Arsenal’s celebrations analysed: Odegaard’s Federer tribute, the boy with Arteta

A moment so dramatic even Richard Keys couldn't bring himself to begrudge Arsenal's celebrations.

Search through social media and you will still be able to find an assortment of joyless sorts, kvetching and sniffing that the assembled Gooners had reacted to Reiss Nelson's extraordinary 97th-minute winner against Bournemouth yesterday “like they had won the league”.

But anyone who chooses not to recognise the emotion in coming back from 2-0 down, having gone behind after nine seconds, to win that deep into stoppage time and maintain a lead at the top of the league… well, they might want to consider whether football is really for them.

Even for a neutral, Arsenal's celebrations were a joy to witness, the sheer explosive release of nearly two hours of frustration, tension and hope. For the fans, a moment like that is one of the things we keep going to football for, something that makes the time and expense and drudgery worthwhile. For the players, the bonding power of a goal like that must be extraordinary, the collective spirit close to unbreakable.

So it's no wonder those on the pitch at the Emirates Stadium, in its stands and everywhere in between celebrated as they did after Nelson's effort roared into the net.

Let's start with the immediate reaction.

Goal celebrations are often instinctive expressions of joy, but for a normal goal there is a formula, standard rules to follow. Generally, players will congregate around the scorer, or if there was some especially notable approach play, the assister, or perhaps if it's a goal when chasing the game, the scorer will retrieve the ball from the net and everyone will retreat swiftly to the halfway line. But there is an order to things, something approaching a collective celebratory structure.

All of those rules go out of the window at moments like this.

The sportswriter Rob Smyth once wrote that you know something brilliant has happened because everyone starts running in different directions, and that's exactly what happened here.

Nelson — looking like the calmest man in the stadium — makes for the byline, Bukayo Saka bolts after him, William Saliba initially moves towards Nelson, then spins around and sprints for the corner.

Gabriel Martinelli and Ben White head directly towards the net: Martinelli perhaps because he couldn't quite believe what had happened so had to verify it was definitely a goal, White to give it the big 'un to goalkeeper Neto, who had been attempting some Emiliano Martinez-esque time-wasting in the second half.

Martin Odegaard and Gabriel Magalhaes both sink to the ground, in different ways (more on that shortly), while goalkeeper Aaron Ramsdale, standing in the centre circle and out of shot for the goal, hares forwards to join in with the ecstasy.

Just as an aside, it is quite funny that referee Chris Kavanagh felt the need to point to the centre spot to confirm that, yes, it was a goal. Thanks, Chris.

Let's look at Gabriel and Odegaard here, displaying different methods of the 'sinking to the turf' reaction.

The Brazilian defender goes down on his knees, stretches out his arms and puts his head on the floor. It's as if he is participating in a yoga class (it's called 'child's pose', apparently), but as it would be an unusual time for him to seek spiritual peace and be at one with his body, it's probably more a case of him being overcome with the emotion of the moment.

Odegaard, on the other hand, opts to fall flat on his back with his limbs splayed, a move technically known as The Federer. It can also go by The Nadal or The Djokovic, but the principle is the same: it's the standard reaction from a male tennis player upon winning a Grand Slam title. We've seen it so many times over the years that you do suspect it's just what they do, a sort of Pavlovian reaction to a match point won rather than an actual expression of their euphoria, but in Odegaard's case it almost certainly is more instinctive.

Another aside: attention is naturally focused on how those on the pitch and in the stands reacted, but others enjoyed the moment too, not least the steward just above the Adidas advertising board in the above shot. They leap up, punch the air, sprint to the edge of the Emirates board next door, then just as quickly retreat to their allotted position, perhaps belatedly realising what their job is.

Don't worry, Mate. We're not going to grass you up for showing a bit of emotion.

This is supposed to be about the Arsenal celebrations, but it is worth briefly cataloguing how the despairing Bournemouth players reacted to the goal. For the record, it was five hands-on-heads (as denoted by the red circles above), four dejected slumpings (blue) and two 'sink to the floor in Samuel Kuffour-esque disbelief and horror' (yellow).

Next, let's recognise some terrific turns of pace from a couple of players not renowned for their speed.

Want to have a guess at who the first Arsenal player to actually get hold of Nelson was? Not Saliba, who was closest to him when he took the shot. Not Saka, who was not far away either. Not Granit Xhaka, whose wild-eyed intensity might have given him the edge.

Nope, it was Ramsdale, who in the closing stages of the match was a nervous spectator, just like many of the other 60,000 people inside the ground, but unlike them legally allowed to sprint to the scorer to give him a cuddle. A privileged status he took full advantage of.

The other surprisingly pacy celebrator was unused substitute Jorginho, who lived every second of the closing stages, jumping up and down on the touchline in his hi-vis vest. So when Nelson scored, he was out of the blocks like a 100m sprinter, only prevented from being the first player to reach the scorer because, in the chaos of pinballing bodies, he ran into White.

To his left, you can see Saliba disappearing in completely the opposite direction to the focus of the celebrations. What's he doing? Where's he going? Well…

…it was straight to the corner flag, with the express purpose of absolutely leathering it. Why was his instinct in this situation to kick a piece of matchday ephemera into smithereens? Who knows. It's almost impossible to rationally explain your actions in the few seconds after a goal like this. As Arsenal manager Mikel Arteta said: “It's crazy, you lose sight of where you are.”

Then, the mobbing. Oh so much mobbing.

It takes a few seconds for everyone to catch up with Nelson, but when they do he disappears into a vibrating mass of humanity. He's in there somewhere, and the other way you can tell something amazing has happened is how many of the limbs covering him are clad in club-branded coats and training jackets…

…the contents of the Arsenal bench having been well and truly emptied onto the pitch.

Then the slapping starts, as the Arsenal players congratulate Nelson by whacking him — in some cases, pretty hard — on the back of his head.

The other classic method of sporting admiration is bouts of very intense, close-up pointing.

You have to really get in your colleague's face for this one, congratulating them on their achievements with aggressive use of the index finger. And Saliba, once the initial mobbing and hugging and shoving had been taken care of, got hold of Nelson and produced a textbook example.

That's the players, but what of those on the touchline?

Obviously, pandemonium ensued in the Arsenal dugout, not least in the form of their freewheeling manager, as the following stills show, as he turns to celebrate with his bench…

…sprints in that direction…

…before spinning around and making off down the touchline…

…which is how he ended up here, closer to the corner flag than his bench.

We regret to inform you that he is definitely outside his technical area here. Keys was furious, presumably.

You wonder what managers are thinking in moments like this, when they're running around in different directions. Are they looking for someone in particular to celebrate with? Do they want to share the moment with a favoured colleague? Or are they in a sort of fugue state, not really sure of what their limbs are doing, much less capable of seeking out an individual among the chaos?

If Arteta was looking for someone specific, we can be pretty sure it wasn't the young child who somehow ended up in the technical area a few seconds after the goal, and earned himself a high-five from the slightly baffled Arsenal manager, who delivered said high-five while probably thinking “…hang on, you're not on my coaching staff.”

To Arteta's credit, among this pulsing bedlam, which might well prove to be the pivotal point of a thrilling title race, he had the presence of mind to quickly realise that this primary-school-age kid probably shouldn't be there and ushered him towards a responsible adult.

Where did the boy come from? Well, careful study of the moments immediately before the goal reveal that…he's there! In the front row of the stands! He managed to give the grown-up(s) he was presumably with the slip to join in the celebrations with his heroes! Good lad! Hopefully he found his way back to them, though.

And Arteta probably summed up the feelings of everyone in the Emirates.

“Just looking in the faces of everybody, the players and our supporters with those smiles, the joy in their eyes, it's just great,” he said. “It was an extraordinary day, a beautiful experience at the end. Very dramatic, but worth living it, because it was a great end.”