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You see people you only know through Spurs — maybe just their first name — then suddenly you’re on flights together, sharing hotel rooms. Drinking foreign lagers in sunlit squares, serenading confused locals with the full back catalogue, some only sung on European nights.
This brings me on to where I’m actually going to direct my hate for the season. This is probably the worst we’ve had since before the Premier league. The worst because of the expectancy and where we are at as a football club, in terms of capacity to contend.
Spurs finally look like a team chasing silverware – which obviously means we should all brace for calamity in the Arctic Circle.
Can a battered Spurs side swap league despair for European flair, or will the Norwegians be the next to make us suffer for our sins?
Another match, another lesson in slapstick defending – Spurs serve up safety to Wolves with a side of self-sabotage.
Spurs haven’t won at Chelsea since before Brexit was a thing – and with form wobblier than Eric Dier on a Segway, what could possibly go wrong?
Spurs haven’t won a league game before an international break since what feels like the Stone Age—so naturally, away at Fulham, the optimism is… cautious.