We were bloody lucky

We were bloody lucky when our old mates (not) did us a favour and beat their other London revivals, Chelsea. If Chelsea had won they would have leapfrogged us into third, and we certainly didn’t want that.

Whatever the result was going to be on Sunday we were going to stay in third place. Now I know some won’t agree, but as far as I am concerned, our priority is Spurs, no matter want. So for the day, we were all supporting Arsenal (once that match goes then we can all be the oppositions supporters against Arsenal).

Before the match, the talk was about Kane’s injury and Son’s absence (to South Korea). Who was going to be up front? I soon learned it was going to be Llorente; that is ok I thought, but he hasn’t played for a while, and he is more a box man. In other words, he will need the service. But we thought he could do the job (who else were we going to put in anyway?) and of course, he did score for us, only it was the wrong end. We should have informed which end we wanted him to score at.

The tinker man Claudio Ranieri had never seen defeat when facing Spurs. So did the players, manager or supporters feel the jinx? No, it’s bollocks man. We either win, which is down to us, not some high god looking down on us, ready and waiting to tickle us to death because of some superstition, or we lose. It is as simple as that (and we know how the Fulham game ended, so we know that “superstition” is just another name for turkey shooting in the dark).

Does March 2014 ring any bells for you? Well, it was the last time Spurs had won a game without Kane or Son in their line-up. Should we be surprised, sad, or worried?

One of the players whispered to me, before the match when I saw him, “I’d love to bathe in milk,” so I pondered for a while, then said, “would pasteurised be ok?” He just smiled and said, “I’d be happy if it just comes up to my chest.” That tickled me, but he was just nonplussed (what the heck was I laughing at?). What has that has to do with anything is beyond me (and probably you!), never mind… Football writing is a funny old game… So, back to the Fulham game.

Of course, we weren’t the only one to be worried, if Fulham were going to concede, then they will become the first club in Europe this season to concede more than 50 goals. On top of that, such a defeat will cement them in the bottom three. In fact, second from the bottom, the only team worse off than them was Huddersfield… two relegation possibilities (or certainties). As things turned out…

Anyway, we kicked off and allowed Fulham to get the upper hand. The feeling, while I was watching, was that they were going to score. Seventeen minutes into the match, they didn’t… what a relief; it was Llorente putting one past Lloris, who scored for them! The players didn’t know whether to punch his lights out or cry (for Christ sake, it was Fulham!). He scored a hat-trick when he faced Tranmere, the excitement must have gone to his head, and he just got over excited… Bob’s your uncle, and your Fanny is a distant aunt, and he put it in the back of his own net (silly boy). We just didn’t look like a team out there, yes we battled, but we didn’t look like scoring… that is against the opposition, not ourselves!
The second half came, and six minutes later Alli spared our blushes. He got the equaliser.

As the minutes ticked by we all thought our first draw of the season was coming, then up popped Winks (Winks by nature, a wink by habit) and scored in the dying seconds. We were horse crazy, the bench were doing a war dance, and as for the fans… yes, they let their emotions take hold and showed everybody why there were Spurs on our cock-a-doodle-do’s! To add a dampener to the result, Alli was added to our emergency list of comatosed players. An Arsenal fan couldn’t even have written the script out of hatred (that is if they could write).

Next up are Chelsea, the team that was beaten by Arsenal the day before we played Fulham (Arsenal being the team that crawls around North London in pretence they are us, but not us… just lost souls in limbo… go back to Woolwich where you belong). Enough about the chuckle brother I hear you shout.

Let us pray for some divine remedy to our injury predicament. So far God of luck (Bill Nicholson) has been shining down upon us and allowing the wind to move in our favour. But how long will it last…?
Until next time, be happy… life could be worse, you could have been born with certain genetic defects that made you support Arsenal or Chelsea or both (that would need some powerful medication… such as death by a thousand swords).

That is the tale of the day.