There was a little girl, who had a little curl, right in the middle of her forehead. And when she was good she was very, very good, and when she was bad she was horrid!

And thus: Mathys Tel.

When he was good he was very very good, and when he was bad he was a TOTAL FUCKING, FRENCH PIECE’A SHIT, INDECISIVE, CLUELESS LIABILITY!

Tel in fact serves as an almost perfect metaphor for Spurs this season. The (very) occasional brilliance surrounded by play that is directionless, deranged, verging on completely insane. I’m not blaming Tel for all of Spurs woes; no man is big enough for that. But last night, in ‘the most important game of the season’, until the next one, he exemplified the deep-rooted problems at my football club in terms of their buying of players over the last few years of the Levy reign. Players who can impress with little superficial skill but simply lack what it really takes to play in the English top flight. And we’re so good at finding these players. If we paid a bit more, we could have an Eze, a Deku, a Foden. But due to either Levy’s ‘astute’ negotiating limits, or those imposed by the Lewis family, we passed those up for ‘cheaper options’. I’m not saying all our buys were bad. There’s many I really love and admire. But Tel’s performance last night was an exemplar of the class of poorly researched acquisitions.

He first ‘attracted my attention’ (a euphemism for ‘had me screaming at the tv whilst squeezing my daughter’s hand so hard it bled’) when defending near our corner during a Leeds attack. He had the ball and was shielding it from a couple of Leeds players. He didn’t ’clear his lines’ when he had the opportunity. Instead, he dribbled towards his own goal line. And then, finding himself stuck with giving away a corner, he ‘made a decision’. To cross the ball across his own goal. Whilst there were still Leeds attackers hanging around. W. T. Actual. F.??? Ok, I’m not saying it was his finest decision made last night, that came later, but it was simply moronic. Something players know you NEVER do. We survived it. Play on.

And from that insanity/excitement, the game went back to the exceedingly mediocre. Again, Tel found space, ran the lines, beat a player or two and… and… AND!!!… stopped for a rest. Looking around. Forgotten what to do. Wait for help. Phone a friend. He’d have Richarlison flying alongside, pointing where to put the ball; Udogie on the overlap, players running to the near post. But he waits. There’s no rush. Only 32 minutes played. I’ll plot my options on a spreadsheet.

But then he scored!!! A goal of such beauty, such elegance, such class; it was as if for 5 seconds I was watching Glenn Hoddle, back in 1979, with braided hair.

And late in the game; the disaster. The tragedy. The shipwreck. An overhead scissor kick in his own area with Leeds players looming. Ok, he only actually kicked one in the face, but that, for the referee, was somehow sufficient to award a penalty. Harsh but that’s life. Well, that’s my life. And the life of all the other Spurs fans around. 1 all.

So next we go to Chelsea. And, depending on how West Ham do beforehand in Newcastle, our visit to SW6 will be the most important thing since they closed the Strait of Hormuz. Since the invention of the steam engine. Since Hiroshima!!!

Fucking miserable Tuesday

A xxxx