Saturday, 1 October 2011
Hip hip hip hooray
It's October, the sun is cracking the flags and we're odds-on favourites to win the North London derby. Someone is fucking with me.
If you were to pick a best 11 from the two teams' current squads, the majority would be from Spurs. I get that, I really do.
In the last three years we've drawn two and won one. I know that, of course I do.
And we should have done the double over them last year. I believe that, I honestly do.
But do I think we'll win? That's a blazing sun up in the sky, not a pig.
Selection will be interesting. I'm thinking chest pains beforehand, self-harm for the first hour and then bring on weeping and incontinence to see the game out.
On the pitch, I know it's boring, but I'd like to see us go 4-4-2, with either Sandra or Parker 'minding' Modric, maybe even Lennon on the right and Defoe upfront alongside that son-of-a-preacher-man, Adebayor.
The consensus, however, seems to be that Parker and Sandro need to be accommodated, and that VdV should start somewhere. Either as a sort of midfielder or a sort of striker. In his favour, he seems very much a big game player. But wherever we stick him he'll end up in central midfielder. Probably giving us four in there.
Anyway, all very boring and probably irrelevant. Because when we kick off tomorrow, form and formation will be forgotten instantly. The ball will take lucky deflections and unpredictable bounces, referees will make bad decisions and players will make horrible mistakes, someone you'd never even thought about will do something wondrous/disastrous and everything will fly past at 100 miles an hour - lasting a total of 17 excruiating years.
My forecast: dark, dark clouds.