Confessions of a 'Transfer Addict'

I know how insane this may sound but I am, wait for it, a transfer addict and since admitting I have a problem is the first step to recovery, well, there it is. I can’t get enough of the rumors, ITK info, airport pics, etc.

I eat it all up like it’s frozen peanut butter cups. The summer window is one of those times when hope for every club’s fanbase is at an all time high. It’s like the moment you buy a lottery ticket.

You start to dream of what you would do with all of that money even though deep down you know you have no chance whatsoever. Except in our case we dream of worldies. Rooney, Suárez, Higuain all have beautiful runs on the perfect pitch that is our imagination and bend amazing free kicks into the top corner of our daydreams. Let me go through a typical summer day for me.

5 am – 6 am

Sometime in here I awake and immediately grab my iPhone which I made sure is within arm’s length the night before. Even before my eyes are completely open and cobweb free I am checking Twitter and news outlets. Also this summer, as has been dubbed by I think @Arse2mouse, has been the summer of DMs so I check for those too. I am an American so it is almost lunch time in Europe so if anything is going down this is the perfect time for me to get any hot rumors of the day.

6 am – 12 pm

After my initial 30 minute consumption of every bit of info I can get my Cesc filled eyes on. I start my work. I work at home so this is a blessing and a curse for a transfer junkie. I can stop at any time to glance at social media for any hint of movement. This is usually a slow time for info though since it is afternoon in Europe. I take this time to discuss with close friends about the latest rumors and discuss how we are going to play Cesc, Santi and Wilshere in the same starting XI.

12 pm – 4 pm

This is usually a slow time since very little info comes out but around 3:30pm I get a little excited because Arsenal announced Sanogo around this time of day. Yes I know he is the only announcement we have got at the time of this writing and that is beginning to pain me deeply.

Are those transfer rumours I hear? 4 pm – 7 pm

This is when I start getting wound up again because tomorrow’s papers in Europe are starting to come out and being linked across social media. I know full well that 99.5% of all transfer stories are about as factual as my dad’s stories of meeting Jimi Hendrix face to face. But I soak them up anyway. I can’t get enough. Also this is the down side of my hopeful Arsenal day because the realization that yet another day is going by with no shiny new striker or a Master Chief sized DM to fawn over like a Bieber-loving 12 year old girl.

7 pm – 1 am

This is the come down time from the day’s high. It helps that I have a group of excellent night time Twitter people to converse with. The madness of the day seems to fade and just funny, smart people talking about everything and anything are my much needed diversion from my addiction. Sometimes I stay up long enough to say hello to a few of my overseas friends who are just waking up. I go to bed hoping that the next day brings an impending photo shoot on the dot com. And it all starts over again the next morning.

This entire schedule has repeated every day so far this summer. I know it will only end in disappointment but the hope in me still rises to the top.

Lately though it seems the closer it gets to the window slamming shut the more angst and anxiety seem to be filling my TL. I find it hard to argue with most of it. I am still hopeful but I can’t blame a lot of the pessimism that is being espoused. I can’t get the idea out of my head that there is a plan. Surely, there is a plan.

So that’s my life over the summer. I have a disease and the only cure is a biting, slur using, Uruguayan who can score goals that would give a football lover no reason to use Viagra ever again, a Spanish prodigal son who makes no looks through balls that would make any of us need a pant change, or a beast of a DM who roams in front of our back four like Gandalf screaming “YOU SHALL NOT PASS!”. I hope those cures are coming or else I may have a psychotic break where I end up rocking back and forth in the corner of a padded room whispering “he…liked…my…picture…on…instagram” over and over. Arsène please cure me.