It was 1998. Sky Sports had just started showing live games every week. My dad had scraped together the money for the cheapest package — £19.99 a month, which felt like a second mortgage back then. We didn’t have Sky, so every Sunday we’d pile into his mate’s house in the next street, four kids and three dads crammed onto a sofa that smelled of lager and hope, watching Manchester United, Arsenal, and Newcastle tear strips off each other while Alan Shearer scored goals like he was taking the piss.
That was the moment I understood: This league wasn’t English. It was global. It was ours.
Twenty-seven years later, in November 2025, I’m thirty-nine, and I still feel the same electricity every time the Premier League anthem plays. The game has changed — money, tactics, VAR, Saudi takeovers, American owners, TikTok celebrations — but the feeling hasn’t. And it never will.
This is why the Premier League is, was, and always will be the greatest show on earth.
It’s not a league. It’s a soap opera with better acting.
Where else do you get this much drama in ninety minutes?
You’ve got the billionaire oil clubs trying to buy history. You’ve got the working-class heroes who refuse to bow. You’ve got the fallen giants clawing their way back. You’ve got the plucky underdogs who somehow stay up on the last day.
Every season writes its own script, and nobody knows the ending until the final whistle of gameweek 38.
Remember 2011/12? Manchester City needed a goal in stoppage time against QPR to win their first title in 44 years. 93:20. Agüero. I was in a pub in Leeds. The place didn’t have sound on the TV, but when the ball hit the net, the noise was so loud the windows shook. Strangers were crying. Grown men were hugging. Someone dropped a full pint and didn’t even notice.
That’s the Premier League.
It’s the only league where anyone can beat anyone
La Liga has two teams. Bundesliga has one and a half. Ligue 1 has PSG and then daylight.
The Premier League? On any given weekend, the team 19th can go to the team 1st and win. It happens every season. It happened last week.
In 2024/25, Nottingham Forest — tipped for relegation — went to Anfield and beat Liverpool 1-0. In 2023/24, Sheffield United, dead last, beat Manchester United at Old Trafford. In 2022/23, Bournemouth smashed Manchester United 3-0 at Old Trafford.
No other league has this chaos. No other league has this magic.
The stadiums breathe
Old Trafford might leak, but it roars. Anfield might be old, but the Kop still sucks the ball into the net. St James’ Park under the lights is still the loudest place I’ve ever been. Goodison Park on a cold Monday night is still the most intimidating away day in England.
Even the new stadiums — Tottenham’s spaceship, the new Everton ground rising on the Mersey — they’re built for atmosphere, not just revenue. The Premier League understood something the rest of Europe forgot: football without fans is nothing.
The managers are characters
Where else do you get this cast?
Arne Slot speaking like a philosophy professor while quietly building the best team in Europe. Enzo Maresca turning Chelsea into a possession monster while wearing the sharpest suits in football. Andoni Iraola making Bournemouth play like prime Barcelona on a budget of £5 and a packet of crisps.
Even the old guard — Klopp’s fist pumps, Guardiola’s brain explosions, Arteta’s quiet intensity — they’re part of the furniture.
The players are superheroes with mortgages
Haaland scores 40 goals a season and still looks like he’s just happy to be there. Salah runs like he’s being chased by ghosts at 33. De Bruyne passes the ball like he’s playing a different sport. Van Dijk defends like he’s personally offended by strikers.
They earn stupid money, yes. But they still slide on their knees when they score. They still cry when they miss penalties. They’re still human.
The money changed everything — and nothing
£18 billion spent on transfers since 1992. £7 billion TV deal. Saudi clubs throwing £200 million at players who used to dream of the Premier League.
The game is richer than ever. But the feeling is the same.
The kid in Lagos watching on a cracked phone screen still feels the same rush when Salah scores. The dad in Manchester still lifts his son onto his shoulders so he can see the pitch. The away end still sings when they’re 3-0 down.
The money changed the business. It never changed the soul.
The rivalries are personal
Manchester derbies where brothers don’t speak for a week. North London derbies where you can’t wear the wrong colour on the Tube. Merseyside derbies where families are split down the middle.
This isn’t corporate entertainment. This is tribal.
The last minute
The Premier League has more goals after the 90th minute than any other league in Europe. It’s not luck. It’s the refusal to give up. It’s the crowd that never stops singing. It’s the manager who throws on a 17-year-old kid in the 95th minute because why not.
93:20. Agüero. I was there.
I’ve never recovered.
Why it will always be the greatest
Because it’s the only league where the impossible happens every single week. Because it’s the only league where the fans still own the soul of the game. Because it’s the only league where a kid from a council estate can become a billionaire — and a billionaire can still be humbled by a team from a town with one traffic light.
The Premier League is flawed. It’s expensive. It’s greedy. It’s obsessed with money.
But it’s also magic.
And magic doesn’t need to be perfect.
It just needs to make you believe.
And every Saturday at 3pm, it still does.
— What’s the one Premier League moment that made you fall in love with it? Drop it in the comments. I read every single one.
Disclaimer: Just one man’s opinion after 33 years of hurt and glory. See our Privacy Policy for details.
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