Yesterday, I was sat in the corner of my room, slowly rocking backwards and forwards crying quietly at the news that Spurs were linked with Joey Barton. Emotional, psychologically and physically a complete meltdown of a mess. But enough about Barton. I was struggling to come to terms with this transfer news.

Having then recovered with an intense therapy session (watching the 1981 FA Cup final) I ventured out today, almost skipping the streets with the renewed optimism of a man that would rather dismiss any tabloid gossip and simply retain faith in the chairman and manager of the club to do the right thing.

Barton to Spurs? Never.

My day can not and will not be ruined.

That was true, until I found myself drowning in news feed articles relating to a one Djibril Cisse. I say one, because you'd be hard pressed to find two players of the same ilk.

What does Cisse do exactly? Apart from haircuts with colours and body art?

I could feel a panic attack coming on. Seconds later I relapsed.

Surely this is just another in a long line of PR stunts by a football agent to get his client some column space in preparation for the summer transfer market?

A glass of water and a ten minute meditation session (Arsenal 4 Spurs 4) had me back to a composed, logical state of mind.

I reviewed the story.

Conclusion?

Cisse threw a strop over a clash of egos with 'arch-rival' Kenwyne Jones. So Cisse decides to resort to childish playground games suggesting he is joining Spurs, to spite Jones who has been linked with us since the last transfer window.

If we wanted a player just like Cisse, then we may as well graffiti-spray Darren Bent from the neck down, dye his hair white, blindfold him and then tie his feet together with industrial strength tape.

He'd be three times more productive than the original. And on par with Robbie Keane.