Round the outside
4.5 Hours before kick off. Plenty of time to get into a pub, or so I thought.
Pub at 11:30am for a 4pm kick off? What could possibly go wrong
My brother came up to Islington and we headed over to the Gunners pub, only to be met by queues that stretched for as far as the eye could see. Same story at the Bank of Friendship, Brook House, The Kings Head, Blackstock and Twelve Pins.
Lovely big waters
Stopping for some bottles of water (bo-ol a wa-er), we trekked through the searing heat and finally stumbled into The Eaglet, seemingly the only pub with any space left, with most people celebrating outside.
It turned out they weren’t only outside to celebrate; inside was a furnace. No air conditioning on a day like this saw streams of sweat meeting tears of joy across the faces throughout the room. After a few minutes we had to leave. There was no way we were surviving 90 minutes in there.
The next stop was a little Irish bar called the Halfway House Bar. Again, almost empty and with a big projector screen. Finally, we thought, our luck was in.
After sitting down with a fosters (!!) we were informed that they weren’t actually showing the game; the big screen behind us was just running football highlights on YouTube. So off we bounced again, thankfully leaving that Fosters behind.
En route
With the time now being around 3:30pm, 30 mins before kick-off, we found no more room at the inns. Every pub was at capacity, so our only choice was to surprise the family and head home instead. From what it lacked in atmosphere it made up with no queues for the bar and the toilet facilities were clean.
As soon as the full time whistle blew and the players lifted the trophy for the first time in 22 years, we headed to the Emirates.
It’s done
In scenes similar to Tuesday night, when Everton held Manchester City to a draw and therefore guaranteeing the Title to Arsenal, the streets were flooded with Gunners. We made our way to the stadium but were met by a line of Police blocking access, so Holloway Road instead became the party, unofficially closed by thousands of celebrating fans.
After a while we headed back. My brother had to take his train and I needed food. Then I checked the socials and noticed people had somehow made it to the stadium! One was Phil Turnbull, who said access was possible via the North side (Gillespie Road), so off I went again; to quote Eminem, going round the outside, round the outside.
Nice to see only a few people on their phones, a pleasant change and maybe a sign of times to come?
Once there I was again taken back to that Tuesday night. The ground again swelled with Arsenal fans. The dam of frustration had finally burst open by Mik Arteta’s red army, and you could feel it everywhere. This time, with a little more notice, people had brought beat boxes, creating pockets of mini raves throughout the crowds. Flares and fireworks carried the festivities long into the night.
There’s more still to come this weekend. If Arsenal are able to best favourites PSG on Saturday, I’m sure we will have similar scenes. Then comes the Trophy Parade on Sunday.
The route itself was delayed, no doubt needing to be redrawn entirely after the sheer number of people now expected to attend. Rumours suggest anywhere between 500,000 and 1,000,000 people could turn up, comparable to a day at Notting Hill Carnival.
With no public toilets, no planned trophy lift during the parade and no access to the stadium throughout the day, I genuinely have no idea how it’s all going to play out, but in one of my favourite quotes, “Life finds a way” - until of course, it doesn’t.
It’s almost poetic that the shirt I panic-bought to get into a “no team colours allowed” seat at Wembley for Arsenal would be worn for a second time at my father’s funeral.
If you’ve read the caption of my recent Instagram post, you’ll know that my dad passed away on the very night Arsenal lifted the trophy.
Almost 3 months to the day that he walked into the hospital, unaware he had high-grade glioma, he passed peacefully and painlessly.
Football teams are usually inherited through family tradition. In this case, I managed to convert my dad into an Arsenal fan a few years ago. While he wasn’t able to communicate towards the end, I’m glad he would have known Arsenal won the league. Maybe that’s what he was holding out for.
I received this bad, but not unexpected news, on my way back from the stadium that night. It’s funny how your emotions can swing between extremes but I suppose that’s part of being human.
RIP Dad.