A Step Closer… Unless We Slip on the Ice in Bodo

Well then, that was unexpectedly competent, wasn’t it?

Tottenham Hotspur – yes, our Tottenham – are now two matches away from Europa League glory after turning up, turning on the style, and mostly turning over Bodo/Glimt with a 3-1 win that actually resembled a football team going somewhere. It’s a rare sight this season – a win that felt deserved, borderline dominant, and dare we say, kind of fun?

It took just 38 seconds to get the party started. Brennan Johnson nodded home after Richarlison’s aerial flick-on, and for a moment we all wondered if we’d accidentally tuned into a parallel universe where Spurs score early and then don’t immediately panic.

But this wasn’t a normal Spurs display. This was Ange Postecoglou’s lot finally looking like they knew what they were doing. James Maddison doubled our lead with a gorgeous bit of control and a tidy finish, and then Dominic Solanke slotted in a very relaxed penalty after Cristian Romero was manhandled.

Three goals to the good and playing like a side that had remembered how to football again. The vibes? Immaculate.

Until, of course, they weren’t.

Because we can’t have nice things, Glimt’s only shot on target – a deflected screamer from Ulrik Saltnes – flew in late to make it 3-1. A minor wobble, but just enough to inject that traditional Tottenham sense of jeopardy. Oh, and Maddison and Solanke limped off with injuries, because apparently footballing joy must always be counterbalanced by a dash of existential dread.

Now, let’s not pretend the second leg up in Bodo will be a stroll in the fjord. The hosts have a 70% home win rate in Europe since 2022 and have beaten the likes of Porto, Besiktas and Lazio on their plastic pitch in the Arctic Circle. We’re taking our delicate, injury-prone ensemble up there next Thursday and praying the cold doesn’t make anyone’s hamstrings disintegrate.

Still, let’s cling to the positives like we cling to our last shred of hope every spring: we’re two games from a trophy. Let that sink in. A real one. Not an Audi Cup. Not a “we played well in the North London derby” moral victory. An actual shiny cup. Our first since that Carling Cup back in 2008, when the iPhone had only just launched and Ledley King still had cartilage.

And yes, the league campaign has been an absolute disaster – 16th in the table, scoring less than Sheffield United and leaking goals like a colander in a monsoon. Ange might not survive this season, even if we do go all the way in Europe. But if he does go, wouldn’t it be just like Spurs to finally win something under a manager who gets the boot anyway?

There’s even whisperings of a potential all-English final against Manchester United in Bilbao. Spurs vs United in a European final – it sounds like something scripted by a stressed-out Netflix intern trying to force dramatic tension. But we’ll take it.

There was no complacency from Ange either. He remembered full well how Glimt booted his Celtic side out of Europe three years ago, and his players responded accordingly. Quick start, clinical finishing, and a bit of swagger. Maddison’s goal was a delight, and Johnson now has 17 for the season – fair play to the lad for quietly becoming reliable while we were all busy fretting about our defence.

VAR got one right, too, for a change. Romero was shoved in the box, and Solanke did the honours from the spot, stroking it in like he was walking the dog in the park. Casual as you like.

Glimt saw loads of the ball in the second half – 70% possession, apparently – but they never really looked like they knew what to do with it until Saltnes’ shot somehow found the top corner. Still, one shot on target in 90 minutes? We’ll take that away performance any day of the week.

Now we go to the Arctic with a two-goal cushion and a faint sense of belief. Or is it dread? Hard to tell with us. History says we’ve reached this final three times before – and won two of them. Dare we dream of number three?

Or are we just setting ourselves up for another heartbreak on artificial turf?