MIKEL ARTETA’s triumphant side will be given the chance to get their hands on the coveted silverware following the final whistle after the match against Crystal Palace at Selhurst Park tomorrow.

While Arteta and his squad are still on a high following their never-to-be-forgotten title celebrations in the aftermath of rivals Manchester City being held 1-1 by Bournemouth on the south coast, thoughts are turning to the club’s last league game of a momentous season in south London.

Even if the memory of more than 100,000 Gooners of all colours and creeds gathering joyously outside the stadium, partying into the early hours of Wednesday morning, not to mention fans all across the globe from Accra and Adelaide, to Uganda and Zanzibar — with even New York Mayor Zohran Mamdani taking time out to pay tribute to Arteta and his fully deserved triumph — still reverberates.

What also still echoes is the remembrance of those who we have loved and lost.

As I watched a beautifully diverse Arsenal team celebrate, along with the club’s beautifully diverse support on the night the Premier League title was won after 22 years, my thoughts — as well as so many others’ — turned to our loved ones who are no longer here.

On Monday evening, 24 hours before the Gunners long-awaited title triumph after the final whistle on the south coast, there was a lovely, caring touch from Arsenal.

Before the 1-0 victory over Burnley — how long ago that already feels in a never-to-be-forgotten week filled with such raw emotion — the club honoured loyal fans on its big screens high up in the stands (and in the programme) by displaying the names of all those Gooners in the sky who had sadly passed away this season.

Mums and dads, sisters and brothers, nans and grandads: the list of hallowed names on the screen at Ashburton Grove was far longer than anyone wanted, nor wished.

And in the immediate aftermath of Tuesday’s victory, my phone ran red hot from friends and family, old pals and new, not to mention well-wishers from the football fraternity who knew how much the victory meant to me after 22 long years. I thank every single person who took the trouble to get in touch to say congratulations, and to share their joy. So much so that I didn’t realise I knew that many people.

Among the number were those who had lost someone close to them.

It sometimes takes a communal event of magnitude to realise just how many people are suffering with grief, with loss, with the crushing realisation that they’ll again never see a loved one.

Much-missed souls who were so close to you, who shared such vivid and vital memories with you, who laughed, and loved, and danced, and drank, and sang and swore, including, yes, at the football. The most important of least important things.

After losing my beloved Arsenal-supporting dad back in early 2023, I was sustained by the love and kindness of so many people, from my partner Faye, to so many Arsenal supporters and fans of other clubs who knew me, to take the trouble to send me their condolences. And although I was too numb in the awful immediate aftermath to fully appreciate just how such support really helped me, I do now.

Indeed, even Arsenal boss Mikel Arteta took the time to send my mum a personal letter of condolence that my whole family will always treasure.

Which is why, when in the moment of deep, deep joy when Arsenal finally ended their barren run, I cried. For the victory, for the comfort, delight, elation that delayed triumph brings. But also for my dad.

For our dad and son relationship. Always loving, even if at times it was tempestuous. For him as my father who shaped me. My role model. My hero. A man who made me who I am today. And who held my tiny hand when he first took me to Highbury.

The realisation that Mikel Arteta’s side had become champions made me so happy.

I cried tears of joy. And regret. And pain. And emotion. And loss. And joy once again.

Imagine wanting something for 22 years. Living every single day with that knowledge, with that desire, while also knowing in your heart that some days, and some years, you are so far from achieving that goal. Or even simply being able to dream about achieving that goal.

And then, over the last three years, as Arteta rebuilt a previously moribund football club into genuine challengers, your hopes soared of finally realising your dreams.

Only to have them dashed three years in row during three successive campaigns that saw the Gunners end up runners-up in 2025, 2024 and 2023. While being mocked, and derided, and criticised, and hated.

Before finally getting over the line joyously, improbably, wonderfully, to spark such scenes of unbridled elation.

No wonder on Tuesday night, for so many Arsenal fans, including myself, thoughts turned to those we have loved and lost. My Arsenal-supporting late dad. My hero. I know he would have been delighted. Equally he would have been overjoyed for me too. And although he was a tough old bugger he had a big heart. That’s who he was.

He loved my mum. He loved me. He loved our family. And he loved the Arsenal.

He always told me to take joy from other people’s happiness as much as if it were your own. Which is why I loved watching those scenes from the Emirates on Tuesday night, as well as from London Colney.

I was at the club’s training HQ on Thursday to listen to Arteta speak in the aftermath of victory.

Even for someone as hard-bitten as I am, someone who has followed Arsenal week in, week out for more than 40 years — since my dad first took my tiny hand and to take me to Highbury — as well as the last 15 as a journalist mostly covering the club I love, listening to Arteta share so eloquently the moment he understood his club became champions made me well up a matter of seats from where he was speaking.

When Arteta said of the magical moment he was told Arsenal became 2025-26 Premier League champions, by saying: “My oldest son opened the garden door. He started to run towards me, started to cry, gave me a hug and said: “We are champions, daddy,” it was the most moving press conference I had ever attended.

As I write this now, the tears have arrived again, as my throat catches, and my eyes have welled up. I still can’t believe it.

Arsenal’s Premier League title win is for Gooners everywhere.

It feels so zen. So hugely satisfying. So deeply, deeply wonderful as to be dreamlike.

I’m so happy, so happy. I’m sure you are too.

Because the victory is as much for our loved ones who are no longer here.

For those we have loved, and lost.

In loving memory of my dad. And in honour of Benjy Ansell. And Susan McCutcheon. And Steve Ashford.