Arsenal’s squad depth this season reminds me of the time I tried to repair a vintage radio from 1972 — got all the valves glowing again, only to find the tuning capacitor rusted solid. Three defenders out, Saka hobbling, and there we are, leaning on the same eleven until the plastic cracks. The trophy talk is like the monsoon flooding in Silchar: everyone knows it’s coming, but no one has bothered to dig a proper drain. I’d trade all the beautiful passing stats for one winter of clean sheets and a cold-eyed finisher, bhal lagise.
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