Part 2 : Football, Hatewatching And Schadenfreude

If you want to see how schadenfreude sustains itself over time, you do not need to look at a single match, just look at a club that has been consistently positioned as a narrative target. For the better part of the 2010s and into the 2020s, Arsenal have occupied that space. This is not just about results. It is about perception. Arsenal became, in the eyes of rival fans, a team defined by almosts. Strong enough to raise expectations, but inconsistent enough to fall short. That gap between expectation and outcome is exactly what fuels schadenfreude.

The “bottler” label did not emerge from one game. It was built over time. Title challenges that faded. Knockout ties that slipped away. Moments where control turned into collapse. What makes it powerful is repetition. Once a narrative is established, every new failure reinforces it. Fans are no longer watching each game in isolation. They are watching for confirmation.

I have seen this play out repeatedly, Arsenal go on a strong run, the conversation shifts, belief builds. And alongside that belief, there is a parallel audience, rival fans waiting. Not passively, but actively. Watching for the moment where the pattern reasserts itself. Even this season, with Arsenal at the top of the league, that tension remains. The current success does not erase the narrative. It intensifies it. Because now the potential fall is bigger. That is the key. Schadenfreude thrives not on failure alone, but on anticipated failure.

The Carabao Cup final on Sunday became the perfect focal point for this. It was not just a final. It was a test of identity. Could Arsenal break the pattern, or would they reinforce it? When they lost, the reaction was immediate and widespread. It was not just celebration from the opposing fans. It was validation. Clips, posts, reactions, all feeding into the same idea: this is who they are. What stands out to me is how prepared people were for that moment. The reaction was not spontaneous. It was stored energy, released.

Spurs, in comparison, operate slightly differently in this ecosystem. Their recent struggles, losing streaks, inconsistent performances, create a more immediate form of hatewatching. Each game is an event because of the possibility of another collapse. But with Spurs, it feels like confirmation of instability. With Arsenal, it feels like the continuation of a long-running narrative. That distinction matters. One is episodic. The other is cumulative.

In both cases, the mechanism is the same. Fans are not just watching football. They are tracking a storyline, waiting for the moment where expectation and failure intersect. And when it happens, the reaction is not just joy. It is recognition, “ah yes, the moment we’ve all been waiting for”. At this point, it becomes impossible to ignore the incentives behind it.

Broadcasters and media outlets understand that failure is more engaging than success. A dominant team winning routinely is predictable. A strong team collapsing is compelling. So coverage shifts accordingly. More focus on “crisis clubs.” More post-match analysis centered on what went wrong rather than what went right. More camera time on frustrated managers and emotional fans.

Punditry follows the same logic. Strong, provocative statements generate more attention than balanced analysis. It is not enough to say a team played poorly. It has to be framed as a deeper problem. Even neutral fans get pulled into this. If you do not have a strong connection to a club, one of the easiest entry points is opposition. Disliking a successful team creates immediate emotional engagement. This is where the line between “fan” and “anti-fan” starts to blur. The system does not just allow hatewatching. It rewards it.

There is however a point where this stops being harmless. The shift from banter to hostility is gradual, but real. What starts as jokes about performance can turn into targeted abuse. The same mechanisms that amplify humor also amplify negativity. Players are at the center of this. A missed penalty or a poor performance can become a defining narrative overnight. The scale of reaction is disproportionate to the event itself.

Managers are not immune either. When a narrative takes hold, it can create pressure that goes beyond results. The perception of failure becomes as damaging as failure itself. I also have to question what this does to the way we experience the game. If we are constantly looking for failure, I am not fully appreciating success. The balance shifts. It does not mean hatewatching disappears. It means it comes with a cost.

Despite all this, I do not think this dynamic is going away. In fact, I think it is essential to how modern football functions. Every story needs a villain. In football, that role shifts constantly. Sometimes it is a dominant club. Sometimes it is a struggling one. Sometimes it is an individual player. What matters is that there is always someone to root against.

Interestingly, this creates moments of unity. Rival fans who would normally oppose each other come together temporarily to watch a common rival fail. It is a strange kind of community, built on shared dislike. The idea that football could exist without this feels unrealistic. The emotional intensity of the sport is tied to opposition as much as support.

The “innocent” version of fandom, where fans only cared about their own team, feels distant now, perhaps feels like it has never actually even existed.

At its core, hatewatching is not artificial. It is an honest reflection of what football has always been, a tribal, emotional, competitive space where identity is defined in opposition as much as allegiance. What has changed is the scale and the structure. Technology has amplified it. Media has monetized it. Fans have normalized it. We do not just watch football to see our team win. We watch to see how the wider story unfolds, who rises, who falls, and how those moments feel in real time.

And sometimes, if I am being honest, the collapse of a rival in the 90th minute hits just as hard as a goal for my own team. Not because it is purer. But because it is immediate, shared, and brutally satisfying.