3-0 to the Arsenal

We love the Arsenal, we do
We love the Arsenal, we do
We love the Arsenal, we do
Oh Arsenal, we love you!

- me, about 6 hours ago

10 minutes to go and I'll do this quick.

I spent ten minutes after the match just watching the crowd disperse, watching the attendents clean up the pitch, watching the gardeners bring out the lawnmovers. I decided to leave when the security guards started to give me stern looks.

I'll never see the Arsenal again. I know it as a fact. So this match was bittersweet in so many ways. It's almost cruel to be given a chance to see such beauty, but to know that it's fleeting, and that will never been seen again. Almost. Because I will be able to say, for the rest of my life, that I was there at the Emirates, that I've seen Cesc and Clichy, Toure and van Persie, and dear sweet Theo (who's such a nice boy) play in the flesh. And if the rest of my days are spent watching a poor substitute in the middle of a lifetime of freezing Melbourne nights, so be it.

To put it in Platonic terms, I've stepped out of the cave and I've seen the trees and birds and sky. And if I'm to go back to the cave and if I'm to go back to watching flickering shadows dance over the cave wall, so be it. I'll have the vision of Emirates on a perfect Saturday afternoon to sustain me. I'll have seven goals burnt into my brain to relive. And I'll have a Theo Walcott shirt hanging in my wardrobe even when I'm an old, old man.

In the Myth of Syphysus, Camus ended it with the vision of Syphysus on the coast, watching the sea. He'd defied the gods and traded an eternity of damnation and rolling rocks up hills for one perfect day on the beach. And Camus asked the question - was it worth it?

Yep.

So thank you, Dimitre, if you're reading this. It was amazing.

1 minute to go, so I'd better be off.