You've destroyed our club

Dear Mr Levy,

Thank you.

Thank you for completing me. I was a straitjacket short of a padded cell. But now I have it all. There’s even a little foam on the corner of my mouth. So thank you for my current state of mind, a consequence of you systematically dismantling the great club that Harry Redknapp built with his bare hands. Thank you for this empire of dirt, these ashes in a broken urn you have left for myself and my brethren to mourn over. Thank you for the cataclysm. Please send in the doctors. Order me a lobotomy, save me from witnessing further disgrace. Any minute now, Keith Burkinshaw will appear as a vision to remind me that there was once a football club here. You’ve managed to reanimate the dead after the wilderness of the 1990s only to bury it alive. You are accountable for this shambolic mess. But it’s okay, it’s of no major personal concern to you. It's all gone wrong so you can easily point the blame at the fall guy you’ve appointed in place of Harry then hire the next mug in or simply beg Redknapp to return to fix this crisis.

You didn't back Villas-Boas on purpose which means your failure is really a clever little escape clause. I know your game. Waiting until the final day to do business because you know how improbable it is to get the job done so late in the transfer window. You signed Dempsey because you knew Moutinho wouldn’t happen. Why would it when there are so many complexities involved in his transfer? So many that a day’s worth of hard graft was nigh impossible to iron them all out. He was Villas-Boas number one target and you purposely side-stepped it so that the money from the Luka Modric transfer can sit in that diamond encrusted shoe box under your bed. Hugo Lloris, another mastermind manoeuvre although you seem to have ballsed this one up. The player actually signed in the end, even with your attempts to stall and change the offer made to Lyon during negotiations. How dare you show such contempt for opposing clubs, a blatant reluctance to play into their hands and accept their demands over your own? Who the hell do you think you are? Shameful you are representative of THFC. How dare you cater for your own interests, nursing your agendas. You make my skin crawl.

Where was the £30M bid for Falcao? Llorente? Leandro? You were too busy pushing out club legend Rafa van der Vaart and failing to match valuations for our other alleged targets. You know the ones, refresh NewsNow or tune into Sky Sports News, they had a long list of them. Oh but wait, you signed Dembele. Whoop de doo. Let’s raid Fulham and it will be a-okay. In January we should look at pillaging Reading and if we’re feeling really really ambitious we can swagger on up to Anfield and pluck some of their gems.

We’re really aiming high aren’t we? If it was up to you Dawson, Defoe and Huddlestone would have been thrown onto the scrap-heap alongside Ledley King, cruelly casted out whilst you allow ex-gooners like Adebayor get richer at the cost of hiking up our season tickets. Oh wait, newsflash, you've improved the catering at White Hart Lane. Well that's okay then. At least we won't cry our eyes out at the disarray on the pitch on empty stomachs. To add further insult to injury we are now that little club in England that Jose can tap up if he wants something new for his big team in Madrid. Should I burn my Gareth Bale shirt now or wait until his transfer is confirmed next summer? I just can't get over this transfer window and your last minute attempts at signing players. Do you set your alarm to go off on the last day of August as a reminder to do some business? But it's all good isn't it? Because you can now swap Panini stickers with Florentino Pérez and share up-skirt pictures via instant messenger. He looks the type.

I’m furious.

There used to be a football club here...

You have once more screwed this club over. Selling off players along with that aforementioned refusal to meet the demands of other chairman, preferring instead to bully and play with them until they are tearful and broken. You need to consider other people’s feelings, our feelings, and stop being so self-absorbed on this ‘project’ you seem to be running into the North London ground. We’ve got money, I know we have. We sold Modric, so splash it around a bit. You saving it for a rainy day? We’re rich. That bloke who lives out in the Bahamas, he’s a billionaire God damn it.

We should be signing Champions League quality players and paying them a kings ransom to wear our shirt. But oh no, God forbid you speculate to accumulate. Let me guess, boo hoo, we need money for the stadium. Bore off. What stadium? You think a bit of scaffolding and cement mixers can fool me?

As for Villas-Boas, you've out done yourself there. The closest he ever got to playing football was reading a book about it and learning tactics and formation on a computer. He shouldn't be managing a Sunday league club let alone us. He's a researcher at best. Who's next in line? Anthony Costa? We never played this poorly under Redknapp. I refuse to give him a chance, I simply refuse. Anything below 4th is a disgrace and we're currently 14th. Unacceptable and believe me I'm being patient here. I was patient on Saturday against Norwich. I didn't start to abuse the manager until late on. I waited until the 15th minute. This isn't a transition, it's a crisis!

I've been a supporter for decades but I will never set foot back into White Hart Lane again until you are removed and gone. Okay, granted, the restraining order doesn't allow me within a mile of the stadium, but my disdain will see me boycott EA Sports games and not purchase any Under Armour gear. Apart from one of the white training tops which looks spiffing. So have some of that corporate Tottenham.

The points lost at the start of the season because of your reluctance to do business early and get in the players to replace the departing ones have cost us any chance of finishing top four. Our season is OVER. Have you looked at the table? MIND THE GAPS. Plural, that's plural.

You have sold our soul to the devil, then nicked it back, then sold it back to us only to then take a reward from the devil when pointing him in the direction of his stolen property. This, this ugly abomination of a club is what you've birthed from your greed and self-absorption. I am Gregory Peck in The Omen when he digs up that coffin in the ruined cemetery to find a jackal's skeleton in Damien's mother's grave. I'm Gregory f**king Peck! You've turned us all into Gregory Peck!

I hope you like the number ten. It’s not a shirt number Daniel. It’s the position we'll be sitting in come May. And the number 666 is no doubt glistening with pride somewhere on your body.

Yours devastatingly,

Spooky

Spurs in crisis meltdown: Demonstration planned

Dear Mr Levy,

My beloved Tottenham Hotspur are in crisis.

Two successive, devastating defeats have seen us concede eight goals as we plummet down from third place into the abyss of no recovery. We are a broken side. Momentum has deserted us. Lady luck preferring to lift her skirt up for teams that parade in the colour red whilst we stand in the distance unable to catch a glimpse of her panties. The brazen little hussy. Teasing us for so long and giving us nothing in the end. We had it all in the grasp of our hands and lost it. This is Tottenham in a state of capitulation. Surrendering, waving the Lilywhite flag of despondency whilst we fall to our knees and beg for the comfort of mid-table mediocrity where hope was nothing but a deluded dream. This is Tottenham, with six gut wrenching defeats in total that leaves us shattered in our quest for the title.

This is meant to be the best Spurs side of recent years and yet we roll over at home against Utd, schooled on how to suck in pressure and counter attack. Naive at the back, wasteful at the front. All the while, Harry sat on the bench doing nothing, watching from the bench rather than animating himself on the touchline when everyone knows that you only win games if the gaffer is dominating his technical box with various dramatic hand movements or jumping up from his seat and celebrating every goal like he's just beaten the tax man in the high court.

Okay, so we had 60% of the possession but I ask you, why did we not have 70%? Or 75%? Or perhaps just had the 2% or 3% that United used up when Rooney and Young scored? Elsewhere, Parker and van der Vaart were anonymous and Bale lost and alone once more marauding off somewhere between a black hole and supernova instead of remaining on the left wing. Yeah sure, we bossed it. But we bossed it like a club bouncer that stands tall in front of the main entrance, throwing punches but never landing any and then skipping off to the toilet leaving the entrance unattended for uninvited guests to dart in for free. Soul destroying Harry called it. I call it old habits die hard.

Stick. The. Ball. In. The. Net. It's not exactly a difficult ask. The universe doesn't collapse in on its self if you happen to score against United. Or did we dedicate the game in honour of Howard Webb, who unfortunately is no longer with us (technically speaking not dead, but wasn't present during the duration of the match).

I didn't get to hear any of Alan Smith's commentary on Sky Sports, however I completely agree with whatever it was he said. He always has it nailed down that lad. An unbiased harbinger of truth. You might want to cite the controversy over the disallowed goal and had it stood we might have gone on to win. Watched it again. I'm positively certain the ball crossed the line. Mendes was robbed, blatantly.

I've simply had enough of the mismanagement that is costing us the potential to dare to achieve to aim to capture to possibly attain sustained progression that might lead to silverware. At the start of the season if you had said 'challenge for fourth spot?' I would have responded with 'no chance, we have to challenge for the very top'. Think back, I know you remember it as clearly as I do, like it was yesterday. We had higher expectations for the season ahead. Fourth is simply not good enough. I remember it just like it was yesterday. Except it wasn't yesterday was it? Because yesterday I was crying into my hands uncontrollably.

Mind the gap? Mind the gap? What ******* gap? There is no gap. We've eaten it like a zombie savaging its own limbs, feasting on its own flesh and blood. WHAT AM I MEANT TO DO WITH THE LONDON UNDERGROUND TATTOO ON MY CHEST? I had to have my nipples surgically repositioned to fit it in. Then spent more money having it recoloured when I realised the tattoo was red (never red). I've got lopsided nipples now because I trusted all those photo-shopped images shared on the internet via Twitter and message boards. The only gap I can see is the one in the face of Tottenham, teeth smashed out, black gaping holes where brilliant white once shined. We've lost our bragging rights and everybody knows you can only ever smile in public when you're winning. You're turning me into a social media hermit. You and him.

Redknapp has cost us 18 points this season and you, Mr Chairman, have fuelled the disappointment by not being speculative enough in the transfer market in January. A prime time to consolidate. Instead you preferred to amputate. We should have signed several players. You know who I'm talking about. Them lot. The ones that got mentioned. We needed them. We all agreed as supporters when watching You Tube footage. Even the press linked us. We could have done with them to give us more options. One for that position one for the other position. Years and years of splashing out money on crap players when we were crap and now that we're supposedly good we can't be bothered to spend money on top drawer targets to consolidate our position. Six defeats the outcome of your incompetence and insubordination to act with ambitious ruthlessness. Six defeats that Redknapp could have avoided if he was a (better) tactically astute coach, say if he was someone else altogether with different ideas and methods to apply them. How can we accept such negligence?

Here's the Roll of Shame in full technicolor:

5 - 1 City (H) - Destroyed at home by total football. A catalyst for our future collapse.

3 - 0 Utd (A) - Seasoned orchestrated dance recital consisting mostly of ballet performed by the team in white, a prelude ceremony to handing over the three points. Let's dispense with the formalities next time and just forfeit the game.

2 - 1 Stoke (A) - Typical Spurs, losing to a side that likes to get 'stuck in' because we don't have the foresight to knit in towels to our players shirts.

3 - 2 City (A) - Ledley King costing us points. He's past it. This game and the one up next in the list proves this to be the case, above and beyond all the games where he never made any mistakes. It's irrefutable. Go and read the blogs if you don't believe me. Bloggers know what they're talking about because unlike ordinary fans they go to the trouble of setting up a website to share their soundbites.

5 - 2 Arse (A) - Expected result. Let's be honest, everyone predicted this. The home side a far superior footballing beast with exquisite talent playing with technicality and expansive movement. With  rapturous loyal support behind them, we froze like a rabbit in the headlight. The brilliant Walcott, a beautiful hybrid of Neo and Henry, showcasing the effectiveness that the Emirates (or should I say 'The Matrix') have applauded all season long. An eleven man team of colossus performers that are not at all concerned with little old Spurs. No really, ignore all the insistent references and quotes alluding to Spurs. A simple misunderstanding of language from spoken word to print. They haven't even noticed us. That Wenger, what a genius. He's still got it.

3 - 1 Utd (H) - Defeated before the whistle was blown. It's a contractual thing. Had we won this game we'd be back in the title hunt again. Instead we are free falling.

Four out of the above six defeats were against the Manchester sides. Astonishing. Embarrassing.

How can we accept the indignity of losing points to these teams in the manner that we did? Imagine had we failed to win any of our other matches in addition to these ones. We'd be in the midst of serious relegation fears. I pinned my hopes on a title challenge and yet here I am having to accept the mundane in comparison with the additional distraction of some mickey mouse cup polluting our fixture list. Any chance you can drop a brown envelope round to Harry's home tomorrow, I'll call the HMRC in advance, they can photograph the drop off and we could have another court case again to inspire the team into action. Perhaps invite Newcastle back to the Lane? Or better yet tell the players Chirpy is in hospital and in a coma and they need to raise their game for him, finish third in his honour. Seriously do it, because otherwise I just wasted time and effort breaking his knee-caps. I stink of blood and sweat. It's not easy you know, especially when they plead for mercy as you stand over them with a baseball bat. And roosters, damn, the mess they make when they're scared. Don't get me started on the smell.

The last two defeats prove that Harry is way over his head, incapable of producing the knowledge in the form of tactical reshuffles and selections to out-think his opponents. The past few seasons have been virtue of the talented squad he possesses. It's plain luck. Anyone can hug a few players, turn up periodically to training sessions and then sit on the bench to woo and aaah the action ongoing on the pitch. He's not good enough. We should be doing better than this. This is not good enough. In fact had you the foresight to employ someone else at the start of the season, by my calculations we'd be 5 points clear at the top now. You have ruined the opportunity for us to win the title in full blooded HD. We've overachieved for twenty-seven games and now we find ourselves crushing back to the harsh reality of averageness. We were only in a position of elevation because others around us are under performing. It's a false position. A crown of thorns. If this was any other season, say five years back or so, we'd have spent all season long in and around 6th place. We've been fooled, hook line and sinker.

Harry's still with us but his head isn't. It's been turned by England, which means he isn't actually here. We've just got an empty shell. Can you not see the cracks? England is seductively flirting with him. Yes, England, the bewildered wh*re that offers herself to anyone that wishes to spend a night in her bed and will no doubt kick him out when she experiences his limp efforts between the sheets. Not even a semi, a quarter probably...and that will hardly touch the sides.

He's taken us as far as he can. Seated in the departure lounge to oblivion.

We need to act quick, much like Chelsea have done. Bring in new blood to rejuvenate this tired weary dog. Football, it's all about inches, as Al Pacino once said in a film about strapping big Americans that are so insecure they need to pad out in amour to throw a rugby ball and chase it around with endless breaks puncturing the play. We could do with some of that padding. Inches? Pacino couldn't save us now. We're struggling with far longer distances and I'm about to bury my head in a bowl of coke screaming 'say hello to my little friend...Aaron Lennon'. And what use is he all on his own? There are only so many bullets in his magazine. It's not going to end well.

Spurs will always let you down. Fact. Sure, we qualified for the Champions League that one time, but did we win it? No. Thus, let down. You're only as good as your last game and we are nothing more than an apologetic mess too polite to score, always inviting to concede soft goals.

This is the crux of why I'm writing to you Mr Levy. Not to offer you a solution of any type but as a gentleman, to offer you notice of a demonstration at the next game to be played at White Hart Lane. It's time to make a stand and visually assassinate your senses and those that dare to look into the eyes of the revolution.

I will be bringing with me to the game a pack of Bassetts Jelly Babies, just eleven of them, each one representative of the first team and laying them on my seat post-game then leaving the ground. The Jelly Babies are post-modern effigies (all heads will be bitten off and spat towards the directors box), a statement of transparency that I will not ignore or be quiet as you stand and allow my club to die of footballing leprosy.

I hope others will join me in this defiant stand against the current upheaval we are being put through. My vision is to see entire blocks, empty seated, covered with Jelly Babies with the supporters leaving the ground willing to sacrifice their support for the greater good. For the long term.

This was a pinnacle point in our season and we failed the test. We are in free-fall. It's all beautifully illustrated by our distinct lack of creativity with taking set pieces. A very subtle inception, if you will, that has been placed deep in the minds of THFC, unaware of its poison and influence. An inception that sees us losing 5-8 points minimum per season because we can never take one with any genuine intent and hit the target convincingly consistently. This is holding us back. How can a top tier side (if that's what we're disguising ourselves as) not be competent in taking free-kicks with bullish confidence? I'll tell why, because you know you'll make more money selling Bale and Modric in the summer than qualifying for the Champions League. Hence why no set piece expert was signed in the last window. You can't fool me. I see it all. The hurtful truth screams out to me.

11 games to go. Just 11 games. Have you even looked at the fixture list? Daunting. 3rd place. Seven points above 5th spot. Four points ahead of 4th spot. A poor demoralised showing for our endeavours. Doomed. We are doomed. This is no position for our club to be in. We are stranded in the ocean without a paddle for our surf board. The crest of a wave nowhere to be seen. Sharks circling us. Slowly sinking.

This, Mr Levy, is the end of days. The dawn of the Jelly Babies is upon us.

Biting regards,
Spooky

Breaking bad

Dear Mr Levy,

We find ourselves at yet another cross-road. Is that a little too over dramatic?

De-listing the club to become a private company for investment reasons in order to finance the Northumberland Development Project now that the Olympic dream is dead. With the added touch that you could potentially look to sell the club either before any stadium is built or after. Keeping your options open is shrewd. We’ve come a long way since Irving Scholar, spent a big chunk of that time in the wilderness. Almost went under in ’91 but saved ourselves with the FA Cup. Then the irony of El Tel bringing in Alan Sugar, only for a spoonful to make the Venables go down and then eventually introduce ENIC (and you) into the fold as the new custodians of our mighty club.

Sure, the business model has always been top drawer. The footballing side never quite coated with brilliant white, always tinged with dark spots of naivety as you continued to employ people who would advise you about how best to handle the on-pitch developments. You did your best with the director of football system, bless your heart, remaining loyal to it until you stuck a gun to the back of its head and pulled the trigger. You always looked to sign young British players with sell-on value. Jenas, your poster-boy for this ethos. How did that turn out in the end? You battled United. You fought off Chelsea. Both having varying degrees of success (and failure) at bullying us. Although we did our fair share too when picking off players from lesser clubs.

You know how to play this game of chess. You’ve stood your ground and learnt your lessons. The whole Comolli/Jol/Ramos episode the reason for that bullet to the head of the DoF system. You trouble-shooted the bloody mess with Harry Redknapp, appointed in a back to basics deployment that not only worked but elevated us to the next level.

Desperation some thought in the appointment but you cited how Harry was a former target, someone that always interested you. You were hardly going to look abroad again. But it’s worked even though in so many ways it shouldn’t. All those years chasing the top four finish dream and the dream becomes reality. That was your doing, not on the advisement of others. I guess if you make several mistakes on the trot you are bound to get it right eventually.

Good luck, great timing...no matter how it’s perceived, it worked. It seems the club and its fans have been cleansed in recent years what with tangible progression witnessed by all who visit the Lane.

Is that dramatic enough for you?

Let’s however not gloss over the Olympic dream that was a nightmare for so many. Now that you’ve officially denounced any possibility of us ever wishing to bid for a running track, I scratch my head attempting to work out (again) just how Machiavellian your tactics in the process were. Was the NDP simply a ruse to suggest that a new stadium in N17 was not viable therefore validating a move to East London? But then the NDP was viable to start off with and become not so much once the club expressed interested in the OS.

But according to you (at the time) the OS interest pre-dated the NDP anyway, which somehow made it ‘alright’ to bid. Seems far-fetched to suggest the whole bidding process was an angle towards securing monies from government for funding. Mainly as we still await to see if anything is ever forthcoming. Could you have possibly fallen for Boris and his fluttering eyelashes, enticed to bid only to be used by certain parties for the benefit of consolidating legacy promises? Every conceivable scenario was accounted for, right? You knew the risks, right? You're meant to be the king of bluffs, no?

Losing 14-0 suggests we never stood a chance. Could you have been fooled? Surely not, this shrewd cunning business man that you are. Regardless, dirty tricks by all involved. Politics and posturing aside, we’re back where we started again. Back home trying to figure out how to finance a 55K + stadium.

I bet you’ve got moves like Jagger, swaggering around your N17 headquarters, puffing away on your Cuban cigar whilst snorting caviar off a high class escort girls thighs. That’s how I’d behave if I was you. Although I’d lose the glasses and get me a hair transplant. You can hardly lose. Even if we lost our manager to outside interference in 2012, the club is in such a healthy state with its football that we could easily attract a top drawer coach to continue our march forwards.

So what is my point exactly? What am I doing here? In your home, wearing your clothes, breathing in your scent from your pillow. What do I want? What is my objective? I guess it’s one born out of frustration. Even though the yearly annual financial report reads like an unstained original copy of the Marilyn Monroe first edition Playboy, delightfully incisive and titillating...I find myself grudgingly accepting your work ethic and applauding you. Grudgingly.

See, I wonder and question your loyalty. Deep deep down, this club, this club that belongs to me in heart if not on paper is an ends to a means for you and your fat cat shareholders. You go through the motions to serve the master plan you have laid out for the investment made.

Don’t accuse me of being naive. I understand wholeheartedly that modern football is foremost a business first. If a club is run efficiently and effectively it supports the footballing aspects without complaint. Which means that once a particular standard is achieved on the pitch, off the field profit margins increase and aid continued growth on the field. Both feeding each other to increase revenue and heighten potential for glory glory nights.

You make an investment, you want to be getting something back from it. You want that portfolio to look good for the next one. Loyalty to your shareholders as a priority doesn't mean that Spurs as a footballing entity will be stuck with second best.

You could even argue the point that someone who is just a little disassociated with football (i.e. not a true fanatic) is the best option to run a football club as they make decisions with their head and not their heart. They do not get side-tracked by emotion. But you see, my issue is that if you’re a chairman...if you are the THFC chairman, then your job at its most basic fundamental level is to do exactly what it is you do from one day to the next. It’s the decisions made on the footballing side that sometimes appear to lack that measured ingredient, that mixture of both head and heart. That element of the speculative is sometimes that missing spark required to give us an edge. As opposed to ruling unequivocally with the accounts book.

Yes, before you interject, I did notice the Rafa van der Vaart calendar in your study next to the stack of audio tapes with 'TOP SECRET' scribbled across them. You dirty dirty boy. Didn't know you had a fetish for booty calls. Although, between you and me, the woman on the tapes sounds a bit rough. Just my opinion.

I’ll get to Rafa in a moment.

Ignoring the OS debacle by mentioning it again, I still feel the necessity to question just how all consuming your stubborn ego is with matters of a footballing nature.

You didn’t want to sign Scott Parker. The board of directors did not want money spent on signing him. Most Spurs fans didn’t want him signed. I didn’t want him signed.The manager however did. Regardless of opinion, do you not wish to support the person you’ve employed and his judgement? Or are you once again surveying the investment purely on a fiscal level rather than a footballing one? Because let’s face it, Parker won’t be sold on to the next club in Carrickesque fashion.

Everyone is more than aware of Harry and his transfer policy and favouritisms. Chasing foreign and continental signings when your manager wants a good olde traditional fry-up; it stinks of DoF not by name but by nature. Therefore it undermines the relationship, at least it appears that way from the outside looking in. That and the dart board with Redknapp newspaper cut-outs you have. Also in your study. Which appears to be a shrine of hate, what with the Glenn Hoddle voodoo doll. At least I think it’s meant to be Hoddle. There’s far too many pins inserted in it to know for sure.

You’ve done good they say. You signed van der Vaart. But surely that was less of the good and more of the opportunistic? Had Real Madrid not called you or had the other interested club followed through with their interest we’d have been left with nothing when the window shut. We weren’t even after a midfielder at the time. You might have built up a relationship with the White Storm, hence the courtesy call, but it was more ‘we want rid’ from them rather than us knocking on their door.

Genius they called you. Or to be exact, genius only when Rafa is on form. When he’s not he’s a hindrance to the team and Defoe should play instead in a more traditional 442 formation. But this was not genius. This was going out to do some late night shopping at Tescos to pick up some milk to go with your tea only to come back with chocolate digestives. Not essential for a cup of tea, but you wouldn’t say no. But then that digestive, its so so good. With or without tea. So does it really matter that you came home with digestives when you didn't actually have the intention of picking them up in the first place? They make you happy even if you weren't meant to have them. Did we really need the milk any way? Should I accept that things happen and its not how they happen but its what happens because of it that matters more? Why bother with the hows and whys?

Perhaps we should bother (Rafa now, not with the digestive metaphor which let's face it crumbled several sentences ago).

There is no clear agenda when it comes to signing players. Adebayor is on loan. What happened to chasing skirt in La Liga? All for show, running around like a dog on heat, salivating? Or is this a continued waiting game. Chess board piece in hand, but refusing to move it until the not so distant future is slightly clearer and less foggy?

The two South African players were signed why exactly? So we can send one of them to Preston North End and the other to sort of be able to cover one or two positions but not truly cover said positions with much oomph. A non-sexy utility player that cost peanuts in transfer but more in wages. If they were signed to simply maximise exposure in SA, I’m told it’s nigh impossible to find Spurs shirts out there so that investment hardly inspires.

You also failed to pay the extra few million required to sign a centre-back. It’s funny how said player is ‘over priced’ yet we are content with signing the likes of Hutton and Bassong to name a few, and lose money on them because they simply do not fit in and are not worth their original price tag. Either we’ve tightened up on signing player of the moment players or we don’t quite have the money to splash out on any given target – as essential as one might be to consolidating that all important on the field progress.

Sure, we kept Luka Modric in Lilywhite. Well done for standing your ground, for another year at the very least. If we qualify for CL and he still wants out then we can at least enjoy the £30M or so we earn from his departure. If it’s actually reinvested in players. But genuine kudos for that particular statement of intent. However it has more to do with me holding Luka captive for three days straight, tied to a chair, eyes strapped open watching a big screen playing various You Tube clips of Tottenham teams, past and present in a continuous loop. I did screw up a little with the editing. I might be partly responsible for his erratic form this season. I can sometimes see it in his face. Still not sure how the goat porn got in there.

Elsewhere, we dithered with Leandro and now he’s worth three times his original valuation. You and Harry dither with each other all the time, both reading off a different script. If you’re holding back because of what might happen in January or the summer of 2012 then I guess I should cut you some slack for your damage limitation management. Waiting again I assume to make your move when you know for certain. That chess piece gripped tightly, mulling over a contingency plan.

Do you see why I’m so confused? I’m trying to discredit yet find myself reasoning. That's what you do to me Daniel. You are Edward to my Bella.

To try and understand your methodology I’ve had to immerse myself into the world that you live in. Hence the shaved head and the hefty six thousand plus investment in importing a Real Doll™ from the States. Custom made with life-like dour facial expressions thanks to their patented Face-X system. But no matter how many times I get on top of it, I remain flaccid. If you’re interested, I’ve stuck it on ebay. Every orifice has been thoroughly cleaned out, I promise. Including the ears and armpit areas. Made to order to look exactly like Karren Brady. Get your bid in quick sharp though, this one bloke, DS69, has bid a few times already. He hasn’t stopped emailing me. Wants me to sell it to him directly on the cheap, the perv.

Perhaps I can’t quite forgive and forget and ignore the whole Stratford affair which has left me with tainted thoughts of you in my head. But then I should ignore the rhetoric and simply mark you on how the team performs on the pitch – ignoring all the alleged behind close door disagreements illustrated so colourfully by Redknapp during the summer, head peaking outside car window, SSN mic in face. What does it matter how things play out in the boardroom if the team continues to do well? Modern football has changed so much that we concern ourselves equally with what the suits do along with what the men in shorts do. When it should simply be about the latter.

Perhaps as much as I hope you used Stratford to gain strength back in N17, the same game of thrones is playing out between chairman and manager. The same politics and posturing. Both protecting ego. But all that truly matters is that whenever the next change occurs, it's one that doesn’t dislodge the stability built. That and hopefully better beer available at half-time. Seriously, Carlsberg? Really? Still?

The both of you are more alike than you think. Both self-serving but yet beneficial to those that pay to get through the turnstiles. You know your money. Harry knows his left from his right. Ask Gareth. If we qualify for the Champions League again, all the dithering in the world will be of no consequence because the achievement will be enough for most.

It would appear I am no closer to comfort. As I stand naked in front of your bedroom mirror, tucked in, so many questions remain answered. Does it matter, does it truly matter how we’ve come to be where we are? And how much of a pimp are you with the mirror on the ceiling too?

Fortune favours the brave, right? Even Redknapp is beyond criticism compared to recent managerial statistical history even if he wings it occasionally. But how can anyone be accused of winging it when we have one of our best squad of players since the 80s? Can't all be luck. I should be content. I should embrace it. I should only worry about my deepest darkest thoughts if they ever see the light of day instead of drowning in conspiracy.

I need to leave now and go home. I'm going to keep the bottle of Old Spice I took from your bathroom as a memento. The dog is fine by the way. She'll wake up soon enough. Ketmaine. I do hate to waste the stuff on animals. Also, make sure you check your answer phone. Four messages from Carlo. He’s a bit insistent, isn’t he? I deleted them. But there’s one from David Pleat I kept. Something about a tasty defender plying his trade at Charlton he wants to scout. Irish origin. Can play up front. Sounds exiting. Money where your mouth is please.

Yours wishfully positive and trusting,
Spooky

Tottenham is burning

Dear Mr Levy,

As you gleefully play your lyre, singing arias whilst watching the death and destruction as Tottenham Hotspur burns to the ground as you look down from the comfort of your own personal Maecenas...ask yourself, when the fire is extinguished...who shall you blame? Who will take responsibility for this calamity? From the ashes, will you build on the devastated land a palace for your ego and eunuchs? Will you blame us, the common man, citing Stratford as a catalyst?

Or will you be overthrown?

What’s that? It’s too late? This is fidelity? It sure is. Faithfulness to your own beliefs to the bitter end.

I can only hope Chirpy is caught in the fire too. I think he’s best served up on a plate with a dab of jerk seasoning and Piri Piri sauce. You see, much like my feathered friend, I have a permanent expression of comedic shock on my face. Is this really happening? Are you truly sitting back in your throne eating grapes and watching this despondency and dismay play out before your eyes?

Why do you not listen to the people and their cries for help? Even your soldiers show discontent with their general. But that’s the crux of it isn’t it? You appointed the general yourself having removed your second in command. No more director of football. A wheeler dealer in his place. But we’re not fooled, then and now. We never wanted him in the first place. Any half decent coach would have kick-started our season when we sat bottom of the table. And now, two seasons later, we look set to return to the mediocrity that almost engulfed us. We are stagnating. Sideways stepping when it’s abundantly clear we should be 10, 12 points better off.

When you look for your scapegoat and make an example out of him be sure to remember that the blame should be shared between the both of you.

You for sticking with him and him for making nothing stick.

Where would you like me to start? How about I just throw one or two statements of facts your way and see how much of it you manage to catch? You may need to place your lyre down for a moment.

Two transfer windows and not an inkling of a world class forward. Instead, we’re left rotating the three stooges whilst we try to accommodate a midfielder who is best played centrally but is instead used in the hole in a tragically flawed 4411 formation that rarely proves to be fruitful. If we had two proper forwards signed in the summer along with a fully-fledged right back, a central defender to cover expertly when Gallas and Dawson are not available and in addition a new goalkeeper and better quality cover for Bale on the wing – we’d be challenging for the title. Instead we are struggling to remain in 5^th spot whilst being humiliated in Europe because we have no tactical astuteness to go to Madrid and get a decent result whilst multi-tasking the domestic games.

Don’t give me all this propaganda about the red card and Lennon’s illness. We should have reshaped comfortably and contained Madrid with the odd counter thrown in for good measure. I reckon a 2-1 loss, possibly even 2-2 was more than achievable. If José Mourinho was our manager do you honestly believe we’d have lost 4-0? Do you? Of course not. Harry proving he can’t hack it at the highest level, completely at fault for our surrender and capitulation. Perfect for England.

Let’s go back to the summer again and the New Year. The failure to sign a forward. We get offered a midfielder, rejected from his club, and we lap it up because how can a donkey possibly deny itself from taking a bite out of the dangling carrot? Everybody knows that if van der Vaart had not been signed we’d have been forced to play a traditional 442 system and Defoe, Crouch and Pav would have scored a bundle domestically and in Europe.

Then again, probably not. Neither of them are world class and last season’s fourth spot finish was nothing more than good fortune rather than managerial shrewdness. Because our manager, mugged in Madrid (a second time), doesn’t have the knowhow on how to beat the big teams and inspire the side when the going gets tough. It’s all sound bites with him isn’t it? We’re under achieving and he’s still trying to enforce a down to bare bones mantra to hide the truth and his deficiencies.

In the New Year we should have signed Carroll. He's have been fit and able round about now to make it for the push. £35M well spent rather than sitting in your bank account earning interest.

The form of some of our players has been down to luck and aided by circumstance and nothing to do with his man-management. Bale was always going to come good. Modric was always best suited for the middle of the park. BAE was always a decent left-back. It's more than obvious. The team picks itself unless the team picked loses meaning a different team should have been picked in its place to start with although if tactical changes are made they should only be referenced if they don’t work and ignored if they do work. But mostly they don’t. Which is why we’re 5^th with a handful of games to go and about to be (already) knocked-out of the CL in the quarter-finals.

We got rid of dos Santos and Taarabt – two players destroying their respective leagues with their new clubs, be it the former on loan the latter sold. We could have done with dos Santos mental strength and Taarabts composure. It's painful, the schoolboy errors witnessed. Painful.

We’re always playing our Plan B which means Plan B is in fact Plan A which points to the fact that if Plan B is Plan A then what is Plan B if Plan B is A and Plan A is actually Plan B masquerading as Plan A? With better players we’d be in are far better position than we find ourselves in.

We’ve done ourselves no favours with our European adventure which has simply papered over the cracks. What’s the point in progressing in the Champions League when we’re meant to be competing for a top four finish so we can qualify for it the following season? It’s all about the qualification, not the taking part. We’re never going to win it so why bother trying? It’s an absolute mess. And it pains me to witness my beloved club falling apart at the seams with bickering and in-fighting, dressing room afloat, lost in a sea of despair. What with squad trimming immediate, I expect us to lose Bale, Modric and van der Vaart in the immediate summer months – but we won’t fret as the profit will go towards signing that elusive world class striker leaving us with no midfield to create chances for him.

Disaster. Everywhere I look. Disaster.

You wanted back to basics? You got back to basics. This is football 101 and our ploy of ‘running around and kicking the ball a lot’ has finally collapsed in on itself.

The end is nigh. The fire started with a single match lit by your hands, Daniel, with further fuel added to the flames by Harry. It’s criminal that we’ve failed to compete with consistency and cohesiveness. We find ourselves in this position solely because of your mismanagement of the transfer windows and Harry’s player favouritism and abandoned first teams dumped out on loan. At least under Comolli we had direction, drive. All we have now is a manager winging it with battered feathers taking to the air for as long as a penguin can jump above ground.

Still playing your lyre, Emperor Levy? Your arrogance and self-preservation has once more destroyed all hope in N17. The blind leading the blind, you allow your general to march us into an untenable position and yet more failure. A battle that simply cannot be won. The dream is over. It's hart no longer white, but burnt black from the fire.

Play your lyre, watch us burn away. Watch us all burn away.

Yours tragically,

Spooky

Glory Glory night, N17, invite only, bring a (some) bottle

Dear Mr Levy,

Here we are, looking forwards again rather than looking back. Let's talk football and leave the conspiracy laced debate for next time we return from Old Trafford where no doubt a United player will score a brace during the half-time interval and Clattenburg/Webb/appeasing FA ref-bot will allow both goals to stand on grounds of enthusiastic punctuality. Then book Ledley King for dissent. Even though King hasn't travelled up there due to injury. Then award a penalty whilst Richard Scudamore touches himself in those private of places whilst David Dein continues to orchestrate proceedings from the shadows.

Sorry, did I say 'let's talk football'? Lets.

Inter, at the Lane. Glory Glory night. On when the Spurs go marching in. Ticker-tape and plenty of oohs and aahs. We hope. It's what we've worked so hard for. Looking back at our home Champions League matches, even though we beat Young Boys and Twente it felt like we plucked and plucked with plucky effort to get ourselves through the games (actually the YB victory was far more comfortable than the roller-coaster that was the Twente game). We've not been assured. The away games have been testament to that. In fact, we've failed to be 100% at any stage this season regardless of the competition. We lack that bit of extra something with regards to testicular fortitude.

Let's not look too far forwards just yet in terms of January and the re-opening of the window.

In the present, yes we have injuries. Yes we have a conveyor belt of a defence. Yes we are still attempting to adapt to 451. Yes we don't truly have a certified full-on forward to best the formation. And on top of all this scratching of heads is that although we have players of majestic quality that can win games with individual pomp we don't quite have the cohesive flow through the team, top to bottom. The signs are there but we keep taking the route to a dead end.

It's all a bit Blu Tack instead of Super-Glue in terms of sustainable fixed focus. Have a word with Harry please. Can you perhaps replace all mentions of To Dare is to Do littered around the Lane with Two Points Eight Games?

So far this season we've had a good half here or there. Plenty of decent movement, but a distinct lack of goals - no cutting edge, no ideas outside of  giving the ball to vdV and letting him galvanise offensive play or just giving the ball to Bale and moving that box of Kleenex a little closer as the beast runs rampant.

That's not to say it's completely emo-Spurs, sad eyes, reading out poetry about the bottomless pit of despair. This is hardly Ramos or Santini. Or even the worst of times under Jol. Crisis? There is no crisis. Just cryogenics as we find ourselves frozen in time. The world of tomorrow awaits.

We are what, 30%, 20% away from it clicking into place and working. The players we do possess for selection at the time of writing are more than capable of waking up and shaking themselves into the mentally powerful frame of mind - as seen last term in the push for fourth. We have it in us which is what's so frustrating. I don't buy all this 'Spurs over-extended themselves last season' nonsense. We fought for it. We need some of that fight back in abundance. And goals. Plenty of goals.

And it's up to the management and the players to prove that the thrill of the chase is not better than the catch. Last season is gone. We should be hungry for more. Have we not got more at stake this time round?

We are a team, a unit. I keep saying this every week and it's now about five games away from becoming an ominous cry for help and thus changing my tune, from a skipping whistle to a groan and moan. Wiping sweat from your beautiful bald head week in and week out as you look down from your directors box is something I wish not to witness. We have to reclaim the swagger. Not give a f*ck about the opposition in terms of respect. Turn the tempo up. Otherwise the stuttering will turn to stalling. And you'll have to wear a wig to hide your uncontrollable erupting sweat glands.

Easier said than done they tell me. Turning up the tempo. Not wearing a wig. I've not quite lost all my hair yet.

So what about the group game and our visitors?

I know this is Inter and some expect them to play ultra-defensive counter-attacking football and double up on Bale. But it's far more likely they will come out and attack attack attack after the comparative ease they walked through us in the San Siro. They'll have plenty of belief and confidence to do the same again. So how about just scoring one more than they do?

Don't be afraid. Don't hold back. Play emotive sweeping football and play too our strengths. Retain possession, do not concede early, hassle them in midfield and please for the love of all things Lilywhite - be clinical in and around the box. The home crowd will have to play their part in all this too.

Is that asking too much?

It's still not quite right in the league is it and it's a mix bag of heart-stopping football in Europe. Yes, it's a learning curve and we are learning plenty about how to shape up in the premier of competitions. But let's learn from the lessons dished out and play to an equal standard in both the CL and the bread and butter of the league.

Momentum from this game if we win it could prove to be priceless. And you must agree, January will be easier to do business if we are heading towards the knock-out stages and sitting in 5th/4th.

No Gomes. Cudicini concentrate please. vdV might be back. Huddlestone also. Modric is on the verge of exploding into form. Bale has been contained in recent games so hopefully he'll adapt quickly with having to cope with fourteen men marking him. But if they do double up on him (or worse) then someone elsewhere on the pitch has an advantage if another someone else is quick enough to play that first someone in. Lennon continues to improve which is important.

Concern about Kaboul in central defence who has that annoyance of switching off for a costly second far too often. Gallas still has to prove his worth to the side. Crouch will probably start, but call me crazy, I keep having visions of Pav doing very little other than being in the right place at the right time to plant the ball expertly into the net - something he can do. Does little else. But he has a habit of notching the goals. Regardless, no lumping the ball up to Crouch. And no calamity, no margin for errors. If we're going to go down, let's go down in a blaze of glory and not with clowns shoes on our feet.

That reminds me. You reckon the policy of buying young English players with sell-on value still rings true with Jenas?

No? Okay.

You'll be in agreement that the key for this game comes in the shape of Tommy Huddlestone's feet and the pumped out relentless chest thumping of Rafa van der Vaart (please be fit). Desire and clinicality the essential ingredients.

I've not forgotten about Luka. Much like Tottenham this season, we await his arrival.

Harry has to use his smarts in the same way he has used them in some of the key battles (i.e. Arsenal at the Lane, Spurs at Eastlands) and instil that never-say-die attitude we have not lost since that famous 4-4 at the Emirates.

Back to basics for our simple creatures proudly soaking in the Champions League theme music with cockerels on chest.

But let's not underestimate Inter. Champions of Europe. The game is not going to be influenced just because we approach it a certain way. We've got to react to their tactics. They've got enough about them in terms of quality to strangle the life out of the game and take the emphasis away from us and dictate. Which is why we have to have balls the size of melons.

I know that the Bremen home game and Twente away return is where our qualification will be won or lost. And some of the faithful have quietly whispered that losing to the Italians will not be a disaster. I disagree. A point will be decent. A win, fantastical. But it's far more than that isn't it Mr Chairman? Let's remember what this club is all about in terms of it's traditions. We might not have a massive haul of silverware but if you take any random Bill Nicholson quote you'll have your answer in terms of what it means to be a Spurs fan.

Glory. Even if said glory is 90 minutes in length.

I want a performance. I want a statement of intent and end product. I want the emotion. I want the swashbuckle. I want a DVD. Damn it, it's almost Christmas and I want frigging Box Set! It's more than just Champions League this. It's more than the three points on offer. It transcends all of this. You know it. I know it. We all know it.

Wakey wakey. Rise and shine. Cock-a-doodle-dare is to do do do.

My spine is tingling. My head buzzing. Rediscover yourself Tottenham. Want it. Shout out that you want it. Then prove that you want it. Then don't let anyone stop you from taking it. You'll get more than a cuddly toy for your endeavours.

Otherwise, what's the point?

Heart on sleeves. Heart on sleeves.

So good luck. Wish the lads all the best. And let's hope the night does not end with me handcuffing myself to the West Stand gates again, naked (obviously) wearing an original Chirpy mask (the face he had prior to his self-indulgent plastic surgery) in protest of whatever excuse I can think of at the final whistle. If Jenas plays, I'll use that.

Yours Sincerely,

Spooky