Football’s back on. Today. Real football. Football that matters in my life. Defines my life. And today, following a stupidly long ‘international break’, the Premier League plays once more. I no longer have to suffer giving my quasi-support to England and having all the glory of 7-nil wins and fabulous, flowing play and winning games. All that Harry Kane reflected glory; it was all mine and wonderful. Jude Bellingham was ‘my boy’. That was awful. Now I can get back to Spurs. Proper football. Reality. When we never win and play like people who’ve never met before and haven’t ever read the rules of football. That’s when you know it’s proper. Real.

Today we go to Old Trafford. To play the other bunch of total disappointments. Manchester United. Ok, they’re not bottom of the table, like us, but watching them play and you’d think that was their aspiration. Take Bruno out of their team and they’d be 21st in the table. I know, but they’d make room.

3 weeks for international breaks is stupid. Half the players have come back injured. Oh well, what price national pride? Well, about 200 grand a week, I reckon, as the superstars sit in agony in the physio’s room. Fortunately the only Spurs player involved was Scotland’s captain, Andy Robertson. And as Scotland are completely hopeless in tournaments, there’s not much worry there.

Kick off in about an hour. The hapless against the hopeless. Big game.

Zack Polanski failed to win the Holborn & St Pancreatic by-election. He was beaten by a Labour woman. A Somalian lady and (I’m guessing by the headscarf) a Muslim. It’s a shame for the Greens. And anything that’s a shame for the Greens is good for me, good for the world, good for decency. And common sense.

Zack refused to state whether Israel has a right to exist. Instead he dreams of some Utopian middle-eastern wonderland where Jews and Arabs live peacefully together. His nominal ‘1-state solution’. Why? Because he’s a tosser, that’s why. And a clueless one at that. On the ‘glorious day’ that a ‘free Palestine’ becomes an entity, Zack would stroll in with his victory grin (the one with all the missing teeth), to Gaza, to claim his share of the riches. The glory of the fight. And they’d take him to the highest rooftop and throw him, and all the other poofs, to the ground. Maybe something special for him for being a Jewish poof. Maybe castrate him first. I would.

I don’t know if he’s a Spurs fan. In some respects I hope not, because I don’t want him anywhere near me, ever. But on the other hand, he deserves all the suffering a man can endure. And Spurs fandom is the surest path to that.

Happy Saturday

A xxxx