Rails

The doors slid open on the train that had just pulled up on the opposite side of the platform. Turning my head, I watched as the crowd moved briskly towards the exit, retreating from the frigid London evening. My eyes locked on to two people who were sitting peacefully waiting for the train to continue its journey. Sitting there bundled up in their coats, with red and white striped Arsenal scarves wrapped around their necks for warmth.

But what caught my attention was their entire demeanor. Barely moving with a slight smile reminding me of statues in a Buddhist temple. They were on their way back from having watched Arsenal pull off a miracle win that may have saved the club’s title hopes. A 97th minute shot from Reiss Nelson propelling the stadium into a frenzy.

I was jealous. There two men had been there in the midst of that pandemonium, clutching strangers in awkward hugs while screaming at the top of their lungs. Those magic moments we hope for, hunt for, desire with an almost carnal list. They had seen it all and were now sitting there in peace. I could only imagine the experiences from the day that were unfolding within their mind.

I continued on my journey with my students, we had watched a tepid 0-0 draw at Watford that is not even worth describing. Returning to my hotel room I turned on the television and found the highlights and watched them over and over again, falling asleep as a pundit explained Arsenal’s fortunate escape.

The next morning I woke up and it hit me. Today could be a special day, or it could be another painful chapter in my life as a football fan. Arsenal was playing Chelsea in the Women’s Continental Cup final. Despite all my years watching the Gunners, I have never seen them lift a trophy in person.

Nervously, I selected one of my Arsenal t-shirts hoping this one wasn’t cursed. Heading to breakfast, I began talking to the students with me, telling them Arsenal had no chance. Our two best players were out with injuries, it would be impossible for us. All of these words were formed in part to not jinx the outcome of the match, but also to manage my own expectations and soften the blow if Arsenal lost.

My mind was so focused on the match, the next thing I really remember was rushing up to Selhurst Park in order to make it to my seat before kickoff. Then it happened, a nightmare start. Barely two minutes into the match and Chelsea fired a cross into the box, and arguably the most dangerous striker in the world, Sam Kerr, headed the ball emphatically into the net.

I stared down between my legs. Chelsea fans around me erupted in anger. Someone started hitting my head with a noisemaker. I was furious. Beyond angry. I brought my head up to watch the pitch, I know I was speaking, that people were saying things to me, but my mind only said one thing.

“We’ve already fucked it up.”

But they didn’t. A loose ball in the box falls to an Arsenal player, and it’s one-one. I erupt from my seat, screaming with joy and vengefulness at the memory of being hit in the head. I turn to some of the Chelsea fans and continue screaming at them. I’m at my absolute best. My absolute worst.

Minutes later Katie McCabe receives the ball in the box. A Chelsea center back lunges at her and she pushes the ball out of reach and gets taken down. A clear penalty. What looked like a disaster for Arsenal now has entirely flipped to hope. The Gunners dominate the rest of the half, and when Chelsea heads the ball into their own net at the stroke of halftime, the match is effectively over. Even then, I sit nervously for the entire second half waiting for the inevitable comeback from Chelsea.

It never comes, and Arsenal are champions. The raise a trophy in front of my very own eyes. An experience I never had imagined in my wildest dreams.

The rest of the day is a blur. An overcrowded train station, a walk to find another overground route home. Sitting on a bench at Clapham Junction where I had seen the two Arsenal fans 24 hours before. Now I am the one sitting there, my body entirely still but adrenaline and the memories of the match race through me.