I was meant to write this post on that Tuesday, May 19th 2026. Even with a little bit of delay for the celebrations, I could have at least done it by Sunday May 24th 2026 when the actual Premier League season ended. With the most gentle of nudges I could have managed to do it by end of May, end of June, end of July but well…what defines procrastination best than rushing to complete that same task a few hours to the commencement of the new season on 21st August 2026?
Now that we are through with that boring introduction, let’s step into the first and main inspiration behind dribbling down this memory lane: ARSENAL ARE THE REIGNING PREMIER LEAGUE CHAMPIONS! Now, I know that statement alone probably led to half my readers pausing or closing their reading tab instantly. However, for those who have remained, I promise you that you are in for more than stories about the red and white gunners.
I was discussing football with a friend’s dad a few months back and I was surprised to learn that he had never played football growing up and could not even accurately aim to kick the ball presently. To me and probably most African kids from my generation, this was truly shocking because to us anything that was on the ground could be converted for footballing purposes. What I mean is, whether walking home from school, working around the household; our generation dribbled rocks, fruits, plant seeds, cans, bottles…the list is endless. When we got really serious for a match, using left over rags, string or sisal and a paperbag cover would produce the original jabulani which had a maximum speed of 20 KPH, a spin rate of 1 RPM and zero chances at curving past another player or the goal post. Once in a while though, someone at school would procure a new/new-ish paperbag, perfect stuffing materials like light old seat sponges, left over tailoring materials and most important of all, a long enough woven nylon string. They would create the best version of a handmade football that was possible then. Done properly, this ball could even bounce and change direction in the air (just like the World Cup 2010 Jabulani) until it got rained on or fell in a ditch for then it would become a weapon of facial distortion if it hit you. All the weight of soaked up water, the braided nylon strings and a bare footed super kick could leave you with the nylon boxed design perfectly imprinted on your face for days.
You now fully understand the kind of environment we grew up in as far as football was concerned. Yet, thinking back, there was no particularly special reason to be that obsessed with the sport. First, club football was not available to be watched live on the few TVs that existed in the villages in Kenya. This would leave sports news highlights, Gillette World Sports Special programme and live matches during the World Cup and AFCON as the only time one was around continuous live football broadcasting which would mostly be on radio. In addition, these happened/happen every 4 years, it was again not enough reason to become so attracted and fall in love with the beautiful game. Therefore, as I tried to find a strong reason for this level of basal affection for a sport that most kids wouldn’t have managed to watch much before playing it, I came across the idea of family and community. I played football because my elder siblings did, I played it because my cousins, my school friends and even my village mates played it. They played it because someone else they knew played the game too. In essence, most people seem to have been around football because they found a place to belong, a cheap activity to share with friend during daily school breaks or even on holidays. Some young fans were a tad more exposed on the basis of having some regional clubs that played in lower leagues entertain us on local half grass, half murram pitches during game weekends. At one point after high school, my eldest brother played for one of these clubs and not only would I get to attend the matches but also follow him to week day practice sessions, but then he was swiftly whisked off to college. That same brother who would end up being the reason I had to suffer the misery of 22 years without a premier league trophy. I will tell you how…
The year is 1994, the world cup is going on in the USA and Jojo Sweets or whatever the full name was had just discovered the perfect marketing gimmick; wrapping the gum inside with stickers of footballers at the world cup in their national kits including their name and kit number. My middle brother and I started a hobby of collecting the said stickers with the hopes of creating every single team’s first 11. This meant going as far as trading the stickers in school just to get the missing pieces. In the end, we couldn’t manage to get all full teams except one, the Brazil team led by Dunga as captain while Romario and Bebeto led the line. Now as young as we were, we already had our favourite teams and by then Brazil led in that list amongst family and friends. The final arrives, goes to penalties and Roberto Baggio misses the famous spot kick for Italy. Brazil are champions!! We make sure everyone knows we supported Brazil, we make fun of those who supported Italy at the final. We talk like fans who plan to never move their support for a national teams’ competition. It was the only thing we knew by then, not even a peep about club football, at least not much about the premier league.
The next 4 years before the 1998 World Cup were spent slowly getting used to club football news. I could recognize more names because of the just concluded world cup, I could tell the difference between the different leagues and was slowly getting used to the idea of “selling” and “buying” players. I was also slowly getting used to the names of clubs that the then stars played for when there was no world cup. However, I was still too young and deep in the 8 before 4-4 to care that much, to actually have my emotions affected by whatever happens on a football pitch. Little did I know what was awaiting me. When the 1998 World Cup comes around, it finds me grown enough, but not as grown as my eldest brother who’s in form 3 by then. He insists he has shifted teams and now supports France, I am flabbergasted by the betrayal and trying to understand. Why would you leave our team for another? No loyalty for Ronaldo, Rivaldo, Roberto Carlos, Cafu? I couldn’t understand it when the tournament started but it sank like a hot knife during the final. I watched Zidane dismantle Brazil as France won 3 nil while my brother taunted me about my life choices. I cried. I was slowly realizing he had information I was not paying attention to. He knew players from watching club football in high school, he knew about game day line ups not just overall squads and he had used that information to choose France as possible eventual winner. This is while I was still riding the high from 1994 and believing it enough to win as long as Brazil got to the finals. In later years we would find out Ronaldo was unwell for the final but in that moment then, it just made my brother look like a genius. This is why when I asked which club he supports and he said Arsenal, there was no talkback or arguments. Arsenal had won the World Cup. This would be further cemented by 1999 when the young exciting forward we had seen torture teams at the WC was signed to Arsenal; the one who would soon become The King, Thierry Henry. Everything was falling into place.
In 5 years, the French contingent of manager and players, plus others of course, would deliver doubles and win the league undefeated, a feat unmatched to date. But then, as loud and quick as the success had been, it suddenly all went quiet. Belief propelled the fans and players forward, to a Champions League final when I was in college in 2006. However even that belief would start cracking as the all trophy drought from 2005 hit year 5 and then seemed headed for 10. That is until that carpet football group that had Ozil, Santi Cazorla, Rambo won that FA cup against Hull City in 2014. Then they added Alexis Sanchez and won 2 more FA Cups in quick succession. We started believing, we became the Next Season fans every time the current season did not materialize into a higher trophy than the FA Cup. With that group of players, we would end up losing it to Leicester in 2016, Wenger had to go! The professor, the one who’d won the league undefeated and multiple doubles had fallen off in tactics and there was no light at the end of the Emirates tunnel. The fans revolted, they even hired a plane to fly a Wenger Out banner during a game. It was one of the lowest moments for most Arsenal fans.
Wenger is finally out! Bora Unai! After 22 years (ironically), Arsene Wenger would leave the club that almost shared his name. Those who wanted him out (most fans) thought they were finally free of the shackles of football past its time. We would buy differently, we would play differently, we would definitely win and make a difference. Fast forward that faith to that night in Baku 2019 which would end up serving to us a not so Good Ebenin. Sure, the trophy was 2nd tier but it was highly anticipated by the fans so they could build belief in their new manager and the team set up. After a season and a half, Unai is shown the door and a novice manager, a former Arsenal player, Mikel Arteta is given the reins. Some fans rejoice, some give up immediately, most have learned to be patient and just wait.
1 win in 10 games! Arteta’s team wins only one game in a 2 month period at the height of Covid-19. Fans are confused and are arguing amongst each other online and in Whatsapp groups. Some point to the recent FA cup success with Arteta while others point at his short CV and the continued losses. We finish 8th for the 2nd time under Arteta’s management.
While all this is going on, time and life edge forward for both fans, players and staff. This is the reason I said this post may be Arsenal inspired but is not about Arsenal alone. It is about the community that this game creates and the relationships it has fostered over the years. In January 2019, I would find myself in the 14 Riverside compound as the terrorist attack happened. The next day as I tried to get my phone to start working due to hundreds of calls and messages that had come through as we hid during the event, I would find that football fans of all clubs, rivals we had argued with in Whatsapp groups for years had been looking for me. They texted and called including offering avenues for PTSD counselling and therapy. I was getting to know doctors, psychiatrists and even those in the armed forces as they reached out to offer a helping hand. Football had been shelved, rivarlies broken, it was time for a community health check. And we needed it, because a few hours later, messages of Odu Cobra’s passing while he saved lives would reach the football groups and a communal heartbreak would envelope all of us. Most of us who had not met him knew him as a Man United fan, vocal, knowledgeable and most importantly kind in his words and presentation. The groups would contribute for his funeral, attend events to honour him and would keep his name alive through stories and memories.
Do you know someone who likes a certain player for no reason? And acts like that player is related to them including being overly concerned with their success? That was how my friend Steve Ashers was when it came to Matteo Guendouzi. Even after years of Next Season F.C., he still held the belief that the team that would have Matteo as a mainstay midfielder would lead us to success. My friend would leave this plane in August 2019 while Matteo would head out on loans and then leave Arsenal some time after. To date I still find myself looking up MG as he was affectionately known amongst his fans just to keep an eye on his career because my friend didn’t get his wish. That’s why when we finally did it, without Guendouzi, without Auba and most of the players my friend left at Arsenal, I pointed to the heavens, to him and since that world cup final in 1998, I found myself shedding tears. We had done it for those who had left us and as I would soon find out, for those who would leave us soon after like one Dr Magubo did a few days after we won the title and missed out on the Champions League trophy. His last message on the group on June 1st 2026 – Nxt season tunabeba champe!
So as Arsenal kicks off the 2026/27 Premier League season in less than 30 minutes, as they defend what took 22 years to achieve, I’m reminded to share about this community that will be at each other’s throats for the next few months. That we may bring the fight but we really just came to play, we may shout spiteful chants but it’s all love, some scenes on the pitch may get ugly but this game will remain beautiful.
The Divine Bandit™ 