Two years have passed since Leicester City Football Club lifted the English Premier League Trophy at the King Power Stadium.
Two whole years.
I wish I could say time flies when you’re having fun but the years since haven’t exactly been equal to what we experienced in that magical season...and how could they be?
5000-1 odds. A non-league graduate breaking top flight scoring records. Dilly ding, dilly dong. Robert Huth’s massive forehead. All of it was just perfect.
With the Foxes destined for a mid-table finish (that would have thrilled us all at Fosse Posse to the bone at the start of that remarkable title-winning season), we can sit here and reflect on everything that came to pass when the trophy was lifted, effectively shocking the entire sports world.
Akin to our post reminiscing on the 40-point plateau, here’s the staff’s memories from when your Foxes of little old Leicester became Champions of England. Up first: me.
As many of us footy fans stuck in the US of A, I was stuck at work during the Chelsea-Spurs match as it kicked off midday Pacific Time. Carving out a nice area in our lounge, I had the game on and proceeded to weep uncontrollably after Hazard’s epic finish. It was unlike anything I had ever felt. I didn’t know what to do, how to react, how to update this website. My fingers stopped working.
Luckily for me, I had seen the tide rising and had booked a flight back to Leicester earlier in the year and was set to be there for the final two matches of the season, both of which I attended in person. Thinking about it now, only two years later, the emotion and sheer unadulterated joy I felt has come flooding back. It was the most amazing trip of my life and brought to the forefront how special the experience was. I may never be able to live out something like that again in my life, a feeling that is shared among every LCFC fan on the planet.
I was listening to the Radio Leicester commentary of the game and I’ll be honest, I turned it off at half time. We’d win it next week, and I’d heard enough about Harry Kane. I turned it back on pretty quickly at 2-1 and it didn’t go off again until hours after the final whistle. It was pretty surreal to celebrate alone, 200 miles from the nearest Leicester fan, especially in Newcastle where relegation loomed, but I did my best. I did not make it into work for 9am the next day.
I have three distinct memories from that day. The first is barely wanting to watch Chelsea vs Tottenham. I followed much of the game on BBC’s match-cast and Twitter. I can’t remember if it was nerves or the fact that I was still new at my job, but I was a bit reserved for the match. Once Spurs went up 2-0 I mostly thought well, guess we won’t win today, and went about my work. What a fool I was. Hazard stuck it far post and the rest was history.
The second memory I have is meeting up with one of two, that I knew of at the time, Leicester supporters in Denver. I met up at his place after leaving work buzzing and we shared a congratulatory hug of disbelief and downed a bottle of champagne.
My third was getting to celebrate with my niece at the Irish Pub down the street. She’d decided to follow the Foxes after watching Leicester’s first match back in the Premier League, a 2-2 draw with Everton. I told her how improbable this was and that her Leicester glory may have peaked too soon, but crazier things have happened.
I’m not a conspiracy theorist, but what I remember about Leicester City winning the title was the shock I felt when they actually won. Not the 5000:1 shock that we’ve all heard about over and over. The shock that a team outside of the so-called Big Six was able or even allowed to win. Let me explain...
From The Great Escape through the title win Leicester City wasn’t simply the best team in England, they were one of the best teams in the world in terms of league form. That’s a fact. So on the pitch as early as November a Foxes title seemed a real possibility. But that all changed for me after the add-on suspension given to Jamie Vardy after his red card against West Ham. All Vardy did was yell at Jon Moss. Vardy didn’t hit another player. Vardy didn’t touch an official. He just yelled. But he was banned as long as, or even longer than, those who committed more dire offenses that same season. And as much as I’d seen Twitter accounts and commentaries dedicated to how football is fixed, this was the first time a part of me started to believe it.
Leicester was simply too good a team to hand the title to another club, fix or not. So what I remember most was that the Foxes wouldn’t let an overzealous official, an inconsistent FA, or whatever else seemed to be working against them derail them from the title they earned. Nothing was given to them that year. They fought relentlessly for every point. Leicester City’s title was the result of a little more than 12 months of league domination. And what I remember clearly is feeling proud that this team never, ever quit.
Two years ago today the most beautiful thing in the history of sports happened and it was thanks in (small) part to an extremely ugly game between Chelsea and Tottenham. While most of my Fosse Posse colleagues had to hide their emotions at work, I was at home free to weep like a baby without judgment, though my dog did give a funny look. The footage of the legendary Jamie Vardy party induced chills from my body.
From Christian Fuchs’ piercing shrieks to Marcin Wasilewski dragging Wes Morgan across the kitchen floor like a human mop, the visuals of genuine euphoria were warm enough to thaw even the coldest hearts.
My memories of that day have less to do with Leicester than they do with everything else happening on one of the strangest days of the strangest season. We’d already all but wrapped up the league at that point, so the game didn’t feel crucial to me: It was a matter of “when,” not “if” by that point. The match itself was surreal. Spurs were completely out of control and I’m not exaggerating when I say they could have seen 8 red cards has Mark Clattenburg refereed the match properly (and by his own admission, he didn’t). That’s the match that made me, truly and deeply, hate Spurs. I loved (and continue to love) the pride with which Chelsea played, doing everything within their power to put their local rivals to the sword.
When Hazard struck that ball, you know from the moment he hit it it was going in. It was surreal...it felt like it was in slow-motion even watching it in real time. You knew that Spurs would never come back from that blow. When the whistle blew, I was yelled loudly enough that everyone in the office heard me, but it was as much relief as elation. It was that feeling of crossing the finish line first when you have a one-lap lead: You’ve known for some time that you were going to win, but you didn’t dare celebrate until it was official.
Eff Spurs. Hazard is a legend, but he didn’t win the league for us. He just struck the final, beautiful hammer blow.
Where were you when Leicester City won the Premier League?
This poll is closed
In Leicester celebrating
Elsewhere in the world
Crying somewhere, I don’t remember where
Other, less fun response
Drop some more detailed responses in the comments! Thanks, as always, for checking out THE Fosse Posse.