Euro 2012: An Open Letter to France Midfielder Samir Nasri

Bonjour, Samir:

Sacre Bleu, dude! What's up with you these days? You seem to be having a hard time of it. As an Arsenal fan, there are just so many things I would really, really like to say to you. But since this is a lead paragraph and all, and I'm trying to get my point across really quickly, I'll limit it to this, right after this dramatic paragraph break.

You've made yourself too easy a target.

What does that mean? It means that it's almost not any fun to make fun of you anymore. Almost.

To put it in an English word borrowed from your native French, you've become a cliche. We get it, ya know? You're French. You're snooty. You're snotty. You hate journalists, those lying pigs!

Whoopty-freakin'-do.

As much as you like to think you're a victim of vicious, biased reporting, those weaselly writers probably had the right of it. See, you're a pretty good player and all, but for all the good things you did at Euro 2012, you included at least as many disappearing acts in the process.

But really, though. Did you really think shushing reporters after scoring one measly goal in the group stage was the best way to go? And did you think cussing another out and challenging him to fisticuffs was the appropriate course of action?

Le sigh. Let me clue you in, mon frere. It wasn't.

If you're not careful, you might just get a two-year vacation from international football. And you know what that means, right? No World Cup.

Anyway, it's not like anyone was scared by your shushing and threatening. You're not exactly a scary person, you know. You're five-feet-nothin', 100-and-nothin' and unlike Rudy, you didn't hang in there with the best college football team in the land for two years.

Okay, you probably don't get that reference, so let me put it this way. If Pepe asked me to take it outside during an argument, I'd turn tail and sprint for the nearest exit. You, though? Nah.

Unfortunately, though, that's not all we have to talk about. This runs deeper than a silly feud with a couple journalists, you know. As an Arsenal fan, I've been onto you for about a year now.

If you'd been smart, you would have left things where they were. Back in the good ol' days, only us Arsenal fans hated you. You ripped our hearts out, threw them on the ground and trampled all over them.

And then you talked smack to us. Repeatedly. At least Cesc Fabregas made us feel special after screwing us over.

Other footy fans ridiculed us, told us to get a life, kindly suggested that we move on like some pathetic jilted ex. We responded with a not-really-all-that-clever nickname, but calling you Na$ri made us feel a bit better inside.

Then, Euro 2012 happened and everybody else saw what we saw. The short version: You're a sniveling, snotty, snooty, spoiled footballer who cries bloody murder when the slightest thing goes wrong for you.

Grow up, dude. Wipe the eternal scowl off your face, and the perpetual smirk while you're at it.

You make more money in a week than most of us make in a decade. You're a world-famous athlete with a long, undeservedly lucrative future ahead of you.

In all honesty, that should be enough to inoculate you against everyone's poisonous jibes, whether they're from jilted fans or those weaselly journalists. 

If not, tough cookies.

Your bitter Gooner pal,

Mike