends but which were, in retrospect, other people she'd ripped off. If this had all happened in a social club in Billingham you'd have known the score right away but this was a rock 'n' roll club in Southern California on a hot July Saturday night.

Her lusty rock 'n' roll siren call was so irresistible that her victims were blind to all the usual warning signs and Arsene Wenger, should take note of this when putting down all that silly money for Luis Suarez.

Suarez will always sucker a gauche manager into his world of heartache. Like Rock 'n' Roll Susie, (though I somehow can't imagine Luis is a Whitesnake video, not unless they do a song about a naked mole rat) he has ulterior motives. Can Wenger handle that kind of player? Suarez is a kind of feral footballer both in the way he plays and how he conducts his business.

All the supposed mutual support and loyalty to Liverpool was all rubbish, all a fa├žade, a construct. Does Wenger have any experience of signing and managing the mercenary modern footballer? I don't think so.
Suarez is a kind of footballing Urban Guerrilla - in the words of that Hawkwind song, he's "a street fighting dancer/a revolutionary romancer."

Wenger is often vaunted as a modern, progressive manager but this in itself is an out-moded notion. These days he seems positively patrician and old-fashioned. He wants to nurse young players into the side, he wants to develop and not buy in world class talent. He's used to long-term player relationships but Suarez is only ever going to be a one night stand.

Perhaps Wenger feels the Arsenal girls' school needs a bit of a rock 'n' roll injection and maybe he's right but it's a dangerous game to play. As I know only too well, he could easily end up losing his wad having got nothing in return.

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