What's Alan Green call it on the BBC 5Live trail? The most prestigious club competition in the world? Yep. It's the Champions League!
Every season it's starts with this tedious round-robin League format and you see how quickly a feast of football can become an all-year twenty-seven course banquet that even your average Middle American would struggle to much his way through.
First up we had a bit of an Old Firm fracas. No danger of this turning into a fan-bashing contest in the streets of Manchester - just listen to young Ross Anderson - a plain-speaking but peaceable young man from Glasgow.
Lovely. Sir Alex Ferguson a 'Gers man himself, saw fit to give his old buddy Walter Smith's players a treat by putting out on to the pitch a team more devoid of creativity than a herd of Friesians.
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Prestigious competition, SAF? You could have put 11 John O'Sheas out there and got more for your money. Not that Smith's ambitions went further than the old parking the bus and holding out routine. (Although in Walter's case it was an Airbus 380.)
Rooney was crowded out by a centre-back trio that gathered round him like expectant hookers after a pay hike. The only incident of sickening note was when Kirk's Broad foot accidentally contributed to Valencia's horrible injury.
I doubt Fergie is too worried about the result. Chances are that Valencia (the team) and Bursaspor - which sounds less like a footy team and more like an airborne biological weapon - aren't going to cause a whole heap of trouble and they'll stumble through okay.
But then this is the whole bloody point. The Champs League, and it's obese little cousin the Europa League, are just means by which UEFA can suck dry the pockets of every football supporter across Europe.
At least Spurs-Werder Bremen was a decent contest and proved that 'Arry's got a good squad that might just be deep enough to handle an injury list. And if you are going to have a one-sided match then please, please, let the Arsenal be involved.
Loth as I am to join in the ejaculatory praise for Arsene's team, you have to say that last night's exhibition was a blinking joy. From the motion the ITV caption went up in the top left-hand corner to tell us that this was a match between ARS and BRA, I was thoroughly entertained.
Course the Bra in question wasn't the most secure and appear to fall open at the slightest flick of the foot. But this was the Wenger dream writ large.
Fabregas couldn't have been offered more space had been suffering from the world's worst case of body odour - and let's face it a football shirt is a great ingresient for encouraging such a foul whiff - and he pranced about the midfield like a merry Lord.
His accomplices were pretty damn good too. Chamakh looks the part up front - neat on the ground and works like a dog - although the barnet needs some attention. Why he's styling his hair after the fashion of a German World War 1 army helmet is beyond me. But a fit Bendtner's not going to get back into the team in a hurry.
Arshavin was at his shimmying best for the most part. Vela must be the happiest sub in the country, like a kid just waiting for the dessert to turn up before he tucks in.
And Wilshere looks great, doesn't he? There's a bit of the cocksure strutting bantam about the lad - and that backheel for the third? Well, my boozer was full of grown men cooing like schoolgirls round a kitten.
Add to that the fact that Alex Song has matured into a very fine player - and matured incredibly rapidly judging by the spooky blue rinse on his bonce - and Wenger has plucked out another good couple of centre-backs in Koscielny and Squillaci (Stepanovs and Luzhny seem like lumbering dinosaurs from another age now) and you can see why Arsene's feeling so chipper.
Of course there are the usual concerns when you start going overboard about Wenger.
At the end of the day, Wenger is an artiste. He wants the beautiful game. And nowt's happened this season to suggest that when the clunking clogging hoofbeats of the less refined members of the top leagues send their troops out to 'get in the faces' of the opposition, that that won't lead to a meltdown.
Fortunately they won't be up against the one-man wrecking-ball that is Lee Cattermole this weekend. But he's just the sort of aggressive little git that you still feel will put the Gunners off their stride.
The true test will come on October 3rd when they go to Stamford Bridge. Let's face it, the last few times Chelsea have played them, Arsenal have looked like a ten-year-old swinging his fists at a grown-up while said adult holds him off by the head, and the other men in blue yank down his shorts and tan his hide whenever they feel like it.
Still, unless you're a Spur, Wenger's team do qualify as every neutral's favourite watch. I remember them tonking Boro 6-1 in '99 and going on feeling strangely ok about it, as if I'd discovered the missus having an affair only to find that the man in question was George Clooney.
I mean if my lass can pull that sort of talent it kind of reflects well on meself. It's a private agreement we have as a matter of fact. If I came home to tell her I had a one-nighter with Penelope Cruz she tells me she'd completely understand.
I'm not sure she's being frank, so if you're out there Penny, pet, let's put that theory to the test, eh?