I sometimes joke that I’m not sure I actually like football, just Arsenal. Hate-watching rivals aside, if a game doesn’t concern the Gunners it probably doesn’t concern me, such is my one-club tunnel vision. Even then, there are occasions where my love of Arsenal appears debatable. As a friend recently put it to me: “I’ve watched Arsenal games with you. I’m not sure you like Arsenal and yet you’re possibly the most fervent Gooner I know.”

Ah, the torturous dance between joy and torment. I relived it again last Sunday evening, when Arsenal lost to Manchester United. On paper, it should have been simple enough to compartmentalise: you can’t win them all and we’re still four points clear at the top of the league table and looking strong in all three cups. And yet, for the first time this season, I succumbed to true result-induced head loss.

What does that typically look? I’m glad you asked.

The Big Defeat Headloss begins immediately after the final whistle with an extended period of doomscrolling Reddit and Bluesky. Eventually I’ll accept that fans here are too reasonable and fall well short of the uncut hysteria served up on Football Twitter, where a terminally online mindset meets the zealotry of football fandom. So l log back into the X account I’m trying to quit (at least I no longer post) and bathe in the mire of blame, agenda, ragebait. Potent stuff. If the loss happened at the Emirates Stadium, where I’m a season-ticket holder, I’ll doomscroll while absentmindedly walking home, my phone a tantalising target for would-be thieves: take it, see if I care, I am already dead.

I take small breaks from doomscrolling by spamming friends in football-dedicated WhatsApp chats. One group is exclusively match-going Arsenal fans. Post-defeat we oscillate from group therapy to pitchfork mob to a sort of Gooner take on QAnon. We’re everyone’s cup final! PGMOL is corrupt! Have you read this 3,000-word Substack on unconscious bias against Arsenal in the mainstream media? The other WhatsApp chat is a multi-club group, conceived purely to wind each other up. The Arsenal contingent is my brother (my season-ticket seat neighbour) and I. It’s no-holds barred. There are Tottenham fans. Post-defeat I do what I can to spin the narrative, attack my rivals, and protest that I’m definitely, absolutely, 100% not at all mad about the result.

In bed that night I’ll attempt to calm myself with data: the probabilities on Opta’s Supercomputer, the odds at bookies, the comparative strength of fixtures we’ve played versus our rivals.

Any residual anger the next morning is worked out at the gym, micro-dosing social-media hot-takes between sets (yes, it’s counterproductive). I’ll arrive at work armed with the necessary platitudes to deflect those who greet me with tilted heads and grimaces, as though I’ve experienced a bereavement. I do my best not to sulk; everyone knows I’m sulking. I do my best to focus; everyone knows where my head is at. I’ll find catharsis that evening in the measured analysis from my go-to Arsenal podcasts (thank you, Arseblog Arsecast and Arsenal Vision). With time, anger cedes to sadness, then to acceptance. After 48 hours (usually) the headloss is stemmed.

This is essentially how it played out after the defeat by United. I’m not ashamed; I own my foolishness. And I certainly wasn’t alone. Because that loss pierced a dam of pent-up angst in the Arsenal fanbase, and what gushed out was a collective headloss, as millions worked through their own process for reaching acceptance.

The vibe of our season has shifted. In recent years, the few goals we have conceded at the Emirates Stadium resulted in a roar of encouragement from the home crowd. United’s third stunned the crowd into contemplative silence. From the moment a smattering of boos (not from me!) met the final whistle, you could sense the fanbase panicking, online and in real life. We were rattled. “We’re bottling it,” says one Arsenal-supporting colleague passing me the morning after. “It just feels like it’s happening again,” says another. Online, the psychodrama played out as you’d expect from the community that bought you Arsenal Fan TV, which is to say the sky had fallen in. Everyone – Gunners and rivals alike – had arrived at their sweeping conclusions about the team, our quality, our manager, our “DNA” (not a thing for any club, except Spurs). The intrusive thoughts creep in: is it happening again? What if this is our peak? What if we never lift the league trophy ever again? It wasn’t until Mikel Arteta spoke midweek with emphatic positivity that heads finally seemed to cool.

Why, though? Why is the fanbase of a team four points clear at the top of the table so brittle and capricious?

I say with some confidence that no Arsenal fan is enjoying the league season. It’s been a gruelling slog, a steady ratcheting up of tension and narrative. As pundits from rival clubs rush to pile on the pressure by comparing us to treble winners or crowning us champions early, we do our best to stay grounded. This is meant to be a hobby, but the fun is fleeting – the north London derby rout a rare standout. Wins this season are a mere sigh of relief. One down, 37 to go. Is it May yet?

Arsenal fans are racked with panic and burdened with the weight of expectation. If we slip up again, our worst enemies will label us perennial bottlers. Can you think of anything worse? If the players carry the toll of three successive failed challenges, the fans bear the scars of the last two-plus decades of false dawns and flagging title charges. This year was meant to be different: we have the deepest squad, players who are in the conversation for the best in their position globally, flawed rivals and as of now more favourable remaining fixtures. It may not be now or never, but it certainly feels that way.

There’s been much talk in Arsenal circles this week about how the defeat by United needs to be a line in the sand. Something has to change. Comparisons have been made to 1997-98 – Arsène Wenger’s first full season in charge – when we lost 3-1 at home against Blackburn in December, capping a poor run of results. Arsenal transformed that defeat into an unbeaten run which clinched the title. Maybe the same arc awaits Arteta’s Arsenal. God, I hope so.

Regardless, last weekend’s defeat must be a line in the sand for Arsenal fans too. We cannot go on like this, defaulting to maximum meltdown at every setback. Title races are rarely a linear charge to glory. If we’re suffering like this in January, how will we fare in April and May?

Arsenal fans, it’s time. The vibes have shifted on the season, but there’s no reason those vibes should stink. For the next five months let’s set aside our agendas and petty squabbling. Let’s block out the jealous white noise of our rivals and pick over the scars of past failures no more. Support the team without fear or condition. When we lose a match – and we probably will – let’s not respond with the frantic headloss our enemies expect of us, but with the defiant Emirates Stadium roar that – to us at least – characterises the true nature of Arteta’s Arsenal. We want the players to act like would-be champions – given marginal gains have never mattered more, it’s time we do the same.