I have supported Arsenal for two decades. Through the last glow of the Invincibles, the dry years, the Wenger exit, the Arteta rebuild, and the painful almost-there seasons. So, when Arsenal finally lifted the Premier League after 22 years, I celebrated. I watched the highlights and laughed at the memes. I understood the relief.
That is why the celebrations in Kenya caught my attention.
Thousands of Arsenal fans poured into the streets and churches, dressed in red and white, singing and dancing with the joy of people who had waited too long. I do not mock that joy because football gives people community, memory, and release. In a hard country, people need shared happiness. Still, the church celebrations unsettled me. Not because faith and football cannot exist together, but because the scene exposed how much we give to institutions that give us almost no control in return.
Football fandom is one of the strangest transactions in modern life. The fan pays, argues, defends, suffers, celebrates, and returns the next weekend. But the fan controls nothing essential. He does not pick the squad. He does not shape tactics. He cannot stop injuries, poor refereeing, bad ownership decisions, or a star player leaving when a better offer arrives. His power is mostly emotional and financial. He watches, consumes, and feels. That is where the cost-benefit question begins.
Arsenal gains from global devotion: Television value, visibility, merchandise sales, sponsorship leverage, social media reach, and a stronger commercial brand. Players gain salaries, bonuses, fame, and endorsements. Broadcasters gain subscriptions. Betting firms gain traffic. Sports bars, jersey sellers, data providers, and advertisers also gain from the fans’ emotional hunger.
The ordinary Kenyan fan gains too: Joy, belonging, banter, escape, and the temporary sweetness of saying “we won.” Those things matter because we value identity. But the return is short-lived while the costs recur.
A fan pays for data bundles, pay television, drinks at a viewing joint, jerseys, betting slips, transport to fan events, and sometimes a whole weekend of emotional distraction. He loses sleep over late matches and carries the mood of defeat into Monday. Some quarrel at home because football has become too central. Others spend money they cannot afford because loyalty becomes consumption.
The club’s value compounds. The fan’s expenditure disappears. That is the imbalance.
This is not to say people should stop supporting Arsenal, Manchester United, Chelsea, Liverpool, Gor Mahia, AFC Leopards, or any other club. That would be dishonest coming from me. I will watch Arsenal next season. The point is restraint. At what point does healthy entertainment become emotional capture? At what point does supporting a club become donating attention, money, and identity to a machine that will never know your name?
The church video matters because churches are supposed to gather people around ultimate concerns. Hope. Meaning. Moral formation. Community responsibility. Yet for that moment, the emotional centre was a football club in north London. Again, I understand the joy. But I also think we should be honest about the symbolism.
Kenya is not short of problems that need that same energy. Youth unemployment remains stubborn. Small businesses are struggling under taxes. Public hospitals still frustrate families. Corruption continues to drain resources. Schools need attention. Villages need water. And young people need pathways into work.
Yet it is easier to organise around Arsenal than around a local problem that affects us directly. That should bother us.
The same WhatsApp groups that mobilise fans for match days could raise school fees for a bright child in the estate. The same discipline used to follow transfer rumours could track county budgets. The same passion that fills churches and streets could sustain clean-ups, mentorship, savings groups, or civic pressure that does not die after one hashtag. Imagine if even a fraction of the numbers that poured into celebrations for Arsenal were mobilised consistently around fuel crisis, unemployment, healthcare and education structural failures, or holding leaders accountable. Politicians and institutions would feel pressure very quickly. Kenyans still know how to gather, sacrifice, cheer, contribute, and belong. Football proves that. The question is why so much of that collective force is directed outward while the country’s deepest problems continue demanding the same energy at home.
Maybe football is attractive because it asks little of us beyond feeling. It offers drama without responsibility. You can love Arsenal intensely and never be required to fix anything. If the club fails, you complain. If it wins, you celebrate. Either way, the cost of action remains low. Real national problems demand patience, meetings, sacrifice, conflict, accountability, and results. They do not offer a trophy parade after 90 minutes.
That is why fandom can become comforting. It gives us the illusion of participation without the burden of responsibility.
I am not calling for joyless citizenship. A country without celebration is a dead country. Let people dance when their team wins. Let them wear jerseys, sing, and enjoy the release. But after the shouting, we should ask what exactly we are building with such devotion. If the answer is only the commercial power of foreign clubs and the profit margins of betting firms, then perhaps we have been more useful to them than to ourselves.
Arsenal’s title is sweet. For longtime supporters, it closes an emotional chapter. But when the celebrations end, rent is still due. School fees remain unpaid for many families. Businesses still face uncertainty. Graduates still look for elusive work. Roads are still clogged. Hospitals are still crowded. Nothing in Nairobi, Kisumu, Eldoret, Migori, or Mombasa changes because a trophy was lifted in England.
That does not make the trophy meaningless. It simply puts it in its place.
The mature fan does not have to abandon football. He only has to refuse enslavement by it. Enjoy the game, but do not let it own your moods, wallet, relationships, or imagination. Support the club, but remember that the relationship is unequal. They gain from your loyalty in measurable ways. You must decide what you gain and where the line should be drawn.
