Spurs away to QPR.
I've just this moment stopped playing with the voodoo dolls. I've exhausted all the pins. I've dished out a hex or two for good measure. Arsenal v Chelsea. That show-piece game was my doing. So boring, one of the side effects from watching it was I've regressed to a foetus. I'm blogging from the womb. I've also taken the time to prepare some protective and transfiguration spells to make sure all corners are covered (although no guarantee our actual corners will show a marked improvement in delivery. Voodoo only stretches so far).
If we win tonight, we'll claim a top 4 finish. That's my resulting has no merit in the living world prediction.
Dark magic and sacrificed mascots aside, we've got no momentum, no mojo and we've been on a downward spiral for a while. More erratic never erotic. Same squad, same players that produced scintillating football and long unbeaten runs during the first part of the season. Got too comfortable, feel asleep. Alarm clock set for wake up call. Please, do not hit the snooze button.
This is the last must win of the season. It's the end of days must win. The Godzilla of must wins. No, scrap that...It's the bastard child of Godzilla and the Kraken of must win games.
This is it.
Come on you Spurs. Rip the heart from out of my chest and kick it about for 90 minutes. It's the only way I know.