At long last, the noise fades. The headlines slow. And the game, the beautiful, untamed, ever-glorious game, comes back to meet us.
No more paper talk. No more boardroom chess or contractual parlour games. Today, under the glinting Singaporean sky and a sun not quite ours, Arsenal return, not just to the pitch, but to us.
It is pre-season, yes. A time for rhythm, not result. But even now, as the players lace up, new names still boarding flights, others already training beneath the tropical haze, there is something stirring, something eternal.
Victory Gyökeres is inbound. Mosquera is en route. But for now, we go again with those who have worn the cannon before, and those who will do so for the very first time.
And what a relief it is. For too many weeks now, we’ve lived on a diet of tennis, cricket, golf, of polite applause and orderly conduct. Of motorsport’s engineered chaos. Yes, the Women’s Euros offered a spark, a jolt of summer life. But elsewhere? The Club World Cup, paraded as football’s crowning jewel, offered little beyond disparity and disinterest. Goliaths brushing aside minnows. Hollow stadiums. Silverware held aloft before some of us had even unpacked our suitcases.
But now, football is back. Arsenal are back. And for many, that is enough to feel like the world is realigning once again.
Today, the Gunners don a blue away kit, a curious sight for traditionalists. For those of us who grew up on memories of yellow and navy, of Rocastle, Wright, and Overmars flying down foreign flanks, there’s a strange discomfort in seeing blue stitched onto our history. I remember the lightning bolt of ’95. David Platt etched into memory. A shirt I still own, somewhere in a drawer, faded but faithful.
Yellow, for me, is Arsenal away. Always has been. Always will be.
But history, like football, is a dance of tradition and evolution. And if that very same blue shirt comes to be worn during a night of triumph, if it carries us through a final, or a title tilt, then perhaps, like all things in football, it will find its place in the story.
And what a story this season promises to be.
For fans in Singapore, who haven’t seen the Arsenal live since that sun-drenched 5-1 over PSG in 2018, today is no mere friendly. It is a first hello. A long-awaited reunion. An unforgettable beginning.
We expect rotation. We always do in July. But we also expect strength, a glimpse, perhaps, of the side that will stride out onto Old Trafford in just a few weeks’ time.
Gabriel is fit again. Saliba too. Together, they form a partnership that has come to define our modern defence. And ahead of them, a new name anchors the midfield: Zubimendi. Not just a technician, but, if whispers are to be believed, a leader. A presence. A player already winning hearts and minds on the training ground.
He is expected to be flanked by Mikel Merino, smooth, Spanish, and seamless, and the ever-elegant Martin Ødegaard, our captain, conductor, and conscience.
Up top, it’s a blend of familiar and fleeting. Victor Gyökeres is not yet here. The rumour mill spins on, with Eze, Rodrygo, and even the enigmatic Xavi Simons linked. But for today, we rely once more on the tried and trusted: Martinelli, Havertz, and Saka, the Mercurial One, the North Star.
Of course, this is pre-season. The result? A footnote. But even now, in the sweat of Singapore, against a solid Milan side, there is purpose. Relationships to be rekindled. Partnerships to be built. Foundations to be laid.
This tour, like many before it, bears the mark of commerciality. Of logos, press calls, and photo ops. But beneath all of that, within the white lines, lies what matters most.
Arsenal. Playing football.
For today, just enjoy it. Wherever you are, Singapore, Islington, or anywhere in between, rejoice in the return. Let the thud of the ball be your sermon. Let the sight of the cannon soothe your soul.
Football is back.
Arsenal are back.
And the main course is almost ready.
Victoria Concordia Crescit