Salah's farewell, Arsenal's critics, and the debate dividing England fans

When an era crumbles

For some supporters, a football club becomes woven into the fabric of existence itself. The landmarks that mark our lives—school days, career changes, marriages, losses—somehow find their counterparts on the pitch.

One Liverpool fan has reached such a juncture. Their first match was a forgettable 0-0 stalemate at Villa Park on 2 October 1999, yet the emotion of that day remains vivid. Through the Benítez years, the lean decades that followed, the Suárez chaos, and finally the Klopp era—those nights when Liverpool felt like the finest team on the planet. Ninety-nine points. The league title after three decades. European finals under the lights. Moments that felt almost supernatural.

The Barcelona comeback. Alisson's last-gasp intervention. Origi's Merseyside magic. Old Big Ears in Madrid.

Now those lights are dimming. Klopp's departure marked the beginning of the end. Trent Alexander-Arnold's exit felt seismic. Salah and Robertson departing. Soon, Van Dijk and Alisson will follow.

The team is vanishing, piece by piece.

And therein lies the real hurt—not football itself, but time's relentless passage. A chapter of life closing. If Slot leaves Salah on the bench for his final appearance, denying Anfield the chance to properly celebrate one of the greatest players ever to wear red, it would feel like the last nail in a coffin already overflowing with them.

Arsenal deserve intellectual honesty

After following English football for 25 years, one supporter has rarely witnessed such a corrosive narrative surrounding a Premier League champion. Arsenal's style may not have been the most aesthetically pleasing, and their tactical approach departed from traditional championship templates. Yet the context demands honest examination rather than the hot takes flooding social media.

The media pressure was relentless and uniquely targeted. Arsenal finished runners-up in three consecutive seasons—something no other Premier League club has endured in the modern era. Before the campaign even began, the narrative had crystallised: "Arteta must win or face the sack." Compare this to the treatment afforded Manchester City, an established dynasty, or Liverpool in 2019-20 when they finally broke their 30-year curse. The disparity is stark.

Injuries proved catastrophic. Arsenal's preferred XI—Raya, Timber, Saliba, Gabriel, Calafiori, Zubimendi, Rice, Ødegaard, Saka, Trossard, Gyökeres—never started a single league match together. Ødegaard, the captain and creative heartbeat, managed just 13 league appearances. The squad suffered an estimated 1,300 player-days lost across 36 recorded injuries—double the average for Premier League champions over the previous nine years.

Liverpool last season, by contrast, lost 765 days across 22 injuries, with Salah playing all 38 games. Manchester City, in their last title-winning campaign, contended with 25 injuries. When your No. 10 is constantly unavailable, all five centre-back options are injured simultaneously, and you're fielding your defensive midfielder at right-back, attacking fluidity evaporates. It's not a failure of squad depth; it's the reality of managing catastrophic personnel losses.

Arteta's tactical reinvention deserves credit. From inverted full-backs in 2022-23 to the false-nine Havertz experiment in 2023-24 to the set-piece machine of 2025-26—that adaptability is precisely what delivered the title. Arsenal will likely evolve further next season with better attacking-defensive balance once injury chaos subsides.

The achievement deserves respect. The debate should be intellectually honest.

Champions are champions

Bitter voices have predictably emerged, dismissing Arsenal as the worst champions ever. Curiously, the same supporters claimed Liverpool held that dubious distinction last year. What a remarkable coincidence that fans disliking these teams simultaneously believe they're unworthy champions.

Arsenal are deserved title winners. They're an exceptionally good football team—proof being their Champions League final appearance. Are they thrilling to watch? No. But they defend superbly, control matches, and would trouble any opponent.

The excuses flying around deserve scrutiny. Man City scored 70 open-play goals in 2022-23; Arsenal managed 67. Three goals. Chelsea, Liverpool, and Manchester United have all received more diving bookings than Arsenal over five years. Arsenal rank third for expected goals from open play across the same period. English clubs are about to win three of three European trophies—would Pep's success under similar circumstances be attributed to weak opposition? Precisely.

Arsenal are champions. Accept it.

Tuchel's England gamble divides supporters

The Three Lions squad selection has fractured the fanbase. Some supporters actively want England to fail, believing Tuchel's decisions are so fundamentally flawed that rewarding them would be rewarding stupidity.

The controversial calls: Djed Spence over Trent Alexander-Arnold, a Champions League and Premier League winner at Real Madrid; John Stones, injury-prone and out of form, over Harry Maguire, one of the division's standout defenders; Jordan Henderson, described as a wasted seat on the plane when 20-30 English players merit inclusion; Ivan Toney over Danny Welbeck or Dominic Calvert-Lewin.

Others defend the selection as finally prioritising form and system over reputation. After 40 years of supporters demanding exactly this approach—picking players in form rather than shoehorning the 11 biggest names onto the pitch—Tuchel has delivered. Yet the criticism persists.

The counter-argument: without Trent's creativity and vision, without Maguire's leadership, without technical quality on the ball, England will struggle. Stones, Spence, Quansah, Toney, Burn, and Henderson represent genuine omissions. Palmer, Shaw, Maguire, Welbeck, and Trent are aggrieved. When Trent is one of few genuinely world-class English players and successive risk-averse managers cannot accommodate him, other nations must wonder why.

If England navigate their group, they face potential knockout opponents including Senegal, Mexico, Brazil, Argentina, or Spain. The task is enormous. Whether Tuchel's squad possesses the technical sophistication to execute his system remains the central question.

Middlesbrough's remarkable turnaround

After Michael Carrick's departure, Middlesbrough's trajectory suggested continued Championship mediocrity. Rob Edwards' appointment initially disappointed, with the manager's casual familiarity with players—referring to Alex Bangura and Riley McGree as 'Bangs' and 'Riles' after 90 minutes—raising eyebrows. Hayden Hackney, the club's prized asset, was nearly lost to Ipswich.

The season began promisingly. Six wins from seven, a spirited draw at newly-relegated Southampton, and Edwards' talk of "family" resonated. David Strelec had dismantled Germany and arrived as a genuine forward prospect. Then came regression: two wins from seven, promotion hopes evaporating.

Vitor Pereira's sacking at Wolves proved the season's turning point. Edwards abandoned his football family for Molineux, citing aspirations to "do something special"—a curious definition, given Wolves' subsequent seven-game losing streak and pitiful relegation.

Kim Hellberg's arrival changed everything. A coach of dignity, intelligence, and diligence, Hellberg became an immediate legend. Steve Gibson's recruitment remains mysterious, yet one observer noted he's "a nutter for his club"—precisely the mentality needed when taking on Derby and their aggressive accounting practices.

Southampton's behaviour throughout proved atrocious. Spygate mockery continued even during the semi-final, with Tonda Eckert lunging toward Hellberg and Taylor Harwood-Bellis mocking Luke Ayling's stutter while making binoculars gestures. One Southampton supporter expressed embarrassment; many players and staff surely felt similarly.

Whatever unfolds at Wembley against Hull, Middlesbrough remain proud. The mighty Boro endure.