Two Arsenal Titles, Two Decades Apart: How I Swapped the Corporate Hangover for the Mediterranean Sea

​It’s been 22 years since Arsenal last won the league—the longest gap since I’ve been alive. After holding a season ticket for over twenty years, it’s also the first time I haven’t been there to see it in person… although the self-imposed, always-guaranteed stress travelled with me very easily.

​It got me thinking back to how life was then, and it really wasn’t that pretty…

​I was a young—or at least compared to now—32-year-old. I weighed in at well over 100 kilos and I absolutely, thoroughly hated my life. I was trapped in the soul sucking corporate grind. The money was too good to leave, but the environment was pure poison. Basically, it was a never ending circus of fake smiles, political games, backstabbing and utter BS. It controlled my life.

​My coping mechanisms? Top level, as you would expect but strictly on the self destruction side. I was aggressively inhaling takeaways and chocolates, washing them down with literal bottles of wine. As I’m very much an "all or nothing", I was also smoking at least a box of cigarettes a day. In short and being completely honest here… I was a fat, miserable, angry bastard.

​Looking back with a Ferrari mind, it all makes sense but at the time, the outlook was bleak. Nothing against anyone who was around me then but it was just a daily case of, "Well, this is it. This is my life now." 

​Welcome to Hell (aka Brimsdown)

​To make matters sweeter, my corporate sentence eventually landed me at a notorious site in Brimsdown, North London. Living down in Kent meant the commute alone was a specialized form of torture but the site itself? Legendary… and not in a good way.

​Everyone in the industry knew about Brimsdown. It was a career killer. I had successfully avoided it for years but deep down, I knew I would get lumbered with it one day. The culture there wasn't just bad, it was inherently toxic. We’re talking low level, racist bullies who had massively over achieved in life and now possessed a tiny bit of control.

​I’m no Martin Luther King and I am admittedly incredibly self centred but the way they treated

people, was just wrong. They were never going to like me and I would never want to like them.

​Friendly Fire

​To add to the fun, I wasn't just fighting a war on one front. The office where I had to base myself was, by default, the exact one that had created all the site's issues. That always generated a delightful layer of frostiness. Why? Because not only was I highlighting their errors but my operational costs directly affected their bonuses.

​So, not only does the client openly despise you but the people supposedly on your side hated my large guts just as much. It was a ridiculous situation, really but that’s how my working life was every single day.

​But the absolute cherry on top of this toxic little cake? The Branch Manager, whose bonus relied entirely on my performance, was a season ticket holder at Tottenham… and we absolutely loathed each other.

​The Art of the Side-Eye

​I’ll never forget the first time I met him. It was my first day on the job. I’d heard he was a bit "special" and had deliberately arranged to start when he was technically scheduled to be away on holiday. I was sitting there, minding my own business, when I saw this bloke walking toward the building wearing a Tottenham baseball hat.

​I just knew straight away that was him. Why should I expect anything else? He confirmed everything I needed to know by executing a masterclass in awkward avoidance—zero direct eye contact, followed by a pathetic side eye look as he scurried up the stairs.

​The Holy Grail (and More Tottenham Tears)

​The footballing Gods created the ‘Invincibles,’ and they had decided that if Chelsea dropped points, we should win the title at Tottenham. It doesn’t get any better than that.

​The chaos kicked off around midday in the pubs surrounding Arsenal. Chelsea beautifully bottled it against Newcastle and we were officially on our way to the darker side of North London. We went 2-0 up, they managed to scrape it back to 2-2 with a late equalizer and their fans went absolutely mental celebrating the draw.

​It still didn't stop us winning the league, though. It’s a bizarre mindset, isn't it? They were genuinely thrilled that they didn't technically lose the match to us, completely blind to the fact that we were lifting the trophy right on their pitch… and we weren’t going to let them forget it.

​Escape from the War Zone

​After escaping the war zone that is Tottenham High Road, I was back in the safety of N5 bouncing from bar to pub to bar, bumping into people and moving on to the next spot.

​Naturally, for a celebration of this magnitude, standard beer just doesn’t cut it. So, I bought myself two bottles of Freixenet Cordon Negro and was roaming the streets of Islington, drinking straight out of the bottle like a tramp.

​Late Night Negotiations

​As the night wore on, I kept an eye on the clock. I lived miles away, so I was doing the standard "If I catch this train, I can transfer there, and get home from there..." It ended like it always did…2:00 AM, I’m no nearer home, all the trains are gone and a cab is my only option.

​Back then, the cab situation in the UK was a bit different. You had standard black cabs, reasonably priced licensed mini cabs and then you had the dodgy, unlicensed ones. Getting into one of those was basically taking your life into your own hands. They couldn’t drive, had zero insurance and women were actively encouraged to avoid them for their own safety.

​The positive? You could haggle a price and they were my cheapest option considering how far away I lived. One of them was eyeing me up, clearly thinking, "Easy money." I noticed him and was well up for the challenge.

​A journey that should have easily cost me £50 turned into a negotiation masterclass. I think I started the bidding at £10, worked him up to £20 and he agreed, thinking he’d done alright. He had absolutely no idea where I lived or that it was halfway to France.

​2AM Wake Up Calls

​As I didn’t want to become another statistic and needed to stay awake for the ride home, I decided to call my favourite baseball-hat-wearing Branch Manager. To my surprise, he answered, so I gave him absolute, unadulterated grief down the phone.

​Even more surprising, he kept answering, so I kept going! Any normal human being would have stopped picking up after the first time but not him. Every single time I dialled, he picked right back up to bite. It was the textbook script that I had dreamt of… and he couldn’t wait to deliver his side of it.

​The next morning, it will come as a surprise to absolutely no one that I decided it was a standard ‘work from home’ day. I was a complete, functioning mess. I’d been at it all day the day before, I was feeling incredibly worse for wear and to be honest, it was just a dark time in my life. I was thoroughly miserable at my corporate job and even the high of Arsenal winning the league, couldn't completely wash away that lingering sense of daily dread.

​The Pivot to the Gym

​So, with a free day ahead and a Ferrari mind, I very randomly ended up at Fitness First. It sounds strange but I once bought an caravan after going out for a casual coffee, that’s just how I operate and this gym membership was much cheaper in comparison.

​It was a gym just around the corner from where I lived and it was the first time I had ever set foot inside the place. Little did I know that over the next four years, it would be the exact place that inspired me to become a PT. I ended up being a member there for years and even took over teaching classes there once I was fully qualified.

​I’ll never forget that very first day and the photo taken for my membership card. Big fat bloke, bright red face, eyes half open… It became a permanent running joke whenever I walked past reception.

​The Takeaway

​Twenty two years on, and it is all very different. The games are still the cornerstone of my weekly diary but the celebrations are far more tame.

​Although I don’t drink anymore, I did buy a bottle of wine to celebrate. Two glasses in and I was already feeling ill, so I gave that up as a bad idea… shameful really, compared to my old standards. However, the chocolate hasn’t caused any such problems and it’s fair to say I’ve put in a league winner's effort eating that and smiling this week.

​My takeaway from all of this goes out to the people reading this who are currently looking at their own "membership card photo." Are you running yourself into the ground? Letting a high stress lifestyle take a predatory cut of your health and just waiting for the weekend to escape?

​True evolution isn't just about training harder, it's about sharp awareness and being brutally honest with yourself. It's about knowing when your habits or your environment are taking advantage of you, whether it's an unbearable corporate culture or a toxic relationship with alcohol and having the mental clarity to take back control from a position of absolute strength.

​The red cheeks are optional. The standard is non negotiable.