Many years ago somebody bought me an Arsenal teddy bear as a joke (it is supposed to be durable). I was going to chuck it (actually put it in the shredder) then I thought, like a stress ball, I’ll keep it and if I should feel down, depressed or even mad, then I would take it out and beat the seven bells of shite out of it (at the moment it looks like… well… it’s mutilated). So when I got home, after the game, I went to where I keep it (at the back of the toilet… an appropriate place I thought)… I was angry and frustrated… and treated it to a bit of Tottenham stress therapy.
“Where are you Arsehole bear…” as I named it “…I am taking you out for a few hours?” (any psychiatrist reading this will have a field day). The Mutilated bear was cowering (really!), I took it out and [censored… as it is too brutal to share]… just let us say that it was a torso when I finished with it. But I do stitch it back together for future use when I am in a more calmer mode (is there a law against cruelty to Arse-wipes?). But I didn’t feel any better (that will have to wait until the team gets revenge).
A Chelsea win, an Inter Milan win, and we were third. So before the match, I felt high and thought we could get the goals that would sink the toilet drain pluggers. You could sense that particular moment, that outcome… the feeling you are nearer to the peak of ecstasy.
The morning of the match: our breakfast that day – to me – was a warrior’s breakfast (egg, bacon, tomatoes, sausages and… actually, no… muesli… maybe that was where I went wrong?). I then puffed myself up and was ready to go. The coach ride was a warriors ride, and we were there to do battle. Oh, we laughed… their reign of 18 winning matches was coming to an end, we sung (ok, only I did, and to myself).
They got the first goal, a penalty. Twenty minutes later we equalised (all good so far), then we went ahead with a Kane penalty. We sung, danced and clapped each other on the back. Players walked off proud, the fans applauded, and we were in high spirits… then the second half came; that buggered our joys and expectations up. Where is Teddy arse-wipe when you need it! (Oh, at home).
It didn’t get any better, things didn’t turn around… but we did see Vertonghen get sent off in the 85th minute to add insult to injury. What the fuuuu…? What just happened? By then the Spurs supporters were starting to march out in a huff (and who could blame them?).
Instead of getting a lift home I made my way to the pub to drown my sorrows.
To rub salt into the wounds Chelsea beat Fulham (2-0), Liverpool beat – just – Everton, while City carried on marching unmolested.
We started the day in third place, ended it in 5th place. City and Liverpool are still both undefeated. As things stand, it will be those two slogging it out for the Premier League trophy. Chelsea and Arsenal are fighting for third and fourth place, while we are trying to stick our heads over the stockade, looking at all that glitters for Christmas (and dreaming, as we dream every year).
What now? Well, we face managerless Southampton tomorrow, then Leicester City away and a quick trip to Barcelona to get a bit of dignity out of the Champions League. A quick return to Premier football and hey-presto… we are top(keep dreaming!)… Well, that is my Christmas wish. To end this year in a fighting position, on all fronts; that is both cups – ok, FA Cup is in January -, Champion’ League and Premier League ( I said… keep dreaming!). Now, where is that arse-wipe… or better still… where is that therapist?
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