Jan Vertonghen is an absolute beast of a player. Drop him blindfolded in a Siberian forest and he would probably report for training on Tuesday wearing a tiger-skin, shrugging off a mild case of the blisters.
Wrestling a feral tiger protecting its territory, Jan’s salon perfect hair would undoubtedly remain flawless and unruffled. I dare any Spurs fan to recreate the Belgian’s rock-like side-parting with a small rake and two tubs of Studio Line’s Indestructible hair glue. It’s virtually impossible to emulate and god knows I’ve put in the mirror hours.
The transformation of Vertonghen from overworked centre-half to buccaneering left-back proved a pivotal moment as Spurs overcame a sticky first half against a lively QPR to flip a 0-1 deficit into a welcome first home win of the season.
Andre Villas-Boas’ bold but ultimately misguided decision to start Gareth Bale, Tottenham’s most feared and effective attacking player, at left back spectacularly backfired. In the first half, Spurs looked impotent with Bale in a retreated position and the Welshman laboured with the additional defensive responsibility. Meanwhile, fellow speed merchant Aaron Lennon was bogged down with extra defensive coverage and QPR effectively swamped the midfield with Sandro uncharacteristically careless in possession.
Spurs should have been trailing by at least two goals headed into the break but for Brad Friedel’s ageless limbs and West London profligacy. At half-time, the now customary boos rang out, but despite the pointless protests a listless display had been relatively unpunished and I felt optimistic that Spurs could turn the tables with minor tactical tinkering.
And so it came to pass. AVB switched Vertonghen to left back, sacrificing the ineffectual Gylfi Sigurdsson to bring in Stephen Caulker at centre-half and unleash Welsh wonder Bale where he could finally damage the opposition. Clint Dempsey moved to a more advanced role and began to cause QPR problems with his intelligent forward play. Suddenly, a sluggish Spurs were reborn.
Overdue karma (see the previous blog) gifted the home side an own goal equaliser before a surging Vertonghen run from defence released Bale whose rasping shot cannoned off the bar and dropped to a gleeful jermain Defoe who buried the rebound. And in that moment boo-ers and supporters were, again, united as one.
Spurs dictated the majority of the second half, but QPR always remained dangerous on the counter and had a wonderful opportunity to equalise in the 72nd minute when the ball fell kindly for the effervescent Junior Hoilett only for Vertonghen to slide in heroically with a perfect, goal-saving tackle.
Three points secured and not a hair out of place. Spurs bounce to eighth, one point behind 'title contenders' Arsenal, and AVB’s job is safe for another week at least.
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Friday, September 21, 2012
Are Spurs the unluckiest team in football?
If an old Romany lady offers you heather outside White Hart Lane on Sunday, I suggest you buy a fistful. Somewhere in history, Tottenham Hotspur underwent a ‘luck bypass’ and the imbalance of fortune needs to be redressed.
Whenever Spurs score a goal, I instinctively look for the offside flag. Swivelling my head like a suspicious owl, I then check the referee’s body language. Is he fending off disbelieving Spurs players, their heads shaking like crazed bobbleheads? Other fans are celebrating and performing mid-air somersaults but my eyes are madly scanning the field, waiting grimly for fate’s next cruel turn. Only when the ball is placed on the centre circle, can I allow myself a belated punch in the air. Yet far too often I slump back in my seat a knowing but broken man, curling my lip at an unloving god.
In life, ‘You’re either paranoid or you’re right’, but there can be little doubt that Spurs are a bunch of unlucky f**kers. Thursday’s entertaining 0-0 draw with Italian ankle-tappers Lazio was another case in point with THREE Spurs goals disallowed. Two should have stood. Clint Dempsey’s stooping header beat the offside trap while Stephen Caulker’s late nod was inexplicably chalked off for a foul after beaten pasta merchant Stefano Mauri flopped to the deck. Had the likes of Romanian referee Ovidiu Alin Hategan officiated in the Premier League’s ‘golden era’, Alan Shearer would have registered three career goals. Bizarrely, UEFA's official website failed to mention any of Tottenham's disallowed strikes!
And so Spurs’ initial foray into the 2012/13 Europa League passed without reward despite an encouraging and cohesive display with rookie defenders Kyle Naughton and Stephen Caulker highlighting their potential for better things and new keeper Hugo Lloris a cat-like presence between the sticks. Andre Villas-Boas showed respect for Spurs fans and the competition by fielding a strong line-up and his team performed but were too often chopped down in promising positions, resulting in 22 fouls and four yellow cards for the visitors. Referee Hategan again displaying hippie-like leniency.
But what of that dreaded Spurs luck? We’ve been poisoned by lasagne and demoted by a flukey Chelsea penalty victory (add Barcelona superstar Lionel Messi falling inexplicably ‘ill’ before the semi-final) denying two Champions League berths; had a ball several feet over the line at Old Trafford missed by the officials and two game-changing goals awarded for Chelsea despite having not crossed the line. One of our greatest players John White was tragically struck dead by lightning with Spurs at the pinnacle of English football and the list goes on and grows.
Disallowed goals now flow like cheap pinot grigio. Last season Spurs fans watched, open-mouthed as a bizarre number of Emmanuel Adebayor strikes were ruled out despite replays showing their authenticity. Had just one been allowed, Spurs would have finished third. Already this season, five Tottenham goals have been disallowed in five games.
Knock on the door of your nearest caravan.
Footnote: Given the attendance of UEFA grand fromage Michel Platini at Thursday night’s game, the racist chanting directed by a section of the Lazio support towards Jermain Defoe and other Spurs players will hopefully be punished. Hearing ‘monkey chants’ at an English football ground felt like a grim rewind to the 1980s and cannot pass without penalty. Update: UEFA has since charged Lazio and its Control and Disciplinary Board will meet on October 18th to deliver a verdict. It's worth noting, however, that Porto were fined a paltry £16,700 for a similar offence against Manchester City. Punishment enough?
Whenever Spurs score a goal, I instinctively look for the offside flag. Swivelling my head like a suspicious owl, I then check the referee’s body language. Is he fending off disbelieving Spurs players, their heads shaking like crazed bobbleheads? Other fans are celebrating and performing mid-air somersaults but my eyes are madly scanning the field, waiting grimly for fate’s next cruel turn. Only when the ball is placed on the centre circle, can I allow myself a belated punch in the air. Yet far too often I slump back in my seat a knowing but broken man, curling my lip at an unloving god.
In life, ‘You’re either paranoid or you’re right’, but there can be little doubt that Spurs are a bunch of unlucky f**kers. Thursday’s entertaining 0-0 draw with Italian ankle-tappers Lazio was another case in point with THREE Spurs goals disallowed. Two should have stood. Clint Dempsey’s stooping header beat the offside trap while Stephen Caulker’s late nod was inexplicably chalked off for a foul after beaten pasta merchant Stefano Mauri flopped to the deck. Had the likes of Romanian referee Ovidiu Alin Hategan officiated in the Premier League’s ‘golden era’, Alan Shearer would have registered three career goals. Bizarrely, UEFA's official website failed to mention any of Tottenham's disallowed strikes!
And so Spurs’ initial foray into the 2012/13 Europa League passed without reward despite an encouraging and cohesive display with rookie defenders Kyle Naughton and Stephen Caulker highlighting their potential for better things and new keeper Hugo Lloris a cat-like presence between the sticks. Andre Villas-Boas showed respect for Spurs fans and the competition by fielding a strong line-up and his team performed but were too often chopped down in promising positions, resulting in 22 fouls and four yellow cards for the visitors. Referee Hategan again displaying hippie-like leniency.
But what of that dreaded Spurs luck? We’ve been poisoned by lasagne and demoted by a flukey Chelsea penalty victory (add Barcelona superstar Lionel Messi falling inexplicably ‘ill’ before the semi-final) denying two Champions League berths; had a ball several feet over the line at Old Trafford missed by the officials and two game-changing goals awarded for Chelsea despite having not crossed the line. One of our greatest players John White was tragically struck dead by lightning with Spurs at the pinnacle of English football and the list goes on and grows.
Disallowed goals now flow like cheap pinot grigio. Last season Spurs fans watched, open-mouthed as a bizarre number of Emmanuel Adebayor strikes were ruled out despite replays showing their authenticity. Had just one been allowed, Spurs would have finished third. Already this season, five Tottenham goals have been disallowed in five games.
Knock on the door of your nearest caravan.
Footnote: Given the attendance of UEFA grand fromage Michel Platini at Thursday night’s game, the racist chanting directed by a section of the Lazio support towards Jermain Defoe and other Spurs players will hopefully be punished. Hearing ‘monkey chants’ at an English football ground felt like a grim rewind to the 1980s and cannot pass without penalty. Update: UEFA has since charged Lazio and its Control and Disciplinary Board will meet on October 18th to deliver a verdict. It's worth noting, however, that Porto were fined a paltry £16,700 for a similar offence against Manchester City. Punishment enough?
Sunday, September 16, 2012
AVB dodges ‘axe’, ewoks go mad in Reading
On Sunday morning, the bomb was dropped. Dave Kidd (who in 1996 correctly predicted that robot human hybrids would inhabit Milton Keynes) exclusively revealed in the highly-respected ‘People’ newspaper that Andre Villas-Boas was a mere three games from the sack.
‘The People’, affectionately regarded as an ‘inky bible with tits’, is rarely wrong outside of speculative tittle-tattle and spurious tabloid chuff and suddenly a terrible scraping sound was audible in north London. Presumably, Alan Curbishley rising, zombie-like, from his managerial crypt. Meanwhile, Kevin Bond was wildly texting, ‘DO U NEED DRIVER?! PETROL & PRINGLES GRATIS.’ Inevitably to Curbishley’s old number.
But just as the former West Ham manager was pushing away the concrete slab, Villas-Boas shockingly WON a game and SAVED his career. The scenes at the Madejeski Stadium were joyous and wild. I swear I saw a group of exuberant ewoks bundling each other when Gareth Bale scored the pivotal second, but now accept that my reading of ‘The People’ had triggered dreadful hallucinations and a complete removal from reality.
As I departed the fog of Reading, via its dreaded stadium bus, memories and thought fragments slowly pieced together and I recalled a fantastic (yet ewok-free) Spurs performance. Jermain Defoe’s brace and intuitive play rightfully earned plaudits but Mousa Dembele’s mastery of midfield was, at times, jaw-dropping. Dembele kicks like Van Damme, wows like Hepburn and may prove to be Daniel Levy’s best business yet.
The Belgian drove forward in a way that Luka Modric never could, breaking up play, prompting and weaving together a previously unhinged midfield corps in tandem with hairy enforcer Sandro and freeing the fast-forward Bale and Aaron Lennon with destructive effect. Elsewhere, compatriot Jan Vertonghen marshalled the defence superbly alongside the unfairly maligned William ‘Mad Bill’ Gallas who provided his now standard goal line clearance among other key interventions.
And so AVB was granted a ‘stay of execution’ or Kidd’s story was shockingly exposed as conniving bollocks. Whatever took place, it delivered a welcome transfusion of enthusiasm to Spurs fans. And maybe, just maybe, we have a season on our hands.
‘The People’, affectionately regarded as an ‘inky bible with tits’, is rarely wrong outside of speculative tittle-tattle and spurious tabloid chuff and suddenly a terrible scraping sound was audible in north London. Presumably, Alan Curbishley rising, zombie-like, from his managerial crypt. Meanwhile, Kevin Bond was wildly texting, ‘DO U NEED DRIVER?! PETROL & PRINGLES GRATIS.’ Inevitably to Curbishley’s old number.
But just as the former West Ham manager was pushing away the concrete slab, Villas-Boas shockingly WON a game and SAVED his career. The scenes at the Madejeski Stadium were joyous and wild. I swear I saw a group of exuberant ewoks bundling each other when Gareth Bale scored the pivotal second, but now accept that my reading of ‘The People’ had triggered dreadful hallucinations and a complete removal from reality.
As I departed the fog of Reading, via its dreaded stadium bus, memories and thought fragments slowly pieced together and I recalled a fantastic (yet ewok-free) Spurs performance. Jermain Defoe’s brace and intuitive play rightfully earned plaudits but Mousa Dembele’s mastery of midfield was, at times, jaw-dropping. Dembele kicks like Van Damme, wows like Hepburn and may prove to be Daniel Levy’s best business yet.
The Belgian drove forward in a way that Luka Modric never could, breaking up play, prompting and weaving together a previously unhinged midfield corps in tandem with hairy enforcer Sandro and freeing the fast-forward Bale and Aaron Lennon with destructive effect. Elsewhere, compatriot Jan Vertonghen marshalled the defence superbly alongside the unfairly maligned William ‘Mad Bill’ Gallas who provided his now standard goal line clearance among other key interventions.
And so AVB was granted a ‘stay of execution’ or Kidd’s story was shockingly exposed as conniving bollocks. Whatever took place, it delivered a welcome transfusion of enthusiasm to Spurs fans. And maybe, just maybe, we have a season on our hands.
Saturday, September 1, 2012
Daniel Levy’s ‘Moneyball’ and the price of cheap boos
In the final week of the transfer window, Daniel Levy was throwing around more bids than a violent nursing home. This scattergun approach, inevitably, came at a price on Saturday as a disjointed Spurs were pegged back by a spirited Norwich City in front of a funereal home crowd. The money conscious Levy sold yet failed to replace Tottenham’s two main playmakers banking over £43 million in the last week of the window, but another buoyant balance sheet has come at the price of an unbalanced and underperforming team. Great business, but this is football’s ‘Moneyball’.
The afternoon’s lowlight was undoubtedly the cascade of boos at half-time with the score all square, thanks only to two stellar saves from the under-threat Brad Friedel. It was our ‘bin bag’ moment. Tottenham supporters can mock the Emirates match experience as much as they please but the emergence of the nouveau glory fan at White Hart Lane has proved cancerous to Spurs’ once vibrant home atmosphere.
These are not true fans. Most likely they are beneficiaries of the club’s new and misguided ‘loyalty’ point system where ‘support’ over four of the club’s most successful Premier League seasons is valued and rewarded. Loyal supporters in grim times past (who may now have young families and find their opportunities to attend limited) have been marginalised in recognition of these baying parasites. But I guess four years of 'support' means the nouveau fan is 'due'.
In truth, Spurs played like strangers, without the coherence of old. Partially, this was due to a feisty Norwich outfit who, on another more fortunate day, may have departed with all three points. They certainly fashioned the better chances. I would pay them greater credit, but for the endless histrionics of Simeon Jackson who in his time on the field kissed more turf than a 2008 Lindsay Lohan.
Somehow an adroit finish from debutant Mousa Dembele gifted Spurs the lead, but it was a false promise. As Norwich pressed, Tottenham capitulated for the second week in succession with Snodgrass drilling past the otherwise excellent Friedel after another Norwich free-kick.
There was still time for the dismissal of the returning Tom Huddlestone who was red carded after a 50-50 challenge with Jonny Howson. Referee Mark Halsey (who endured a slapstick final 20 minutes) will probably look back at that decision through a gap between his fingers.
After a promising but unrewarded start at Newcastle, the Andre Villas-Boas era is misfiring. Many seasoned supporters around me, including the measured ones, felt the Portuguese would be gone by Christmas. Thankfully, David Pleat is still available. Like the dizzied Juande Ramos before him, AVB is a flashy, ‘designer’ signing favoured by Levy, yet under his stewardship top class players are playing listlessly, without cohesion or understanding. His fault or Levy’s window? Like a hermaphrodite, it’s a bit of both. True Spurs fans will cheer and persevere regardless.
The afternoon’s lowlight was undoubtedly the cascade of boos at half-time with the score all square, thanks only to two stellar saves from the under-threat Brad Friedel. It was our ‘bin bag’ moment. Tottenham supporters can mock the Emirates match experience as much as they please but the emergence of the nouveau glory fan at White Hart Lane has proved cancerous to Spurs’ once vibrant home atmosphere.
These are not true fans. Most likely they are beneficiaries of the club’s new and misguided ‘loyalty’ point system where ‘support’ over four of the club’s most successful Premier League seasons is valued and rewarded. Loyal supporters in grim times past (who may now have young families and find their opportunities to attend limited) have been marginalised in recognition of these baying parasites. But I guess four years of 'support' means the nouveau fan is 'due'.
In truth, Spurs played like strangers, without the coherence of old. Partially, this was due to a feisty Norwich outfit who, on another more fortunate day, may have departed with all three points. They certainly fashioned the better chances. I would pay them greater credit, but for the endless histrionics of Simeon Jackson who in his time on the field kissed more turf than a 2008 Lindsay Lohan.
Somehow an adroit finish from debutant Mousa Dembele gifted Spurs the lead, but it was a false promise. As Norwich pressed, Tottenham capitulated for the second week in succession with Snodgrass drilling past the otherwise excellent Friedel after another Norwich free-kick.
There was still time for the dismissal of the returning Tom Huddlestone who was red carded after a 50-50 challenge with Jonny Howson. Referee Mark Halsey (who endured a slapstick final 20 minutes) will probably look back at that decision through a gap between his fingers.
After a promising but unrewarded start at Newcastle, the Andre Villas-Boas era is misfiring. Many seasoned supporters around me, including the measured ones, felt the Portuguese would be gone by Christmas. Thankfully, David Pleat is still available. Like the dizzied Juande Ramos before him, AVB is a flashy, ‘designer’ signing favoured by Levy, yet under his stewardship top class players are playing listlessly, without cohesion or understanding. His fault or Levy’s window? Like a hermaphrodite, it’s a bit of both. True Spurs fans will cheer and persevere regardless.
Monday, August 27, 2012
Luka Modric: A strange goodbye
With more spin than a revolving football, Tottenham finally announced the departure of Luka Modric to Real Madrid in bizarre circumstances.
Under the headline ‘Club announcement’, Spurs trumpeted a new partnership deal with Real Madrid and ‘the transfer of Luka Modric’.
"The partnership agreement will see the two Clubs working together in respect of players, coaching, best practices and commercial relationships," announced the club. Translated on the goobledigook search engine, this means, "Real Madrid now have preferred buyer status in respect of our best players.” The ‘partnership’ received a passing mention on the official Real Madrid website.
But this does, in fact, represent progress. Four years ago, the slightest flirtation from Manchester United or Liverpool would precede a star player's exit.
Competition for a Champions League place over the last three seasons has raised the club’s profile and stature and allowed Chairman Daniel Levy to play greater hardball (a role he relishes) with Premier League rivals.
Selling to a foreign football giant means that Modric will have no direct effect on Spurs’ achievements (or lack thereof!) in the coming years. The Croatian might have fetched more money if sold to Chelsea last summer, but the sale of one of our best players to a cash rich rival would have sent out an ominous message about the ambitions of the club.
Unlike our friends on the other side of north London, there will be no burning of shirts or hate directed in Modric’s direction. He was never a ‘badge kisser’ playing up to fans' loyalties with false statements of devotion (cough Van Persie), but a wonderful player and key cog in Spurs’ progression from also-rans to contenders.
The best of luck to him.
Under the headline ‘Club announcement’, Spurs trumpeted a new partnership deal with Real Madrid and ‘the transfer of Luka Modric’.
"The partnership agreement will see the two Clubs working together in respect of players, coaching, best practices and commercial relationships," announced the club. Translated on the goobledigook search engine, this means, "Real Madrid now have preferred buyer status in respect of our best players.” The ‘partnership’ received a passing mention on the official Real Madrid website.
But this does, in fact, represent progress. Four years ago, the slightest flirtation from Manchester United or Liverpool would precede a star player's exit.
Competition for a Champions League place over the last three seasons has raised the club’s profile and stature and allowed Chairman Daniel Levy to play greater hardball (a role he relishes) with Premier League rivals.
Selling to a foreign football giant means that Modric will have no direct effect on Spurs’ achievements (or lack thereof!) in the coming years. The Croatian might have fetched more money if sold to Chelsea last summer, but the sale of one of our best players to a cash rich rival would have sent out an ominous message about the ambitions of the club.
Unlike our friends on the other side of north London, there will be no burning of shirts or hate directed in Modric’s direction. He was never a ‘badge kisser’ playing up to fans' loyalties with false statements of devotion (cough Van Persie), but a wonderful player and key cog in Spurs’ progression from also-rans to contenders.
The best of luck to him.
Saturday, August 25, 2012
It was all Jenas’ fault II
False economy has, again, cost Spurs (five) points at the start of a new season. Credit goes to a battling West Brom who ably soaked up Tottenham pressure and pot-shots in the first half, to capitalise when a series of skittish substitutions in the second saw the home side cave in alarmingly.
The shadow of Daniel Levy’s tiresome transfer brinkmanship loomed large over proceedings. The (drawn-out) signing of Emmanuel Adebayor (Spurs’ first purchased striker in three years) was tempered by his inevitable lack of match fitness, allied with the unresolved future of Luka Modric and unpopular casting out of fan favourite Michael Dawson.
The match followed an all too familiar pattern for seasoned White Hart Lane watchers. A well-drilled away side sitting back, content for a battling point or joy from a fast counter or set-piece while Tottenham try to walk the ball into the back of the net. Of course, it wouldn’t be a home game without the now standard brace of disallowed ‘goals’. Had Spurs been wearing an all blue strip, they might have counted.
Spurs resembled a cohesive outfit under AVB’s starting 4-2-3-1 formation restricting West Brom to one effort of note in the first 62 minutes yet when the lacklustre Adebayor was introduced for Rafael van der Vaart the balance was lost and a large hole opened up in the midfield, exacerbated when Sandro was frustratingly substituted on 73 minutes.
Benoit Assou-Ekotto’s speculative opener brought joy, relief and optimism on 74 minutes, but the goal papered over fast appearing cracks. Within two minutes, Jermain Defoe who had held the ball up surprisingly well was off and replaced in favour of a dreadful Jermaine Jenas cameo. West Brom launched a full-on assault and the Spurs back-line buckled with reduced protection. As the game entered injury time, it looked as if Spurs might hold out for the win but when the ball fell kindly for James Morrison in the box he drilled in a merited equaliser for the visitors.
A few knives were out for Andre Villas-Boas at the final whistle but those holding them had drawn their weapons before the season started. Poor old Jenas, responsible for Spurs not being Champions League winners as well as common cancer, was another easy target, but an unsettled and disjointed first team was the true villain of the piece. Will Levy ever learn that the points thrown away at the start of the season carry a heinous implication at the end of it? The day the transfer deadline is brought forward to before the first game of the season I will cartwheel in ecstasy.
There were positives; the continuing emergence of Jake Livermore in midfield, a competent debut from Jan Vertonghen as well as a heartwarming reception for recently retired legend Ledley King. Those with a tendency to knee-jerk or panic will undoubtedly be on suicide watch tonight, but as a steely-eyed on-site veteran of hundreds of Spurs games (I am heavily scarred inside and out), I can assure the faint-hearted that fortunes will improve after the close of that pesky window. Remember, this time last season we had no points in the bank. One point from two games? Nosebleed territory.
The shadow of Daniel Levy’s tiresome transfer brinkmanship loomed large over proceedings. The (drawn-out) signing of Emmanuel Adebayor (Spurs’ first purchased striker in three years) was tempered by his inevitable lack of match fitness, allied with the unresolved future of Luka Modric and unpopular casting out of fan favourite Michael Dawson.
The match followed an all too familiar pattern for seasoned White Hart Lane watchers. A well-drilled away side sitting back, content for a battling point or joy from a fast counter or set-piece while Tottenham try to walk the ball into the back of the net. Of course, it wouldn’t be a home game without the now standard brace of disallowed ‘goals’. Had Spurs been wearing an all blue strip, they might have counted.
Spurs resembled a cohesive outfit under AVB’s starting 4-2-3-1 formation restricting West Brom to one effort of note in the first 62 minutes yet when the lacklustre Adebayor was introduced for Rafael van der Vaart the balance was lost and a large hole opened up in the midfield, exacerbated when Sandro was frustratingly substituted on 73 minutes.
Benoit Assou-Ekotto’s speculative opener brought joy, relief and optimism on 74 minutes, but the goal papered over fast appearing cracks. Within two minutes, Jermain Defoe who had held the ball up surprisingly well was off and replaced in favour of a dreadful Jermaine Jenas cameo. West Brom launched a full-on assault and the Spurs back-line buckled with reduced protection. As the game entered injury time, it looked as if Spurs might hold out for the win but when the ball fell kindly for James Morrison in the box he drilled in a merited equaliser for the visitors.
A few knives were out for Andre Villas-Boas at the final whistle but those holding them had drawn their weapons before the season started. Poor old Jenas, responsible for Spurs not being Champions League winners as well as common cancer, was another easy target, but an unsettled and disjointed first team was the true villain of the piece. Will Levy ever learn that the points thrown away at the start of the season carry a heinous implication at the end of it? The day the transfer deadline is brought forward to before the first game of the season I will cartwheel in ecstasy.
There were positives; the continuing emergence of Jake Livermore in midfield, a competent debut from Jan Vertonghen as well as a heartwarming reception for recently retired legend Ledley King. Those with a tendency to knee-jerk or panic will undoubtedly be on suicide watch tonight, but as a steely-eyed on-site veteran of hundreds of Spurs games (I am heavily scarred inside and out), I can assure the faint-hearted that fortunes will improve after the close of that pesky window. Remember, this time last season we had no points in the bank. One point from two games? Nosebleed territory.
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Spurs sign striker, the end of the world begins
When I gazed up at the rapidly darkening clouds I realised something strange was happening. What had been a sunny early evening in north London suddenly took upon a dark and ominous turn. Shuffling, lobotomised figures emerged from the side streets, mumbling incoherently while dragging their spasticated limbs forth to the local bookmakers.
Small fires broke out sporadically in the local high street as if conjured maliciously by sinister and evil magicks. I looked down wide-eyed and noticed the rubber soles of my Nike trainers were burning and stamped furiously to extinguish the tiny flames. A hideous, banshee-like wail sliced through the air causing a mid-pavement collision between Bugaboo prams. Two babies shot out like pop tarts and appeared to high five in mid-flight before landing effortlessly in the opposite buggy.
From the newly-formed shadows, a shrivelled woman in an Arsenal shirt grabbed my hand in one snake-like motion and started babbling in tongues. “Are you all right, lady?” I enquired, foolishly engaging the demented woman with misguided post-Olympic spirit.
“Manubuyorcomintatottinhemshittyounort,” she garbled before scuttling off on all-fours backwards in the direction of the Emirates Stadium. What was this devilry?
Ignoring the strong aroma of brimstone (possibly a new Starbucks coffee flavouring), I stepped over a large crack that had formed in the pavement and found myself drawn to the flickering window of the local television store.
Two TVs, in particular, caught my eye. Each featured a yellow news ticker racing across the screen at breakneck speed. One switched to Sky Sports News said: ‘Adebayor signs for Spurs’. The other fixed on BBC News stated, ‘Rapture begins in north London…’
Aware of a looming presence standing alongside me, I turned sheepishly and looked up into the crazed yellow eyes of a large winged demon with rubbery, lobster red skin and curling ram-like horns on either side of his bulbous head.
“What’s happened?” said the winged satanic beast, pausing briefly to barbecue a passing Chelsea fan with a flaming burst of his fiery breath.
“Levy’s signed a striker,” I gasped, slightly distracted by the hellish legions slowly congregating around us to gaze blankly at the two televisions. The look of sheer bewilderment on their faces was a sight to behold.
“Ah, so that’s why it’s the end of the f***ing world!” laughed the demon. “Change of plan, my demonic brothers. I think we’ll head back to hell for another nine months. I want to see how this season ends.”
Small fires broke out sporadically in the local high street as if conjured maliciously by sinister and evil magicks. I looked down wide-eyed and noticed the rubber soles of my Nike trainers were burning and stamped furiously to extinguish the tiny flames. A hideous, banshee-like wail sliced through the air causing a mid-pavement collision between Bugaboo prams. Two babies shot out like pop tarts and appeared to high five in mid-flight before landing effortlessly in the opposite buggy.
From the newly-formed shadows, a shrivelled woman in an Arsenal shirt grabbed my hand in one snake-like motion and started babbling in tongues. “Are you all right, lady?” I enquired, foolishly engaging the demented woman with misguided post-Olympic spirit.
“Manubuyorcomintatottinhemshittyounort,” she garbled before scuttling off on all-fours backwards in the direction of the Emirates Stadium. What was this devilry?
Ignoring the strong aroma of brimstone (possibly a new Starbucks coffee flavouring), I stepped over a large crack that had formed in the pavement and found myself drawn to the flickering window of the local television store.
Two TVs, in particular, caught my eye. Each featured a yellow news ticker racing across the screen at breakneck speed. One switched to Sky Sports News said: ‘Adebayor signs for Spurs’. The other fixed on BBC News stated, ‘Rapture begins in north London…’
Aware of a looming presence standing alongside me, I turned sheepishly and looked up into the crazed yellow eyes of a large winged demon with rubbery, lobster red skin and curling ram-like horns on either side of his bulbous head.
“What’s happened?” said the winged satanic beast, pausing briefly to barbecue a passing Chelsea fan with a flaming burst of his fiery breath.
“Levy’s signed a striker,” I gasped, slightly distracted by the hellish legions slowly congregating around us to gaze blankly at the two televisions. The look of sheer bewilderment on their faces was a sight to behold.
“Ah, so that’s why it’s the end of the f***ing world!” laughed the demon. “Change of plan, my demonic brothers. I think we’ll head back to hell for another nine months. I want to see how this season ends.”
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)