Monday, 19 September 2011


I don't often enjoy watching Spurs. I never really relax.

If I'm at the ground I literally sit on the edge of my seat, my dogged concentration broken only by occasionally muttering dark forebodings to m'colleague.

If I'm up the pub, I get intensely irritated at anyone who wants to talk, or eat crisps, or ask me what I want to drink; anyone who isn't simply staring at the screen, fearing the worst and making silent deals with God in order to secure one or three points just isn't on my wavelength.

On Sunday, however, even I... well, okay, maybe I didn't 'enjoy' it, but I certainly didn't suffer the usual agonies, question the point of existence etc.

We just got better and better, shifting up a gear at exactly the right times, until eventually even I knew we were going to win. Actually knew. That is such a rare and wonderful feeling to experience in a match of any significance or difficulty.

We started well. But so what. We almost always start well. And then fail to score and fade away.

And, indeed, we missed a couple of chances, one absolutely gilt-edged.

Then, we scored. He scored. Lovely little Luka. "KISS CHICKEN BADGE! KISS CHICKEN BADGE!", I screamed. He didn't. And just as well. He seemed to enjoy the moment, though.

But, of course, we do score first sometimes. And then we defend too deeply, we abandon all the tactics and tempo that got us our lead and wait for it to be taken away from us.

But, no, we kept attacking and kept creating chances. We just couldn't convert any.

Then Adam got sent off. And at half time we were 1-0 up, playing brilliantly against 10 men. I know: recipe for disaster, right?

But, again, no. We carried on playing brilliantly, creating chances - and missing them. We were now heading towards 'one of those days' territory, sharing a border with 'those misses will come back to haunt us'ville.

Then they went down to nine men. A draw would now officially be humiliating.

But thrice no. We went 2-0 up, then three, then four. Both our strikers scored. For the second week in a row. A striker scored more than once. We beat Liverpool for the fifth year in a row. We're officially better than them. Much better, it seems.

The last time I got my mate to check the odds for a draw on Paddy Power, they were 500-1. 83 minutes had ticked by - and I was beginning to enjoy myself.


  1. "KISS CHICKEN BADGE!" hahah. I am nearly crying at my desk. People are staring. I cannot tell them why (they're mainly Liverpool fans).

  2. Great post.

    The bit about 'making silent deals with God' was brilliant. It reminded me about the one you wrote ages ago about your Mum, your twins and your left testicle ;)

  3. No, just as well he didn't kiss chicken badge, I guess. Funny reading it out in the post though.

    Though we have Luka who wanted out very badly indeed, and may still want out in Jan, Adebayor who has scored a ton of goals against us, and enjoyed every one of them, a little too much, and who too many Spurs fans used to sing a disgraceful song about, who is really a football mercenary, and Parker who has turned us down more times than one has had hot pies at the Lane.

    It's modern football and on Sunday's performance I could sort of go with it. Spurs and the three of them were good, Luka and Adebayor really damn good.

    We have Ledley the King back too

  4. So my social gambits have been unwelcome all this time - I'm crushed.

    We're out of the pointless cup, yay!

  5. Bless you for your infectious enthusiasm! In fact, the last time anybody was this enthusiastic about kissing chickens, there was an outbreak of bird flu which, as you remember, was very infectious.