a crisis in my fandom history

In the famous fifth chapter of John Stuart Mill’s Autobiography, “A Crisis in My Mental History,” we learn about the moment that Mill realized that he was in very great trouble:

From the winter of 1821, when I first read Bentham, and especially from the commencement of the Westminster Review, I had what might truly be called an object in life; to be a reformer of the world. My conception of my own happiness was entirely identified with this object…. But the time came when I awakened from this as from a dream. It was in the autumn of 1826. I was in a dull state of nerves, such as everybody is occasionally liable to; unsusceptible to enjoyment or pleasurable excitement; one of those moods when what is pleasure at other times, becomes insipid or indifferent; the state, I should think, in which converts to Methodism usually are, when smitten by their first “conviction of sin.” In this frame of mind it occurred to me to put the question directly to myself: “Suppose that all your objects in life were realized; that all the changes in institutions and opinions which you are looking forward to, could be completely effected at this very instant: would this be a great joy and happiness to you?” And an irrepressible self-consciousness distinctly answered, “No!” At this my heart sank within me: the whole foundation on which my life was constructed fell down.

I have a similar story to tell, though on a much smaller scale, and with fewer consequences for my general well-being. Let me tell it to you.

From the fall of 2011, when I first stared watching the Premier League regularly and intently, I had what might truly be called an object in fandom: to see Arsenal become champions of the the league. My conception of my own fandom was entirely identified with this object. But the time came when I awakened from this as from a dream. It was late January 2026, and Arsenal lost at home to a mediocre Manchester United side. I was in an anxious state of nerves, such as every supporter of a football club is occasionally liable to, but what I then experienced was something more. It came to me that again and again and again, since Mikel Arteta came to manage the team in 2019, a talented Arsenal side had underperformed its talent. Indeed, as the side has grown more talented its underperformance has increased correspondingly. Yes, Arsenal leads the league at the moment, but they lead only because other top sides have underperformed as much as they have, and given the Gunners’ long, long history of choking in pressureful matches, it seems only a matter of time before they give up their lead and end their season in the old familiar lamentation. But even if not…

In this frame of mind it occurred to me to put the question directly to myself: “Suppose that all your objects in fandom were realized; that all the AFC success which you are looking forward to, could be completely effected at this very instant: would this be a great joy and happiness to you?” And an irrepressible self-consciousness distinctly answered, “No!” At this my heart sank within me: the whole foundation on which my fandom was constructed fell down.

I can’t go through this any more. Arsenal has hurt me too much. The Morgul blade of raised-then-crushed hopes has gone too deep into my heart. “I am wounded; it will never really heal.” Should all my long-cherished hopes come true, should Arsenal even win the treble this season, I could manage nothing more than a wan smile.

I have deleted the Arsenal calendar from my devices. I have unsubscribed from all my Arsenal RSS feeds. I have deleted my Reddit account and uninstalled the Reddit app from my devices. I can already feel that my burden has lightened. I move with greater peace and hope into my future.

UPDATE 8 March: I continue to live a fandom-free life, and it’s great. I watch footy often, but just in hopes of entertaining and well-played matches. Because some especially dear friends of mine are Liverpool supporters, I’d like to see the Reds get a Champions League place, but other than that I have no rooting interest. I’ll watch Arsenal play when that’s convenient, but with what Samuel Johnson called “frigid tranquility.”

And watching Arsenal without hope or fear, what I notice, primarily, is what terrible football they play. The derisive “Champagne Stoke” chant is spot on: watching Arsenal’s brilliant players laboring under the burdens of Arteta’s unimaginatively cynical tactics makes me wonder what Tony Pulis or Jose Bordelas would have done with the 2009 Barcelona side. My guess is that Pulis and Bordelas would be shrewd enough to let those lads play; my other guess is that Arteta wouldn’t — he’d probably be okay with Messi scoring twelve goals per season as long as he tracked back. He’s great at organizing a defense but seems determined to impede attack.

The Gunners are the deepest and most talented side in the world and are still in the running for four competitions. My guess is that Arteta’s negativity will lead to their falling short in all of them, and if that were to happen it would be tragic for the club’s long-suffering fanbase but might be the only eventuality that would force a tactical change. And it might be better for football generally if Arsenal didn’t win — otherwise we might see more teams playing like the Gunners, and that would be really bad for the game.