Somewhere in a dimly-lit basement below Spurs ticket office, a tired looking Nigerian is crunching numbers. A door suddenly opens, revealing a burst of near-blinding light that causes the middle-aged man to recoil and shield his bloodshot eyes.
A Tottenham employee descends the flight of stone steps and extends a friendly, welcoming hand to Spurs’ new international striker.
“Hello Kanu! They told me you were down here.”
“Aaagh! Your grip, so strong, like five coiled snakes around my fingers.”
“Sorry mate. Welcome to Spurs. We hope you can follow where Louis Saha left off.”
“When I signed for the Chairman, I was told I would play a significant part in the new season. But here I am, adding up loyalty points. We had a gentleman’s agreement.”
“The deal suited all parties. Portsmouth were delighted with those Greggs vouchers. Can I have your autograph?”
“It is hard…..hard..to hold a pen these days. Can I sign with a rubber stamp?”
Kanu dips a rubber stamp into some blood red ink and marks the Spurs employee’s autograph book alongside his prized Andy Booth signature.
“It says ‘legal immigrant’.”
The experienced striker shrugs innocently and rolls a couple of dice.
“So how are the new loyalty points working out?”
“Still adding them up using the new formula. Number of years a season ticket holder…14…multiplied by the roll of two dice…11… equals….123 loyalty points.”
“I’m no Vorderman, but I think your maths is a bit off there."
“Numbers…..never my strong suit…except when it comes to wages. Then I am the African Rainman.”
“You okay for Saturday at the Sports Direct? You look a bit…tired.”
The Nigerian picks up three arthritis tablets and washes them down with a glass of cloudy water.
“I’m a strong man, heart of a lion. 47 ye…27 years old and (cough) ready for (splutters)…another new season. Bring on (cough) the Geordies. I can hold the ball up like away tickets in the post. Why (cough) is it so dusty down here?”
“We had to sack the old cleaner Vedran because he was so slow, I mean prehistoric. But we’ve got a new guy now. Luka! Luka! Get your arse down here.“
Showing posts with label loyalty points. Show all posts
Showing posts with label loyalty points. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Monday, April 9, 2012
Harold Redknapp's Easter Miracle
For those who have only been attending Spurs matches for the last four years, this is how it used to be at White Hart Lane. Crap. A skilful but defensively brittle team, playing lazy, half-arsed football, only to be outmuscled by spirited, less talented opposition. Maybe that should have been our Latin motto Audere est facupthirdus.
This week the club decided in its infinite wisdom, and without consultation or transparent explanation, to overhaul the loyalty points system. I have been a Tottenham home (and since 1999 away) season ticket holder for twenty years (equivalent in army time to three or four tours in Helmand Province) and felt my inner pain and deep-seated personal issues were adequately reflected in these ‘loyalty points’.
Yet under next year’s scheme only the last four years will be recognised meaning a fan who has jumped on the bandwagon to watch four of Tottenham’s best seven Premier League seasons is, in theory, equal to someone who has watched Spurs meekly surrender in every corner of the land and survived the Gary Doherty era with just a stutter and a lazy eye. It’s an interesting definition of loyalty.
No doubt some of these nouveau fans were among those heading for the exits on 80 minutes. I can only assume Natalie Portman and Mila Kunis were at home entwined in a hot tub eagerly awaiting their heroes’ return. Maybe there should be extra ‘loyalty points’ for those fans who choose to stay to the final whistle?
Norwich played with the aggression of a recently divorced wife and displayed equivalent theatrics. I’ve had girlfriends less tactile than Grant Holt. Continually gripping a defender’s shirt, he barges around the penalty area like an unpenalised Kevin Davies and might have earned a penalty against the shadow of Ledley King, but equally conceded one for trying to mount Ryan Nelsen in the second half. Referee Michael Oliver’s poor grip on the game was epitomised by the man in black halting a Spurs move and playing Norwich into a goalscoring position with a ginger flick of his feet.
The continual appeals and gamesmanship from the away side, for me, surprised and detracted from an impressively tenacious performance that took full advantage of a listless Spurs display. But one win in eight games does not lie and it is a damning indictment of the diminishing quality of the Premier League that Spurs somehow still find themselves in fourth position. The greatest Easter miracle for approximately 2012 years. I'm sure Harry will want to take credit for that.
Few will favour Spurs in next Sunday’s FA Cup semi-final against Chelsea after this unexpected debacle. But anyone who has followed this damned team for over four years (yes, we weren’t established in 2008!) will tell you that’s exactly when the bastards are most likely to turn on the style.
This week the club decided in its infinite wisdom, and without consultation or transparent explanation, to overhaul the loyalty points system. I have been a Tottenham home (and since 1999 away) season ticket holder for twenty years (equivalent in army time to three or four tours in Helmand Province) and felt my inner pain and deep-seated personal issues were adequately reflected in these ‘loyalty points’.
Yet under next year’s scheme only the last four years will be recognised meaning a fan who has jumped on the bandwagon to watch four of Tottenham’s best seven Premier League seasons is, in theory, equal to someone who has watched Spurs meekly surrender in every corner of the land and survived the Gary Doherty era with just a stutter and a lazy eye. It’s an interesting definition of loyalty.
No doubt some of these nouveau fans were among those heading for the exits on 80 minutes. I can only assume Natalie Portman and Mila Kunis were at home entwined in a hot tub eagerly awaiting their heroes’ return. Maybe there should be extra ‘loyalty points’ for those fans who choose to stay to the final whistle?
Norwich played with the aggression of a recently divorced wife and displayed equivalent theatrics. I’ve had girlfriends less tactile than Grant Holt. Continually gripping a defender’s shirt, he barges around the penalty area like an unpenalised Kevin Davies and might have earned a penalty against the shadow of Ledley King, but equally conceded one for trying to mount Ryan Nelsen in the second half. Referee Michael Oliver’s poor grip on the game was epitomised by the man in black halting a Spurs move and playing Norwich into a goalscoring position with a ginger flick of his feet.
The continual appeals and gamesmanship from the away side, for me, surprised and detracted from an impressively tenacious performance that took full advantage of a listless Spurs display. But one win in eight games does not lie and it is a damning indictment of the diminishing quality of the Premier League that Spurs somehow still find themselves in fourth position. The greatest Easter miracle for approximately 2012 years. I'm sure Harry will want to take credit for that.
Few will favour Spurs in next Sunday’s FA Cup semi-final against Chelsea after this unexpected debacle. But anyone who has followed this damned team for over four years (yes, we weren’t established in 2008!) will tell you that’s exactly when the bastards are most likely to turn on the style.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)