Where were you when Arsenal won the league?

A personal essay about Arsenal securing premier league champions title in 2026.

Where were you when Arsenal won the premier league? What were you doing, and what did it give you an excuse to do with the rest of your day? That’s what we’ll be talking about in the future when we remember this grand occasion.

When Arsenal won the league, I was at a live classical music concert with my parents at Cadogan Hall in Sloane Square. Much too afraid to watch the game in real life, I persuaded my mum and dad to join me in seeing the Warsaw Symphonic Orchestra perform Tchaikovsky’s Symphony Pathetique as a distraction from the momentous football happenings going on elsewhere at the same time.

Cadogan Hall is a strange, yet wonderful place. I like it because it feels like being on a British cruise ship for Kensington pensioners (or what I imagine it must feel like, given that I’ve never actually been on one myself).

If you were to visit Cadogan Hall you would find faints trace of musky Shalimar lingering in the corridors, left behind by elderly ladies with grey hair. The bar stocks an array of gourmet ice creams like “organic” Vanilla and gingersnap. If you’re lucky you’ll get to see the Chelsea veterans dressed in their signature crimson red military blazers scattered throughout the auditorium like flocks of poppies.

Unlike Wigmore Hall, its live classical concert hall counterpart, which offers £5 tickets to under 35s in an effort to attract younger audiences, the majority of concertgoers at Cadogan are over the age of seventy and I like it that way.

I don’t think they’re used to seeing young people there. When I went to see Mozart’s Requiem during Eastertide a bartender lady refused to serve me a glass of wine because I didn’t have my ID (I won’t reveal my age on here, but this is funny for those of you who know it). I thought to myself, lady, do you know what an underage person looks like these days? Would a 16 year old really be at a Mozart concert all by herself on a school night?

I like to go to Cadogan because I never bump into anyone I know and don’t have to make small talk. There is a real joy in going to a certain place by yourself with the intention of remaining completely anonymous, though this is a pleasure I rarely get to experience these days. Having lived in London my whole life, my circle of orbit is becoming larger by the moment, and with that, my world has become a lot smaller. Although it’s nice to be surrounded by acquaintances, sometimes I just want to be by myself.

Tuesday May 19th was one of those days when I became selectively mute from stress and needed a place where I could be entirely alone with my football induced hysteria. The Warsaw Orchestra playing Tchaikovsky was the perfect escape, and Symphony Pathetique was perhaps the most fitting piece they could have performed that day. It’s worth noting that, it does not mean ‘pathetic’ symphony as some of you may assume by the title, but rather ‘full of feeling’. That day I was full of desire, loss, fear, excitement, want, all of which I felt tossing and turning in the jittery pit of my stomach. The notes echoing through Tchaikovsky’s sweeping strings, rolling drums, pounding brass, and sudden stops and starts in music resembled the threads of my own true nervous soul.

Although in my heart of hearts, I had a lot of hope that our boys would win the league, I really did not expect that Man City would drop points at Anfield that day-- I thought they wouldn’t let themselves draw or lose at home at such a crucial moment in the race for the title, but in the end, Tuesday May 19th turned out to be a moment that combined two of my greatest loves-- The Arsenal and Tchaikovsky.

After the concert, I left the hall in a somewhat fragile state (Tchaikovsky has this effect on me). It was a mild spring night and the sky was the colour of a ripe plum, so blue and so purple. The Warsaw Orchestra’s recital of Tchaikovsky’s swan song was extraordinary, enough to make anyone forget the noise of the outside world. For a moment, everything was silent until I turned my phone on and was bombarded by a wave of text messages from friends congratulating me on the win.

We did it, Arsenal won the premier league. My body turned into jelly.

Trembling, I sat down on the tube going back to my parents’ house and told them I had to go to the Emirates stadium to celebrate with fellow fans. My father looked at me like I was a madwoman and said maybe 20 to 100 people would be there and that I’d find the whole thing underwhelming. For a second I considered what he said until I heard the train conductor say ‘reeed armyyyy’ on the tube speakers. Right at that moment, I knew where I had to be.

My father kindly took the overnight bag I’d packed carrying all of my personal belongings, including a pair of Nothing headphones and a pair of comfy shoes. I went out into the night with nothing in my pockets besides my keys, a phone that was on 4 percent, and a Clarins cherry lip gloss-- deep red for the Arsenal.

By the time I got to the Victoria line heading for Highbury and Islington my phone was on 3 percent and the tube was bursting at the seams with boys dressed in red and white. I felt a little bit stupid standing there in my Brandy Melville puffed sleeve princess blouse and patent leather ballerina shoes-- it was perhaps the most inappropriate thing to be wearing to an Arsenal parade and I didn’t even have my Arsenal scarf on me. The boys were singing the usual ‘we’ve got super Mik’Arteta, he knows exactly what we need…’ chant and when I joined in, one of them put their arms around me in a ‘we accept you, one of us! One of us!’ kind of way.

When the tube arrived at Highbury there were hundreds of people chanting “what do we think of Tottenham? - sh*t What do we think of sh*t? - Tottenham! Thank you! - That’s alright! We hate Tottenham, we hate Tottenham…” by the station. There was glorious panic on the streets of London which were all in complete shut down. None of the traffic was moving, as people were getting out of their cars to join the crowd heading towards the Emirates stadium. The few cars that were moving were all beeping along to the chanting fans and excited fans were waving flags out of their windows. I’d never seen anyone more full of joy and jubilation. On my short walk from the station to the stadium, I drifted past a man wearing oval glasses and a flat cap who looked exactly like Ian Wright (which turned out to be the man himself). Later I also heard a group of people chuckling while pointing at a porky man in a suit with silver hair saying ‘Mister Starmer’ ‘Mister Starmer’, though I think it was a joke.

My phone was long dead by now, but I happened to bump into (redacted) looking tall and handsome in his grey suit, leading (redacted) through the crowd with her long, brown, hair flowing down her back. They led me through to the Emirates by hand and together we watched as thick red smoke and colourful fireworks went up in the air while singing ‘we’re Mikel Arteta’s army, we’re Arsenal through and through, we’ll sing it in the North Bank, and in the Clock End too… Allez, Allez, Allez…’.

The crowd was beaming with joy and there was a real sense of togetherness. A man had built the premier league trophy with tin foil and everyone was cheering as he held it up in the air. I overheard someone saying ‘this must’ve been what it felt like to witness the French Revolution’. Although it was only a Tuesday work night, there were been at least 100,000 fans in the crowd. Despite the tsunami of people crowding the streets, the atmosphere felt very safe. Men walked their small dogs, school children were out and about, and people were even carrying newborn babies around.

I left the celebration around 11.30 ish because I had work the next day and wanted to ensure I could get home on time with a completely dead phone. The walk through the crowd wasn’t as stressful as I’d anticipated as everyone was very respectful of my ‘please, excuse me, I have to get through’ and carved a small way to let me go past with ease. On the short overground ride to my parents’ home I tingled with warm feelings of pride and smiled softly to myself. I was pumped so full of triumph and adrenaline I didn’t realise that my feet had been completely torn apart by my ballerina flats and bleeding down my heels. Ah whatever, I thought to myself, victorious battle wounds, red for the Arsenal.

Before bed, I went into my father’s room to relay all the wonderful happenings. When I said to him ‘I can’t believe we won the league while I was at a Tchaikovsky concert’, he replied ‘you didn’t win the league tonight Masha. You won it across the year when you played like champions’.

My father was right, we didn’t win just because Man City dropped points that day, we won because we deserved it. We won because of Kai Havertz’ goal that was scored the night before, because of Max Dowman’s goal against Everton, because of Martinelli’s last minute equaliser goal against City back in September. We won when Xhaka, Tomiyasu, Nketiah and all of the other boys from past seasons gave it their all to get us here.

Just like Arsene Wenger who also took 3 years of coming second to carry his squad of Arsenal invincibles through to their champions league title in 2004, Arteta had a plan. As Thierry Henry said in an interview not too long ago, if his squad was ‘the invincibles’ this current one is ‘the unforgettables’. While everyone criticised Arteta’s strategy and doubted our team, the boys focused on consistency, stability, and hard work. Arsenal won not because Man City lost, but because they were the true champions of the premier league.

After three consecutive years of coming 2nd in the premier league, Arsenal have finally managed to secure the champions title. The last time this happened was 22 years ago, meaning an entire generation of fans has never seen them become champions before. Although they remained at the top of the league throughout the entire season this year, at one point, Man City almost caught up with them in the end. These past few weeks have been very difficult on my nervous system, but it was all worth it in the end.

So whether you were watching the game from a Gunners pub in Highbury, or at home on your iPad, or sat with your T.V switched off, too nervous to even look, with nothing, but your hopes and prayers, Tuesday May 19th will forever be a moment you will never forget.

And it’s not all over just yet, there’s still the champions league on the 30th.

Up the gunners, forever.

ps. there can’t be many people in history who’ve gone from a Tchaikovsky concert to an impromptu Arsenal parade in the same day