THE PUNDITS AND THEIR POISON – Amos Ajewole

By Amos Ajewole

MaTaZ ArIsInG
Dallas, Texas

Our pundits are the worst we have ever known.

Their analysis drips not with objectivity, but with thinly veiled disdain.

When Arsenal is mentioned, reason departs and resentment speaks.

The so-called football greats gathered, nodding in agreement, declaring that Arsenal cannot win the league — “because they don’t win big matches.”

They recited their rehearsed list:
Didn’t beat Liverpool.
Didn’t beat City.
Lost to Villa.
Drew with a ten-man Chelsea side.

Stylishly, deliberately, conveniently —
they forgot Old Trafford. They forgot Manchester United, beaten in their own cathedral at the start of the season.

I watched them and simply shook my head in disbelief.

For three straight seasons, we dominated the so-called giants of the Premier League,
yet fell just short — narrowly — to the eventual champions each time.

Then we learned. We adapted. We flipped the script.

We began mastering the matches we once stumbled through, the “small” games that cost titles, and that very adjustment has kept us perched at the summit.

Yet still, they whisper poison. Still, they attempt to corrode belief.

What Arsenal — and Arteta — have achieved this season, amid relentless injuries and constant disruption, had it been any of their favoured clubs, the nation would already be crowning them champions.

So tell me — how can one champion Aston Villa as title contenders while ruling Arsenal out?

Villa, who have not lifted the league in decades, are suddenly credible because they beat a few big sides.

Yet Arsenal, who have consistently beaten big sides for years, were dismissed then — and are dismissed now.

When we beat the giants, they mocked us for dropping points elsewhere.

When we focused on winning everything we could, they sharpened their tongues.

This is not analysis. This is animosity.

They are not debating tactics or performances.

They are broadcasting bias, dressed up as insight.

Let us say it plainly: they are jealous of Arteta.

Jealous of the patience shown by the Arsenal board.
Jealous of a project allowed to breathe, grow, and harden.
Jealous that grit, time, and vision are producing results.

Many of them tried management. Most of them failed.

They stumbled, fumbled, and were escorted out by the same clubs that now lend them microphones.

They failed where Arteta now thrives.
They were not trusted long enough —
and truthfully, they were not good enough.

No elite club will ever offer them the runway Arteta was given. And that is why no progress at Arsenal will ever satisfy them.

They may have been greater players.
They may have been louder names. But as managers?

They will never rise to his level.

What truly terrifies them is what happens after the first league title. Because once that barrier breaks, it becomes history — not fear.

Once belief hardens into silverware,
an era begins.

Pep is departing.

City’s future trembles under the weight of 115 charges.

Liverpool flicker — brilliant one week, brittle the next.

Chelsea survive on rolling six-month experiments.

Manchester United reside permanently in football hospice care, while insisting they deserve a penthouse suite in the Premier League. We will show them the best Nursing Home around. That’s where they belong to now.

Villa are an old flame trying to glow again.

Spurs?
Faithful gatekeepers — deciding who wins the league, never themselves.

Strip it all back, and the truth remains:

Only Arsenal have proven — season after season — the consistency required to inherit dominance.

And that terrifies them. Because it means Arsenal stand as commanders of a new era.
And they cannot bear the thought of that era lasting.

The cruel irony?
It is Arteta — once an uncrowned player with an empty cabinet — now beginning to dictate like Ferguson, teach like Wenger, dominate like Guardiola, and rule… like Arteta.

Someone whispered Mourinho?
No — that is a short-term contractor.
We are talking of a dynasty architect here.

So let it be written. Let it be known:

Mikel, first of his name.
Son of Arteta.
High Chief of the Tribe of España.
Ruler of the Emirates.
Protector of the Gunners.
King of the Gooners.
Occupant of the Patient Throne.

Let the pundits choke on their own bias.
Arsenal will reign.
Arteta will rule.

And in May 2026, they will bow — reluctantly — and call him what he already is:

The standard of Excellence.

Pix Credit: Someone insinuated earlier that I got paid $7K for my posts. I kuku laugh. No where to honestly start my story from that would make sense to such.

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