There's an eerie feel to Arsenal football club this past couple of weeks. The colour of the shirt is the same, the chants are the same – barring a few new ones – and the eagerness to watch some of Europe's best athletes under a dominating manager is high, too.
Fans continue to line up to buy tickets and be a part of a system that lets them think they have an opinion on how the club should run. The club itself is going through a bit of phase in both the financial and footballing front. The money's starting to come. The club's being linked with a host of European superstars and the youth promoted from within the club's academies are proving to be diamonds.
All that's missing are some illegal payments and harsher times.
And then morning will break and an unknown entity will take over the reigns and bring about a revolution. Even soothsaying fans – Arsenal have a tonne of them – wouldn't be able to comprehend what manner of Gods' blessings descended on them.
Suddenly everything is rosier, players who couldn't see what was right with the club beg for the chance to join in on the insurgency. The wage structure is broken down and redesigned. The stadium probably gets an upgrade. The marketing teams scramble to ensure new deals and more money. Finally, transfers move much more smoothly and more effectively.
Current players are confused. Rightfully so, at that. They're unsure of their future. That €16 million villa at Cheshire suddenly looks a little too extravagant. Conversations begin to fly within the dressing room. They start questioning each others' immediate objectives. They start questioning their own objective. Can they handle it? Will they handle it?
Other clubs begin to start observing the club with keen eyes. Rival managers will begin to start stamping their authority in the league. They've been here longer, they've done it longer, they should be the ones in the spotlight. Secret teams are formed to dig up past incidents – not just for themselves, but for the wolves.
European managers will do the same. Are they threatened? Depends. They didn't see this coming, too. Their players are seriously considering the club now. They might be able to make more money there than where they are currently. A fresh start is probably what they need as well. Peas and carrots fill the dressing rooms.
The press are buoyed. They're ecstatic. It's like walking into the unknown. Nobody knows how the press conference is going to be, nobody knows what the future holds. He could be a talker, he could be silent, he could very well be someone extremely British.
The time has come for all of the pieces to come together. The cameras are pointed at the pedestal in the room. Thirty-forty microphones wait for the chance to record those precious first few words. Notepads are out, pens are played with and the fight to get a seat right in the front row gets a little abusive and uncalled for.
They're not to be blamed. The club hasn't done enough to ensure everyone gets the equal treatment. Some of the guys in the room are grinning, they have an 'exclusive' later in the day. They're not worried about losing out on the chance to ask questions. They're in now for the pie. The pie is always good. And that curry.
A door at the far end of the room, away from the pies, left of the brightly-lit pedestal opens and two men walk out. They're dressed in suits, they're carrying some literature in their hands. Flashes begin to engulf the room but the two men stay close to the door looking in and gesturing to someone as if it was finally time.
The press are now at the edge of their seats. They can feel it. They've been waiting weeks for this. All those one-liner leads for their pieces are rehearsed in their head again and again. And then it happens.
A tall, skinny man walks out into the room. He smiles as he crosses the door. There's a podium he steps on and is guided to the pedestal by one of the suits. Cameras start rolling and before he can say anything, he moves a microphone for he thinks its way too close to his face.
He takes a breath and leans forward towards the microphones, his glasses slipping from his nose slightly, looks up and begins what will be the next twenty years of a roller coaster journey that will guide the club, shape the club and instil in the club something they never thought possible.
It will happen. This summer or the next. It will happen.
