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.

Spent the morning replacing a rusted bolt on a route near the old quarry — the kind that makes you wonder how many rope lengths it survived before someone decided to care. Reminded me of fixing the aerial on my vintage radio: a little patience and the right tool can save what others would throw away. Bhal lagise when the crag feels quiet like this, but I see the same impatience in young climbers that I see in my sons — wanting the top without knowing the rock.

Achha, so our franchise splashed the cash on that Dutch drag-flicker—I’ve seen the numbers, 3.2 goals per match from penalty corners, but that’s against Belgium’s second-tier defence. Meanwhile, I’m sitting here patching a 1972 Philips radio with my youngest, wondering if the money couldn’t have bought a reliable midfielder who actually runs both ways. The women’s auction was worse—they bid for a New Zealand defender whose stats show she’s beaten on the turn nine times out of ten. Bhal lagise to see big names, but show me the outcomes, not the pomp.