'North London is ours'

Three protests yesterday. One outside the gates, 'We are N17' with petitions outside the Bell and Hare pub and at half-time, a lady by the name of Helen inspiring one or two to sing a song. A girl after my own heart.

Didn't make the tv (that last one) but point made. She was ejected, expected, but not banned - which would not have made good PR had the club gone down that particular route.

If anyone has any more vids or photos, please share.

The Battle for Stratford

I've shared this on Twitter and Facebook, so only fair I post the link here too. A pragmatic argument for the move to Stratford over at the blog Wisdom for Sport.

Read it here.

The article covers the following talking points:

Athletics Legacy
The Northumberland Park Project
David Lammy
What is modern football?
The Media

The pro-N17 supporters will obviously be focused on the 'modern football' question which is where the basis and answer for not wanting to move away sits quite comfortably. Although the article linked takes a different view point on it all.

All in the name of debate.

Also, if you're unware, tomorrow before the game, protest against the move to Stratford outside the Bell and Hare, from 1pm onwards.

Be sure to visit We are N17 for your anti-Stratford fix and latest news. You can also find them on Twitter and Facebook.

Previous Stratford/N17 articles:

N17: Home is where the heart is

A nail in the coffin of Stratford?

For some, it's a brutal interrogation...

If Stratford Hotspur happens...it ends there (guest blog tehTrunk)

And as an alternative form of petition against moving out of North London and into East London...click and follow: FC Hotspur of Tottenham.

How to defeat your enemies and be successful at table football

A few years back there was this bloke, an acquaintance rather than a friend. He was the sort of person who grated on you because he took much pride (of the gloating variety) in shouting from the rooftops about his personal success. Sort of person who would take great pleasure in the misfortune of others and hardly cared much if something he did happened to leave you feeling a little downbeat. Dog eat dog world, right? Why should he care about me, you or anyone else?

Why should he indeed.

The way he would patronise and condescend was gut wrenching. Happens in the work place. There's always one. Spring in his step, swagger in his stride. Full of himself.

You're sort of green-eyed, not in a depressive self-deprecating 'why can't that not be me' way. Because it's not his fault if you don't have the skills, inclination or ambition to achieve at his level. Not that you didn't have the potential. It was just never fulfilled. But his presence begs the self-doubting questions you'd prefer not to have sparking in the brain. 'Why can't that not be me'. Okay, so yeah, self-deprecating.

He was supreme in his application in the office and he was also stupendously good at table football. Whether it's controlled passing of the ball, knocking it between the footie players on the table before smashing it in or generally just smashing it in from one end to the opposite side, opponent after opponent was obliterated out of sight.

And yes, before you ask, his girlfriend was fit. Not just fit, with her slinky frame and world class chest, but also intelligent. Street smart. Trendy. Considering everything else about him, you lingered desperately to the hope that if his other half was not that great to talk to or look at then it wouldn’t matter too much about everything else because you'd be comforted by the fact he was going out with a melting pot of ming and stupid. But that was not the case. Far from it.

Like a Greek tragedy with relentless plate smashing, his girlfriend was lovely. Gorgeous. You know how usually if you (a bloke or woman) sees someone who's attractive, you flirt with the fantasy of sleeping with them. Go on, you know you do. God made us weak. Well his girlfriend was of the ilk that had you thinking of marriage and growing old with her by your side. And plenty of bedroom action too, before the old bit. Okay and after the old bit.

Her smile, her mannerisms. Her sense of humour and razor sharp wit. You would tremble at the knees with each flick of hair. Had to be something amiss with her, couldn't be completely unequivocally perfect. But she appeared so. And you hated the git she was dating even more because of it. Which ruined it all and made you question the cruelty of life and why it choose to make you feel like crap, constantly with the mocking. Mocking with a cherry on top.

All the pain would however aid with inspiration in attempting to better him at least the once for all the emotional upheaval he caused by just being there. In your life. At work. Christ, you'd try to best him you really would. In conference calls, meetings, projects and then at the fabled table football. But he was just, well just too good. Too focused. Too comfortable at something you had to work ridiculously hard at just to be decent whilst he was very good without breaking sweat.

You'd huff and puff and he'd just pick you off, every time. Plucky you would be. Plucky until you'd choke and capitulate whilst he scoffed and shrugged nonchalantly, as though he knew he'd win again no matter what. And you sort of knew you'd lose anyway. His entourage of hangers on, people who wanted to be associated with his success would fluff and kiss his ego. They would be particularly annoying during bouts of table football, siding with him whilst you protested that he span the handles too quickly, turning all the footie players in the row around, full circle before shooting.

"Nah mate, never happened"

He'd score whilst you complained. And you'd lose. Again.

I'd lose again.

It was tiresome. Hard enough trying to get one over on him without others fighting his corner. Ganging up on me you'd tell yourself. All very apologetic, always an excuse at hand to explain why you've failed to again. Easy way to avoid confronting the real reasons behind defeat. This guy irked me. And I was so drilled with my hatred for him it was far more of a distraction than a tangible strategy. The inspiration and the belief was misplaced every single time, with a reflex 'here we go again' when he showed you up in front of others.

That's until one day I decided to be shrewd with my approach. Getting one over someone doesn't have to be just about the winning, it should always be tinged with a touch of glory. Because people tend to be far more interested in how you beat someone, the manner in which you've gone about it rather than the end result. Because a result has no story. It's just a fact, a stat. But that's still no reason not to embrace the philosophy that a win is a win is a win. Don't just turn up an play to the best of your abilities. Play to your best with their weakness in mind and take advantage, without remorse or thought of failure.

Do to him what he does to you.

An opportunity came up. I took a massive risk. And the plan rolled into motion. The essence of it based on the simplistic template that if it worked, he'd be weaker for it and that psychological barrier would crumble a touch meaning next time round, he would hardly be the immovable object of disdain that had driven most of us in the office insane, specifically me.

I knew I had it in me. Much like he went about his business, I simply focused and retained complete faith from start to finish. Not a second wasted on complacency.

All that was left was to revel in the finale, that moment where victory would be embraced.

On that fateful day I was eight - nil down on the table football, whilst he showboated (danced whilst he played), I appeared disinterested quite on purpose. Just me and him on a Friday afternoon in the chill out area of the office. The only sounds coming from his mouth as he chewed and snapped gum and twisting of the handles of the table, smacking the ball hard. I then spoke.

"So...", I said.

"Nine - nil", he replied.

I shrugged then walked away from the table and into the small stationary room out of sight of the rest of the office. He followed me there, with bursts of confused fake laughter, not quite sure why I had just randomly trotted off.

"What are you doing? You can’t walk away from the game. You'll forfeit".

I placed my finger to my mouth and politely asked him to hush the **** up. I then spoke.

"I've been shagging your missus. Birthmark on her thigh. Completely shaven apart from a strip of hair. Loves her high pitched screams. Don't fret mind, our little secret. Talking of little..."

I then smiled, pointed at him and winked.

Okay, so he kneed me hard between the legs and with gritted teeth grabbed me by my neck and explicitly stated he would kill me. It took a good ten minutes to get myself up from the floor after he walked back to his desk. I had to tell people I had stomach cramp and proceeded to spend a good thirty minutes in the disabled toilets attempting to recover, dipping my balls into a basin of cold water. Dodgy Indian the night before I told everyone when I reappeared.

I slept with his missus having found out from her that she hadn't slept with him for almost ten months. Some relationship. Apparently they were not as strong as they once were. All that bravado in the office, all that brash alpha male b*lls**t. All a sham. And between himself and myself, exposed.

Obviously I forfeited and lost the table football. Shame that. But you've got to take some punches (kicks) for the team and still come out of it standing tall (with slight awkwardness in the midsection). But after that day he wasn't quite as boisterous and in my face as he was prior to my revelation. Sure, he was still successful at what he did at work and still swaggered around the office. But he knew I knew that I could, on my day, get one over him and had one over him, which shifted power a little towards me. I knew that he knew that I knew I had found him out. Finally found him out.

When we went head to head on anything, he was never guaranteed to come out on top like before.

When I played table football I made sure he couldn't refuse by making a point of challenging him in front of others. He displayed traits of mortality in the game he once dominated. Mainly because of my in-game ambiguous banter that had him a touch nervous I would spill the beans to everyone crowded around the table that I had relations with this other half.

His concentration was off-key because he was more than aware it was no longer an easy brisk walk in the park for him. It hardly mattered he span the handles a few times during the game or had his 'mates' distract me whilst I attempted to defend. I didn't bother with the protests because I would make sure I won. His mates can hardly do anything if I'm wiping the floor with him where it mattered. On the table. Didn't always win of course. But won enough games to keep me content and keep him irate. His arrogance no longer grating. A victory for him no longer a forgone conclusion. Suddenly, everything about him that made him such a bane was inconsequential. I had the beating of him.

All thanks to his girlfriend and her needs. They had a wobble, a prolonged wobble, I was a b*stard, I made a move. Just the once. They didn't break up. He knew she cheated on him but didn’t have a clue who with. And I assume they sorted out their issues because they were still together up until I left the company. And he was hardly going to do anything more than knee me because God forbid people found out what I did. And killing me would have been detrimental to his lifestyle. He disliked porridge.

So in order to secure one or two wins on the table and restore some personal equilibrium in the office I did something that was both beautiful and ugly. Something not that becoming of a true gent. Arguably over the top and cruel. Just so I could have one victory. Because I wanted too. Because things just had to change. Pretty much the type of thing he did week in week out to me and other people. Screw people. Getting kneed was acceptable collateral damage.

The moral is simply this; if you want to come out smiling get balls deep.

Olympic Stadium chit chat with Spurs and West Ham fans

You might have seen one or two people interviewed over the FA Cup weekend, at the Lane and in the depths of the East End. Question posed; Stratford, yes or no? Here's a short preview montage of opinions. As you might (quite obviously) expect both sets of fans are pretty much of the same fragmented opinions we've argued about plenty of times here and on practically every other discussion board and blog that has asked the same question. Some like the idea, some don't.  And some really don't.

No big shock here. Would be interested to know whether West Ham fans want to move there as much as some of us don't. Equally so the fans that do want a move. Curious that one of the West Ham fans thought they could fill the OS and one Spurs fan thought we've got the money to just go ahead with the Northumberland Project.

Referendum anyone?

For the full videos for both sets of fans, Spurs and West Ham - click below:

Tottenham Fans

West Ham Fans

Be sure to visit We are N17 for your anti-Stratford fix and latest news. You can also find them on Twitter and Facebook.

Previous Stratford/N17 articles:

N17: Home is where the heart is

A nail in the coffin of Stratford?

For some, it's a brutal interrogation...

If Stratford Hotspur happens...it ends there (guest blog tehTrunk)

And as an alternative form of petition against moving out of North London and into East London...click and follow: FC Hotspur of Tottenham.

Tottenham till I die - reprise

Off the back of tehTrunk's article about the club, N17 and Stratford causing one or two ripples of fragmented opinion within the Lilywhite fanbase, someone reminded me of a prior blog that asked the simple question 'How did you come to support Tottenham?'.

That article and the comments shared is drenched in the type of nostalgia and history that a number of us wish to remain anchored to. We're a bit soft like that. So here's the article again, to hopefully stir up one or two new stories.

Original article and comments posted can be found here. Comments are really worth looking at.

Ta.

-

A question was posed on a forum asking why you support who you support. Not highly original, I know, but it's always interesting to delve into the responses to see how other peoples allegiances were birthed.

Your answer ought to be geographically influenced, but commonly it's down to immediate family and on occasions, if you are devoid of having a dad (or mum) or siblings who are interested in the beautiful game you just pick whomever is top of the league. Which is why when I was a young lad everyone in London seemed to support Liverpool*.

*Two minutes silence for their current plight please people. Two minutes.

Of course, not everyone glory-hunts. And many live abroad and simply fall in love with the history or traditions of a club in another country, based on a game they've witnessed or a book they've read or the majesty of a shirt. I appreciate that not everyone is pre-selected.

I had the privilege (curse) of having a family of Spurs supporters around me. I was also born in Tottenham. Well actually, no I wasn't. A hospital on Tottenham Court Road. Well, actually the hospital was just a brisk walk from Tottenham Court Road. Nowhere near N17, but that's just a  technicality. Tottenham Court Road, right? COYS.

My grandfather (God rest his soul) was a keen follower and frequenter of White Hart Lane during the 50's and 60's and my uncle, a fanatic during the 70's hardly missed a game. The latter, the one who influenced me and guided me into the light that is Lilywhite.

No rebellious I want to support someone else or I like their badge so I'm going to choose this lot instead - which wasn't uncommon, again, with people who had no given affiliations to a club when they were old enough to understand and make their selection. A successful team, usually defeating the local team as the winning option if they wished to fast-track themselves to the top tier. But plenty followed their hearts instead.

How some families managed to be split down the middle between two clubs always fascinated me. It's fragmentation that can never be resolved. My dad supports Spurs. My brother. My sister. My uncle's kids. We have no split. I did celebrate Trevor Brookings goal in the 1980 Cup final by running outside into the garden and attempting to head the ball into an imaginary net but that isn't confliction, it's a natural reaction. An acceptable lapse. A Newcastle supporting father and a Sunderland supporting son a story I remember hearing about. They hardly spoke, always fought. Football before family, always.

Reminds me of a bloke who stood in front of me in one of the East stand turnstiles back in the very early 90's. 1991 season I reckon, home to the scum. 0-0. Gooners waving their wallets at us from the Park Lane. Gazza almost scoring an own goal as I stood in the corner of the Shelf side in those cracking days of terraces. So this bloke in the queue had a Spurs and Arsenal badge on his jumper. A ridiculous paradox.

"I support both", he stated proudly.

The steward looked at me and I just blankly stared back. If you support two clubs, two rival clubs, then you've not quite grasped the concept, have you? It's like people who ask the question: Who's you favourite team? There is no place for favourite team in football. If you do it properly, you don't have a favourite team. You just have the one. A relationship for life. No break-up. Plenty of heartaches and headaches, and the two of you are together until your very last breath.

'Yeah, so, I really love Man U but I dig Real Madrid in their all white kit and also adore Wolves because they got a cool name. So Utd are my best, Madrid my second bestest and Wolves my third bestestest. If any of them play each other, I'd like a draw'

If you ever met someone who stated a resemblance of the above, I wouldn't look down on you if you smothered and buried him in a shallow grave in Epping forest. Favourite? There's no room for favouritism. Following the results of your local side, if you perhaps don't actually support your local side isn't betrayal. There are no affairs and no two-timing. 100% unequivocal commitment. You love your team, but you can have a soft spot for your local side. Bit like some Spurs fans I know who watch Barnet or Orient. They don't 'love' Barnet. They would practically (heavily metaphorically) die for Spurs.

However, every now and again we do get some Sol Campbells amongst us. Ooh.

My brother-in-law knew someone who, after a depressing Saturday at the Lane in a depressing season (I guess the mid-90's), and partly thanks to some peer-pressure from outside his group of friends, 'quit' supporting Spurs and not long after ended up an Arsenal fan. Quitting because your team lost? Spare a thought for supporters of clubs who never climb out of the lower tier divisions. The spirit of Benedict Arnold lives on with some.

I knew someone a few years back, a Hammers fan, who revealed he was a Spurs fan when he was a teenager but ended up following the Irons because his group of mates got involved with the ICF and he was more interested in the friendships and fighting than the football. It was, to him, more about being part of a group. A hooligan rather than standing on his own every Saturday at 3pm. Each to their own I guess.

My personal favourite (I'm using that word here because it's in context) has to be the story about these two blokes (in Leyton at the time), one of whom was completely disinterested in football and the other a West Ham fan. They both lusted after this one girl who was an Arsenal supporter. And both of them became gooners as a consequence to win her over. They both actually dated her, one after the other (she went out with one, dumped him then went out with the other one). The two blokes even had a punch up at one point outside the local pub. Heated stuff. The bloke who supported West Ham and defected for the sake of having her thighs wrapped round his back, paraded himself  in a JVC shirt often without shame.

It's a bit like sh**ting yourself in public whilst wearing white trousers. You will never live it down. Nobody will forget the humiliation. The white trousers are bad enough, but the diarrhoea? It will define you forever. How could anyone look you in the eyes and take you seriously after something like that? You would automatically lose all credibility. For life. A few years later I spotted him back in a West Ham shirt. Pathetic.

You simply cannot disdain the fabric of football and the lack of its complexities relating to allegiances. It's quite simple. You choose your team and are bound to them for life. No get out clause. That's it.

As for me, I have an almost five (edit: almost eight now) month old baby daughter (I've managed to part name her after our beloved club - work it out yourselves) so getting her to follow the Spurs might be a difficult task if her mother pampers her with shopping trips, Jimmy Choos and Gucci handbags when she's old enough to succumb to the frivolous vanity driven past-times of womanhood. However, there is hope. When she was just two months old, she projectile vomited when Cesc Fabregas appeared on the tv during a Sky Sports News report. There's hope for my THFC family bloodline yet.

TTID.

Things I missed out on this past Sunday

Cracking debut from Andros Townsend. Confident, quick, tricky, jet heeled, right foot, left foot, controlled passing, chips, a goal. Okay so it was against Charlton in the FA Cup and we've been here before with impressive first games from yoof players. Feet firmly on ground then, but dare to whisper it - we might have something here. Much like Kyle Walker, a loan to another Prem side might aid with development and let us know how he would shape up against better quality opposition, week in week out. Steven Caulker (who continues to impress out on loan) makes it a trio of tenacity in terms of hope for the future.

Not a lot from Palacios and Sandro other than Wilson struggling to assert himself onto the game because it just wasn't that type of game for a player of his ilk (tackle this tackle that) and the Brazilian is still bedding himself into life in England, strong and hard working, no glitz or glam.

Defoe being given the freedom of the park.

Modric, the Croatian Xavi, doing his usual effortless swashing around. Untouchable and sublime in movement and passing. Changed the game from a nothingness first half to a comfortable three to nil second. But then from the sounds of it, his inclusion was much required as you're unlikely to get anything in the way of creativity from a centre pairing consisting of two DM's.

So players rested and players that played sort of tested. Still no spark from disillusioned Niko? No surprise, what with him being disillusioned. Fulham away in the next round. Will probably need to play a stronger more balanced side there.

In other news. Beckham is signing. Might stay on permanently. Then Beckham isn't signing. Then he's just training with us for a month - official. Then the deal might be back on for the loan. Then not. It's to do with insurance. Then it's not because of insurance. Then it's back on. Or not? Make up your own headline. You probably won't be too far wrong. Could have done without the constant sound biting commentary from Harry. It's bad enough listening to all the nonsense from the ITK community let alone having our own gaffer give us information that he then contradicts be proclaiming he doesn't actually know what's happening. Down boy down.

If he does just train with us and nothing more, then I guess the advantage is there's no chance of impacting team selection in a negative way (not that he would if he was given permission to play) and we simply reap the benefits of having him on the training pitch, piggybacking Azza around.

Not too shabby for a weekend, where most of us probably sort of switched off and rested a little before we start to focus on Manchester United at the Lane.

Howard Webb anyone?

If Stratford Hotspur happens, it ends there...

Guest blog by Jack aka tehTrunk.

Yes hello, you may remember me, I was the bloke what done them little cartoon things with the voices and stuff. I'm here today in a different capacity, to share my thoughts on the eerily quiet new stadium goings on at Stra...Tottenham Hotspur. I say quiet, but thankfully Karen Brady's constant barking does serve some purpose, if only in reminding us of the fact that we could well, genuinely, be leaving not just White Hart Lane but Tottenham itself.

Yeah, this could actually happen. WTF OMG?!!1! (I'm writing on the internet, it's allowed (lol))

Now, I'm not from Tottenham, I don't even live in North London. My allegiance with Spurs is the age old father son connection familiar with many football fans. You know, when dad creeps into your bedroom at night, gagging you with an Arsenal scarf in order to play hide the magic banana? Since those days, anything bearing the cannon of them lot down the road turns my stomach and reminds me of those mornings where I'd have to swagger into school like a cowboy. This then reminds me of cowboys which I also hate (I always preferred Indians). Suffice to say that sitting through Brokeback Mountain was a nightmare.

Alas, I digress.

Where was I?

Oh yes, I support Tottenham but I'm not from Tottenham, there we go.

These recent mutterings that we could be leaving Tottenham to take up residence in the Millennium Dome (er Olympic Stadium mate?!)have created a strange and uncomfortable conflict within my thoughts, much like when I catch a glimpse of Niko Kranjcar. As I've already covered but will tell you again, Tottenham isn't my home, the team Tottenham Hotspur isn't my local team so why should I care where the team plies it's trade? I don't know really, but I do.

History has always been an important part of this club, given that during the years I've supported them there has been little success, but it's been instilled into me that this is a club with heritage, with tradition. I'm sure most clubs think this way, but we support Spurs, we don't care what myths other clubs supporters perpetuate amongst themselves. We're onto a new chapter now, who knows where it goes. I'm enjoying, while it lasts, us grabbing headlines and having a squad filled with world class players, but this isn't why I support Spurs.

We all know about our cup runs, and double heroics and European glory glory nights so I'll save the maudlin mush.

Football is a business (no sheet Sherlock). It's easy to say, but it's hard to grasp what this actually means. Business' exist to make money. The chairmen, the board, they don't care about you, they don't care about me (they should care about me, I'm awesome. Not you though. D*ckhead) Does the CEO of McDonalds care that your burger doesn't look like it does in the picture on the board?

Daniel Levy is a business man. Don't ever forget that. For all his 'Spurs fan' talk, he's a business man. He's not big Dan from down the pub who wears a Spurs shirt on match days and gets asked to leave the pub when he's had a few too many and is getting loud sweary cross and scaring the couple who just popped in for an ale and glass of house white after finishing shopping, whilst he watches Spurs lose to Wolves at home (all in 3D mind). Levy, and the people surrounding him want to make money. This isn't all a bad thing, money has allowed us to assemble the squad we see before us today. Moving to the Olympic Stadium makes perfect business sense.

It's cheaper than building an entirely new stadium. It has a massive capacity. It looks well nice so will entice new fans. Having a massive, well nice stadium increases the club's prestige both at home and abroad. This will see a rise in the attendance, fan base and the type of investors and players we can attract to the club. Maybe it'll even see us become a more attractive option to a super mega rich foreign owner, who'll buy us Messi and we can win everything and be the best team in the world and even make it onto Sky Sports montages and have our players pictured on the front of the packets of football stickers found on the newsagent's counter.

Spurs, nay, football in general is entering into a dangerously vacuous and shallow era. This potential move to Stratford is a perfect example of that. Forget the history, forget about the locals, forget the name, we're going to move. We'll be Stratford Hotspur, it'll be just the same just we'll make more money and maybe win more stuff and then football will be more better, honest. Yeah, worked well for Wimbledon. 

You can scream at me until you're blue faced, the endless clichés that 'we have to do it to compete', 'we want to win stuff what with City getting better now', 'Liverpool will bounce back sooner or later'. I don't care. I didn't support Spurs because they competed, because they were amazing, I support Spurs because they're Spurs. Sacrificing what we are in order to get to what we perceive is a higher level is like the bloke who ditches all his ugly best mates because he wants to be more popular with women. He's a lonely, boring, desperate tool and everyone can see it but him.

I know my thoughts don't represent those of all Spurs fans, and I don't look down on anyone for feeling differently (I really do to be honest). I just see this as one of many examples of how appalling our society is now. It's like saying that I think my mum is fat and ugly and I want a new one with less droopy wangers that way it'll reflect better on me and then I'll be happier. I don't think you're fat and ugly by the way Mummy, Trunky wuvs woo.

If Stratford Hotspur happens, it ends there for me. FC Hotspur of Tottenham or whoever else likely pops up it'll be. You can take your Gareth Bales, VDVs and whoever else and shove them. Along with your reality TV, IKEA furniture, tabloid newspapers, celebrities, Thomas Cook holidays and most of all your Sky Sports.

If all of you told Levy where he could stick his plan, it wouldn't happen, fact. But you won't.

Think on. 

Be sure to visit We are N17 for your anti-Stratford fix and latest news. You can also find them on Twitter and Facebook.

Previous Stratford/N17 articles by Spooky:

N17: Home is where the heart is

A nail in the coffin of Stratford?

For some, it's a brutal interrogation...

Toffees make toast of Tottenham...burnt toast with Marmite on it

Everton 2 Spurs 1

Losing. Don't much like it.

So, I guess that’s what you call a blip, right? At least I’m hoping it’s a blip. We look tired out there, right? Or is that not a valid enough excuse? Having said that, I did say in my match preview that I hoped we didn’t tinker too much with selection. You sort of half wished we did in hindsight, but then again looking at the way Niko Kranjčar performed when he came on for Bale you just have to accept that the tank was empty and playing 'the reserves' might not have made much difference.

Credit to Everton for having a go. Although don't whisper that to Bale who was kicked all over the shop. If they had a decent forward they’d have been comfortable. Then again had Crouch timed his run (by basically turning around and walking into an onside position, then turning around to face the goal, then walking forwards) he’d have latched on and scored a legitimate goal just before the break. And had the ball not got stuck under vdV's foot he might have also smashed it home. And if my auntie had...blah.

The opener for the Toffees, decent shot, but just seemed a cheap and easy way to go one – nil down. Hadn't even finished making my cup of tea and we're 1-0 down. Ominous start, broken up with some wonderful Modric play and Crouch yet again assisting for vdV (6 assists for 11 of his goals apparently, but let's not shout about it because it's not really enough). Second half was a mess of nothingness. Everton going all Catalan, Seamus Coleman (quality little player) with a headed goal for the points. Bale off with an injury prior to that. Ah, what can I say? It was frustrating.

Its ironic how all my pre-match comments have come back to bite and mock me as I sit in the corner shaking uncontrollably, slowly moving back and forth.

"You can't always play well. Secret is to still win when you don't"

"We are still susceptible to those blips thanks mainly to some inconsistency to the back-line and the lack of obvious stone cold conviction up front"

"Because statistics aside, pound for pound, we should be containing and beating them"

"Although it's not an imperative end of days must win, it's most defiantly an opportunity to continue with the momentum, when you consider that other clubs might drop points this evening"

"I'll take another three points. Swagger or no swagger. If it's good enough for United, it's good enough for me"

Ho hum. Could have done with some swagger afterall.

Yes, we are a snarling elegant beast, but on Wednesday night, one with a thorn in our paw. I know Harry will get some stick for not changing it. Perhaps Wilson on to break up play, aid with possessions percentages to allow more time on the ball for Luka. Midfield was weak in mind and heart. Went pear-shaped at the end with the non-existent width. Even Keane came on for probably his last ever game. Can we just forget everything that happened after his Liverpool move and just remember all that happened before? A nod, in his direction, for the goals he scored for the club. Good luck Keano. He'll probably score against us but not celebrate. The rascal.

In addition, at times, defending looked like we were up against Neo in The Matrix. And BAE needs to lose the afro. OptaJoe might be able to confirm - have we won any games when his hair has not been braided? Having said that, Hansen was still ridiculously harsh on Match of the Day, critical of Benoit to the point of the left-back getting his own footage of flatulence as we witnessed highlights of his below par performance. He played poorly. It happens. Do all the other games not count then? Or just the ones Hansen watches and deems him as being useless?

Moving on again...

The loss, this wasn’t down to complacency. Wasn’t even an awful performance, abject and deserving of rotten fruit. It was lacklustre. Don’t fret mind, this isn’t ‘typical Tottenham throwing away another chance’. This was tired Tottenham with perhaps a tad too much naivety in the way we shaped up tactically. On full pelt, going to Goodison and running at them with acres of space - I’d place a wager on us. On tired legs, bit silly. Everton had far more of the ball and more conviction. They zipped and zinged about the place and you sort of knew how it was all going to end.

Still, one thing we can take out of the game is that once more it illustrated that we can tie ourselves down to the one dimension when the man up top doesn’t tick all the necessary boxes for the ilk of forward we need. Although having said that, fans are split on what exactly that ilk is. Although I’m hoping the only two people that matter are more than aware of what they need to do between now and the closure of the transfer window to resolve the eternal conundrum.

Other thoughts on the game (already sort of touched upon) is the amount of hacking/fouling little Azza and beast Bale are subjected too. Which is to be expected, so no violins. Bale is already attempting to subtly hint to the officials it just ain't fair but remaining on the ground for a bit longer than necessary. Although in the end, he had to limp off. So, I refer you back to something I stated years back. We need to sometimes...oh God, I can't believe I'm going to say this again, but we need to be a bit Roy Keanesque. Not saying we should bark and complain all the time but we need to be smart and canny about how we go about our business - especially when we are jaded and getting battered. Just a thought.

Another thought is that having been complimentary on Jenas in recent weeks (I was not alone on this so shut up) he's only gone and done his usual disappearing man stint. Fit him with a sat nav so we can have some controlled and composed movement and direction in midfield. What's that? Ooh, you are twisting my arm there Mr Parker, stop it, stop it...okay...go on then.

So that's that.

Random facts and bits that were tweeted post match that might make you feel better or more likely ram home that gut wrenching disappointment (having seen City, Arsenal draw – Wolves beat Chelsea) are as follows:

First defeat/nil points since November
No one around us won
Still fourth

That’s basically it. Rest period coming up with the cup game against Charlton, so hopefully we re-energise in time for the small matter of Manchester United visiting us at the Lane. After that we play Newcastle, Blackburn, Bolton, Sunderland, Blackpool and then Arsenal (ignoring CL duties) then Wolves, West Ham, Wigan, Stoke and then Man City.

The dirty dozen. There’s another four games that follow our trip to Eastlands, but I reckon by the time we work through the above, it will be done and dusted.

In our favour. Obviously.

Spooky recommends...All-conquering Englishman spurs his way across Europe

Capital Punishment by Kris Mole - Ebook available here

extract:

Having blagged his way into a Barcelona FC press conference...

"My fantasy interview was cut short by someone entering the room talking on a mobile phone. I turned to see who it was and couldn’t believe my eyes. Xavi, all 5’7” of him (he’s a littl’un) was standing beside me having a chat to someone, probably his girlfriend, telling her he would be home for dinner soon and could she make sure there were a few San Miguels in the fridge. He glanced at me with a look that said,

“Who the **** are you?” and I nodded a greeting his way. He then looked down at the cockerel on my chest and sighed the kind of sigh that I knew meant, “If only they would put in a bid for me. I would love to play for Spurs one day.”

He finished his conversation and left me alone once again."

The snarling elegant beast in need of Carroll...or a ballerina

Being Spurs means you spend an awful lot of time preparing yourself for a fall. Whether it’s a game we are expected to win or the final nervous ten minutes with backs to wall, heroic and clumsy in defending. You bite your nails, chew through your hand and then munch up your arm until your mouth turns and starts eating through your face and head. You get the picture. It's brutal. I'm sure most fans of other clubs experience similar levels of impact that expectations can have on the heart, mind and soul. For us, it's been in our DNA for decades. But alas, no longer. The wonders of genetic engineering, breeding new Lilywhites with traditional flaws eliminated. Not quite perfect, research costs money and takes time. But this hybrid beast is one that does things it wasn't originally born to do in prior incarnations.

It's snarls. It bites. But can still move elegantly.

This is a new age and we are having to, every now and again, give ourselves a steady slap to our own half bitten face. A reminder that things are not quite what they use to be. And that when quirks, hiccups do occur - it's not a complete throw-back of past darkness but rather the type of blips most top tier teams and sides vying to be top tier suffer from by virtue of averages. You can't always play well. Secret is to still win when you don't. And that takes guts and focus, because you can find yourself having to do so often meaning it's easy to self-doubt and allow heads to drop despondently. But if you believe...

Belief is something that comes with winning and is the blood that pumps through the veins as you go from walking to sprinting to running. You can measure all this by how disappointed we are with our failure to beat Chelsea at home (not the best example due to the dramatics of the final ten minutes). But the point being, we win and draw far more than we lose so therefore, we fuel our progression onwards. We don't have the fear in us. And we don't drown in our own giddiness either, thanks to our focus shifting from one game onto the next.

We didn't play stupendously well over the Christmas period. Arguably you could say we've had pockets of pomp across the whole season, never outstanding one game after another. A case of one day we either play with swagger and win or we play with fragmented balance and still win. And on the odd occasion we lose. That extra bit of experience Manchester United (along with having whathisface Ferguson at the helm) sees them undefeated. Growing pains have had us on the receiving end of one or two nil points. As expected. We are still susceptible to those blips thanks mainly to some inconsistency to the backline and the lack of obvious stone cold conviction up front. But we are pushing to better ourselves. All the time. On the up, no argument there.

So having accumulated nine out of nine, what of our next trip?

Everton away, statistically, would have most predict this as a draw or less. Got to place hand on heart and say I will be gutted if we don’t win. Because statistics aside, pound for pound, we should be containing and beating them. With no disrespect meant to the Toffeemen. The way we've played in recent games has seen us display traits that personally say a lot more than a textbook Tottenham dvd performance.

We grind, we fight. Down to ten men twice,  so what? Let's pass the ball like there's twenty of us running around the pitch. And then the pockets of pure scintillating counter-attacking football reminds us all that even at 60% Spurs can produce a 95% moment of devastation that results in three points.

I hope that there is not too much tinkering in terms of squad rotation tonight. Although it's not an imperative end of days must win, it's most defiantly an opportunity to continue with the momentum, when you consider that other clubs might drop points this evening. Also, complacency. We have to respect Everton and not take it all for granted. Obvious statements. Basics.

Which brings me to the conclusion of the article (almost). As we continue to push forwards, avoiding the blips, there is no need for a massive rock of the boat. We're sailing. Just need to fit it with a powerful motor to speed things along. A basic, simple and obvious addition(s) if we want to reach our destination before others.

Running theme this season: consolidation. We have the players to deliver the bullets (Lennon, Bale, vdV, Modric). All we need is the hit-man with the gun ready to pull the trigger. Doesn't have to be anything more than what's required. For the right amount, Carroll would do. What with Dzeko gone to City. But mugging off Newcastle with a bit of money and a couple of players in a swap would probably take some supreme hypnotising from Levy.

Carroll might not exactly be the White Drogba but if you forget about his age and his lack of Prem experience and the way he looks - and close your eyes and imagine him on the pitch running down the centre giving our players a genuine target who can head and smash it in, there is hardly need for over elaboration. Does he work hard? Yes. Does he work the channel with fire in his belly? Yes. Is he a ballerina? Well no. You can't have everything.

The counter argument will obviously be one that he lacks the intelligence of a Benzema or one of the many other continental forwards like Llorente we've been linked with (I wouldn't say no to either of them by the way) and that Modric and van der Vaart and all our intricate play just outside the box would be wasted on him. Although quite how a threaded ball will confuse the big lad, I don't know.

'He's just a tall Jermain Defoe' you might say. 'He's just a more weighty Peter Crouch' you laugh. Any foreign player could always turn out to be just another Pav or Rebrov. And our current batch of forwards are hardly masterminds of movement. We all know Harry likes to keep things…simple. Of course, we also know Spurs at one point wanted (supposedly wanted) Kenwyne Jones. Who is obviously the black Andy Carroll.

We'll see. As long as the chairman and Harry sign players they want or accept wonderful wonderful opportunist gifts like the one Madrid gave us last time round. And as long as we don’t splash money on a player who is not worth the splashing when the splashing soaks you in cold water (in other words, Bent wasn't worth £16M, neither was Bentley and a thank you to Sunderland for pricing us out of Jones at £20M). To spell it out, for the money Newcastle will want, it's probably a non-starter. But it's good to talk.

And regarding Beckham, like I mentioned in a previous blog, he will do well for us for what he can do on the training pitch.

And to finally conclude, regarding Everton away, I'll take another three points. Swagger or no swagger. If it's good enough for United, it's good enough for me.

The Stupendous Adventures of Bale and Bentley

At the Spurs Lodge, in the changing rooms...

Gareth: Hey David. What you doing?

David: I’m preparing.

Gareth: For what?

David: A new beginning. One without heartache and disillusion, just peace. Just wonderful, beautiful tranquil peace. No more voices in my head.

Gareth: Is that...is that a gun?

David: Don’t you worry, shouldn’t you be out on the training pitch, running up and down, just in case someone from Marca or Madrid is sat in a tree watching you.

Gareth: There’s no need to be like that David. I beat my hoodoo and you can beat yours. Is that a bucket of gold paint?

David: Oh, I intend to. I intend to do just that. Yes, that's gold paint.

Gareth: Look at the state of you. What's with the hair, the scruffy beard? And the gun. You don’t need to go out this way. 

David: Go out? Go out? I’ll be going out alright. With a bang.

Gareth: Oh Christ no. You have other options, you do. Talk to someone, talk to me.

David: Talk? Talk? I’ve done my talking. Done it with my feet since the day I arrived here. Star-jumping. Kicking a ball into a skip. Stepping down on the gas in my Porsche. Setting my foot on fire and jumping into a pool. What else am I meant to do? What else? I’m sorry, but this is the only option I have.

Gareth: Why have you got Beckham printed on the back of your shirt?

David: No reason.

Gareth: David, the gun. You don’t have to...

David: Oh do shut up Gareth. It’s not even real. It’s one of those trendy cigar lighters.

Gareth: Oh okay, ha ha ha, I’m daft sometimes.

David: I think I can hear Harry calling you.

Gareth: But what about all that talk about peace and a new beginning and the voices? Oh, and you appear to have gold paint running down the side of your thighs.

David: I need to throw the lighter away, that's all. It’s controversial because it looks like a gun. It's my only option and it...would be a new beginning for me without it. And therefore quiet and you know, peaceful. No one nagging me. You know...

Gareth: Okay, cool. And the paint?

David: Harry is calling you Gareth. See ya.

Gareth: What’s that?

David: What’s what?

Gareth: I thought I heard something. Not Harry calling, not from the outside. In here. A noise.

David: I hear nothing. Bye.

Gareth: Okay, maybe it's the lads on the training pitch. No wait...

David: What?

Gareth: There it is again. Sounds like a muffled...a muffled voice.

David: I don’t hear a thing.

Gareth: Listen, just listen. It’s coming from over there, in the showers.

David: There is no one in the showers. And definitely no one tied and gagged there. No need to look. Skip along outside now. Harry has drafted in Macion just for you to run at in training.

Gareth: There it is again. I’m taking a look.

David: I'd prefer that you didn't do that.

Gareth: Oh my God! Jesus...is that? Oh no! What have you done? David! Oh my God, what have you done? He’s meant to be having his medical! Look at the state of him! He looks half dead!

David: He won’t be having a medical. There is no need for him to have a medical. I will be having the medical.

Gareth: What? What are you talking about? This is insane! Crazy, just crazy! Hold up, what's that over there? Is that a second person gagged and tied up?

David: Yes. Victoria.

Gareth: Okay.

David: Yep.

Gareth: Right...okay...where was I? Oh yes, Christ, oh my God, you can't have him gagged and tied up! You just can't! It's lunacy!

David: Yes I can. There is only room for one David here. A younger David. A me David. David Beckham.

Gareth: Your name is Bentley, David Bentley.

David: Is it Gareth? Is it? My shirt says otherwise.

Gareth: You've lost it, you've lost your marbles, completely lost it. You need to untie him. You won’t get away with this. It’s madness. It’s absolute madness! What are you doing now? The lighter? I'm hardly going to run scared of a lighter that looks like a gun...wait...what are you going to do with it? No, no...not the hair, not the hair...I've only just finished combing it...NOOOOOOOOO !!

Later that same day...

Jim White: Welcome to Sky Sports News. David Beckham has been unveiled at Tottenham's training ground, The Lodge, after successfully passing a medical for a two month loan deal, although he’s already hinted he wants to stay longer at White Hart Lane. Becks was in fine form, looking fresher than ever, entertaining the journalists present with a superb display of skill, keeping the ball balanced on his head, star-jumping, with his foot on fire inside a Porsche whilst driving it into a skip. Classic Beckham there winning over the Tottenham faithful, all members of the press giving him a standing ovation. And Sky Sports was there to capture this historic moment. Just look at the yellow ticker if you don't believe me. Becks is back in England with a bang, baby!

Georgie Thompson: Great stuff, we'll have the press conference in full in around three hours after we play countless ad breaks and tease you with more footage from said press conference without ever going to the actual headline story. In other news, Spurs officials have denied Gareth Bale has gone AWOL and that he’s probably gone home to see his mum, the soft lad.

Jim White: Sorry Georgie, let's go live to the Spurs Lodge where apparently, ha ha ha, sorry, let me compose myself, back to the Lodge where apparently Beckham has thrown a bucket of water over Harry Redknapp. Classic! And it's in HD!

The End.

The Stupendous Adventures of Bale and Bentley - Episode One

The Stupendous Adventures of Bale and Bentley - Episode Two

The Stupendous Adventures of Bale and Bentley - Episode Three

The Stupendous Adventures of Bale and Bentley - Episode Four

The Fantastical Return of the Adventures of Bale and Bentley (Episode Five)

The Stupendous Adventures of Bale and Bentley - Episode Six

The Stupendous Adventures of Gareth Bale - Episode Seven

David Bentley gallery.

Beck to the Future

Plenty being discussed about Beckham and I’ve sat on my thoughts (amazing what you can do with a tab of acid) and pondered the various pros and cons and listened and read various opinions on why he should/shouldn’t become part of the Tottenham evolution.

No matter the countless strong arguments for and against this potential loan deal there remains one constant which for me has got stronger and stronger every time I sit and think about the logistics of signing a thirty-five year old on loan for a couple of months. The constant being exactly that. A couple of months. A loan. He’ll arrive, no doubt to the usual media hullabaloo with giddy fans outside WHL telling the Sky cameras they have no time to chat as they run towards the massive queue outside the Spurs Shop salivating at the prospect of ‘Beckham’ printed on the back of the home shirt and to also get their hands on the specially released official dvd – ‘Beckham: The Medical and Press Conference’.

Regardless of whether you believe in ‘the circus’ that follows him around, cameras always on him before anyone else, if he does accept the invitation and if LA Galaxy give their approval – it’s as short term as it can possibly get. Hello, how you doing, goodbye. That’s about six hundred flicks of the hair, two thousand moody stares from the bench and at least six and half thousand smiles. Or in relative terms, two months or so, a few cameos, the odd start, a free-kick or two and hours upon hours of hard training and chats and hugs with the squad.

It’s that constant again. Two months.

I don’t see the point in dissecting this in any great detail. We know Beckham is past his prime. We know (if played often) he’d be far more effective in Italy where the football caters for the older generation of footballers or the MLS where the football caters for the.'.yadda yadda yadda.

We know Tottenham play counter-attacking football, at speed, and that his role at Spurs will probably be more about his presence on the training ground and as a very astute deflection of attention away from the players who might start finding the pressure pressing down on them in the coming weeks.

We also know that he will play a part at some point, otherwise - for the sake of commercial reasons and coaching (tips and hints etc) it’s hardly worth all the effort if Harry doesn’t have reason to use Becks out on the battlefield. As reinforcement. Perhaps as a calming influence in the latter stages of a game.

So that’s it really. No need for dramatics. It’s a loan. For two months. As long as we do sign players we actually need as part of the Harry/Levy blueprint for the now and future (i.e. world class forward, another midfielder) then having David Beckham at the club is hardly going to be detrimental. If people actually believe we'll drop Lennon and change the whole system to accommodate him, you need your head checking.

We should all know in under 48 hours. Probably.

As for transfer news – Graham Hunter has been at it with some ITK suggesting Llorente was a target but no longer one (due to price), Pienaar has signed on a pre-contract and we are also looking at Cazorla. Tip of the iceberg, there are plenty more stories doing the rounds. Doesn't matter too much, does it? We sign who we sign, how we get there is just process.

Welcome to January.

Hold onto your hats.



A list of things you’ll probably agree with regarding the Spurs/Fulham game

We were hardly at our exciting swashbuckling best
Bit of a snoozefest to be honest (we are spoilt far too often these days)
Looked more than a tad tired, which is no great surprise considering the festive fixture fun and the detrimental effect the two successive red cards have had on the legs
But you can’t argue with a return of nine from nine available points
Proving that a quality side doesn’t have to be at full pelt to win
And two clean sheets on the trot, a Christmas cracker with no joke
Fulham probably deserved more out of the game but then you make your own luck
Talking of which, nice flick onwards from Bale from vdV’s free-kick – accidentally in the right place to flick it towards goal but hardly rehearsed
That’s eleven goals from Bale which isn’t too shabby
Blatant tapping up by Real Madrid
Back to Fulham, no cutting edge, but enough to have us biting nails with their pockets of patient pressure
Well done to Dawson and Gallas who take the afternoon’s plaudits
Also well done to Corluka, a player who lacks the pulsating rampant runs of Hutton but knows how to weight a pass and did so well – even though we missed the more direct methods of the Scotsman and his crosses you can't argue against the controlled partnership he has with Azza
We need a world class striker, right? But he can hardly do anything if Bale, Dawson and Lennon get into decent positions and scuff their shots
Not a lot to say on Palacios and Roman other than a sigh so long that it would have the ghosts of Norris McWhirter and Roy Castle dancing around me
Actually that’s unfair and overly harsh and I’m willing to ignore most of the lethargic performances based on the festive season taking its toll - soz for the cheap shot
‘Off-key’ seemed to be the trend but it says plenty about the determination of the players to still find something to half-grind out the result on aforementioned shattered legs
However, a general and obvious observation, Pav does not possess the movement, physicality or intelligence to lead the front-line and thus it served as further evidence for the need for a WC forward
If we do play one up top with vdV behind in the hole then said WC player is required - Pav (bless him) does work decently in a more traditional formation although so would a WC player who could easily adapt, but let’s not get side-tracked with tactical dynamics for now
Dawson continues to stabilise our back four and massive applause for his goal-line clearance
What’s that now, eight games unbeaten in the league?
Once more, guile and grit on display with that sprinkling of luck – all ingredients required to challenge rather than pretend
But feet still firmly on ground
This was hardly vintage, it was hardly Tottenhamesque, but how can anyone possibly be critical of three wins out of three?
Perfect Christmas
Dug deep running on empty

In addition:

Nice little gap opening up just below 5^th spot – so the top five clubs are currently the expected top five. It’s tasty. Looks even better if we win our game in hand. The initiative has to be taken and the resulting pressure on the rest will be applied and someone will buckle and choke. Someone will end up as Pete Best whilst the Fab Four go on a magical mystery tour.

Beckham musings when I next get a spare five minutes.



Spooky recommends...All-conquering Englishman spurs his way across Europe

Capital Punishment by Kris Mole - Ebook available here

extract:

Having blagged his way into a Barcelona FC press conference...

"My fantasy interview was cut short by someone entering the room talking on a mobile phone. I turned to see who it was and couldn’t believe my eyes. Xavi, all 5’7” of him (he’s a littl’un) was standing beside me having a chat to someone, probably his girlfriend, telling her he would be home for dinner soon and could she make sure there were a few San Miguels in the fridge. He glanced at me with a look that said,

“Who the **** are you?” and I nodded a greeting his way. He then looked down at the cockerel on my chest and sighed the kind of sigh that I knew meant, “If only they would put in a bid for me. I would love to play for Spurs one day.”

He finished his conversation and left me alone once again."