For most of my adult life the nation of Belgium has played way less than even a ‘bit part’. Ok, as a kid we used to go to Knocke-Zoute in the summers to freeze my pre-pubescent testicles in the North Sea, and in fact had some great holidays. But Butlins in Bognor Regis counts as a ‘great holiday’ for kids so the bar is not that high. But then suddenly, the world became Belgium. Well, the footballing world became Belgium. Having never had one Premiership player from that nation, suddenly one arrived. Can’t remember who, possibly Thomas Vermaelen, maybe Vincent Kompany, followed swiftly by our very own Jan Vertongen. All centre backs, all brilliant, all of the new, ball-playing, attack-minded variety. Not the ‘solid as a rock’ (and moves about as quickly) type as centre backs once were, these were a new breed. Imported from Europe’s least significant nation (other than Luxembourg, obviously). The floodgates opened. In came Fellaini, all 6 foot nine to the top of his affro and Nacer Chadli and Moussa Dembele, Ramelu Lukaku, Benteke, followed by even more simply brilliant players, Eden Hazard, Kevin (all bow) de Bruyne, Toby Alderweireld, Thiebald Courtois, all with stupid names and all wonders of the modern game. Ok, maybe not Benteke, but he tries.

But what really sets the Belges apart from ‘normal’ footballers is that they are, in the main, way more intelligent. Perfect English is a given, but they speak in sentences, they’re funny, they’re humble and they’re clever. And the cleverest of all, the nicest of all and probably, over the years, the absolute best of all, is Vincent Kompany. For whom I’ve had a man-crush for years. Because he is the perfect footballer. Big, strong, no-nonsense and ‘ard-as-nails, but always sporting, clean as a whistle with not a thuggish bone in his body. And a leader. Such a leader. The type of leader that every team wants and Arsenal haven’t had since Tony Adams and Patrick Vieira left the game.

Yet Vincent (as I call him) is old. 31. And has sustained 41 injuries in his time here as captain of Manchester City and Belgium’s national team. And his manager, Pep Guardiola, knows the value of a true leader. As he appreciated at Barcleona with Carles Puyol, always playing the man even when pumped up with painkillers and strapped from head to foot. Thus did an ‘as fit as he can be’ Kompany lead Manchester City out for yesterday’s (whatever-) Cup Final. And he was dominant, outstanding, totally in control and brilliant and even scored a great goal.

I cried. Ok, only on the inside, but it was a simply magnificent moment in the outstanding career of a true legend of the game.

City won 3-0. Same score that Arsenal lost by. Hmmm. But really it actually looked like Arsenal lost by a far greater margin. According to Wenger, his team were beaten by two dodgy refereeing decisions for the first 2 goals. I think Arsene had been watching a different game to everyone else. Which actually made his pathetic comments sound more desperate than the usual just plain stupid.

And Spurs beat poor Palace. Which was almost even more brilliant that a dozen Caribou Cup Finals, or Carabou or whatever.

Happy Monday

A xxxx