We’re all hurting this morning. We’re hurting and we’re scared. We scared because we know that we simply cannot go through this again. We’ve missed out on fourth spot, on the Champions League, on finishing ahead of Arsenal; so many times by the narrowest of margins, the most unlikely of victories for other teams, from the most astonishing team illness – yet another calamitous close of a campaign built on so much promise and near achievement would be just too much to bear.
We have two choices as Tottenham fans – we give up now or we give it every ounce of belief that we can muster and open our hearts to that most dangerous of feelings in football: hope. It’s no good believing in Spurs if that belief can only be heard inside your own head. We must sing, we must shout, we must cry from our hearts and, above all, we must hold nothing but hope to the very end.
Professionals players and coaches talk of treating a run of games as if every one were a cup final but a cup final attitude is nothing without a cup final voice from the fans. There have been some incredible times at White Hart Lane; our defeat of Inter in 2010, the 5-1 against Arsenal in the Carling Cup semi, finally beating Chelsea in the league. But the one that I remember best of all, the one of which I’m most proud, is when we lost to Seville in the UEFA Cup.
We’d come away 2-1 down after a penalty decision that should never have been and then disaster struck at home as the away team scored two in seven minutes to put the tie virtually out of reach. But with four goals needed in the second half to send us through, the crowd did not give up. We were on our feet for the last 45 – and not just in the Park Lane. We were all on our feet singing over and over again any Spurs song that we could get going. My hands were stinging from all the clapping by the end of the encounter and my voice was spent. We had given it everything we could possibly give to keep a grasp upon a trophy that we believed could be ours, and but for two crucial misses at the last moment, it would have been enough.
Now, I don’t for one minute wish to bask in glorious failure. There is no such thing. Only those that were there that night in April will remember what so nearly happened. To history, it means nothing. But those watching will remember how powerful hope can be and how strong the force of belief as one voice. Together, and proud.
We need our voice again now. Our team needs us. They cannot do this alone, and we cannot sit down and watch in wrankled silence when the scoreline does not go our way. Everyone must play their part from the first kick to the final whistle. We must be the wind in their sails, the wings at their feet, the burst from their muscles when legs are heavy, the extra stride of pace to chase back a ball deep into injury time and the absolute certainty in their minds in front of goal.
All we need to do is sing. Whether it’s home or away, City or Southampton, we must sing to the very end. The Spurs need to know that we are with them, and if we do not doubt for second, then they will not doubt themselves. Make up a new song, call for the Champions League, we want fourth, win – whatever comes into your head. Just sing it, and people will join.
There are no guarantees and no promises of luck. Fate may still twist the knife as it has done so many times to us before and, come May, that hope may leave us shattered. But if we can give it our all as fans, if we can inspire the team, then at least we lie torn knowing we gave everything we could. We ask that of our team. It’s only fair that we do it ourselves. Sing up, Tottenham. Sing up and win.
By Dan Sung
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