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A Poisoned Chalice?

6 min read
by Gavin Lewis
At the moment, like everybody, I could really use a little joy. I could use a bit of that unique magic that only Tottenham Hotspur can summon. I know that sounds selfish, but it’s meant to.

‘I don’t care if we lose, so as long as it’s exciting and we’re playing with some aggression,’ I stated confidently to my dad after last Thursday’s abject nonsense. Well, it turns out that was b******s, wasn’t it?

Our post-match phone calls had been slowly increasing in both volume and anger, but the one-nil defeat to Chelsea was the catalyst for an ugly, ferocious tirade. We shouted pointlessly into the ether; perhaps deep down happy we were at least feeling something. Life is currently a tedious affair, and periods of monotonous boredom punctuated by large quantities of wine can slowly soften the senses. At least we had something to care about, and something new to talk about.

Last night, we texted each other at halftime relatively optimistic, but once the final whistle blew both our phones remained silent. Neither of us could be bothered. Who could blame us? Our misery had turned to apathy, a dangerous place for any self-serving football fan to find themselves in.

At the moment, like everybody, I could really use a little joy. I could use a bit of that unique magic that only Tottenham Hotspur can summon. I know that sounds selfish, but it’s meant to. I’m writing about me. Us. Our football club. WE IS US! No one else. Maybe that’s why yesterday felt like a leg-crumpling gut punch. An Ivan Drago body blow. Maybe we used up all our luck a couple of years ago. I don’t know. In truth, no elite level football team that concedes five goals deserves to win a cup match.

Then again, when have we ever got what we deserved? For much of the tie I thought we would still do it. We looked sharp and Son, Lamela and Lucas buzzed around the final third with what appeared to be genuine enthusiasm. Our transitions seemed fluid and I was shocked at how quickly we moved the ball. This is the blueprint, I thought, after twenty-five minutes. With the addition of Kane up top, maybe, just maybe, we can get out of the mess we currently find ourselves in.

Ah. Or not.

It was like the Spurs I grew up watching, flattering to decisive. Okay, I guess we’ve always been a bit like that. But this was worse, somehow. In hindsight, there was an inevitability to our capitulation. It’s not like we haven’t seen it all before.

Now look, stop reading if you’re expecting any hot takes, cause’ the hot take cupboard is bare, my friend. To be quite honest, I’m exhausted by the pseudo-intellectualising and rational unpicking of our current predicament. All I can do is present this honest stream of consciousness while I try to unravel exactly how I’m feeling about Tottenham. That isn’t always an easy thing to do, and I’m aware this is football therapy, so strap in, grab your tiny violin and place a box of tissues on the table. No, not for that, you filthy-minded rascal. It’s not that kind of an article.

I’m constantly trying to put this season and my emotional state into some kind of context, but I keep falling back on ‘a couple of years ago we were great, now we’re terrible.’ As simple as that premise is, it explains the unreasonable sorrow that I’ve attached to the Mourinho era. Save for a two-week period when I genuinely believed we’d win the lot, the football’s been crap, the atmosphere’s been toxic, and the fan base has been divided. I’ve lost all sense of belonging.

I know that Covid and lockdowns have probably exacerbated that feeling, but that just makes it worse, not better. I wasn’t sure about Jose’s appointment, but I was hopeful he was the man to get us over the line. He still could be, of course, but that end-of-days, haunted look has started to creep into his facial expressions. His eyes look dull and dark beneath his furrowed brow.

Of course, we can’t lay all the blame squarely at Mourinho’s door. We are suffering now from several years of poor decision making and the lack of a long-term strategy. It’s not like this wasn’t predictable. It was clear for two seasons the squad needed a real overhaul. Poch wouldn’t stop banging on about it. If we want to eat at the top table, we need to bring our best cutlery. Not that sh*t, plastic stuff from the school canteen.

I think for the most part, the players are still trying. None of them want to lose football matches, but world-beaters like Kane and Son shine a huge homing beacon on the obvious fallibility of the others.

We’re a weird team, in that respect, with a couple of genuine superstars and an awful lot of dead wood. It’s almost like a team from a bygone era, when great players could be tied to their clubs through local loyalty and were less frequently lured away by big money and guaranteed trophies.

As a fan base, we’ve often been guilty of viewing football through sepia-tinted glasses, perhaps a symptom of our glory days being well behind us. On one level this side appeals to those naïve nostalgic pangs, however a yearning for the past doesn’t build a successful team, and nor does individual brilliance.

My biggest fear now is that in a post- Covid world, the financial burden of the new stadium will stop Levy from investing in the squad, and we will fall into a vicious cycle. Poor results will lead to a half-empty stadium, and the money we were expecting just won’t be in the coffers. Perhaps he’ll have to be sold. You know who I mean. I don’t want to say it out loud. I wouldn’t really blame him, but it would still be devastating.

What about the managerial situation, then? Given the above, we might be viewed as a bit of a poisoned chalice. A risk, certainly, but I think many of us are ready to open our arms and embrace a new beginning. We need somebody to draw a line in the sand. You’ve had some good memories, but now we need to start afresh with hunger, desire and renewed energy.

I have no idea who would make for an attractive candidate. I was calling for big Ralph a couple of weeks ago, but a man who has lost 9-0 twice in 18 months terrifies me, especially with our back line. It would be an unpredictable ride, and one I’m not prepared to get on.

That isn’t to say I wouldn’t be fully on board with whoever comes through the door. Sherwood aside, there’s always a sense of hope when a new coach comes in, and a feeling that he just might be the one to create a dynasty. Such misplaced optimism feels a long way off at the moment, but that’s why we need to think long term. How are we going to move forward from here? It might take a while. Three, four or even five years, but like every huge conglomerate, we’ll be successful if we’re all pulling in the same direction.

Clearly, it isn’t all doom and gloom. At least that’s what I’m telling myself. We’re still Tottenham Hotspur, and that’s something to be proud of. The enourmous highs feel particularly special because they’re accompanied by wretched lows. That’s the fun of being a Spurs fan. We’re probably not going to ever win it all, but we’ll have our day in the sun. When it arrives, I’ll kiss and hug and drink and party and fall and rise and scream and shout and cry and laugh.

In the meantime, though, I suppose we’ll have to be patient. What else can we do?

All views and opinions expressed in this article are the views and opinions of the writer and do not necessarily represent the views of The Fighting Cock. We offer a platform for fans to commit their views to text and voice their thoughts. Football is a passionate game and as long as the views stay within the parameters of what is acceptable, we encourage people to write, get involved and share their thoughts on the mighty Tottenham Hotspur.

Gavin Lewis

2 Comments

  1. Brian Mulholland
    15/02/2021 @ 10:18 am

    Great read and we all feel the pain. I always thought being a Spurs dan was character building but at this point I think I’ve enough character for 5 lifetimes. Anyway COYS TTID

  2. Marco
    15/02/2021 @ 6:28 pm

    Thirty years running of FA cup failure, while in the same period, our neighbors four miles to the south have hoisted it ten times. Patience? I would say most of us have made an art of it. “The fun of being a Spurs fan”, hmmm… I’ve almost forgotten what that feels like.

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