the unimaginable has occurred

As I reported in January, Arsenal broke me. It was the loss at home to Man Utd. that did it. I didn’t feel that I cut my ties to the club so much as that my ties were cut, in some involuntary yet definitive way. I still don’t fully understand it, but it has a lot to do with being a senior citizen, I suspect: I was getting a real I’m-too-old-for-this-shit vibe.

In the March update to that post I said that being clubless was great, but since then it has come to seem less great: footy is not nearly as compelling, I have discovered, when you have no rooting interest. I need to find someone to support! — but I don’t believe it will be Arsenal, even though I expect they’ll be even better next year. For one thing, it just seems wrong for me to celebrate now, given my hopping off the bandwagon in January; but for another and more important thing, I genuinely don’t feel it, at least not for myself.

It certainly pleases me, though, that a certain Middle-Eastern oil-and-patriarchy regime didn’t win yet another title. I am happy for the longsuffering Gunners supporters — well, most of them anyway: my favorite Arsenal fan, my son, said right after the match, “Somewhere in Heaven Osama bin Laden is smiling,” and I replied, “And somewhere in Hell Piers Morgan is too.” I am happy for the players, who have been through the wringer themselves even as they put their fans through the wringer.

I am delighted for Gunnersaurus.

And there is one person I am as happy for as I am for my son: Wrighty.

It says so much that when the good news came down Wrighty headed not for the broadcast booth or the podcast microphone but for the Emirates, where all the supporters were gathered. My friend Adam Roberts — a Southampton supporter, so this has been a bitter day for him — has said to me that Wrighty is a genuine national treasure, and he really is. Party hearty, Wrighty. You’ve earned it.

And one more thing. Few things are more likely to bring tears to my eyes than to hear Wrighty talk about his love for his dear friend, the late David Rocastle. See that jersey he’s wearing? The name on the back is ROCASTLE and the number is Rocky’s number 7.