Dear broken children of Woolwich

Dear broken children of Woolwich,

How many times do we have to do this? You can't disappear for 12 months then reappear kitted out in clown costume and holding foam pie, posting gloating comments on the blog and expect us to not sit up and take notice of your laughable efforts. Here I am, pointing and laughing, what more can I do as you gave up all your other rights thanks to the worm like qualities you possess, incapable of straight up discussion unless you believe yourselves to be in a position that is protected from any come-backs, crawling out of the dirt and multiplying no matter how many times you get cut up. In fact you don't do straight up discussion full stop. You just shout sound-bites and la la la la las with fingers in ear-holes.

Graciousness is not a virtue you are blessed with is it? You lot are known to be the worst ilk of supporters in the country. You need to concentrate less on the gloating and more on how to support your own. You know what I'm referring to. Empty seats when it's not going your way. Bin bags. 'Manager Out' banners. Laughable really calling us deluded when the reality is you lot can't accept it. Free yourselves from the weighty prison of your over inflated egos. You think other clubs outside the collapsing Sky Sports Top Four era are of no consequence because they failed to suckle at one of the available t*ts on Murdochs bosom?

I keep telling you, I don't care for visiting Arsenal forums and blogs. I don't post on any rival forums or blogs. It's you lot that frequent this place, persistently letting us know you're out there. It's you telling us 'you don't care, it's no big deal' finishing above Spurs and yet you do nothing but talk it up and celebrate like a plucky team that done good changing your perceptions to suit the moment so you wont lose face. In hiding for over a year without your riotous banter, absent and lost and then we have the pleasure of your company again. Internet connection back up?

I remember the last viral attack from your hordes. Gloats about playing the Brummies at Wembley. A cup that traditionally meant nothing to you suddenly meant the world although you all played it cool and nonchalantly like it didn't actually matter. You lost that game. None of you could be found in the aftermath. I saw you on tv though, crying over that Mickey Mouse cup. Was the irony too much for you to share with us? Oh the lonely lonely nights.

You don't care about us? You care alright, you care. You care about us more than you care about yourself. Without us you have nothing. It's funny that - Chelsea, West Ham. They also have nothing to do with us geographically and yet they're forever humping our legs too. Seems for a club that nobody cares about everyone seems to care about making sure we know how much they don't care. Ooh, brain melt.

What's that? I'm doing the same now by obsessing about you, ranting away like a maniac punching the keyboard with rabid disdain? Not quite. I'm enjoying this. I'm enjoying proving my point. It's because I know you'll be back on this blog reading this because you wont be able to stay away, holding up your laminated cheat sheet of quick fire retorts, unable to stop yourself from posting a comment. You're reading this right now, aren't you? Tut tut, you lose. Go on, hit the comments.

So how brave of you to return and gloat. The same display of bravery we witness when you throw your dummy out the pram if things are not going well on the pitch. The same display of bravery it takes to purchase bin bags to cover empty seats where your equally brave brethren decide not to turn up altogether because...well, I don't know why exactly? Perhaps you all believe you're entitled to something because you simply believe you're entitled to it? From league titles to the Carling Cup to now finishing above Spurs. Have we caught up or have you fallen down? Who cares? No matter where you stand nobody can escape your stench. No one else in the country could give a **** about you so your desperation holds no bounds as you attempt to scratch your names in the Lilywhite surface.

We're accountable all of the time and not when we choose to be. Do we gloat? Don't all supporters gloat? But we're there to take it on the chin when thrown back at our face. It does however get tiresome if there's no one there to throw it back at again what with the constant sabbaticals you lot are inclined to taking. Mind the gap? Yep. Make sure you point us in the direction of the trophy cabinet where the 'Finishing above Tottenham' Cup will proudly sit. Once upon a time you had a bit more weight in your punch. All feels a little ticklish nowadays.

We're aspiring. You're perspiring.

We are reaching out. You are holding on.

Forever in your shadow? What shadow is that? The one casted down by your insecurities and necessity to validate your existence by crawling out of your swamp to beg for attention? You could win the title for 20 successive years and it still wouldn't make a blind bit of difference to anything. You're still a soulless, franchised entity of sh*t. You don't have an identity.

No, hold on, my mistake. You do have traditions and you do have an identity. It belongs to the man who turned up at your blank canvas of a club and proceeded to paint a self-portrait that covered every nuance of his mind creating clone hybrids from supporters to players. Arsenal is Arsene Wenger, Arsene Wenger is Arsenal. A fitting replacement for Nick Hornby and prior to that the ex-Tottenham player whose head sat pretty in your marble halls. You're not a football club, not really, you're just an extension of Wenger's ego. Which is illustrated by the characteristics and the non-existent personalities of the supporters; unimaginative, self-satisfying megalomaniacs in ghastly red who only care when they're winning, completely devoid of wearing ones heart on sleeve without prejudice and without shame. Your hearts sit in your inside pocket then get stapled on at appropriate moments when you like to show off, removed and taken out of sight when you don't want anyone to know what team you 'support'.

You're like nomadic ants, nesting under stones and logs and in cracks in rocks, all identical and unspectacular, all following each other without diversity and without soul. More specifically, you are the species of small ant, Temnothorax albipennis, which abandons established nests at the first sign of any threats. Running away to settle somewhere new, with one single queen laying the eggs with a workforce of non-breeding females leaving the nest to forage and collect building materials. You are ants. Living under rocks. A collective that do as they're told and told what to think.

What did you have before your queen? A clock and Liam Brady.

Not forgetting porn dealers, drunks, coke-heads, a bent manager, bland boring nondescript football, results counting more than entertainment. Does the past 10 or so years erase the previous 100 or so? Even your double side from the 70s is more famous for winning at White Hart Lane than it is for its brand of football and impact on the English game.

Don't pretend you don't know because you do. Deep deep down, you can see it. You know of your birthplace you know where you came from. You know you've gone out of existence and changed your name, more than once. You know you're a franchise, a business created from the death of another and squatting in north London purely for financial gain on a foundation of bribes, lies and fabrications. It's Gillespie Road. It's transparent. We can all see through the paint work. It was all done purely to take advantage of the masses of support available in that part of London. That part of London being the north part, although let's not pretend or forget your owner didn't first attempt to merge you with Fulham, at the time, a far bigger club with a far nicer stadium.

Think about that for a second. First choice, merger with Fulham. I can't be the only person laughing out loud. What's wrong with you? What's wrong with Woolwich? Are you ashamed of your own home? Why would you be so ashamed? What kind of **** is ashamed of their own personal history, their own home where they were born? Perhaps I'm being a little harsh, it's not your fault you're all broken. You're all dirty and broken.

Deep deep down, you're all so conflicted and confused which is why you struggle so much with the more emotive side of football. Because you know had that south London club not run away and aborted its dead foetus outside of SE18 you'd all be Spurs fans now.

You. Yes you.

No matter what you say, what you have to show, no one wants to be you. You're forever in your own shadow of self-hatred.

Regards,

Tommy Tottenham

The five stages of supporting Spurs in defeat

Denial

Whatever. They only won because we played like they do on most weekends, without any belief. Think we needed this to happen. A reminder that we still have a job to do. If we took them back to the Lane tomorrow, we'd crush them. Doesn't  count for much, its like losing to Stoke. I'm really okay with it. We've been laughing at them all season long. We are still the better team and this was nothing more than a bad day at the office. We switched off and they had their moment in the sun, in their cup final, and they punished us for going to sleep. Means nothing. We'll win next week, they'll lose and nothing will have changed in the grand scheme of things. Let them have their moment, its what they value above anything else. Let them gloat, its what they do best. It's what they treasure above anything else, showing their pig ugly faces in public and giving it some because they're so obsessed with how they must always be perceived as winners. North London is still ours. If we had bothered to turn it on at 2-0 we'd have scored four or five.


Anger

WHAT IN THE **** WAS THAT? GUTLESS AND USELESS. TOO MANY PLAYERS BELIEVING IN THE POST-GAME HYPE. WE MADE A CRAP SIDE LACKING IN CONFIDENCE LOOK LIKE WORLD BEATERS, RE-CLAIMING PAST DOMINANCE WHEN WE WERE MEANT TO BE THE ONES SHOWING OFF OUR CREDENTIALS. DID WE EVEN HAVE A DEFENCE TODAY? I COUNTED FOUR CHEAP GOALS. PATHETIC, JUST PATHETIC. WE'RE GOING TO FINISH 7TH AT BEST AND LUKA AND BALE WILL BE GONE AND KING WILL RETIRE AND THAT WILL BE THAT. I BET EDEN HAZARD WAS WATCHING THAT AND NOW HE'S RIPPED UP HIS PRE-CONTRACT WITH US TO SIGN FOR THEM. WORST DAY OF MY LIFE. JUST CONFIRMS WE'VE FLUKED THE ENTIRE SEASON AND OUR PROGRESS OVER THE PAST FEW SEASONS IS BECAUSE OTHERS CLUBS HAVE SIMPLY NOT PUT ANY EFFORT INTO IT. TODAY WE'VE BEEN KICKED BACK INTO OUR BOX. I'M GOING TO MELT MY SEASON TICKET CARD AND MOULD IT INTO A MIDDLE FINGER AND MAIL IT TO LEVY. RIP TOTTENHAM HOTSPUR. LET'S NOT BOTHER TURNING UP FOR ANY OF OUR REMAINING GAMES, MUCH LIKE WE DID IN THIS ONE. WHY WASN'T SZCZESNY SENT OFF? HARRY, GOOD LUCK RELEGATING ENGLAND NEXT SEASON.


Bargaining

It's just three points right? Someone confirm it's just three points and three points is available every match so we can make up the deficit and boost it back to a ten point gap soon? Gloating rights mean nothing any ways, that's for kids in the playground. I don't care about gloating. Gloating doesn't matter right? We needed to lose because it will make us stronger so this is the best thing that could have happened. This is one of those sort of physical epiphanies, a slap in the face, a wake up call. I promise never to bait gooners on Twitter again or laugh at animated gifs of them crying. Seriously, had Lennon started instead of Niko we would have won the game. So Lennon has to start all remaining games and we'll win them all. Job done. That's what we need to do. We beat them at home, they beat us at their home. Points cancelled out then, all square then. Doesn't matter then. Might as well not count the derby games because of that.

Depression

Someone kill me. How am I meant to go to work tomorrow? All the gooners will be there early, newspaper cut outs plastered over their work desks, they'll even be gooners parading up and down the office floor that don't even work there. They'll be everywhere, all in their red colours gloating and boasting waving around DVD's of the Invincibles season in my face barking about shadows and 1961. That's it now, they're back in the title race and our season is over. We were wrong, we aint better than them. This single game of 90 minutes proves that beyond doubt. We've over-rated ourselves all season long. This is a disaster that we will simply not recover from. Utd will dick us next week and we'll be the ones looking up at a gap by the end of the season. Redknapp hasn't got a clue how to structure a side and select the right players and as for the Luka and Bale...sell them, cash in, and consolidate for the Europa League next season. I can't cope with the pressure. I don't want us to compete any more. It's too stressful.


Acceptance

We played poorly, we got what we deserved. No point ignoring it. Tactically not set up correctly, not enough of anything to muster up a sufficient challenge. Too much roaming. Fact is, they turned up for it and we didn't. That is surely all that counts. They were two nil down and thirty minutes later it's five two to them. There is no running away from it. Can't really complain if you never truly competed. Unacceptable from all concerned.

It's still one result, even if it always hurts to lose against them more so than any other loss. And this probably ranks up there with the worst of them. A harsh brutal reminder that nothing can ever be taken for granted. That's what expectancy can do. Still better to be here regardless of the result than to be stuck in the late 1990s and early 2000s when another defeat was added to a collective that anchored us to mid-table. As for them, only singing when they're winning. They'll have the bin bags out again soon enough. Clutching at beating us 5-2 will just belittle them further in the long run, much like the days when we held onto punctured victories like it meant so much more than it did.

Those last few sentences will only mean something if we remember this day and move forwards and consolidate our position. Onto the next game.

We've had our pride stolen. We need to claim it back. We need to stop believing in the hype. We have to be unified and we have to fight. We need to graft. Prove me right, Tottenham.

Why is acceptance so much like denial?

Someone let me know when it's safe to log back onto Twitter

The animal from the swamp wiped the mud off its face and proceeded to bite a massive chunk out of the mid-drift of it's hunter, feasting on it until he bled out. The attacker attacked, left for dead. The colour red covering his pale white face. This is what happens when you only shoot to wound and not kill. Aim for the head not a limb.

The game was almost a throwback to the early 2000s. Gutless. Lack of full blooded commitment. No sustained tempo. Take the lead, let it slip. And so on. That new founded mental belief evaporated and was replaced with jelly for brains. When you make Theo Walcott look good you know it's been a fairly catastrophic day. No doubt on the plane for the Euros off the back of that performance. You can't even laugh at the irony, what with one or two home fans seeking the exit at 2-0, ye of little faith, singing negativity one moment and positivity the next. How fickle football is. I much I hate it at times like this.

It means more than three points but for the moment, we'll have to be contradictory and just treat it like that's all it means. You wont be able to get away from them now. Probably the first time in a year or so that they'll pleasantly remind you of their existence.

Did we expect that result? Of course not. Neither did they. Pundits and fans - based on form - thought the team in white would have too much for the team in red. Form thrown completely out of the window, what a cliché, what an obvious twist to the story. What a disappointment. What a humiliation. Can only hope this is an isolated blip, a spike for them, a dip for us.

I guess being favourites in the eyes of most played straight into their hands. This game, excluding the two against the Mancs at the start of the season, is the first time a strong Spurs side has been spanked. It's taken us to the end of Feb to finally get dicked. Perhaps the first true disappointing performance of the season. Boy do we pick 'em. Topped off with a sending off just to apply some extra pressure for the next game (Utd at the Lane). Scott Parker imploding. Somewhere, Chuck Norris laughs out loud.

Players need to take themselves back to when it was 2-0 and truly appreciate the footballing suicide that followed so that this ilk of surrender never happens so easily again. We should never be arrogant and carefree. It doesn't suit us. Players and fans alike. Even at 2-0 something did not sit right (aside from the fact it should have been 1-0, hey Gareth?).

Should have stepped it up, ruthless and relentless in mind and body after the opening five minutes. The players need to take themselves back to the moment of collapse. They need to hurt off the back of this as much as we are hurting. They're not alone either. Tactically it was a cluster capitulation of crap. Too deep. Not enough width. Not enough of Lennon. 442 leaving us too exposed. Thoughts of Sandro. Hindsight, how you tease me. I can't be alone in noticing them lot were not too bright in defence either, when we did manage to apply forward movement. They displayed spirit and guile. We didn't. Oh 'Arry, what went wrong? Arguably his worst day as Spurs gaffer.

Failed on the pitch, failed on the chalkboard.

We gift wrapped the game by simply being present without a worthy enough presence. Always a danger, even against a wounded animal that wants to prove to the world it can still run. I said this would be a potential issue in the build up to the game and thanks to the complete lack of footballing karma, the Gods persist in favouring the past rather than looking towards the future.

I have to be deeply philosophical about this. Sure, everyone is dishing out spankings to each other (ooh) and at times you can argue they go against form and stature based on what's transpired this season. And one game does not define a season or a team. I love how football works. One bad performance and one good performance and everything that happened before is no longer relevant, even though it all goes back to normal a week later.

Still doesn't excuse what happened. Can't say I'm happy, can comfortably admit to being numb and dumbfounded. It hurts. More so because its a loss against a broken Arsenal side that will probably go on to lose in the coming weeks and deem this result nothing more than a moral victory. Which is still hardly acceptable. Expectancy is an ugly thing. We never wanted to accept defeats against them when we were rubbish for near enough a decade but we accepted the reality. It's equally difficult to accept what's happened today when we've been London's top side all season.

They will no doubt use this as a catalyst to turn it into a season defining performance (although quite how their persistent problems can be repaired off the back of one win is anyone's guess). Much like we need to use it as a catalyst to come back from this and regain our swagger and confidence. It was nothing more than an anomaly, right? Defending all at sea, key players lost in drowning waves. We made it easy for them, yeah? Water bottles on the sidelines no doubt grinning with relief as smugly as the one that usually torments. Today tormenting us instead. Let's please just get back to the basics.

Typical Spurs? No. Just a reminder that even a side that's embraced momentum and progressed forward through out the season can still be susceptible to having its mouth smashed out of place.

It probably is typical Spurs, doing it the hard way, making sure we suffer here and there. It's probably why we remain so consistent with our support. Always be prepared for the worst because it has a habit of turning up uninvited.

The battle, today, has been lost. The war is about to begin. Not with them. But with the remaining games we have to contest. We just have to prove it to ourselves by dismantling the our opponents. The result might end up doing them more harm than good in the long run, papering over the cracks. They were not meant to defeat us so effortlessly. But to cite that catalyst again, it's not unknown for such results to galvanise a side against all the odds. Let this be a warning.

There was no masterful tactical genius at play. Just application. They made it happen, we allowed it to happen. It hurts even more for us thanks to those heightened expectations we took into the game. It hurts even more because we should have gone in 2-0 at the break. It's pretty much the most ridiculous of outcomes that no one predicted.

We now have to prove we remain the better team across the season by manning the **** up showing some of that seasoned tenacity that has kept us top three for so long and see this run-in through.

We'll sing for the shirt, the players will play for it.

The most poignant thing I've read in the aftermath is being written off for 4th spot after losing to Pompey in the semi-final of the FA Cup a couple of seasons back. That side was up against a gruelling fixture list, bare bones and backs to wall. We are far more equipped for a response this time round. In defeat, we have to make it that we are the ones that are galvanised.

The second most poignant thing shared was that our defeats are sporadic. Our rivals, in defeat, are systematic.

Don't knee jerk.

Still third. Still in our hands.

Just believe.

Go get some

One thing that's sticking with me at the moment is that thanks to the lofty position and the accolades and all the positive sound-bites and of course not forgetting the facts relating to form...we go to the Emirates as a team expected by some many to win. Wasn't that long ago we couldn't muster a win away from home against any of the considered 'big clubs'. We've only recently punctured that unwanted record (last year at the Emirates and Anfield) so this derby day on Sunday will require us to consolidate the new found belief we've stamped across the league this season and truly, definitively, once and for all prove we've grown up and don't mind invading someone else's patch and giving them a good smacking (that's a metaphor for the football rather than any norty business outside).

This isn't about coming back from the dead like last season. We've done plucky one too many times. This is about playing the Tottenham way, with pace and style. Playing without fear and playing to win not survive. No doubt they will also embrace pace and their own style and attack us. Best midfield wins. The irony is lost on them however, believing we are the ones that remain in their shadow when the reality is, they refuse to step out of the shadow cast down on them by distant memories of former glories.

Caution from within however, even a slight sense of nerves or an inability to focus and its not beyond the realms of possibility to get knocked out, blind sided. But if there's one thing this Spurs side don't struggle with these days is knowing what's expected of them and delivering it.

I hope I'm right. I hope their position flatters them and we flatten them.

Time to find out how big our balls are.

-

Episode 31 of The Fighting Cock podcast will be released Saturday after midday on itunes and the FC website (click on image below). It's a North London Derby special. Ooh, I can feel it in my bones, I'm going all tingly...North London is ours, North London is ouuuuuuuuurs...

For the podcast archive click here.

Favourites v Underdogs

I've seen quite a few of us referencing the fact we are being perceived as favourites in the North London Derby. That's both the media and the fans believing Spurs have it done and dusted on paper and that it should easily translate on the field of play. I'd agree that our midfield is superior to theirs. I'd also cite the fact their defence plays out to the tune of the Keystone Cops.

They still possess quality (RvP) of the match-winning ilk. But so do we, in abundance, and we are on a roll (three wins on the trot). And we're at home. But then the self-doubt (it never goes away) gently reminds us that we don't tend to do well when expected to do well. We do better when we have less pressure weighing us down. Also, in a NLD, form goes out the window and effort can sometimes match the stronger opposition. Although in our case, that still meant no win against the old enemy for many years. Until recently.

It's almost role reversal this. Arsenal are Tottenham in red and white, whilst Tottenham are the Tottenham we have worked so had to become after 15 years in the wilderness. But still prone to the odd lapse. Major differences? We strengthened in the summer and retained our top players. They lost their top players and signed less than glamorous replacements. You can see why they are regarded as underdogs. They choke more than we do.

Still, there's hardly anything between both sides these days, except perhaps for Wenger and his experience at the very top level and the fact his side have always been at that level, even when others have suggested a 'crisis' or transition.

On paper? We should win. On the field of play? Honestly? I'll be very shocked if Arsenal can show their past seasoned focus and intensity (and desire) considering their form and their fragmented team, punctured with the ordinary and average in amongst the class. I'll be disappointed if we are the ones to choke and allow them to best us. We have the more settled side. They're the ones who stand before us depleted. And yet the positivity is still not embraced.

Teams can always punch above their weight. We've done it many times in the past. Not to dismiss or write off Arsenal, but a pulsating powerful show of strength and unity in our midfield will consume theirs and allow our front-line to punish their back four. My only concern is RvP. Take him out of the equation and it will be the first time in my life-time that my heart will not dance to the beat of nerves. He'll play, which means there are no underdogs or favourites in this game. Not matter how you choose to use paper to prove a point.

There's simply a team that wants it more than the other. I'm obviously going to claim that team is the team in Lilywhite. I hope the players wearing the shirt believe in the shirt as much as we do.

Embrace the positivity. Prove we're the favourites, prove we're the top dogs and let them bask in the indignity as the plucky underdog that tries ever so hard and gets nothing. Life is harsh. We've been at the end of it so many times in the past. It's time to give some of it back.

-

Winners of John Crace's 'Vertigo' (original article here): Matt and @betambeau88 - congrats. Email me (use the contact form) your name and address.

The North London Derby - presented in Technicolor

Ninety minutes. One interval. A couple of award winners in amongst the supporting cast.

Key strengths and weaknesses of the story arc?

Easy on the eye attacking bum off seats football. Lack of clinicality up front, sometimes because of the lack of chances created however mostly because there's too much of the tippy tappy and not enough of the smacking into the net ruthlessness. Dodgy keeper too. Defence can sometimes find itself all at sea, prone to lapses of concentration, what with key players usually missing from the back four. Midfield is tasty. Although if you listen to some, elements of it are over-rated. Choke? Yes. On occasions can throw it all the way.

One thing is for certain, the gaffer is much maligned. Splitting fans either side of the fence, even with moderate on the field success if not of the sustained silverware variant. The type that matters to most.

So in conclusion, deficiencies in amongst the quality. It's obvious what's wrong but patience is a commodity with a supply and demand problem with many despondent that fundamental errors occur without correction, always drowned out by familiar sound-bites. Nutty.

I'm obviously talking about Arsenal here. Actually no it's Tottenham, I've just described Spurs.

I think.

Is it?

We don't choke any more, what with them appearing to have taken that indignity off our hands. Then again, we have choked a couple of times this season with some notably under-performing, home and away, dropping valuable points. We're hardly tippy tappy, more swagger and swashbuckle. When we're not hoofing it up for the knock-down.

Arguably where it matters most, both sides are masters of making it an art form in how to almost score a goal at pivotal moments.

We only have the one dodgy keeper not a collection of them like they do. That's probably open for debate what with our second keeper being as erratic as our first choice and having never seen our third I dare not comment.

The good, the bad and the ugly amply shared between the two divided parts of north London.

The only discussion point beyond argument is colour. We play in white, they play in red.

United in our hatred for each other. Binding us like brothers (I guess from different mothers) fighting endlessly over a piece of land that both seek to claim as their own. The story is rich in history. Always entertaining, always captivating. Never boring.

And if we - Tottenham and Arsenal - decide to turn up this evening and bring us some ding-dong blood and thunder tenacity and desire we might just be in for a treat.

Both teams on the brink. Arsenal dreaming of mathematical possibilities having remained anchored all season long when countless times others cited a sunken ship. Spurs once more reaching out to claim back something made theirs last time out by sheer determination and unity that they once more hope to discover, even with a fixture list uncanny in it's form. A throw-back to the aforementioned last time.

Down to the wire, it's all in the game.

So what of it then? Whether you are white or red. What does your heart sing? What does your head quickly whisper?

I will be bitterly disappointed if we don't take the game to our visiting neighbours. Really want us to embrace the 'best team wins' mantra. In fact I want to see both sides go for each others jugular, with Jurassic drive and juggernaut effort.

We're at home. And we have to win. So says me, so says any of you lot in red too.

Last time out at the Emirates, we did some of that grand olde choking, freezing up in the first forty-five to find ourselves focused and spirited in the second half and thus pass the baton of bereavement over to our arch rivals who held it firmly to their bosom then proceeded to do some choking of their own.

Last time out at the Lane, it was win or die for their title hopes and plausibly win or die for our Champions League dream. For all their possession play they lacked any type of forceful damaging punch. In fact, we happily took their body blows before dishing out a couple of haymakers to knock'em flat out. A wonderful exercise in containment and counter aided by a sensational schoolboys own stuff strike and some heart-stopping keeping with a dab of luck-riding making a cameo for good measure.

Rather than be reactive to the occasion, I'm asking for Tottenham to be proactive this time round.

Pick up the pen and write the script from the start, rather than taking the responsibility of completing it after the initial author has become disillusioned with writers block and can't think of a definitive ending. Although you and I (being the ones who frequent N17 every other week) wouldn't complain much if that happened again. Considering we are rather good at satisfying all but a select group with a traditional satisfactory 'where on earth did that just come from?' twist, leaving us dizzy and giddy.

Box office smash please. Make me throw my popcorn up in the air and cough up my Coca-Cola. I want to see men in Lilywhite man-hugging and gesturing ecstatically to the camera as the credits roll, with the men in red despondent and dejected.

Two NLD league wins in one season? I'll take the drama not the fantasy.

Thoughts will then turn to the second and third parts of the trilogy. One filmed on location at Stamford Bridge. The other on location in Eastlands. May we be the ones taking the plaudits, the critical acclaim and another ceremonious bow and ice bucket at the finale.

But let's not get ahead of ourselves just yet. Let's wait and see how encouraging the write-ups are for the first part.

The North London Derby. Might contain scenes of an adult nature.

I wouldn't even complain if it went straight to DVD.

Nominations for the worst ever transfer rumour and ITK nonsense

Not a clue what demonic darkly lit hospital room the Woodgate to Arsenal story was birthed in. No doubt Gregory Peck failed (again) to lay waste to what feels like the six hundredth and sixtieth slice of ridiculousness. With no apparent end in sight. Other than the start of February. In these days of footballing wealth, hardly anyone is spending and it's all a bit boring especially in the ITK community which mostly appears to be reactive with whatever the press run with (which of the two creates the story in the first place is uncertain but it mostly all feels like it's based on agent BS and Harry Redknapp sound-bites).

What the Woody to the swamp story has done is remind me of a classic moment in transfer gossip from the days of Ramos at the Lane, in 2008, on the 25th of January. Easily my nomination for the most ludicrous rumour from recent years:

Carlos Puyo.

With thanks to Sky Sports News for this gem.

Here's the blog article from that epic slow-news day:

Earlier this evening we had the yellow ticker telling us that the Tiago deal is off. Then the ticker disappeared, and we were told its back on and should be completed this weekend. But nothing compares to the latest 'Sky Sports Understands'.

Yes. Read it for yourself:

Sky Sports News understands that Tottenham want to sign Barcelona defender Carlos Puyol.

Juande Ramos is thought to be keen to strengthen his defence as he continues to reshape his White Hart Lane squad.

It is claimed that Tottenham representatives are in Spain to discuss a move with the Barcelona captain.

Ramos has also been linked with an approach for Middlesbrough defender Jonathan Woodgate as he attempts to find an experienced centre-back to bring to North London.

Puyol has made 58 appearances for Spain and played in the 2002 and 2006 World Cup finals.

Yes. The Barcelona captain who has been at the club since the age of twelve. Plays Champions League football and is on about £100,000 a month. Someone appears to be sharing their crack pipe in the SSN HQ. Although modern day journalism 'breaking news stories' are dependent on what they can copy and paste from a football message board, this one just about takes the biscuit. Yes, it appeared on the yellow ticker and the auto-cue dolly bird and man-robot informed us of another exclusive. And yes, its now disappeared. Along with the little credibility this 'news' channel appears to have left.

Nothing reported in Sport, Depotivo Mundo or Catalan TV. For the record, the player isn't even in Barcelona as they are away to Bilbao this weekend. And if Spurs wont pay Fred the money he wants then....well, you work it out.

Only other explanation? Smokescreen. Or Levy is attempting to flush out the rats.

The cover-up was superb. Ticker, website article...then it's all gone and it's not referred to again, not a mention. Almost felt like it was either a prank or they were running with unsubstantiated whispers (shock horror).

Cracking stuff.

Did enjoy this update from Flannerz over at Glory Glory pre-match away to Newcastle this past weekend:

"Went to the game Saturday, but went up Thursday night and made a long weekend of it. I was in the casino Friday night and at 5am Andy Carroll turns up píssed and starts playing Blackjack. Because he was drunk and a Geordie I couldn't understand what he was saying apart from that he thought Spurs would ...win 2-1. When I asked him about joining us I couldn't understand his answer!"

We'll know if Carroll is on his way if Flannerz can remember the drunken words spoken to him on the night and then decipher the cryptic. Bit like reading most of the ITK's updates then. Which bring me onto this reprehensible example of utter pish from the Phantom of the Lane (dated 24th Jan 2011):

anyone been on the website lastminute.com?

That's it. Amazing stuff. Followed up with:

We're not done yet.
When have we ever been done before the last second of the window?
Non cryptic- We need a couple of things to happen before something happens if ya get ma drift

Phants, take your place in the hall of fame.

So your favourite worst ever transfer rumour? (Look, it's either this or another Stratford article which I'm doing my best to avoid* writing what with the announcement that the OS decision has been postponed, so work with me on this).

*Levy on SSN at time of writing in Olympic Bid special, so no doubt, expect another blog this late evening.

How to win a North London Derby, by Harry Redknapp and supporting cast

Arsenal 2 Spurs 3

Oh ye of little faith. Myself included. Go on, hands up, even in the dejection and misery felt when the second Arsenal goal went in who had a feeling that somehow we were not out of the game? Even if you couldn't quite bring yourself to believe, I'm certain there were many of us out there who took solace in the fact that surely things would not get any worse which would mean they could only get better. And Spurs, when they do better it's not the bog standard type of bland and boring good. It's undeniable heart in mouth fantastic good.

The way we shaped up for the first half wasn't the only problem we gave ourselves. Giving space to Fabregas and the scum allowing for infinite time on the ball for them to lap up whilst we failed to display any guile or determination, brushed aside with ample easy. It was all gearing up to be another textbook Emirates humiliation. Let's all lube up and bend over because it's less work than standing up against the wall and throwing the bar of soap at their smug terrorising face.

Not sure what the worst highlight of the first half was for me. Gomes trying to claim the ball softly softly, scared it might suddenly and inexplicably evolve into something with a mouth and bite his hands off. Our Brazilian preferring to squander it allowing Nasri (the first ever female professional footballer to participate amongst men) to score from an acute angle for the 1-0. Cheap. Stupidly cheap. The ball from deep that found its way into the path of the ugly bint was from our seasoned tormenter Cesc who was given the freedom of the park to turn and pass. You felt at this ever so early juncture he would do this at will.

Another highlight was Nasri running off to celebrate, screaming out and slapping his chest and badge. I guess all for Willy G's benefit. Calm down Zizou. The second goal was another nomination for worst highlight of the first forty five. Because of the nature of its birth. Pav, keeping the ball in, but not in our possession (not that I'm blaming him but he started the move, the unlucky sod, from our own penalty area) for them to then counter attack off the back of it and score - it was easy. Comfortable. Effortless.

Cracking stuff. Sorry I meant cacking stuff. I was cacking it.

Surrendering by virtue of not turning up. Again. I was being inundated with texts messages and tweets. Laugh out loud they told me. I was at home, on my own in the living room, with the missus pottering about in the kitchen/bedrooms/wherever tidying up. Still slightly more noise than you'd expect to find at the Emirates, especially once she started to hoover up the hallway. But I sat in solitude, no words from my mouth other than a muttering of 'ffs'.

Volume on the tv was turned down, I didn’t bother with the half-time Sky Sports assessment. I didn't need two pundits and a presenter to tell me we were f*cking sh*t. It's not like Arsenal were tearing us a new one. They were having a go. Okay perhaps they were tearing us a new one because a comparison of both sides would have had us at opposite sides of the footballing spectrum.

They dominated possession, had us chasing shadows. Slick passing whilst we burst lungs for what seemed like nothing.

But yet that whisper in my mind taunted and teased me. It's only two nil right? I playfully posted on the Glory Glory forum at half time we'd win 3-2. A gleeful prediction shared out of desperation. First five minutes I said to myself, we'll know if once more we have displayed a lack of mental strength and belief that will doom us to yet another away failure to them and a 69th away game without a win to the traditional Top 4.

Within five minutes of the re-start, we scored.

It's the type of irony that I'd happily share a bed with and go bareback. Here is Tottenham Hotspur. Unused clipboard. No tactics. Completely out of the game and suddenly not just back in it with a goal but looking like we believe we could get something more out of it.

Harry is not Jose. Never will be. And it's usually all pretty much reactive and instinctive in terms of application. He adapts to the predicament and the players react to his new instructions. It's refreshing, be it naïve at times, and frustrating (the question still remains: Why not start off the opening minute the way we started off the 46th minute?).

Harry twitched and tweaked. He narrowed the midfield so that we were no longer stretched on the flanks. Tightened it up so that we could not just stand up against their midfield but take the fight to them - make them chase us and the ball. And the introduction of Defoe (on for the sacrificed Lennon) was the catalyst for the comeback.

BAE finding Defoe who jumped six hundred feet into the air to head the ball onto van der Vaart who had sixteen Arsenal players around him, pushing the ball into the path of a marauding rampant Bale who caressed it with one touch and passed it into the net with this another. It was bliss. It was a punch to the gut of the enemy that left them winded unable to stand up in defiance. World class control and finish from a player that will be world class in time.

We can chat away amongst ourselves about how they reacted to our goal, if you want. Perhaps for all their fancy pretty football and stand-out individuals, they lack a spirit and belief they once had in abundance. Who cares? I don't. We've been gutless for years and in the past two we've grown in stature and I'm hardly going to make excuses for the opposition. If they can't handle it and if they allow themselves to be engulfed by a resurgence in-game, then boo f*cking hoo. It makes them not good enough to win. Our places on that football spectrum - reversed.

As the minutes ding donged by we started to show commitment. Pride. Apparently at half-time Harry had a go at Bale for shaking Sagna's hand after a clash. Told him off, explaining we are not 'nice guys'. Whatever you say about Harry and his agenda(s), he wants to win. And if he's our manager then that means he wants us to win. He worked magical mojo at half-time that galvanised the side and allowed our top players to further galvanise the ones around them.

This meant the likes of vdV and Modric were now more involved able to play to their strengths. JD up top with Pav, vdV out on the right but running into central positions. 4-4-2, be it not set in stone. We were set up with one thing in mind. Attack. The intent forged with leadership - something you might nod towards the opposition and agree they lacked. It was more direct in style in terms of pushing forwards but it was effective and it instilled confidence.

How many times have we seen this now? Never say die Spurs. We lived dangerous at times but we have to accept that this new breed of Spurs has it in them to claw themselves back from the brink.

Belief.

Luka weaving and dinking through red shirts only to be fouled (more irony here - isn't it Wenger who constantly bangs on about flair players being hacked down constantly?) allowing for Kaboul and Rafa to stand over the ball, surveying options. Blast it through or curl it around?

What we got was a gift, one to cancel out the generosity of the first we gave them. Hands up if you're a bottler? Thank you Cesc. Heart in mouth once more. Cool as you like, Rafa sends him the wrong way. There's even time for some age-old conspiracy support work from Phil Dowd who booked Raf for placing his finger to his mouth whilst running past and looking at the Arsenal fans before he got to the away section to celebrate. Because that's really really worth a yellow card that. Unlike, I don’t know, an Arsenal player scoring at one end of the pitch and running down to the other end and sliding in front of the away fans.

2-2. And one or two red scarfed fans must have muttered to each other about choking and capitulation. Usually associated with Lily white and not ghastly red. Unlike the classic 4-4 there was still time on the clock and the third goal helped to illustrate that even though our defence is much maligned (with three key players out) their defence (with one key player out) is at times as accommodating us ours. I'd still prefer Gomes between the sticks than what they have to choose from.

In came the cross from Rafa (yet again involved), Kaboul's touch with his head finding its way into the net. This was now ridiculous. Uncharted (well, forgotten) territory. 2-0 down, 3-2 up. 17 years finally ended. Sixty eight games laid to rest. How very dare we. Can the new script-writer be signed on a 20 year contract please?

I screamed and shouted like a mad man whilst the missus (now sitting on the sofa whilst I bounced off the walls) asked me, "You're not going to start crying, are you?"

I held the tears back, man up I told myself. Like the eleven heroes standing proud on the swamp, within touching distance of a win. I remembered the words of a gooner (via Twitter) at half-time telling me in an unholy patronising manner that it was all okay because we had Bale and you never know - we might roar back in the second half. Now that's irony. I think there must be a network outage in his area because he's not been online since.

Eleven heroes.

And in amongst the talismanic leader and undoubted world class ability of van der Vaart and our crafter of creative work Luka we had Gareth 'never does it in the league' Bale and a certain Jermaine Jenas who has managed to make us forget that Huddlestone is missing from our midfield. At the back Kaboul, continuing to grow and mature and casting himself as a brand new NLD 'legend' for popping up with the winner.

And then there's William Gallas. Not good enough to have his hand shaken by Nasri, but more than good enough to shake the spark out of his former team-mates. Whether he is reclaiming past form or played to impress because of the occasion (or a combination of both) he deserves the plaudits for a commanding performance. And I hope he continues to play at this level. He has done himself a massive favour, endearing himself to the faithful. He's proved a point, to us, himself and them lot down the road.

I wasn't sure what to make of Harry handing him the captains armband. I'm hardcore Tottenham like most of you I guess, and it's sometimes hard to see past certain emotions. It's naturally not going to sit well seeing other players bypassed and Gallas made captain, but it was a stroke of genus. Inspired. If it wasn't for his effort first half we might have been punished further, with the game out of sight before half time arrived.

To win, in this manner, and to have Arsenal collapse on their own patch and take a hard kick to their chest from our boot - it was all rather majestic. Adding this onto the back of our 2-1 Lane victory and seeing how a similar hoodoo with Chelsea was finally laid to rest in recent times - it's not something to be dismissed as a mere fluke. We've grown a set of balls. Hopefully this victory will kick-start a run of games where the focus is evident from the start rather than appearing mid way through. Cease the moment and all that type of stuff.

Post-match was equally telling. vdV once more displaying the mindset that we've never had in the past - suggesting we move onto the next game. I like that. Not for the first time he's saying quite publicly - keep your feet firmly on the ground. But that's not to say we - the fans - can't gloat. Just a little. It's deserved.

Shall we make a dvd? Perhaps Arsenal will release one covering the first half only.

We dared to do. It was a thing of beauty to watch them lot display the type of traits we have been cursed with in the past. Plenty of graft to be had yet. But you sense no open bus parade mentality any more from us. Just the desire to improve.

Kudos to Harry. Even if it takes us 45 minutes for us to find our way. Although there is something wonderful about the guts and spirit we now possess. We obviously have no need for a clipboard. Maybe we can lend it to Arsene Wenger. As long as it doesn't come back broken.

Spurs; as likely to win the title as Arsenal. For a backhanded compliment, that pretty much shows the demise of the dark gulf that has separated us for so long. Not off the back of this single away day comeback. But over the past 2/3 seasons. They are still a good side and we still have to finish above them to truly claim the tide has turned. But it's hardly beyond the realms of possibility any more.

Going forwards, this game, this NLD, is no longer one we should look ahead to and knowingly have to endure. We can now look forward…and enjoy.

Come. On. You. Spurs.

Open invite to Spurs and Arsenal fans to discuss the NLD

No King, Dawson, Woodgate, half-fit van der Vaat, Defoe and Lennon back from injuries blah blah blah...we had the reserves out today.

2-0 down, 3-2 up. Tottenham. Tactical masterpiece that to play so woefully in the first half to allow them a comfortable lead to then carve 'em up in the second. It's how we roll.

  Posted in the match thread over at GG.co.uk at half-time. BELIEVE.

Worth a DVD that I reckon. Not of the game, got that on Sky+. Would prefer Two hours of Wenger on the touchline taking a dump and smashing up bottles and the progressive misery gradually appearing on the faces of all the gloating Arsenal fans in the stands. Which reminds me. Gooners who texted/called/tweeted me during the game. Where you all gone chaps? Don't fret, there's always the Carling Cup.

According to Wenger, the scum lost it due to lack of concentration. It's a mystery apparently. Scooby-doo at the ready. Have to agree though, if the game is won on stats, they should have won it. So technically, they did. Congrats. Made up for you.

Anyways, Gooners - would love to hear your thoughts considering you're always willing to share yours when we lose and you lot win. Just an admittance that you're not that great should cover it.

Proper match report on Sunday/Monday. Peace out, enjoy the evening.

NLD journal #3

I've had an epiphany. We always get dicked at the swamp. Actually, that's hardly an epiphany is it? Just fact. We never turn up and we always roll over and to rub it in they're always up for it. Our lot let us down. Every time. Stage fright. Well mostly every time.

The 4-4 the only anomaly and that was probably down to the fact they spent so much time French kissing each other during their celebrations they lost enough concentration and composure allowing the comeback of all comebacks. That and we had JJ on the pitch. And one season we lost 2-1 (I think, seem to remember a wonderful Berba goal and a missed pen from Keane and the worlds best striker scoring with this first touch). Otherwise, two 3-0 losses.

Why can we never give them a game like we do at home? It's gutless. Talking of which.

Rather than destroy my gut with frenzied butterfly's eating away at my insides pre-game Saturday morning, I've opted to expect nothing from the game. That way, anything more than nothing will be something.

Not being defeatist. Just don't think a massive battle cry post listing everything we need to do is relevant because history tells me we always suffer a wardrobe malfunction. Tits on show.

If you want me to dwell for a second on positives, then I'll mention the return (hopefully) of Lennon on the right, to aid Bale on the left with his mere presence, meaning doubling up on either one will allow the other to run down the flanks with a touch more freedom. But then Arsenal are unlikely to double up on anyone. So there's hope there.

Tactically, we could sit back and watch them pass the ball to death, much like we did in our 2-1 win at the Lane. Sit back, watch them hit the brick wall of Spurs players in the final third. It's not the Lane so it's doubtful we'll hold till the 80th minute before they find a way through. So at the swamp, I'd like to see us soak it up and hit them on the counter. Let's not allow them wide open spaces near the pen box. Take the game to them but not with unintelligent wreckless play.

Controlled composure Tottenham.

What? Hey, why are you laughing? What did I say?

Okay, so, we have no King, Dawson, Huddlestone. Defoe is in the squad, might come off the bench. Lennon might well start (both apparently looked good in training). We've lacked any type of consistency with selection and our league form has been erratic.

Jenas, vdV, Modric - all key. Christ knows how the defence will hold up, and I can only pray that Gallas doesn't go mental at any point in the game.

442 will do. Pav up top. At the very least. If JD is fit to start...triffic. Play Rafa behind the front man.

It's one of those games where you can see the scum doing what they always do to us and we just collapse and surrender and shrug despondently with yet another wasted 90 minutes. You could also see us playing quite well but then losing to a cheap goal or penalty. Because luck is something we fail to conjure up in our favour.

Hence the epiphany. Not only do we always under-perform there but this season, we've under-performed. So the odds on us winning, the chances of us breaking the mould? Long shot.

And how I wouldn't mind to see a long shot hit the back of their net once or twice.

I guess it will come down to whether we want it. We've never shown that essential quality of desire when playing them away (other than the 1-1 CC semi-final first leg). And the 4-4. But they hardly consitute redemption for our woeful record.

So, whatever. Show me your b*llocks Tottenham. I'm f*cking bored of the same tired script.

Let's have something left-field please.

You know what. F*ck it. Just go for their jugular and be done with it.

NLD journal #1

Afternoon.

Saturday. Small and insignificant matter of the North London Derby to be played out. The nerves, anticipation and expectation hardly kicks in until the morning of the game. I'm actually struggling to inspire myself for yet another 50,000 word epic war cry of an article calling for our players to show an abundance of desire, passion, determination, hunger, tenacity, organisation, cutting edge, end product, professionalism, concentration, never say die attitude and belief. Because as a set standard, all of this should be present from the off.

Yes, yes, injuries have a knock-on effect to formation and tactics (what tactics? Running around a lot and kicking the ball works just fine, right? No need to jot that down on a clipboard). And yes, yes, we always fail to get it right in the build up to this game and then fail despondently on the pitch. I can never understand this knee-jerk the players manage to achieve. At the swamp, we tend to defeat ourselves. Turning up in flip-flops rather than military certified boots, sinking deep in the cesspit.

In the 4-4, we packed a jet-pac to escape drowning.
Last time out, not even half of the team bothered to show up and the ones that did rolled out the red carpet on the marshlands allowing our inbreed hosts to skip joyfully on.

The Carling Cup game should be discounted altogether. Hey, that's what they do, right? Although it serves its purpose as testament to how times are genuinely changing - not in terms of us progressing ahead of them (because we haven't) but in terms of how far they have fallen. Granted, they are still in that degrading pack of three up top, but anyone at the Lane on the night would have laughed out loud at the sheer ecstasy their fans displayed, proclaiming just how important the CC is via their emotions. All of a sudden it matters. When we now suddenly refuse to take it seriously. Their fans, textbook in gloat, describing the game in WengerVision in how their kids beat our first team. Ooh the irony.

But enough with past misdemeanours and misadventures.

Blood and thunder is what this game was forged with in creation. To turn up and roll over for them, it's unacceptable even though it's hardly surprising when it happens. At the Lane last time out (I'm talking about the 2-1) we got it spot on tactically and were fantastic in terms of our will to win the game. We punished them whilst they played pretty football in and around the box without doing much and when they did push and pressured we had a formidable Gomes in goal to shut shop, other than allowing a consolation goal to creep in. We did not choke and when you place it alongside the Chelsea victory that followed, it was all pretty special. An awakening. So hoping we're not snoozing this weekend.

At the Emirates we do like to implode. One good omen this time round is the lack of a Robbie Keane pre-match declaration of victory. There is still time for someone to shag it all up, I'm sure. I hardly take much notice of the talk that goes on before because its just sound-bites and reflexed answers to questions that aid in quotable headlines, always exaggerated for additional effect. Like most games, but it's not a necessity for me to get caught up in a game that hardly requires the help of hype.

Re: the injuries and formational tinkering, I'd rather not linger on any ready made excuses. It's not like Arsenal are without problems. They're inconsistent, can make hard work of trying to walk the ball into the net and are quite obviously beatable at home. It's evenly matched. At least it will be if we turn up with chests pumped out. Nothing worse than clumsy implosion. Would rather lose the game playing out of our skins than lose it cheaply gift-wrapped.

JD might be back. Hudd is out for three months. Agent Gallas will no doubt score an own goal and rip off his shirt to reveal red and white colours then sit in the middle of the pitch crying his eyes out confused and alone. Ten home fans will sing to themselves in the far corner, reciting from their hymn sheets whilst the rest tuck into their half-time ribs. Jenas will score a brilliant brilliant individual goal. But we'll be 7-0 down at the time and when the final whistle is blown, we'll be demanding a dvd from our club shop for the plucky comeback that saw the game finish 7-6.

We need a win. Not just because its them lot but because Christmas is almost upon us and we have to remain anchored to 5th/4th spot so that after reinforcements in January we can truly give it proper go (I'm still holding onto us kick-starting our season any time now).

We need to win, we need to end this ridiculous run of away day blues against the former monopoly, we need to discover sustained swagger. And rather than worry about our defensive frailties, let's just make the most of their defensive frailties.

Momentum. About time we embraced some.

More journals to follow in the build up to the game.

Tottenham till I die

#2

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 shitting 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 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.


You've been reading the second part of Spooky's International Break diary journals.

Part one can be read here.