On the Tifo Football Podcast, J.J. voiced something I’d contemplated a few times before. Supporting a football team is like supporting a corporation – Go, Tesco, Go! For locals of North London, supporting Arsenal is a matter of community and place, but for international fans like me, supporting Arsenal is a bit like swearing loyalty to a brand. Over time, few things about the club apart from its name remain the same. Players come and go, managers get replaced, owners cash out, technical directors leave for other opportunities. Football fans and former players claim their club has a certain “DNA” – fundamental attributes that define their club’s playstyle and competitive philosophy. But there is nothing intrinsic about these things. They remain only as long as they are sustained in practice by the club’s organization. Mostly, a club’s “DNA” is just a myth sustained in the minds of its supporters.

In my mind, Arsenal was the British Barcelona, a football club that built their attacks by intricate passing through the midfield. The joy of watching Arsenal score a goal was due in great part to the beautiful way they did it. At the heart of this playstyle were playmakers like Rosicky, Cazorla, Wilshere, Fabregas, Bergkamp, and Ozil. Martin Ødegaard, Arsenal’s current captain, is precisely this kind of player. A playmaker with the combination of vision, technique, and composure necessary to find and execute passes that unlock the opposition’s defense. But today’s Arsenal team gives him scant opportunity to produce those moments of magic.

The “problem” is that the manager, Mikel Arteta, dictates a style system of play that eliminates risk and by collateral the freeflowing movement that playmakers like Ødegaard exploit to create opportunities. It comes as no surprise that as head coach Arteta has established conservatism and control as core tenets of Arsenal’s playstyle. Not long ago, he played in Arsenal’s midfield and he was perhaps the only Arsenal midfielder whose playstyle I disliked. His caution with the ball frustrated me. Play the ball forward, dammit!

But Arsenal’s new playstyle has, if nothing else, produced results. They are positioned favorably to win multiple trophies, which, I am told, is the greatest joy available to any football fan. In fact, trophies are supposedly the ultimate criterion for a fan’s satisfaction with their football team. This has been for a long time a ridiculous notion to me. Of course it is thrilling to win a competition, but what I love most is football itself. What I love most is watching Declan Rice swerve a free kick around Real Madrid’s wall, past the gigantic arms of Courtois, and into the back of the net. What I love most is watching a few minutes later Rice line up for another free kick and hit an even more outrageous curveshot into the top corner, dispelling in advance any claims that his first free kick was a chance occurrence. What I love most is watching Cazorla and Wilshere stride into the final third and combine with Giroud in a series of onetouch passes to infiltrate the box and score, leaving the opposition in baffled standstill.

What I love most are the moments a football fan references to explain why their beloved sport is called “the beautiful game.” Trophies and titles immortalize incredible moments like these into legend but they are by themselves already incredible moments. But without these moments, what are trophies and titles but symbols of status? And how much should I care about the status of an organization to whom my relationship is in large part romanticized consumerism? No doubt, I will enjoy the moments soon to come when Arsenal win a major trophy. But I expect I will cherish most not the raising of silverware or donning of medals, but the moments of athleticism and skill and genius that, hopefully, bring about that victory.

While Arsenal’s grip on the English Premier League title slackens, I consolidate my position in first place of the fantasy league I’m competing in with my friends. (The irony stings a little.) There is no material reward at stake and yet there’s a small thrill in opening the app on my phone and seeing that the eleven players I picked scored more points than the eleven my friends picked. I had already a habit of watching the highlights of all ten games that happen every weekend, but now I watch them with a childish eagerness to see one of my fantasy players score or assist a goal. I could cut to the chase by consulting the app, but it’s more exciting to experience the anticipation and sudden gratification of seeing it happen, even if the result was determined hours earlier.

But this excitement comes at a cost. I used to watch match highlights purely to enjoy the football itself, and now I fixate on my fantasy players and whether they might touch the ball at the right moment to score points. I even find myself willing players to perform until I remember their success would directly harm Arsenal’s chances of winning the Premier League title, the real one. A new, manufactured desire betrays my loyalty to the game and to the club I support.

But my loyalties were already split. Being an Arsenal fan and a football fan at once is not so easy these days. We play ugly, conservative, mechanistic football. As an Arsenal fan, I am supposed to feel satisfied as long as we win, but I find little genuine satisfaction in watching the team grind out results. If Arsenal fail to win a trophy this season, it will be nothing less than poetic justice.

The time I’ve spent watching Arsenal games recently is time I haven’t spent watching entertaining football. On Wednesday I sat in my living room with two friends and we watched Arsenal eke out a 1-0 win over Sporting instead of watching the showdown between Real Madrid and Bayern Munich. It made no sense not to watch my club play but then it also made no sense not to watch the better match. So which is it? Am I a fan of Arsenal or a fan of football? Which one should be subservient to the other?

Were I to quit playing Fantasy League I’d make little headway in prioritizing my love of football. The tension will remain so long as I remain loyal to one particular team. When that team wins by playing in a way I respect and admire, my attention is repaid. But what about the ugly, cynical football they play nowadays?

And even when “my team” excels, where exactly am I in the equation? How is it that I entangled my personal identity and feelings of self satisfaction with this alien institution? I suspect there is a better place beyond club fandom. A more grounded place with lower highs and higher lows, grounded in myself and my values rather than planted out in some other place that revolves around a different center of gravity.