We have to rock the Grove tonight, ladies and gentlemen. This is Arsenal, fighting for a place in the Champions League final, against Manchester United. If that's not a reason to support the team as loudly as possible then I don't know what is. You don't need to have a voice like Pavarotti to sing, you just need to open your mouth and make noise. And if someone said to you 'Arsenal will win if you sing the songs tonight', wouldn't it be an easy task to ensure our qualification?
Remember, the guy or girl to your left or right is an Arsenal fan. The boys in red are your team. Our team. United are the enemy. United would kill your mum. They'd run over your puppy and then point and laugh. They would make you listen to Phil Collins. They would insist on putting cloves on everything. They would dip their pizza in ketchup. They would offer you a cup of coffee then serve you chicory. They would force you to watch Tom Hanks films. They would kidnap you then read to you from the novels of Dan Brown. They would drive really slowly in front of you when you're in a hurry then speed up so they get through the amber light and leave you stuck at the red. They would chew gum loudly in your ear. They would come on our pitch and dance after getting one of our players sent off because of their theatrics. They would score a goal in the last few minutes of a semi-final then show everyone their hairy chest. They would dive to win a penalty to stop us going 50 games unbeaten. They would sing disgusting songs about our manager.
Need I go on? They are not our rivals, not our competitors, not our competitors, not our peers: they are the enemy. Treat them as such.
And in the face of such monstrous evil, such hideous, diving, tantrum throwing, ballerina, monster faced malevolence, make sure you let our lads know that they are fighting the good fight, on the side of truth and righteousness. For, after all, we are The Arsenal.
COME ON YOU REDS.