For a few seconds after the final whistle, there was pure release inside Emirates Stadium.
People jumped into each other’s arms, fists waved furiously in the air, guttural screams aimed at nobody in particular pierced the north London night. My brother bawled his eyes out. He actually sobbed. 22 years of wanting this, fearing this, imagining this, all pouring out at once.
Burnley done. The dream is still alive.
But the relief, after another excruciating evening, did not last long.
As the players gathered in the centre circle and Martin Odegaard was pushed towards the microphone for the obligatory end-of-season address, the reality of what comes next slowly crept over the stadium.
“One big one left” sounds simple enough when you say it quickly. In practice, it means another 90 minutes of unbearable tension at Selhurst Park on Sunday. Potentially the most stressful 90 minutes many Arsenal supporters have ever lived through. Since West Ham, anyway.
“Just a little bit to go now, and we are going to give it our all,” said the captain.
“We have to keep going. I can promise you all that we give everything we have every single day. We are going to keep going until the very end. With your support, we are going to be ready.”
There is no safety net now. Goal difference has been dragged out of the equation. Arsenal simply have to finish above Manchester City on points. Cleaner? Maybe. More terrifying? Absolutely.
The only thing diluting the dread was the possibility that Bournemouth could still do everyone a favour tonight. If they take points off City, Sunday becomes little more than a coronation and a chance to finally exhale. Has an under-9 player ever lifted the Premier League trophy?
But even allowing yourself to think about that felt dangerous. Another game to obsess over. Another 90 minutes spent staring through your fingers at a television or a phone.
Best not to go there. Nor Budapest, for that matter. There is no room in the brain right now for frivolous distractions like a Champions League final. Eleven days may as well be eleven years away.
Instead, attention turned back to the pitch. Odegaard handed the microphone to Mikel Arteta, and the manager was serenaded repeatedly, loudly, to the point where he could barely get a word in. Eventually, the crowd quietened, partly out of affection, partly because people realised they might need to hear what he was saying before they could go home.
His voice sounded wrecked. The words themselves were simple enough, a thank you mixed with one final rallying cry, but they somehow made the whole thing feel even more emotional.
“It’s an absolute joy to witness the transformation and what the contribution of each of you have had to turn this place into the most beautiful place to enjoy and play our football game. This is the soul of this football club, and each of you contributes to that.
“So make sure every time you step in this stadium, you face the responsibility now to keep it at these standards because it makes such a difference for us and for all these players. I want to thank you all.”
Then came the lap around the stadium. Players clapping every corner. A banner unfurled in the East Stand reading ‘Mikel Knows’, a knowing nod to Arsene Wenger and his Invincibles of 2004. Fans lingered in their seats, not quite emotionally capable of letting the night end.
And that was when the strange sadness of it hit.
Winning silverware is supposed to be communal. A shared release after years of near misses, frustration and waiting, of hugging strangers, puffing out cheeks in stress, staring blankly into the distance after missed chances. Yet this felt like the final shared act before whatever comes next.
Misery? Ecstasy? Another scar? One, or possibly two, of the greatest days in the club’s history. But when? When will we actually feel all that? Maybe tonight.
Some will go to Selhurst Park. The vast majority will not.
People who have sat alongside each other for years, sometimes decades, now peel off into separate plans and private superstitions. Some will watch in pubs. Others from sofas. Some perhaps from behind cushions, unable to look properly at all. I know at least one person planning a very long walk in the countryside.
After all these years together, everyone now has to find their own way to the promised land.