We were at home, so my sons and I made the call. If the score was still 1-0 at 80 minutes we’d head to the tube, and if the game hadn’t spun on its head by the time we were there, we’d Piccadilly it to Arsenal to let off 22 years of steam.
It was still 1-0 when we got on. Others – plenty of others – had had the same idea. Then Haaland equalised, and it felt like we’d jinxed it. We could hardly breathe.
The train pulled off, the whistle blew, and every carriage of the train erupted. We’d done it. We’d won the league. We are the champions. I can’t describe the feeling, not properly. Relief, exhilaration, joy. Pure joy. My boys, neither yet born when this last happened, were wild with excitement.
The Emirates was like a magnet. From every street, delirious fans were drawn towards it, just to be there, to dance, to party, to drink, to sing. It was such a beautiful moment to experience that. After 22 long years, 3 near misses and a season that was at times a bit gruelling – can a title be gruelling? – it was quite the release.
It’s a triumph for Arteta, but above all a triumph of the collective. This is not a team of individuals – although we do have some extraordinary talent – but of everyone pulling in the same direction, of organisation, willpower and determination. Several times it felt like things might slip away. Each time we came back. Most of the time it felt like people wanted anyone but us to win it. Which made last night all the sweeter.
It’s been a stupendous season, a record-breaking season, and one which we must savour while we can. This kind of joy does not come along on buses.
My words on this blog, back on 26 April 2004, the last time we won the league. That team and this one are hard to compare in many ways, but the sentiment is the same today as it was then. Enjoy this, savour this, soak it all in. These are the highs that all the bumps in the road, the disappointments, the false hopes and the many years of waiting, make worthwhile.
We are the champions.
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