Dry them

It's simple. To any Spurs fans reading this (all three of you). Don't get your knickers in a twist about anything going on at the minute. Not until December. Then you can start your gloating or your crying, depending on circumstance. Until then, save your heart from unnecessary stress and just laugh at the calamity that burns your eyes. By listening to the critics and believing the hype birthed from those pockets of victories that falsely pass for progression you lot get a little too confused and with hearts on sleeves jump off a cliff like a lemming believing it will sprout wings.

In the past Spurs have failed to turn up when it mattered, and this season we've managed to turn up a number of times. Enough to win something. But the swagger has only made brief (if brilliant) appearances and has completely strayed away from travelling to the continent. Ton up and some with goals scored for and against at the Lane hasn't put us into a situation any better than a year or two years ago, has it? There's something there, something decent, something that could be even better. But at the minute its like searching for a diamond ring up King Kongs pile-infested crack.

Ramos has given us smiles and joy with a route to Europe, in the midst of him inheriting a side that basically, has over-achieved. Not under-achieved like you all wish to believe. Our group of players are only capable of producing the goods as a whole unit 10 times per season rather than 38 times. Yes, we can on occasions live with the best teams in the country, but so can West Ham United, and they manage to take more points off them.

So forget what Martin Jol did for us. Because it has no relevance to the present. The true impact of Ramos this season, having joined with the season already written off, has been to lay the foundations on the training field and in the kitchen. He'll salvage one or two players from the current lot, and then we'll sit back and watch Levy and Comolli spend another £50M in the summer. It's after this point that you can start analysing performance and tactics and all the other things you waste hours of your life posting about in message boards like 'In the know' info about how we are signing the new Zokora.

Two years from now, if we are not beginning another transitional period, then I'll open a bottle of twenty year old rum and have a quiet drink celebrating the progress made. If we are, I'll be shaking my fist in the general direction of Levy's seat in the directors box on match day with much veiny anger and a few choice words said under my breath before telling everyone I've only spent nearly £700 on a season ticket so I have the right to complain.

Epiphany

I had an epiphany. The precise moment was when Newcastle won a free-kick and Paul Robinson, chief architect, built a wall which he then inexplicable used to hinder his view. Everyone in the ground knew what was about to happen. It opened up and swallowed him.

This epiphany crystallised all that I could see before me. This was no longer White Hart Lane. The men in Lilywhite were no longer just ordinary men in shirts, shorts and socks. I could only stand back and marvel at the clarity of the truth that seemed to come out of nowhere like an optic blast, rendering me unconscious. And when I awoke, I could see everything for what it was.

Welcome to the Levy Institute for Mediocre Learning, formerly the Levy School for Ungifted Players. The worldwide headquarters of the S-Corporation.

These uncanny S-Men in their white and blue uniforms do not do anything by chance. They’re the result of a sudden back step in footballing evolution, latent with pathetic abilities which generally manifest themselves in most games post Carling Cup final.

Outsiders harbour an intense laughter fit for these Spurs players (Homo Inferiors), who are regarded by a number of TV pundits and message board users as the epitome of average and are thus widely viewed as a non-event threat-wise to the Big Four (© Sky Sports).

The S-Men have been funded by the the benevolent Professor Daniel Levy who has been at the helm of the academy for several years now, helping to train young over-priced players with exaggerated potentials with the misguided agenda to help protect themselves from Wengeto, the Head-Hunters and other such threats like away games and hotel food.

Professor L has what he believes to be an astonishing rota of Spurs players, aided by Cerebrolli which helps him detect over-rated players the world over. The S-Men flatter to deceive. Without spirit, guile and pride they ghost through 90 minutes, a shadow of their former Wembley glory and their black and white forefathers.

This is the...........

T H E ~ S – M E N

“I’m the best at what I do, but what I do isn’t very good” – Jermaine

Professor L

Species: Chairman
Notable aliases: Daniel Levy, The Bald King, The Master of Money
Abilities: Capable of increasing season tickets every year, consuming all the negative backlash, and still managing to sell-out all the seats in the ground. Has ability to manipulate the masses into buying over-priced club merchandise. Is able to exponentially fund the Institute with special DVD releases of victories over other clubs reserve teams and the £4000 coffee-table Opus. There's uncertainty over what his true agenda is.

The Special Juan

Species: Manager
Notable aliases: Juande Ramos, The 11 Club Man
Abilities: Oversees curricula and academic aspects, teaching the science of football and the mathematics of ‘scoring as many as we concede’. Capable of reality warping, manifested as probability alteration and magic; Ramos altered reality with three simple words “Make me dizzy”. Suddenly Spurs won silverware with the same crop of players that were failing miserably in the league. However, the reality warp has now faded, leaving him with an uphill struggle to once more achieve a miracle. His powers appear weak at the present moment. His leadership has also been questioned with his continued selection of the S-Men.

The Shit

Species: Goalkeeper and David James understudy
Notable aliases: Paul Robinson, England’s number six
Alter-ego: England’s Number, circa 2006
Abilities: Exquisite sense of footballing geometry, able to instruct defenders into positions that will near enough guarantee the ball to pass him into the back of the net. High sense of spatial awareness that allows him to position himself into impossibly stupid positions giving him no chance of getting the ball. Fires concussive long balls to forwards. Fires concussive force of abuse from mouth at everyone other than himself when looking to blame someone for another calamity. Has the uncanny ability to absorb confidence and turn it to shit. A master strategist and tactician at masterstroking a loss of at least 20 points per season down to his ability to create a goal out of nothing for the opposition.

Incapable

Species: Defensive Midfield
Notable aliases: Didier Zokora, Carrick Replacement, Holding midfielder
Abilities: Self absorption of own footballing skills through mere contact with other professional players, be it his own team mates or the opposition, and through simple contact with the ball. The longer on the pitch the longer Zokora retains the loss of his footballing skills. If he remains on the pitch long enough the absorption spreads to his fellow team members and results in team-wide failure. Because of his abilities, Spurs fans believe him to be cursed (see Carling Cup Final misses) as he involuntarily fucks up time and time again. This potentially fatal power prevents him from making true contact with the ball, hence the diabolical first touch. Is able to run with the ball in one direction and dance.

Messiah

Species: Creative Midfielder
Notable aliases: Adel Taarabt, Zidane II
Abilities: ‘World class’ (as defined by Spurs fans) mental footballing processing, including perfect footwork and the power to make the ball stick to his feet. Best suited for reserve games and the playground, rather than Premiership games which usually result with loss of possession, counter-attack and opposition goal. Part of the New S-Men group (which includes The False Prince Boateng, Danny Invisible Rose and Gareth Sicknote), hopes not to go the way of Blondel, Marney and Jackson who were all ousted from the Institute for being over-rated*.

*Shit.

The £8Million Man

Species: Unknown
Notable aliases: Younes Kaboul, future French international
Abilities: Great strength and stamina with the ability to become almost unstoppable while in motion. That’s unstoppable in the same way the ‘Keystone Cops’ were. Is able to create sheer panic and pandemonium in the stands simply by being in the starting line-up. Suggestions that he is in fact Timothee Atouba with a masking cloak has never been proved or disproved.

Mercenary

Species: Fullback
Notable aliases: Pascal Chimbonda
Abilities: Master thief, using his hypnotic charm into making others around him think he is a far better player than he is and thus getting minted with the aid of the illusion. No secret he wants to leave the S-Men, and is looking to marauder his way out of the Institute this summer. Has the ability to change the course of a football match by trying to dribble his way out of his own penalty area which results with the opposition gaining advantage.

Clumsy F*ck

Species: Defender, allegedly
Notable aliases: Michael Dawson
Abilities: Energy absorption and projection, which allows him to feed off others around him who posses actual ability. Otherwise, instinctively struggles to know present location on field and loses all sense of positional awareness. Ability to cause nausea, disorientation and unconsciousness - usually self-inflicted. Has comic awareness and forever ‘breaks the fourth wall’, as he smiles to the audience as they all ask ‘What the fuck are you doing now?’

The Sulk

Species: Forward
Notable aliases: Dimitar Berbatov
Abilities: Genius level intelligence, reflexes, coordination, balance and brain-speed with the ability to create something out of nothing....which is usually a disillusional strop or waving of hands around in disgust. Has telepathic abilities, but fails to project them onto others around him. Likes to meditate, usually during a game. This results with lack of tracking back and willingness to chase the ball down/win the ball back. Also has the ability to transcend to another plane. Some say the next time he does this it will be a plane to Manchester.

Jermaine

Species: Box-to-box Midfielder
Notable aliases: Jermaine Jenas, The Goldfish, Jenius
Abilities: Regenerative healing factor that allows him to be selected again and again and again and again. Strength, stamina, agility and reflexes in abundance but due to his jelly-laced skeletal structure is prone to disappearing on the field of play (not to be confused with invisibility). Simply fails to stand up when faced with true advisory. Also possesses retractable ‘claws’ otherwise known as his feet, which retract in one-on-one situations, penalty taking, retrieving second balls and crunching tackles. Has recently gone missing (in a mission of self-discovery some say) to return to the scene of the clandestine project in Nottingham which turns unwilling beings into footballers.

Cumbersome

Species: Midfielder
Notable aliases: Tom Huddlestone, The New Hoddle, The Future
Abilities: By far the most physically strongest S-Man. Ability to transform his body into immovable steel, granting him zero mobility and durability as he loses himself between the midfield and his own penalty area unable to defend or attack. Can pass the ball, much like any other half decent midfielder is capable of. Can hit the ball ‘sweetly’, much like any other half decent midfielder is capable of. Other than that, no longer has Ketchup and mayo with his food.

Blingz

Species: Winger
Notable aliases: Aaron Lennon
Abilities: Runs really really fast. Shaved eyebrow. Ability to stick to the by-line until losing the ball or falling over. Also has talent to blend into the shadows of opposing defenders. Has been suggested he possesses the power to remain at the same point in space and time while everything and everyone around him progress, develop and move on.

There we have it. The S-Men. There are others in reserve. But this particular group are the endangered species. These S-Men are fighting for their very survival and self-respect with the aim to impress The Special Juan. Well, you'd think they would be, but after Sunday's performance you'd do right to think otherwise. Will they avoid decimation?

Stay tuned to find out.

On Vacation

...

4-1

"You've got to be great to rotate. And Spurs aint great".

And that sums up the 4-1 defeat at St. Andrews perfectly. That and the fact Ramos played one or two out of position and the rest on the bench. Rest/lose our two best centre backs, our main midfielder and our top scorer along with our threat from wide positions and we're left with not much in the way of anything.

Play a full strength side and then take players off would have been the better option, but I'm guessing the hangover from the Cup Final is still buzzing around in the heads of all.

Probably the best thing to happen was for us to get tonked like this. Reminds everyone that there's stil plenty of work to be done. Not so much chasing a higher position, but more to do with adding more strength to the squad.

Not much else to say. Other than Robinson replicating his positioning from the Cup Final for yet another conceded free-kick.

The Didier Zokora Cup Final

Chelsea 1 Tottenham 2 aet

There was a moment in this game that had me jumping around, screaming out to the heavens muttering the same word over and over and over again.

Why. Why. Why. Why. Why. Why. Why. Why. Why. Why. Why. Why.

Why Zokora? Of all the players to find himself running towards the goal, why does it have to be him? Didier, bless him, makes Steffen Freund look like Thierry Henry. But then he isn’t a goal-scoring midfielder. Even when he managed to find Cech’s head rather than the goal, he failed to compose himself and lay the ball to Berbatov or better still, find the target with the second opportunity presented to him.

See, these are the moments that pretty much define Spurs.

If only.
Almost.
Nearly.
So close.

The cruel irony is that the player who run from midfield is the one player that you know won’t be able to do what you oh so want him to do. But it was at this very moment that I had an epiphany.

Chelsea had done practically nothing all game. And rather seeing this assessment from a typical Spurs point of view, being ‘we’re gonna fuck it up’, I saw the game through the eyes of a neutral. Just for that one all-seeing moment.

There was nothing to suggest Chelsea would get something from the match. Spurs were in their ascendency. And I could see it. But before we get to this part of the game, let’s go back to the start. The opening 45 were ominous to say the least. My epiphany at this point in time was nothing but a sperm casually backstroking towards the egg.

We started brightly and created chances, but Drogba’s insistence at taking centre stage with his theatrics proved to be the dramatic catalyst for the wrong kind of breakthrough. This was Drogba’s no country for real men, and with each pathetic fall to the ground, it made me wish for an air-powered cattle gun. Yet another collapse to the ground, this time 30 yards out was definitely a free-kick, and the irony wasn’t lost on anyone.

What followed was a quirk that was probably noticed instantly by Ramos (mistakes like this are avoidable). A complete mess of a wall, built with Marmite rather than cement. Not only was it in the wrong place, but the fact King and Robinson failed to orchestrate some kind of organisation was unnerving. You could see exactly what Drogba was going to do. He tried it earlier. This time it was an open invitation. We hate it, they loved it. Drogba shots and scores. Robinson hardly moves. This time not because of consumption of pie, but rather the fact that even if he did dive in the general direction of where the ball was placed he wouldn’t even get there in time with rockets on his boots.

1-0 to them and much biting of nails insured.

One highlight from the first 45 minutes involved the Chelsea fans rising to sing a chorus of ‘Stand up if you hate Tottenham’. The Spurs fans stood up and sang ‘Stand up if you hate Arsenal’. The Chelsea faithful should really do their best to look elsewhere for that defining rivalry.

During half-time I wondered if this was going to be one of those disappointing days where efficient Chelsea do enough to stifle the game into a non-glamorous victory in their favour.

At this point I was worried. Goes without say I was enjoying the occasion, but I suddenly got sickeningly nervous of losing. Yeah sure, it’s the Carling Cup. The lickle half-breed cousin of the FA Cup. But this was Chelsea, and losing to them (and fucking ‘ell have we done a lot of that in recent years) is just not a feeling I choose to experience anymore. I hate it. I hate it more than losing to Arsenal. It’s like losing to Fulham. Why the fuck would you accept losing to Fulham?

Then there’s the fact that it’s a ticket back into the UEFA Cup. It’s not the ideal way in but it’s on offer. And with our bad start to the season costing us any true chance of finishing top 6, this is the dream ticket.

And finally, its silverware. You know. That thing other teams outside the top 4 sometimes manage to flirt with on the odd occasion the second-string eleven don’t make it through to the final. Makes the honours list look not too shabby either. What’s good for the goose...

Winning it would also make it number 15 in Cup competitions won domestically and in Europe (only Utd and Liverpool have won more). Call it just rewards for the progress made by Ramos in the short months he has been here or proof that we don’t choke when it matters. A medal of honour.

So back with the sickeningly nervous feeling, I couldn’t shake. And onto the second half.

“Huddlestone has to come on”, my mate commented.
“I can’t see where a Spurs goal is gonna come from”, I informed him a few minutes earlier.

And then Hudd came on. For Chimbonda. I burst several veins in my forehead screaming abuse at Pascal the Mercenary who was disgraceful in the ungracious manner he walked off the pitch. No urgency, no care in the world other than his vanity. And off he went down the tunnel. It’s bitterly disappointing he wasn’t sold in the January transfer window.

So with the skinny demure Hudd on, things began to change a little. A disguised pass here and there. Lennon, who might as well have been in Faces during the first half, began to show a little spark. And as I thought back to my comment about not seeing where we would score from, we go and win a penalty. Didn’t think of that one. The decision was never in doubt. Juggling the ball isn’t controversial imo. It’s nailed on, ball on the spot.

The sickeningly nervous feeling turned into a haemorrhage. Up steps Berbatov. Some Spurs fans run down to the bottom of the aisle and look upwards to the fans, preferring to watch the crowd reaction rather than the actual penalty.

Up steps the Bulgarian and in one majestically cool second we are level. Pandemonium at long last. And that little bit of hope is embracing us.

Tainio on for Steed. And Spurs continue to press and push and the tempo is now where it should be. Pace with movement and purpose. Chelsea are disjointed in comparison. Anelka isolated with zero chemistry between him and Drogba, or anyone else for that matter.

Lampard unable to control a midfield bossed by Jenas and Zokora. Jole Cole on the bench. Woodgate and King in complete command at the back for us. It’s not quite a walk in the park. More of a brisk jog with a poodle chasing behind you. But you know it’s never gonna catch up, let alone bit you on the arse. Although at this point, I still had nightmares of the poodle ripping its way through my gut like an Alien.

And then, the sperm completes its journey and my epiphany is born. The precise moment this happens is when Zokora runs through towards goal with Cech being the only person standing in the way of folklore. And you know what happens next. And nobody can believe it even though the outcome was exactly what we all knew would play out.

But when I held my head up away from my hands, I knew that this miss would not go down in history as a testament of why we always seem to fail when it matters. What had Chelsea done in the game that would lead me to believe they could go on to win it? As a Spurs fan you’d automatically think it’s more likely to be us who give something away or make a mistake. But without anchoring myself to what I would normally expect in that oh so classic defeatist manner, I was free to see the facts.

Chelsea were fucking shit and had no hope in hell of beating us. I was enlightened.

Extra-time. Jenas, not for the first time this season floats in a perfect cross and Woodgate, the most unlikely of heroes nods the ball, which is palmed back onto Woody’s face and into the net. Silk finish, it was not. But when you’ve seen Gary Mabbut score an own goal, you don’t tend to be picky about the quality of a winning goal.

It was a strange moment in the stands, at least where I was. There was almost a delay in celebrations. Fraction of a second if that. The initial header and its journey away from Cech and into Woodgate seemed to take an age. When the ball crossed the line it was Pandemonium Part II.

Keane limped off. Kaboul trotted on. Chelsea huffed and puffed without really scaring us too much, though that’s thanks to a decent stop from Robinson.

When Zokora completed his brace and overplayed a ball to Lennon that would have surely settled it beyond doubt, there was still way too much tension in the Spurs end. Not helped by David Copperfield who plucked out 3 injury time minutes to be added onto the end of the second half of extra time.

One of the best moments of the game was TT wasting time with a throw-on (good to see Spurs are finally learning to do this when it matters) and earning a yellow-card, only for Drogba to come running onto the scene to berate TT, wasting more of the precious time Chelsea had left.

And then the final whistle and 9 sodding piss poor fruitless years come to an end, and for the sixth decade on the trot our players have winner’s medals.

And we got to laugh at Drogba’s complaining to their bitter end.

Who would have ever predicated Jonathan Woodgate scoring the winning goal in a Cup Final for Spurs? Effortlessly brilliant at the back, I pray he stays fit. Same for Ledley.

Jenas and Zokora were superb in the middle of the park. Berbatov, worked hard....in fact, apart from Chimbonda, I don’t have too many complaints.

Maybe had we beaten Bolton or Boro in the final (no disrespect to either of them) then this wouldn’t mean too much. But beating Chelsea also meant that semi-final 5-1 got its icing on the cake.

Spurs stalled under Jol. We all know it. He deserves some credit for what he achieved in building the foundations, but Ramos did something that Jol could not have possibly done. And that’s masterminding the semi-final win and then lifting of the Cup.

Ramos and Poyet have galvanised us. Take this Cup success as the first hurdle crossed in the transitional cross-country race.

The players have tasted success. They have beaten a Top 4 club. They now know they have it in them. And there’s no doubt when the euphoria settles Ramos will gently ease in the mentality that next time, it should be something bigger. Something like the FA Cup, or maybe even the UEFA Cup.

We all know a sustained 4th spot position is the Holy Grail. And we all know that’s still way off. But with the chasing pack taking turns each season, it’s always open to anyone who really gives it a hard push.

So, there I was at Wembley loving every second of it.

That included Robbie Keane’s tears and utter joy at finally winning something. Berbatov also looked like something he hasn’t quite been all season. A Tottenham player. He celebrated like someone who you wouldn’t bet your money on leaving (caught up in the moment?).

And Chimbonda made an appearance along with a Spurs fan that joined in with the celebrations. The fan had more right to be there than Pascal.

Robinson can thank Cerny’s mistake for allowing him a way back into the team. Last thing he expected a few weeks back was for him to be part of the team again.

So as the fireworks fizzled out and the players disappeared down the tunnel (to finally reappear at Faces nightclub) we left Wembley happy. Chelsea fans long gone, it was pretty much the perfect Sunday.

Cheers Juande. Piece of piss wasn’t it mate?

Que Sera

Looking forward to tomorrow. Wembley, London final. A song here and there. Would be gutted if we lost. For several reasons.

Its Chelsea.
Its silverware.
Its a ticket to the UEFA Cup proper next season.

Had someone tell me that if Chelsea are on form, then we ain't got a chance. That's a fair comment. Apart from Utd or Arsenal, who else can beat them at the top of their game? But its a [cliche]one off[/cliche], innit? The favourite doesn't always win. So all I'm asking is for Spurs to turn up. The drab, fruitless result from our last League Cup final, which saw us spurn far too many chances hasn't been forgotten. It's always disappointing when you lose a game without really forcing the issue the other way.

Berbatov, give us your swansong. And Robinson, for the love of all things Lilywhite.....make yourself big between the sticks (ooh matron). King and Woodgate at the back please. And no Chimbonda playing the opposite side he is usually accustomed too. As for the rest. Jenas, stick all your chances away. Lennon, do to them what SWP does to us.

I just hope the idiot minority keep the football factory shit to remote train stations.

COYS

Twitching Tottenham get on my tits

Spurs 1 Prague 1 (3-2 win on agg.)

Well that was shit, wasn't it. The main highlight for me was the final whistle. I can gladly say with pride I was at home watching this with a cup of Earl Grey and not out in the cold N17 night being made to suffer by an inept performance that was pretty much a re-run of the first leg. Decent first half, woeful second. Apart from the game ending, the other moment to saviour involved David Pleat, for the first time in recorded history, pronouncing Chimbonda's name correctly. Only to then mispronounce it later in the game, laying to rest the chance of a special dvd release to mark the historic moment.

I'm not really sure what else to say about this game. Spurs were lethargic and clumsy. Wasteful with the ball and incapable of testing the oppositions keeper. Shimbo, out of position, along with the naivety of O'Hara allowed Prague to equalise Jamie's opening goal. Cue nervous final 40 minutes.

Yes, its Cup Final day for us on Sunday and the players most definitely had one eye on that game meaning, lack of concentration and the obvious necessity to avoid injury. But fucking hell, its Slavia Prague. Up the tempo, bully them and brush them aside. Casual football from the Lilywhites is one disease that needs eradicating out of WHL. Its a tumour that needs gutting.

Lazy performance, 4.3 out of 10.

Countdown to Wembley

Prague tonight. And no such luck of resting all our ‘top’ players like Chelsea were able to do in the Champions League. Nice to see them taking the Carling Cup so seriously. Obviously the game on Sunday is far more important than an away leg in Greece. Although today, there are suggestions that Terry and Lampard won't start on Sunday. Don't believe the hype.

Not certain what Ramos will do tonight, but hopefully he’ll start with a strong eleven, and look towards them killing the game off in the first 45, then take off the key players who will be vital on Sunday.

Robinson might be recalled. Not sure of Kings fitness. 3-0 Spurs.

Yes, I know Robbo will be back in goal. And yes. I'm predicting a clean sheet too. Crack is one hell of a drug.

If we lose, I'll start the 'RAMOS OUT' campaign in earnest.

Memo to Mr Levy

I told you so. I told you about half a million times. I told you with paintballs, I told you with frozen shit pellets. I even told you with piss-filled balloons. But you just looked the other way. And while everyone else was getting over-excited and wetting themselves with sticky glee, I stood as a beacon of truth in a sea of wretched lies. And it’s taken just a short space of time to prove that I was right. Not that anyone cares. Not that anyone notices. People forget and move on. They don’t actually forget, it’s more of a case of placing it on the shelf. History and your spin doctors will have you as the protagonist of change. A king presiding over his kingdom, holding firm in his hands the Magna Carta (which you can pick up for a cool £4000 from the Spurs Shop). It’s all bollocks really. The continuous flow of pathetic propaganda and condescending contradictions. One lie was followed by another, followed by another. All the time you seemed to revel in the fallacy, retaining an air of innocence and professionalism. When in fact it was all more akin to sticking your fingers in your ears and shouting ‘LA LA LA’.

It’s like walking along a road and finding a massive huge hole full of shit in front of you and deciding to swim through it and then half way along you bail out and decide to take another route, a route with no shit-swimming. Just because you’re on a shitless route doesn’t mean that you weren’t swimming in shit earlier. You still swam in the shit. Regardless of the u-turn, you were neck deep in it. Enjoying the warmth, blowing bubbles as your head remained above the sewage. You reek of it. And you simply cannot expect me to ignore the stench.

Your management skills surrounding Martin Jol’s reign as manager and his dismissal and the capture of Juande Ramos was shambolic.

Even with the dizzy heights of two successive 5th place spots, time and time again, I still threatened to burn my season ticket as the ultimate sacrifice. I could see the overachievement. We were simply fortunate winners of circumstance. Outside the top 4, anyone who hits form and enjoys luck will sit pretty above the other teams with UEFA Cup aspirations. Just because you’re 5th doesn’t mean you’re anywhere near catching the clubs who sit in 1st to 4th. But try telling that to a set of fans sitting in a rollercoaster that only appears to be moving upwards.

I was and still am the lone voice in calling for time on your chairmanship and questioning the players mentality and the manager at the club. I protested in blog and in person at White Hart Lane, but all anyone was interested in doing was singing Jol’s name and even yours. Remember that moment? End of last season. Jol on the pitch with a microphone doing a fine impersonation of pot-smoking Winston Churchill, with a rallying speech uniting all in the ground with hope for further progression. He gave you credit, and at that exact second you felt validated as some of the fans sang your name. Did you know then you were going to sack him? Did you politely applaud knowing that behind the scenes everything wasn’t as rosy as the Dutch man would have us believe? You should have sacked him in the summer. But you didn’t. You didn’t take the clean and fresh route. You didn’t make an effort to avoid the big hole full of shit. You preferred instead to dive head first and then swam and swam until Paul Kemsley bombed naked into it with Comolli standing legs apart, writing his name in the shit.

But it doesn’t matter now, does it? Because Jol is gone and in the short time that Ramos has been at the club he has made a mockery of all that’s come before him. All the basics – the very same I have highlighted over and over again – are finally being dealt with. Ramos and Poyet do not care for egos or treading on peoples toes. Should I give you credit for bringing them to the club? Of course not. It’s your fucking job to hire personnel of this ilk, like mine is to turn up every other Saturday or Sunday to support the team.

Under Jol, we were a glorified pub team with one world class player. Unfit, a lack of diet and no development of any kind in key areas. No development of the midfield. No holding or true defensive midfielder. No balance on the wings. Nothing to suggest we would truly break into the top 4 other than delusional day-dreams.

Ramos has been here for 5 minutes. He hasn’t made as great, he’s pulled us from pathetic to acceptable Premiership standard by changing the diet of the players and improving the fitness by about 100%. Set pieces have improved. Players hassle. We look like a unit. It’s still not perfect and there’s still various glitches with the system, but did Jol ever pull the defence apart after a shocking performance and then buy three new players? “Enough is enough”, Poyet commented….and a month or two later we have Woodgate, Hutton and Gilberto. Although whether a crock a Scotsman and a middle-aged Brazilian will improve us over the next two years remains to be seen.

We didn’t even choke in the second leg of the semi-final. In the summer Ramos true test will begin. At the moment, he’s just hosing the shit off your back.

Let me go back to something. ‘Glorified pub team’ was a little harsh. Jol was the best thing to happen to our club for a decade. Though that’s not exactly shocking considering the mis-management of previous chairmen. He was the first manager in a long time that fans loved. He embraced the clubs traditions and history and style of play and tried his very best achieve the success that we – the most egotistical of fans – lust after. However, he had his limitations. The same reoccurring problems that hindered the team would haunt us far too often. And any chance of him growing in stature and decision making would perish forever when you and your army of darkness decided that it was time to look elsewhere. Yet continued to spend millions on players that were dubious in choice. It’s incredible really how something can change over-night. You can look to be in the best of health one day, and keel over clutching your arm with your chest in pain and struggling to breathe the next.

Most would not have predicted this season’s early collapse. The media couldn’t stop harping on about us closing ‘the gap’. They loved Jol. Our fans can be forgiven for having the wool pulled over their eyes. A win here and there can do wonders for delusions of grandeur. But you and the departed Kemsley and Comolli – you are all responsible for what happens behind closed doors. And the moment you decided he wasn’t good enough, you undermined him and inadvertently sabotaged the dream.

You got ahead of yourselves. Believed the hype. Snorted too much, and got yourselves a sickening nosebleed.

Now you may argue that you were looking after the best interests of the club. You could see Jol was not the answer, and as much as it would hurt you looked elsewhere. You made the difficult choice of going behind someone’s back. But from what we’ve seen and heard since, it was more than a catalyst. The director of football structure, and the apparent disagreements on transfers, with Comolli the centerpiece served to push the dagger deeper into Jol’s back. The system wasn’t working and it took down its victims with no remorse. Jol. The fans. Hope of another 5th spot, or better.

You and you alone are responsible for the club. You are also responsible for Comolli and his spending. You are responsible for appointing the manager.

Ramos, is his own man, and any limitations on progressing the team will be down to him obviously, but anything he can’t do because of limitations from the club will be your fault. I’m talking about the power Comolli possesses with the final decision making with bringing in new players. You clearly stated that Ramos was Comolli’s choice. That this is a partnership you believe will work as they are suited for each other. And if it fails, it’s Comolli who will face the axe. Nice choice of patsy. And if the appointment works, then once more you’ll be vindicated.

Ramos, does appear to be his own man. He has apparently rejected 6 or 7 ‘suggested’ players. He has dropped Robinson. He has been realistic over the future of Berbatov. With Poyet along his side, they have boosted moral and belief. I’ve mentioned the diet already, and that’s been highlighted by the media and our own players countless of times. Seeing Huddlestone leaner than ever and the players not overtly collapsing in the final 20 mins of games is a blessing. Actually it isn’t, it’s what any club that aspires to be more than decent should be doing. And the improvement in the likes of Jenas and the continued great form of Steed are massive highlights.

Seems we finally have a proper manager at the club. And that’s why, even though you hired him in the most calamitous way possible, I’ve decided to be magnanimous.

I’m not suggesting a clean slate. Or forgiveness. You are in a position to sit back and allow the people who know their football to just get on with it. Don’t undermine the manager and don’t mug us off.

And maybe spray yourself with a little more deodorant.

'That' celebration (from last night)

The corner-flag was basically meant to represent dieting (i.e. its long and thin, just like Kate Moss) and the players were riding the corner-flag to represent they were 'whiping themselves into shape'. The alternate version is that they were roasting Kate Moss. Make your own mind up.

SOS

Same Old Spurs

Prague 1 Tottenham 2

So, it’s simply a case of either playing our first team three days before a Cup final, or playing fringe players who run the risk of losing to a plucky team from Prague. The dilemma is consequence of a rather stupid second half performance. Look, basically, taking the first 45 Spur should have scored 4 or so goals. Steed left frustrated as nobody ever bothered to look to their left where he stood – on countless occasions – in space on his own with the goal in front of him.

It was easy, but that’s no excuse for losing that touch of professionalism required to put the tie of reach for the opposition. Instead we marvelled at their big-time Charlie swaggers and wasteful chances. You can’t afford to stroll. You lose the tempo and then it’s a struggle to recapture it. Which is exactly what happened in the second half.

Other worthy mentions go to the lack of true quality from the wings. I’m talking about crossing the ball in. To a white shirt. Tainio going off caused as all sorts of problems with the balance of the team. Chimbonda is a mess of a player with little discipline. TT is decent in possession. Chimbonda isn’t, in possession or otherwise.

Cerny’s blunder was bog-standard. He’s an average keeper who doesn’t really excel in any department. Anything after Robinson’s drop in form is always going to look good.

So we’ve got Prague up next and then three days of rest before we probably play a full strength Chelsea team at Wembley.

Bricking it?

By any means necessary

TOTTENHAM HOTSPUR have confirmed that they have applied for next season's Intertoto Cup competition.

A statement on the official Spurs site read: "Meanwhile, we can confirm that the Club has applied to enter next season's Intertoto Cup. The Football Association is allowed one entrant being the highest placed of the four clubs finishing immediately outside the automatic European qualifying places."

Nice to see Levy publicly admit this seasons Prem campaign has been a disaster. Playing 3rd rate clubs in pre-season is no different to our usual late summer travels. We have a big enough squad to cope with it, though having to play more rounds per usual to get to the group stages will mean the likelyhood of injuries increasing. The fact that Man City have also applied for this means we can probably discount it as an option for European football next season which means we have to beat Chelsea at Wembley.

Easy peasy then.