As my youngest son and I entwined in euphoric embrace on the final whistle, it transpires that Mesut Ozil was concurrently re-decorating the club doctor’s door with a new, six-studded pattern that is, apparently, proving extremely popular in the borough of Islington.
Now, by the medium of the SpursWeb, I can categorically exonerate Herr Ozil of any charges relating to drugs, such was his lethargic showing against an emergent, rampaging, youthful Spurs’ side that still has us purring. Fair enough, I can’t vouch for those bulbous eyes, which are notoriously offside, but… Beating them was sweet; the sweetest of all; footballing nectar, in fact, and long overdue.
So, to paraphrase, nip off back to London S.E., while the true kings of north London football bask in their new found glory – and that letter from N.17 will ONLY be the bill for the services of a local carpenter! Remember; ‘we’ve got Dele Ali’…
I’ve heard many versions of Sunday, to date. Some are simply outrageously stingy on praise; others closer to the mauling I witnessed with open eyes, while the fact that only a single Gooner mate has bothered to pass on his congratulations, well, speaks for itself, don’t it? Yes, my fellow Spur, St. Totteringham Day is truly cancelled. Not only cancelled, but stuffed back down previously gloating throats with, a presently, SEVENTEEN point lead that may be to blame for the latest plague of bleating emanating from N.5., accompanied by the usual barrage of defiant hot air, which probably accounts for today’s rather pleasant and clement weather.
To the few reds brave or man enough to engage in conversation, I hear that they ‘contained us’ in the first half, that Cech was man of the match, and that whatever we’ve achieved to date lacks consequence, because, A. We’ve won nothing. B. We’ve got to do it consistently. C. That, whatever we do, they will ALWAYS be better, and D. That all further conversation relating to NLD’s will contain a history lesson; blind belligerence always prevailing over truth and logic….and other juvenile excuses designed to cover their Sunday humiliation.
Well, I’ve waited TWENTY-TWO years for this and I’m damn well going to enjoy it, whatever the mealy-mouthed ones have to say; whatever they saw from behind the red blinkers; and whatever they conjure up to hide the facts. Let’s be fair, we’ve waited long enough…
For TWENTY-TWO long years, I’ve been made to suffer; first, their squawking about mid-table obscurity and non-qualification for Europe. Then, when we did finish high enough, further wittering about our Thursday night tours of Moldova, Lithuania and the like, and our Wednesday viewings of Coronation Street while they followed the golden dollar of The Champions League. Now that we, too, have bumped our heads on the CL ceiling, with Arsenil tumbling to the floorboards concurrently, I am blinded by a cloud of acrid bitterness, with an unforeseen silver lining.
On Sunday, Arsene Wenger, [Yes, I want you to stay, too] actually wrote Poch’s pre-match team talk for him, bleating on that Spurs’ are somehow 20 YEARS behind his bunch of gutless, under-achieving, want-away mercenaries. He continued, in untimely manner, by telling us how much we’re going to suffer during the transition to Tottenham Towers, and how his team are so ‘up’ for beating their noisy neighbours. Under-rating, then insulting us so publically didn’t exactly win you many friends, monsieur, while the amount of times you’ve invited eggs to tumble down those gaunt, miserable cheeks, well, you never really learn, do you? NO team stays at the top forever. EVERY dog has his day, sometime…… Thanks, Arsene! We knew you had it in you to motivate the team; it was just unfortunate for you that it was ours!
And yes, it’s TWENTY-TWO long years of pain, misery and long, long lectures on meeting anyone of the red persuasion. TWENTY-TWO long, gloating years of torture. TWENTY-TWO seemingly endless years when the shadow of their red umbrella seemed to enshroud the Lane. Now, we have much to look forward to, even though the sharks of the media and Press will pass their summer days trying to part us from our fantastic manager, while trying, concurrently, to sell all our players to the usual protagonists. Finally, after all of the bad times – in fact, since the departure of Keith Burkinshaw, at least – we have a team to be proud of. Sunday was a loud and proud day in our recent history, although, if there was one gripe, from me at least, it was the Neanderthal, unnecessary behaviour meted out to Robbie of ArsenalTV fame, who simply didn’t deserve to be treated that way. He is a fan, like us, and puts in far, far more effort and passion than his vanquished team, Blud….
Now, we have to learn to be as impressive off the pitch as we are on it, although, to be fair, you cannot tar an entire club with the actions, or lack of, of one individual! Can you, Mr. Ozil
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