Arenal finally signs Viktor Gyökeres? It is already real in the digital hive mind | arsenal

TThe current edition of France Football Magazine has a photo of Viktor Gyökeres on the cover. Not that I looked at it a lot or looked for its details, but the photo shows Gyökeres half in the shade, half in the sun and shows its famous crushed body, not so much the standard muscles, more of a selection of lines and exploitation, like it from huge walnuts, like a perfect human challenge, like a perfect human challenge, which is equipped from a robot is.

In the photo, Gyöker's smiles with a kind of passion as if he were selling a miracle muscle powder. And I would buy this powder. Make me a cyborg, Viktor. Maximize my hidden hyper potential. Basically, I want Viktor Gyökeres to keep me in his arms while he talks about good proteins and explains the blockchain in a way that is not sexual. Not for me anyway, but that's definitely for him.

There is also, and you probably saw it-I have seen it for a hardly noticed-a breathlessly excited Viktor Gyökeres profile in the June/July edition of Vogue Scandinavia, in which he poses on his pool in biscuit-colored linen. And yes, the profile speaks of “penetrating eyes” and “muscles that expand on its white t-shirt”, but it is not stable or cheap because Gyökeres is also “a complex and multifaceted individual”, whose PlayStation-Pad soccer house is actually seductive, soulful and “a by-product of the overview”. Yes Viktor Gyökeres. Let me save you. I'll make you a home. I'll bake for you.

To what extent does something have to happen so that it is classified as real? At the moment, this feels like a key question, not only in football, where everything happens at the same time and has already happened, but in life in general the last struggle between fake and reality, a question that has to be divided into increasingly detailed questions. What is “real”? What happens “? What is” Viktor Gyökeres “?

Despite the above evidence of strict journalistic research, I don't really know much about Gyöker who go beyond the stuff that everyone knows. I am not very interested in whether he signs for Arsenal or not until he actually does it. At this point, he will only be one other type in a constantly changing line -up of boys, something real that now actually has to happen. However, reality can wait. We're not there yet. Instead, we still drift in the endless summer of Gyökeres, witnesses of a longing that feels like art, and this is better in many ways than the actual football.

We know this process now. It is necessary to fight every summer. Don't let yourself be sucked in. Look away from the emigration. However, this feels like a step. It was a bive-minute longing for two months to Gyökereshrewegox, a place where details, comments, pictures inflate and flare up, overwhelm the senses and then disappear like summer storms.

On Thursday, this seemed to have reached its climax on Thursday that there would be an exclusive presentation of the actual exclusive on the same day. Film material appeared from a house (is it a house?) That supposedly gyökeres (is he?) Pull out his furniture (is it furniture?). Later there was talk of an airplane that left the Stockholm for Biggin Hill Airport with detailed flight path screenshots, which was then billed by a secondary cohort by Biggin Hill Truthers. Wait! His brother followed Arsenal on Instagram! Medicine is booked for Friday, even if there is no evidence of this, simply talk about alleged medicine on Hypothetical Friday.

This has now become a little excessive, a descent in 450 words-long posts via the stock exchange, financial games and announcement delay. Gyökeres himself has long since become more meme than people. Is it a joke? Is that all after the irony? When a plane lifts off and nobody knows whether Victor Gyöker is on it, but the excitement about the idea that Victor Gyökeres on it is real. Is Victor Gyöker really on the plane?

Here it would be easy to release this phenomenon and evidence of the idiot penalty of the human breed, the content dependence, the fact that great euro football must never take place. But this is also an extremely well -loved media industry that is fed by the great transfluencers of our time, fabulous, orderly, the others.

It is also a kind of social mass experiment. Psychologists like to talk about the anticipation effect, the principle that the anticipation of an event can release more dopamine for the brain than the actual experience. Having Gyökeres in your team is good. When you talk about Gyökeres, visualize this, war games, it is real in the digital spirit: This is a choice of life, something that gets moving like a fork to plunge into the kneecap just so that you feel something.

The emotions here are nuanced. Studies show that the anticipation also creates fear if it can overshadow the event itself or feels as if it has already happened. There are people out there who really seem to be convinced that Gyökeres is not only a failure, but a proven fraud.

I can recite the ratio of the gates of the Portuguese league against teams in the lower four (43.6%). It doesn't matter that this always happens because these teams are worse or that Erling Haaland, for example, built up a career to stamp ants. Or that I am sucked in here in real time and argue about things that did not happen, but still have some somehow, as if the whole thing is a super talent Andy Warhol installation called Goal ABS or nothing.

There are reasons why it feels more important. There are good human secondary acts. Can you make the jump up? Can a career that has switched on a 17-goal season in the championship in the championship in this late stage? Gyökeres was wrapped in a convincing original story. There are protective elements, some talk in France football about a sensory re -connection with the childhood lust on goals, the Klank of the Stanbion, the need to “play again like me when I was a child”.

Gyökeres is also perfect for the Internet. He is not in feelings. He is in the body. We know about its magical super breakfast, the ginger shot, the strawberries, blueberries and pomegranates as well as three eggs three. He seems to be a real, analog anti-academy. Gyökeres says that he stayed with IFK Aspudden-Tellus because it “built me differently than others”, and I can hear him say in a seven-hour Joe Rogan podcast.

The spell in Brighton is not dismissed as a “good environment”. A return to the Premier League would be an opportunity for “revenge”. Arsenal moderator Graham Potters West Ham in October. We talk about revenge. We are ourselves from third parties (“You haven't seen the best of Gyökeres yet”). Is he as good as Kane, Lewandowski, Haaland? “It is difficult to evaluate me, but yes, I'm at the same table as you.” How could you not see that?

There are also two football things that make it interesting. First, this is the perfect water-wenn transfer. It's beautiful linear. It is 2+2. Arsenal needs that a striker has continued for as long that it has become a kind of mass lawsuit, a Bardian cycle. The current candidates are Gabriel Jesus, a Fast guy, and Kai Havertz, who is good, but also looks like the faulty minor cousin, a Jane Austenin who has to fall in love with Lord Hall before the arrival of a good -looking, brooding Mr. Lordly.

Well, now you can sign a 27-year-old Tor-Maniac, whose nicknames are the machine, the cyborg, the Viking, the cannibal and the tractor. This is just what you asked on a tray. Here is a very good no. 9 with zero, not being successful, who will probably do so because a stage has been built up and due to the evidence of hard numbers that are everything that is really important in this dynamics. The other here is the closure. When Gyökeres signs for arsenal, this inevitably becomes a referendum on the Mikel -arteta -ära, which is scattered in a very annoying discussion about the actual success. Is the second good? Is the progress?

Whatever you think of Areta's cinematic passion, the Lego figure on the Heide, which points to the sky dynamics, is undeniably real, undoubtedly a search for victory. There will be a crunch point here. There were already rumbling. The Thomas Partey saga was strange, unappetizing and remains a potential time bomb. Now you have your Martín Zubimendi. You have the muscle athlete, the finisher. Supplement and success. Or restrictions captured on the wall and pulled.

At the moment we have the longest day, one here who is waiting to be able to pass. Do I wear daring to scroll? Or can we linger a little longer, stay in this dream state, half in the sun, half in the shade, the muscles perfectly shaped, every promising, everything for a next before we are drawn into the light?