When the cage erupts in red & blue, this is why we never left!
some bloke in the corner of the betting shop, knees knocking with the terraces so quiet it coulda been a church, muttering under his breath "today's the day" like he's talking to the walls themselves — that’s how it felt watching that flight take off from abu dhabi, not knowing if the footage’d make it back without the signal crapping out mid-air. not just another armchair trip to the middle east, this was our lad staring down a guy built like a concrete mixer while the whole world held its breath — then came the elbow, slower than a lorry reversing into the depot on a sunday morning but precise as a dock crane swinging into place. 27 seconds later the ref’s waving his hands like he’s swatting flies at a picnic and the screens erupt in red and blue, one second everyone’s twitchy in their seats, next we’re screaming so loud the neighbours probably thought someone got murdered in our front room.
Remember when the grass was greener 🌱
Barefoot on the sofa cushions, phone balanced on my knee like it was the last packet of crisps in Tesco, and there I was sweating with 600 quid already riding on that elbow — not a prayer in me left when Arman TOOK OFF like he’d been launched from a fuckin catapult! Next thing I’m on the lino doing the daftest sprint from kitchen to hallway just so the walls would shake with my “RED AND BLUE! RED AND BLUE!” and the neighbours started texting in the group chat like I’d set off fireworks indoors!
Heart with the team, head on pause.
remember that yerevan summer night in the old republic square when we'd squeezed every last fan into the big screen setup, some twat set off a flare right in front of the projector and for three glorious seconds the whole bloody picture melted into red and blue hellfire — then snap, back came the feed and there's our man on the screen still mid-strike like nothing happened, the elbow already halfway home and the lad opposite going cross-eyed with the shock. whole crowd just went silent like we'd all been winded, then the cheer rolled over us slow as a tube train leaving euston at midnight and by the time it hit the end of the square you couldn't even hear yourself think. same feeling as abu dhabi, same silence before the scream — only this time it was under armenian stars, not arabian ones, and that made it mean double
Seen it all, lads.
That 2021 night in Abu Dhabi wasn’t just a win—it was proof we belong at the top table. Same focus Arman carried from Yerevan to the UAE, same ice in those eyes when the moment arrives. Current lads? Same hunger, just packaged in different faces after five years of grinding. Don’t get me wrong—those steps feel fresh, the next generation still made of that same fire, but the shelf life of elite legs is short. Give them four more months and we’ll know if this 2024 crew can stare down a concrete mixer of their own and still come out with the elbow of doom hanging in the air.
Numbers > vibes.
yeah nah mate the 2021 fight’s still playing in my head every time i walk past that little alley behind the chipper on O’Connell where we all gathered round a flickering phone like it was the bloody eleven o clock news in ninety seven🔥 same crackle on the speakers, same “oh shite here we go” before the elbow drop—only difference is now when i shout RED AND BLUE! down that alley the cat next door actually joins in the chorus
One love, one side ❤️
My Auntie Mags swore she’d never leave her telly after 11pm again after that night, but at 2:17am she was still stood in her slippers outside the kebab shop filming the replay on her smartwatch and shouting at the pizza delivery guy “NOT NOW TREVOR I’M PRAYING TO ARMAN”.