Arsenal parade memories return after England’s draw

Arsenal parade memories return after England’s draw A flat World Cup draw gave way to memories of the Emirates screening, the parade and the strange joy of football without consequence. Photo by Alex Pantling/Getty Images Watching England’s second match of the 2026 World Cup, a 0-0 draw with Ghana, was a really weird experience. Rather than get annoyed by England’s endless, torpid, recycling of the ball around, but rarely behind, an obdurate Ghana defence, I found myself lulled by the numbing futility of the endeavour and, to a degree, perhaps the familiarity of the scenario. And so, by the time the final whistle blew around 11pm on Tuesday night, I just felt grateful to be ready for bed. Similarly, when Croatia had equalised just before half time in England’s opening game last week with a well worked goal I felt no discernible upset or anger. In fact, you could say I was positively relaxed about the whole thing. Of course, inspired by Jude Bellingham’s wonderful goal early in the second half, England then turned on the style and will consider themselves unfortunate to have scored just the four goals. What a treat though. And I don’t mean the four England goals, I mean being able to watch some football and not really caring how it goes. Having just come out of nine months of blood, sweat, tears and euphoria, watching football with no real investment in the outcome felt like a rare treat indeed. Obviously, I want the Arsenal lads out there to do well and, most importantly, not get injured and I was delighted to see Bukayo Saka make his presence felt with a brilliant assist for Marcus Rashford but, compared to the emotions we’ve all lived through over the last month, this barely touched my sides. What about those emotions though? Unfortunately, I ended up with a post Arsenal parade chest infection which nearly derailed a mid June break in Fuerteventura. It also meant I didn’t really get to talk to you about the Champions League final and the Emirates screening Jo and I attended with the Craddocks, or indeed the following day’s parade. I’m not going to try and relive the weekend of the final now, I think we’re probably a bit too far out for a recap for my editor’s, or indeed your, patience, but I just wanted to share a couple of memories that will stay with me forever, or at least until I lose my marbles. How it started Having arrived at the Emirates for the screening about 20 minutes before kick off, we (me, Jo and the Craddock family – James, his wife Lizzie, brother Marc and seven year old son Stanley, at the end of his first season proper as an Arsenal fan) queued for drinks until it became apparent that we were likely to miss the kick off. Having taken our seats in the ground, the sun smashing down on us in block 16 just as it had when Athletic Club came to visit at the beginning of this long season, James brother Marc decided to go and get those drinks. I went with him. Marc’s Champions Selfie The queue was smaller, but we still had to wait a couple of minutes and just as Marc placed our order, we realised that on the television in the concourse, and of course in Budapest, Kai Havertz was running in on goal. At the distance we were at from the television, it was hard to tell exactly what had happened, but we saw the net bulging and for about – oh, I don’t know how long it was – Marc and I are grabbing onto each other and bouncing and careening around the empty concourse. Empty, that is, but for the 30 odd people around us all celebrating in similar style. We high five and hug a woman behind us. And then Marc turned around to collect our drinks order. We made our way back to our seats, obviously unaware that we were never going to get the mass communal moment that we had come to the stadium for, but in a way I feel glad that Marc and I had that moment together. At the very least, I’m glad that I went with him for drinks and he had a friend to celebrate with when Kai Havertz put us 1-0 up in the Champions League final. You have of course all seen the stats that Cabo Verde had more possession in their 0-0 draw with Spain last week than we managed against PSG. And I think our lack of possession in the final is something that Mikel Arteta must, and surely will, reflect on as we head towards the 2026/27 season. We didn’t come anywhere close to doing enough with the ball in the hour we had the lead. Once PSG equalised, chatting with James, it was clear the only way Arsenal could win the game was via penalties. Of course, it didn’t turn out that way. I’ll be honest, I didn’t particularly fancy Gabriel to score his penalty, but I don’t think I’d fully processed the implications of him missing it. And so, once he’d blasted it over the bar in a desperately cruel finish to the season for one of our stand out performers, the absolute devastation of what had just happened hit me like a Mike Tyson haymaker. Tears. Standing there, in the evening sunshine, sobbing. Again, it was Marc who just put his arm around me and pulled me towards him a little as we stood there, wet eyed, staring straight ahead into despair. Having regathered ourselves, we left the Emirates before the trophy lift (obviously) and quietly headed back, for the third time that day, towards the sanctuary of the Pocket, just off Upper Street. James safely deposited Lizzie and Stanley on a tube back towards their hotel, before rejoining us and we were eventually joined by our friend, Irish Mike. We stayed in the Pocket, drinking and reflecting on an emotional day and wonderful season until it was time to split up into small groups for food and then bed. How it ended. Before we split up, plans were made to reconvene for the parade the following day, but these plans were laid to rubble by the sheer volume of people on the parade route. I used to work on Pentonville Road, which runs up from Kings Cross to Angel. Having had to get off the tube at Kings Cross two hours before the parade was due to start, I can tell you I have never ever seen a sight quite like the one that greeted me as I began to walk up it. It was extraordinary, as if every Arsenal fan in the world was cashing in a receipt as we filled the streets. 12:30 on Pentonville Road, 31 May 2026 To be honest, the fact that I ended up on my own and in a bit of a crush outside Highbury & Islington on the way home was a bit of a vibe kill for me, but it was a fun few hours. At Islington Green across the street from the Fox on the Green, we watched a guy, perched on a lamppost downing beer after beer thrown up to him from the crowd, I counted five. I stood next to a young lad called Ben, from Hull. He’d got on a train at 7am to come and celebrate and he’d nearly doubled the guy on the lamppost’s intake – to the point where we worried Ben might be about to, er, recycle his beers. 3 Men and a Phonebox Correctly, the events of the previous evening had been well and truly cast away. Once the Champions buses had come past, indecently quickly I felt, given how long we’d been waiting and the street barriers had come down, everyone spilled onto Upper St and headed north. Walking towards Highbury & Is, it would have been tempting to think everyone in the world was Arsenal. This impression would have only been added to once I finally headed south for home, there was always an Arsenal shirt within my field of vision right until I was walking down Beckenham high street to my flat 8 hours after I first left home. If you ever needed reminding, Arsenal are massive. It does make me wonder what might happen if England were to go on and end what is now 60 years of hurt on July 19, the street parade of all time would be upon us.