Have Arsenal's next opponents got a trick up their sleeves?

(Sketch)

It was nearly 5.30 in Stoke, and darkness was descending. Fans around the Britannia Stadium were bracing against the cold and burrowing their heads into thick red and white scarves, their gloved fingers flipping through matchday programmes, their feet shuffling for warmth as the anticipation grew. Steam was rising from each stand, the heat of the supporters' breath and thick clothing escaping into the clear night sky.

Meanwhile, the Stoke dressing room was a hive of activity.

The players were stretching their monstrous frames and chatting excitedly as they eagerly awaited their march out of the tunnel. Sanli Tuncay was sat on the benches, joining in with the conversation as he gripped his shining locks with a set of hair curlers.

The defenders were practicing their stamps, gradually digging holes into the dressing room floor as they prepared to handle their considerably more talented opponents.

Rory Delap was carefully blow-drying an immaculate white towel, emblazoned somewhat pretentiously with the calligraphic ensign 'RD24'. His eyes were glazed with infatuation, his hands trembling and his lips whispering sweet nothings into the rows of cotton.

"Right boys."

Tony Pulis walked briskly into the Stoke dressing room, rubbing his hands eagerly. "We all ready?"

The players excitedly responded with a collective "yes boss", drumming their boots on the floor as they geared themselves up.

All of them except Thomas Sorensen, who was slumped forward unenthusiastically and ignoring his teammates. He rested his head in his gloves and mumbled bitterly, "I should be in the other room."

"What's that, Thomas?" Pulis snapped, fixing his goalkeeper with a warning glare from beneath his mildewed cap.

"Nothing boss," Sorensen replied as he sprung up with a feigned, toothy grin.

There came a knock on the dressing room door - the groundsman poked his head into the room.

"All ready, boss."

Pulis dragged him into the room and checked that there was no one in the tunnel within earshot. "Did you do everything like I said?"

"Yes boss," the groundsman nodded. "We've watered it once every half-hour for the last two days, and I churned it up nicely with my own tractor last night. I sent the boys out this morning to pick out any remaining blades of grass."

"Good, good," Pulis smiled. "And the goalmouths?"

"Yep, I had Robert roll about a bit in the penalty areas, so they're both nice and muddy." Robert Huth thudded into the room behind him, covered head to toe in mud and snorting dirt out of his nose.

Pulis clapped his hands together and grinned excitedly. "Good, then we're ready. Out you go boys, and don't forget..."

The players all joined in as Pulis shouted his mantra:

"If he's too skillful or if he's too quick, hold out your elbows and give him a kick!"