It isn't a table if it only has one leg
This is the best manager and best team we've had in generations, better than '84 or the early ‘80s. We're better than the sides that have claimed our club silverware. Chew on that paradox until you choke. If we win something or if we don't, it doesn't change a thing.
That isn't dismissing the desire to win that something. That isn't ignoring the want to have that day out to consolidate and reward both players and supporters. Spurs is this. This right now. The emotion you're feeling. The sick depressive itch you can't scratch. This is Tottenham. That perpetual torture we exist in, almost, nearly, pretending, contending, always competing but never completing. When it does finally happen, and it will happen, it will be more glorious than anything you dare to compare it to, more glorious than any experience any rival fan-base could ever wish for. Why? Because none of them matter. They’re all inconsequential - the lot of them. Our one single day in the sun will top it all. The belief is all I need. It’s the drug that fuels me.
Waiting for that day, this is Tottenham.
The fine margin was a gulf. No Kane, Dele or Son was the difference. Containing Chelsea was never the answer. Penalties will always be a lottery.
Hate football. Love football. Belong to football. Emotionally there's no escape.
This is raw, this is unfiltered. I have no regrets and apologise to no one. I do not care. I am right and if you think I’m wrong then we don’t belong to the same tribe.
Much love to everyone at The Fighting Cock social. Chris, Ian and all the people I met for the first time and chatted to, thanks for the inspiration.
