Arsenal’s triumph in finally winning the Premier League again after 22 long, often eyeball-wrenchingly tortuous years has gone down like a Keir Starmer motivational ‘I’m not leaving!’ speech, which is ironic given the Prime Minister is an avid Gooner like me. It’s hard to understand why a club that boasts a fanbase including us, Jeremy Corbyn, Rwanda’s President Paul Kagame, the late Osama bin Laden and Prince Harry (whose matchday allegiance has followed a similar path to his royal duties, in that he never turns up) attracts such opprobrium that we were recently named the ‘most-hated supporters’ in the league. But as with Millwall in their hooligan heyday, if no one likes us, we don’t care.
Throughout Sunday’s coronation at the (Crystal) Palace, the 3,000 travelling Arsenal fans proudly bellowed: ‘WE ARE UNBEARABLE!’ Though my smug glee was momentarily suspended when I was allowed to walk across the pitch with my sons to witness the trophy-lifting, and various groups in the hospitality boxes began chanting: ‘Piers Morgan is a wanker!’ I wouldn’t have minded so much, but they were Arsenal fans.
I’ve often asked interviewees what would be the one moment of their lives they would relive, outside of marriage and having children. David Attenborough told me it was seeing the bird of paradise open its wings for the first time, and Andrew Lloyd Webber went for the first night of Evita when it launched in London in 1978. For me, options would include a private lunch at Kensington Palace with Princess Diana and a 13-year-old Prince William, spending 20 minutes alone in a Red Cross tent with Nelson Mandela, and getting Brian Lara out for nought in a charity cricket match with my arm ball. But all of that now pales into insignificance after Arsenal’s superstar midfielder Declan Rice spotted me during the trophy celebrations, marched over, hugged me, placed his winner’s medal over my neck, and exclaimed: ‘We did it, mate!’ All caught on camera by my stunned sons, who fully understood when I declared it the best moment of my life, including their births.
There are lessons for politicians in Arsenal’s victory. The club’s owners, American tycoon Stan Kroenke and his son Josh, stood by their young manager Mikel Arteta despite several initial years of failure because he had a clear plan, never wavered from it, and they trusted him to eventually deliver success, which he now has. Last summer, I chatted to Starmer at a summer drinks party and asked if he minded me giving him some blunt advice. ‘I’d expect nothing else, Piers,’ he replied, wearily. ‘OK, well stop all the bloody U-turns, Prime Minister! You’re a year into your tenure and all you’ve done is break promises and reverse decisions. For God’s sake find some good policies and stick to them.’ He looked a bit shocked, as did Wes Streeting standing next to him, but said he got the message. Sadly, the U-turns kept coming and voters have now given him their own message, of the two-fingered variety. Starmer had no plan for success and no ability to inspire the country with hope in the way Arteta has inspired both players and fans. Instead, he told us things would get worse before they got better. And to be fair to him, that’s the only thing he’s kept his word on.
Talking of hope, I was feeling very positive about my post-hip-fracture rehab until I read an interview in the Telegraph with my friend Dame Joan Collins in which she revealed her best advice to achieve her kind of vibrant longevity (she’s just turned 93 but wowed the recent Cannes Film Festival looking half her age) is never to fall over and get injured. ‘Anybody over the age of 60 who falls is doomed,’ she declared, ‘because it keeps you out of the gym, you lose flexibility, and everything spirals down.’ I texted her: ‘Erm, I was 60 when I fell – am I doomed?’ ‘God, I hope not,’ she replied. This may be the only time Dame Joan has shown genuine concern for my wellbeing.
A new report from the Social Mobility Commission confirms what I already knew: loving grandparents can set you up for success in life. My grandmother Margot Barber was a magnificently feisty and indomitable lady whose mantra was: ‘One day you’re the cock of the walk, the next you’re a feather duster.’ She would write it on notes to me in good times and bad, to remind me of the importance of never taking anything for granted, and to always keep my feet firmly on the ground. But never mind Unbearable, if Arsenal now win the Champions League too in Budapest this Saturday, only Elon Musk’s rockets will be able to get me down from Planet Utterly Insufferable. Start praying, everyone!
Piers Morgan Uncensored airs daily on YouTube.
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