Cosi Fan Footi
(or How I learnt to stop worrying and love the Gunners)

I have to admit, I am a bit of an opera fan. Not the indulgent Italian sort where large elderly men pretend to be slim and young whilst singing imploringly to equally large and elderly coloratura sopranos who are simultaneously singing and dying. Nor the Wagnerian sort where semi-mythical figures row down imaginary rivers singing thinly-veiled nationalistic anthems. My sort of opera is Mozart—The Magic Flute, Cosi Fan Tutti, Don Giovanni and so on. They're full of great tunes, simple but intense stories, and those fantastic scenes where all the leads will be on stage at the same time singing completely different parts in a great frenzy of notes that, although you can barely make out the individual lines, somehow just works and adds up to something greater than the sum of its parts.

In fact (and I bet you saw this coming) it's rather like watching the Arsenal. When I tune in to Foxtel to watch the Gunners I know I am part of an epic story that spans 12 decades. A story of glorious victory and shocking defeat, of ultimate hope and wretched despair, of courage, bravery and stamina. The singing, it has to be said, is sometimes more 'World's End' than Covent Garden, but the performance on stage is usually breathtaking. And like those great Mozart operas there are 11 stars on stage all doing their own thing separately but together, exercising and celebrating their unique talents but also subordinating them to the work as a whole. The most gripping theatre occurs when Arsenal are trailing, and the players gradually start to turn the screws, the intensity rising bit by bit towards the denouement.

The beautiful game doesn't get any lovelier than Arsenal in full flight. There's deep science in the physical preparation, diet and training, but on the pitch it's high art. In fact, it's higher than any sort of art I can think of, for several reasons. In the opera perfection comes from everyone doing what they've rehearsed as well as they can and with the greatest synchronisation. On the pitch that sort of technical mastery is only the start—you have the whole added creative dynamic of improvisation thrown in. And it's not like modern jazz, where each player solos for a bit, with increasingly frantic head-shaking and contrived sincerity, before everyone claps and the baton is passed on. No, on the pitch football is so much less indulgent, so much more purposeful and selfless than that, despite the ridiculous salaries and indulgent lifestyles off the pitch.

The second big difference between football and opera is the effect on the audience. Sure, I can really get wrapped up in my Mozart, but when watching the Gunners I am transported on a very different and more profound journey. I make every pass, take every shot, rise up in my seat as the play builds, sink desolately when the ball sails wide, whether in the stands or in my dark lounge late at night. I live every second of the match vicariously, and I know I am deeply connected with hundreds of thousands of others the world over doing exactly the same. And those at the ground are able to influence the outcome of proceedings, rather like some curious form of 'reality opera'.

Opera can be a wonderful journey, a metaphor for life and so on. The Arsenal is that to an even higher level, but there is still one lesson that we can learn from the lesser art. That is, no one ever leaves the opera house distraught about the result—it's the journey and the artistry of it all which count, and there's a kind of truth to be found simply in the beauty. As we languish near the foot of the table after two games it's worth remembering what is really special about today's Arsenal. Wins, even titles are admirable, and we've had our share, but at the end of the day it's the sheer elation I get from the performance that will stay in my mind far longer. And for the first time I fully understand the old childhood maxim…it really is how you play the game.