
13/05/2025
As an Arsenal fan, this year’s Europa League final feels like a nightmare I can’t wake up from. Manchester United and Tottenham Hotspur—two of our fiercest rivals—are battling it out for a European trophy, and I honestly can’t bring myself to root for either. It’s not just indifference; it’s an active, uneasy disgust. I can’t celebrate a Spurs win, not after everything—the rivalry, the banter, the history. And Manchester United? Their fans would dine on this for months. There’s no winning outcome here for me.
It’s like being forced to pick between two poisons. No matter who lifts the trophy, it’s going to sting. The idea of Tottenham finally claiming a significant European title is enough to turn my stomach. But then again, watching United bask in glory, with all their swagger and smugness, is equally unbearable. I find myself hoping for an outcome that just denies both of them joy—extra-time chaos, a ridiculous own goal, anything that makes the win feel hollow.
I no want make S-kunor King Solomon
And Wahala Nation come dey drag my leg online God abeg
What makes it worse is the season Arsenal had. A campaign that once promised so much fizzled out in the most painful fashion. We were supposed to be challenging, dreaming of silverware ourselves—not watching our rivals on the biggest stage. It’s not just envy—it’s disappointment. Frustration. A feeling of being left behind while the ones we love to hate march forward.
In a perfect world, the trophy would vanish before kickoff. But football doesn’t work that way. I’ll probably watch the match, teeth gritted, hoping for a minor miracle—or at the very least, a forgettable final. Because for me, this isn’t just a game. It’s a test of loyalty, patience, and emotional endurance. And frankly, I just want the season to be over.
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Once a gunner always a gunner