Clinton Macsherry

Sandro Tonali would be a huge addition to the Arsenal squad. He’s a complete midfielder, calm on the ball, excellent at controlling tempo, and capable of delivering precise long and short passes. His work rate and defensive awareness would also bring balance to Arsenal’s midfield, allowing attacking players more freedom. On top of that, Tonali has leadership qualities and big-game composure. Andrea Berta, please hear me out boss 🙏

It hasn’t happened yet. But we’re eight wins away. Eight more games. Eight more nights of chewing fingernails, checking the table, whispering “please” to the football gods. Eight more reasons to believe that the wait is almost over. Close your eyes for a second and let me show you what that day will feel like when those eight wins are done. The sun will be out proper north-London summer sun, the kind that makes the Emirates glow like a red-and-white lantern. It’ll be late May, the season wrapped up, and every street from Seven Sisters to Highbury Corner will be closed to traffic because nobody’s going anywhere. The whole borough will have turned into one giant block party. Picture the open top bus crawling down Holloway Road, gold ticker-tape already stuck to every player’s hair. Rice will be holding the trophy so high his arms are shaking, Saka will be leaning over the rail pointing at every single kid in an Arsenal shirt, Ødegaard will be conducting the crowd like he’s been waiting his whole life for this exact moment. Arteta at the front, arms round his captains, just smiling the quietest man in north London finally letting the emotion crack through. And the noise… God, the noise. “North London is red” will start somewhere near the Tollington and roll like a wave all the way to Finsbury Park fifty thousand voices, then a hundred thousand, until it feels like the whole city is singing. “We are the Arsenal” “Super Mikel Arteta” “There’s only one Arsène Wenger” The old songs, the new songs, the ones your dad taught you and the ones your kids will teach theirs. Beer will be flowing from every open pub door The Gunners, The Famous Cock, The Blackstock pints raised to strangers who suddenly feel like brothers. Scarves tied to lampposts, flags draped over balconies, flares painting the sky crimson whenever the bus pauses. Someone will pass their baby up to Havertz and the whole street will cheer when he kisses the little one’s forehead. Grandmas on shoulders, lads in their thirties crying into their scarves, schoolkids conducting their own tiny choirs on wheelie bins. Confetti cannons will explode every few metres. Phones will be held high like lighters at a gig. And when the bus reaches the old Highbury site still sacred ground even after all these years the chant will drop to NORTH LONDON FOREVER 🎶 You’ll be standing right in the middle of it. Throat raw, eyes stinging, beer in one hand, your mate’s arm round your shoulders with the other. The sun warm on your face, the songs in your bones, and this overwhelming feeling that every single bad day, every “nearly” season, every “what if” was worth it for this one perfect afternoon. It hasn’t happened yet. But those eight wins are coming. And when the final whistle blows on the eighth one, this is exactly what north London is going to look like. Get ready. The parade is already written. We just have to go and earn it. North London is red and soon the whole world is going to see it.

Let me tell you right now if you’ve enjoyed this Wolves win over Liverpool tonight you are one sick individual