It's hard to really see who this "3-1-4-2 until they're losing and then it's 4-4-2 again" system is supposed to be getting the best out of, since almost nobody is playing in their preferred position. It's certainly not any of the strikers. Nor is it Juan Mata, as his shanked sitters yesterday proved. It sure as hell isn't the defenders, such as they are, and it's not Michael fucking Carrick either. So who is it?
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The "What is the worst possible big-money signing Arsenal could make?" tombola struck a brilliant choice this winter, as it appeared Barcelona's fleet-footed faller-overer Pedro had emerged as a target for Wenger. As with Ferguson and his bizarre career twilight fear of central midfielders, it's long past the point where the refusal to address areas of dire concern (defensive cover, a hard midfielder) are in some way admirable – it's tiresome, and Wenger isn't a good enough manager to play with a handicap. They need bastards, and they need them now.
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I've spoken regularly about how Scottish football is an antidote to everything that's wrong with the Premier League, but Paris Saint-Germain's eye-catching 4-2 collapse in Corsica this weekend offers us the chance to examine another rare source of entertainment: Ligue 1.
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While trying to make sense of Spurs' win over Chelsea, we probably should have realised what was going to happen – they would do a Spurs. It seems obvious in hindsight, but the only way that result makes any sense is if they instantly go on one of the worst runs of form of all time, so check out those SportBIBLE "SHOCKING! Spurs results since they beat Chelsea!" tweets in a few weeks' time when they succumb to a limp QPR defeat in the 96th minute (Charlie Austin penalty, Chiriches handball; calling it now).
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We Need New Villains
With Luis Suarez off, Vincent Tan and Alan Pardew turning face, Neil Warnock being a miserable failure and the days of Ferg's Evil Empire looking as gone as the Mongols, the Premier League is in desperate need of new villains. It's been the one thing that has been a constant throughout the ages, and now we are sincerely lacking in arseholes.Currently, being a Premier League arsehole looks like one of those 70s "You'll always have a job in the mines!" adverts – in another era, Lee Cattermole would lift the FA Cup as Chelsea captain. But despite the title race taking place between a team backed by Abu Dhabi money and one by a Russian oligarch, their poster boys are sleek, modern, easy-to-export types with sophisticated haircuts: your Cesc Fabregases, your Sergio Agueros, a Vincent Kompany. Even Diego Costa failed to live up to his billing in this regard, and while we still have John Terry, he's surely on the way out now. The top end of the table is sadly bereft of dickheads.We've all heard about the banality of evil, and it never looks truer than the current Premier League. Evil could be other things, too – it could be stylish, sexy, dangerous and fun. It could be Adolf Eichmann and Rob Lee, yes, but it could also be Michael Corleone and Cristiano Ronaldo. At the moment, we have the worst of both worlds, all of the banality and none of the allure. Until that changes, we can never consider this a golden age. Again: bring back Jody Morris.@Callum_TH