It’s three years today that Tottenham played their last ever game in the old White Hart Lane. It’s three years ago today that we said goodbye.
One of Pochettino's biggest strengths was his loyalty and passion for his players and in the end, it came back to bite him.
Many Spurs fans have again shown their fickle nature by writing Ndombele off as a flop, someone who’s not up to it, someone who needs to be sold to a less physical league whilst they’re still yearning for the return of Gareth Bale. A man who had a notoriously difficult start to life at Spurs.
“I love Spurs, I’ll always love Spurs, but it’s one of them things I’ve always said if I don’t feel like we’re progressing as a team or going in the right direction, I’m not someone to stay there just for the sake of it.”
As much I hate that sense of dread, the potential for us to capitulate or under perform, I still wish I was suffering the hopeful avoidance of the possible indignity. Why would I curse myself this way?
You also get those 'treasured moments' with winning things. Memories. The history books record the score and it’s there in black and white to brag about later on. But is that what you desire? To make numbers out of those moments?
I just want to go back to White Hart Lane and watch the football again. Because when that point arrives, some semblance of normality will be achieved.
We cannot ignore the mercurial talent the man possesses, and at only twenty-three years of age he still has plenty of time left to improve and fix whatever it is that is proving to be a detriment to his ability.