Giroud, Good or Bad? - The Verdict
The courtroom was a vast space interspersed by dark wooden beams that crisscrossed the unreachable ceiling and crept down the walls in an orderly fashion. Though the wood was of a gloomy tint, upon further inspection you could see that the years and the vicious legal battles had clearly had a lasting impact upon the colour, leaving it with a fade that yearned for a lick of paint. The foreboding woodwork wasn't the only thing that was hanging over the now clamouring spectators in the gallery area. The mood suspended over the positively drooling voyeurs, a malevolent taint was in the air and was growing with every minute they waited for the unlucky soul about to be led through the imposing oak double doors.
At the head of the room, opposite the entry for the soon-to-be-judged, was a high stand. On the face for all to see was the symbol for the Footballers Judging Committee. It was engraved with delicious detail and acted as a reminder to all who saw it that there was no escaping the all-seeing eye of the FJC. Sat at the Judging Alter was today's Judge, the Revered and sage Arsene Wenger. He had received criticism from some corners for a few decisions that had emanated from his gavel but no-one was better placed to conclude on this days case.
The People Vs Olivier Giroud
The aforementioned doors swung open and the first to cross the positively bristling threshold was two guards in pristine uniform, complete with obviously polished silver buttons bedecking their dress blazers. This case had received nationwide attention so meticulousness was a must. The two guards turned and stood sentry at each door as another two guards led in a shackled Olivier Giroud. Impeccably dressed in pink denim hotpants and the lowest ripped v-neck t-shirt you've ever seen, he shuffled toward the dock. A rather beautiful lady caught the Gallic letharios eye. He winked at her and flashed a smile that had melted a multitude of women's hearts and burst a thousand more ovaries no doubt. Ollie took his place at the focal point of everyone's attention at the dock, which was of a plain affair for a structure that had seen the death of many a footballers reputation.
The crowd as he had entered grew vociferous and then quickly turned venomous. Cries of "You're not good enough!", "Not fit to wear the shirt!" and "Olivier I'm moist for you" filled the massive arena. Olivier seemed to be unflinching in the face of such vitriol. The sharp bark of the gavel upon its wooden plinth acted as a cold shower to the heat of fury and silence soon swamped the goading crowd. Judge Wenger then spoke.
"Olivier Giroud, you 'ave been summoned to zis court on ze charrges of leetle beet lack of quality. 'Ow do you plead?"
Upon hearing such a pertinent question, Ollie promptly threw himself to the ground, got up quickly and threw his hands from the left to the right, gesticulating wildly. He then shuffled back the short trip back to the dock and said "Not guilty, Boss".
Judge Wenger then said "So be it. I will 'ear the prosecution side of events first. Arr you prepared Mr Durham?"
A Ginger odious looking man with an ill-fitting suit stood up with an air of self-importance.
He swung round the desk that was the resting place for his stack of notes. He then faced the crowd which would also act as the jury. "Good afternoon you fine bunch of people. Today I will show you why this man in question was a mistake by the Manager, why he will prove to be the death knell for any pie-eyed dreams of the title for Arsenal and why his goals tally should be nearly double what it stands currently at, not to mention his off-field habits and the effect they have on his career". He then grinned smarmily. It had the effect of forcing at least three members of the jury to forcibly eject their lunch.
"Olivier Giroud came with a reputation upon joining Arsenal. The spearhead of a Championnat-winning and history making campaign for unheralded Montpellier, he bagged 21 goals in that season, prompting Wenger to shell out a handsome £9.6m on an unproven Frenchman. He has had two full seasons at the club and hasn't broken the 20 goals barrier in the Premiership either season. He is static in his movement, he doesn't run anywhere near enough. Is this a lack of hunger I ask you?
When there are strikers of the ilk of Balotelli and Cavani available, is continuing with a striker that DOES NOT SCORE in the games against the big rivals a massive oversight? I'll let you be the judge of that". Another charmless flash of his gurning smile was followed by another bout of chundering from the unfortunate jury. He continued his tirade.
"The rivals for the title, Chelsea, City and perhaps Liverpool, all have a plethora of striking talent leading the line. Costa, Drogba, Aguero, Dzeko, Sturridge.....ahem. They have options from the bench to switch things up. More importantly, they all score with more efficiency than Giroud".
Upon hearing his name, the self-consumed Frenchman stopped gazing upon his chiselled visage in a compact mirror, snapped it closed and looked up. Upon noticing that it wasn't an adoring public and papperazzi, he opened the compact mirror again and lost himself in his handsomeness.
"Now, my good people, upon realising that you are misfiring, you aren't doing the business, you would surely try and justify your gargantuan price-tag and wages and knuckle down on the training ground? Lock yourself away from the face of the public and try tirelessly to appease your adoring fans? Not Giroud. No, he was too busy spending his free time not on the training pitch but in bed with a woman that WASN'T HIS WIFE!!!!! Not only that but it was on the eve of another important game for the beleaguered Gunners!!!". As he emphasized this point, little flecks of spittle flew from his mouth and onto the lapels of a business jacket worn by a female member of the jury, who then burst into flames on the spot.
"My closing argument is this. Olivier Giroud does not produce when it matters. In all the big games, he goes missing more often than a hide and seek champion. He is a big brute who lacks finesse, a killer instinct. Is he a Premiership class striker? Arguable but he could do a job at West Ham or Leicester I suppose. Should he be anywhere near Arsenal's teamsheet? Absolutely not. They have money. Why not spend it on the missing puzzle piece? That'll be all Guv". With that he skipped to his desk and sat down, unsheathing his Crayolas and adding the finishing touches to his crude drawing of an Arsenal crest split down the middle.
Judge Wenger spoke. "I will 'ave you address me appropriately, Sir. I believe I 'ave earned eet. Now, ze defence. Arr you ready with your counter-argument?"