How it feels to win the league from NZ

"Pure unadulterated relief. You can stick your joy up your arse."

I watched the Arsenal-Burnley match down the Old Bailey in Wellington. It was the only pub open at 7am on a Tuesday morning and the moment felt too important to watch on the sofa. There was six of us. Fair enough. Wellington is a small town in a small country, on the other side of the planet. I had to fly to Auckland for work the following day at 10am so watched the Bournemouth-City game at home. I can see the runway from my sofa. City losing to Bournemouth just isn’t something you can plan ahead for. Bournemouth have been unbelievable. I had Bournemouth to win the game but its still not something you can plan ahead for.

My NZ ritual has been to watch The Arsenal from the sofa pretending to like this Arsenal brand of tea, just so I can sing "And it's Arsenal, Arsenal F.C. We are by far the greatest tea, The world has ever seen." It tastes like pond water.

For the final 10 minutes of the game all I could think were the unmistakable parallels between us and Hearts' title race in Scotland. Celtic snatched a 98th minute winner in their penultimate game then went on to win the league, as though the outcome was inevitable. But then something extra-ordinary happened. The final whistle blew before City completed their own comeback. I let out a guttural scream at the tele filled with 22 years worth of pent-up indescribable indignation. My girlfriend couldn’t work out if it was a good noise or a bad noise. It was relief. Thank the fucking Lord I don’t have to sit through the Palace game and watch us scratch around for a late winner. A coin flip to decide my mental well-being. Not just in the coming weeks but a permanent scar on my personality.

Pure unadulterated relief. You can stick your joy up your arse. Relief is a toxin and I’ve become addicted to our one nils, not in-spite of pain but partly due to it. The sort of love you have for a puppy who shits right on the pristine lawn of your local bowls club the first time you let them off the leash. Of course we would rather it was easy but somewhere deep down we have become addicted to the drama. We were exposed to the monotony of the 4th place trophy for so long that 1-0 to The Arsenal to stay top is pure theatre. I need more. Give me the chaos of two puppies and I'll name them little Juan and wee Nils.

I phoned my brother in Bristol, who was a Season ticket holder for years before he moved - he cried. I phoned my uncle in Ireland, who grew up down the road from Highbury - he cried. Then I finished my 8am beer and went to Airport to go to work. Weighing up the pros and cons of quitting on the spot and hopping on a plane to London instead of Auckland. It’s the sort of antic I’ve built a website out of but after the relief came the shock. I flew to Auckland in a daze. I joined the Auckland Gooners fan page & saw they were meeting at a ‘London’ pub. My boss asked if I knew anywhere to get some lunch before our install and I said yes I do.

Shout out to the Auckland Gooners. People floating in and out throughout the day as they peeled off from work on a Wednesday afternoon. Hearing their Arsenal tales was something to hold on to. I thought it might feel bitter sweet but it was clear we were part of what was happening in London. A global celebration.

I left the pub to go to work at 3pm, not fully present of course. The install went on until 1:30 in the morning. I got to the hotel at 2. Stuck on an Arsenal podcast and woke up 3 hours later to be back onsite for 6:30am. Followed by a 13 hour day. It’s not uncommon in the events industry - we have downtime elsewhere. I’m writing this on the Friday with a 1pm beer. Yet I was so tired that I only put 1 sock on in the hotel room this morning and didn't notice until I went to leave. I turned the hotel room inside out but it was gone. Better off with no socks than one sock like a nutter - I took it off to reveal the missing sock underneath the first sock. I just stared at my foot in disbelief. My unconscious brain which usually tackles mindless tasks - like putting on your socks - has clearly left without saying goodbye. I honestly think what happened was because my conscious brain wasn’t allowed to think about The Arsenal because of a hectic work schedule, that my unconscious brain started to indulge in The Arsenal instead of socks. Which shows just how vital The Arsenal is to my functioning as a human.

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I want to thank the Auckland Gooners. They showed me you don't need to go to the games to still be involved in an Arsenal community. That it's possible to live the other side of the planet and still be proper Arsenal.

And they're right. I’ve seen us lose at Old Trafford. Win at the Lane. I’ve defended Eboue’s honour like it’s my own. My girlfriend once asked me why I was crying and I had to tell her that I was having imagination meeting with Ian Wright where he told me he was proud of me. But at some point I made a conscious decision to think of other stuff occasionally. Alright so I may have failed at that for the past five months but I’ve given it a fair go - I live in New Zealand for fuck sake. On our first date she asked me how mad I was for The Arsenal and I answered honestly “I’m not as obsessed as I used to be.” She apparently misunderstood this and thought this meant I wouldn’t get up at 3am on a Monday morning to watch them.

2 weeks ago, we eventually reached that time in every Arsenal relationship when we scroll through the movies and I ask as nonchalantly as I can “Have you ever seen Fever Pitch?” and just like I dreamed it she said “No, what’s that?” “Oh it’s this romantic movie from the 90’s starring Colin Firth. It’s basically a romance where they discuss Byron and all the rest of it. It’s very romantic.” I think I might have forced the word ‘romantic’ in there about 12 times. It just captured so perfectly what is going on today. The only difference was they only had to wait 18 years for a title. Literally the only difference as she was a little horrified the film captured some of our life verbatim.

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If we win the Champions League final it will be for us. The reason winning the league was such a relief was it shut everybody else up. All the football fans who follow social media more than their own team. Any fan or pundit who thought it wasn’t a foul on Raya can be permanently written off. It can only be a positive thing that nothing Kevin Nolan ever says again can be of any consequence. Peter Schlemiel could be videoed taking a shit in the middle of Trafalgar Square and amazingly I would rise above it.

I am confident moving into the Champions League final. It will be the first game of any consequence in months there will be no sickening nerves. An obviously ridiculous to say but it just feels like a free hit. And we don't even need to change our style to beat them. Mosquera hitchhiking a piggyback on Kvaratskhelia. Riccardo Calafiori in the chaos zone. Down the Old Bailey at 3am thanks to a special licence, with a bunch of strangers sharing tears of joy instead of relief. Not only have we already won whatever happens. We have won with our old captain at the helm against the biggest cheating bastards in sporting history. We’ve finally done it, at long fucking last.