THIS IS EXTRA TIME

It's truly unnatural the amount of time we've spent wondering exactly what it was that possessed Arsenal goalkeeper, Manuel Almunia, to do the things he's done to his hair this season.

We've actually taken the bright, intolerable hue his hair’s turned as a deeply personal offense. So much so that it's hard for us to focus on anything else whenever play nears the Arsenal goal. Almunia’s mug will pop up on our screens, perhaps gesturing at his players (he never yells though does he? Rarely. What a departure from Lehmann's usual scream-swearing), and we’re automatically sent into ‘But why, Manuel?’ mode. You can see how it’s become quite an issue for us.

All of our time spent idling, stroking our chins while pretending to think really hard and look pretty at the same time (it's really, really difficult, actually) might not have not been in vain, however.

It might be that we've cracked the mystery behind Almunia's fug-hair! Finally!

So what's our big theory?

He took the plunge, of course. Yes. The plunge.

We're not talking about a regular case of idiot footballers getting bored here. No, Manuel's 'plunging' appears to have come about in a seriously more sinister manner. We think - oh dear, it's almost difficult for us to come out with it - Manuel was - gasp - pushed.

Yes, pushed - in quite a literal sense. Well, how else would you figure? You can't possibly talk someone into doing things like that to their head, can you? They wouldn’t do it voluntarily, surely. (Well except for Alan Smith, Kevin Hartman, Bastian Schweinsteiger and of course David Beckham...er, okay fine we might be a little wrong. Just roll with us, okay?)

Anyway, the theory a-brewing in our teensy little minds suggests that Manuel was likely strolling down a street - whistling, minding his own beeswax - when he encountered a pail full of hair bleach just plopped there in his path. You know, just sat there, looking as lonely as a pail possibly can. Practically calling out to him. And in a moment of cat-like curiosity (he should’ve known), Manuel approached the pail for a closer look.


[Almunia after the Tottenham girl had gotten to him. Not pleased, understandably]

'Hm...I wonder what's in this little thing?' the then normal-haired keeper wondered aloud, nearly passed out from taking a massive whiff of peroxide. Then wham! Smack! A mischievous Tottenham supporter would hop out of the bushes, whack Manuel on the head with a folded chair (WWF style, please) and reveal that she'd plotted the whole thing: laying out the pail of peroxide in Manuel's path, waiting patiently for him to kneel down, peek his head in the pail and get woozy before she swooped in. She'd then whisk him into her keeper-kidnapmobile (hey, we want one of those!), all giggly and giddy, before locking him away in her secret lair where she'd proceed to use that offending pail of hair bleach to do all sorts of evil, terrible things to his hair.

You see? He's a victim, our Almunia, the poor, poor man.

Labels: manuel almunia, we're like sherlock holmes only hotter