It’s 15 May, the final Sunday, and Spurs will be taking the pitch in the Northeast vs. the Toon Army at St James Park. Who could or could not still be in a relegation fight.
Now think about this for more than a split second. I’ll give you two choices: behind Door One lies a four point deficit to the Fairytale Champions, the Foxes, but the knowledge that a cool and calm dispatch of the Geordies guarantees our lads second and no St. You-Know-What Day this season, at long last. Would have been a sumptuous result to contemplate just four or five months ago. But behind Door Two looms a possible title, but only if we win and The Side Who Will Not be Named can only manage a draw home to Villa, who would have already packed the golf clubs and been scouting the Championship for weeks. And should Villa capitulate, well, our second place is obscured by their celebrations—lording over us in red and white one more time.
Which door would you pick—be honest…? Door Two of course because this is sport and weird stuff happens. Witness this season. Hell, maybe it will Coquelin that gets sent off and a Villain who converts the late header—why not?
But how could it have gone any other way than this, possibly the best season for Spurs ever in the Prem, and in more than 50 years of top draw football, that the obstacle to supreme greatness might take the form of Them? The ghosts of Graham and Henry, Bergkamp and Vieira, Seaman and Cole—bring them all out because if we do this… if we win the league by vanquishing them—once and for all—well, Peirs Morgan might disagree, but I say it blows most of the travail of the past two decades out the bloomin’ window. We have perpetual bragging rights so long as Wenger’s trophies keep being Champions League Qualification and two measly FA Cups. We’ll take the league, thank you.
Was last February and “OOOO”’s glorious brace just the warm-up act? And 5 March this year is the real show? Have the scriptwriters—the same blokes who decided that as Fergie and Rooney strode off the pitch at the Stadium of Light thinking they were champions the Noisy Neighbors would score not one, but two goals in stoppage time against hapless QPR to snatch the title—dreamed up a North London fight to end all fights?
Three months to find out.
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