"Yeah, things aren't going as I had planned; the players are shit, the football is more eye-bleedingly dull than the normal tripe I serve up, and Levy is a more tight-fisted, ready-wth-the-excuse cunt than I had anticipated. And now the typcally slow-witted supporters are getting hip to the tacticless deepblock, backwards and sideways gutless garbage I'm putting out there. They are starting to whine like little bitches about paying big money for only 45 minutes where my team looks interested in participating in the goings-on on the pitch. Ungrateful bastards!!!!
I have no idea how Poch made this work for so long but I am very sure as to the reasons it went sour for him, Mou, and Nuno. No serious manager can work under these arbitrary constraints. There is no plan, no objective, no destination, and barely shambition so it's impossible to devise a strategy to accomplish anything because you don't know what the target is beyond the nebulous 'win' and, of course, the top 4 trophy. And in your heart you know that when you actually get close to real, objective success you will have your knees cut out from under you by that scheming bald fucker with a Saha, Nelson, or Nkoudou when you need real players.
So, it all points to going home...where my family resides so I can see my lovely daughter and get 'reacquainted' with my wife. And with that Triassic dinosaur Allegri getting the axe from my favorite club in the world, a bigger club than Tottenham, the old lady supporters are probably primed for my Jurassic football...with wingbacks.
It was real Tottenham. Thanks for the 30M!!!! Chumps.