The Metamorphosis of Andrei Arshavin

With apologies to Franz Kafka. Also in case you don't get a few of the references, the links provided in the text may help.

As Andrei Arshavin awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into an out of form footballer.

"What's happened to me," he thought. But this was no dream. His room, filled with Arsenal and Nike gear and apparel, seemed small and lay quietly between the four well-known walls. He looked up from his bed and saw his reflection in a mirror. A man that resembled himself was in its place, but that wasn't Andrei. This fellow lacked that cherished sparkle of Andrei's that had powered him to do many great things in his footballing career.

"How about if I sleep a little bit longer and forget all this nonsense," thought Andrei. But as he pulled the covers back over himself, he heard the sound of his Arsenal teammates at the door. "Andrei! Wake up, Andrei! It's time to practice! You don't want to anger Uncle Arsene, do you?"

"Uh--um--wait! I'll be ready soon. Don't open the door quite yet!"

His teammates began to worry. "Did you hear that voice? That couldn't be Andrei!" they all wondered aloud to each other.

"No! I'm alright, I tell you!" Andrei called out, as he got out of bed and hurried to the door.

"What's all this noise? All of you, what are you doing in front of Andrei's door? I won't have this!" Uncle Arsene had arrived. He carried a stern demeanor that commanded respect even from his worst critics. Without hesitating, he flung open the door and there was Andrei. He and all of Andrei's teammates looked aghast when they saw what Andrei had become. "Oh no! Look at him! Look at what he has become! He's a MONSTER!" cried Uncle Arsene. He turned and stormed off to the training pitch, while Andrei's teammates remained to look after him. "We should lock him in his room to keep him safe," suggested Captain Cesc. "Perhaps he will get better on his own."

So the days past and Andrei remained in his room in his out of form state. His teammates had pity on him and brought him things to comfort him. Captain Cesc asked his grandmother to help him make a borsch with a Barcelonan twist to strengthen him. Nicky No-Pants brought him several pairs of new Nike Mercurial Superfly IIs in White, Black, and Pink. Jack and Theo used their computer skills to make a DVD of his many goals at Anfield. Bacary and Alex thought he could do with a change in style, so they got him a bunch of hair product and dye. But none of these helped.

After the food and hair product were all gone and the DVD and boots lost their luster, Andrei heard a sound. A beautiful one that captivated even the hardest of hearts--the sound of beautiful football being played at the Emirates. He couldn't help to leave his bed and go downstairs to see all the brilliant passing and cunning runs.

As Andrei emerged from the tunnel, he was blinded by the bright lights of the pitch. Confused, he covered his eyes and to his horror, realized that the entire stadium had fixed their eyes on him. A spontaneous gasp rippled through the crowd as they realized what Andrei had become.

"Oh great!" bemoaned the Arsenal faithful. "Why can't Arsene overpay for someone in January like everyone else so we can get rid of this deadweight?"

"Haha!" jeered the visiting supporters. "Enjoy another trophy-less year, you crybabies!"

"Hmph!" sniffed the pundit. "Yet another foreigner who can't hack it in the most superior game of English football."

"Hmm," thought Roman Abramovich. "I could do with another waiter on my battleship-yacht. Perhaps Arsene will sell him for £10 million?"

"ENOUGH! STOP! ALL OF YOU! OUT RIGHT NOW!" shouted Uncle Arsene and the Arsenal team.

But it was too late. Andrei had realized there was nothing he could do to make himself better. He weakly returned to his room and thought about what he should do now. "Yes, it would be better," he thought as he slipped back into the bed. He had made up his mind--he would slowly slip away, never to bother Arsenal FC, the team he loved and cherished. As he closed his eyes, he felt himself leaving this cruel world...

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"Andrei! Andrei! Wake up!"

"Huh, what?"

"Andrei, it's me! Nicky! Why's your shirt like that? Have you been sleep-footballing again?"

"Sleep-footballing? Isn't that what the writers and bloggers have been all accusing me of doing the last few months?"

"Oh, never mind that! That goal you scored! It was amazing! C'mon, we've got to hold this lead and beat Barcalona!"

Andrei ran off to his position. Looking up to the Jumbotron, he saw a view of himself. And there it was: the sparkle that he knew and loved so dearly. "Was I dreaming of something?" he wondered. "Something about being out of form and hair product and dying?" But all this was forgotten as the whistle blew and Barca kicked off. He was back to doing what he loved the most: being his goal-scoring self on the football pitch.

THE END