You see; it’s all about aspirations and expectations. It’s all about appreciating your place in the world and not overstepping the mark. Ok, it’s good to pursue higher goals, stretch yourself and challenge the greats. But to pursue higher goals, you have to score them. (See below, after the obligatory motivational speak-bollocks, soul-searching, target-driven, philosophico-marketing bullshit). Yes you set your targets high, but achievable. Otherwise the effects of the failures may impact morale and future performance, detrimentally. And no fucker wants dat.

As football fans we aspire vicariously. We commit our hearts and souls and emotional stability to a bunch of tattooed scumbags because they’re kissing the badge of the clubs we love. For now. Until a better offer comes along, then they kiss a different one. And we have ultimate faith in our manager(s). Who guide our teams, buy and sell the players, select the line-ups and set the game plans.

At this end of the season, well, its kind’a finished, but for the last few weeks, any two teams could have vastly different goals. F’rinstance; take Spurs and Arsenal. The former fighting for survival in the top league. The latter fighting to win the thing as champions. But then more. Because Arsenal were in the enviable? position (see below in the ‘fuck ups’ section) of winning the Champions League as well. A double only achieved by two English clubs. And to be honest, all the European clubs who win the Champions League have always won their domestic one six months ago. Such is the standard over here in Euro-land.

Arsenal didn’t so much ‘win’ the league as ‘take control’ of it. They played their early matches with a flair and speed and, yes, even beauty which, at times seemed unplayable. Then the change. Arteta turned from Pep Guardiola (under whom he trained) into Sam Allardyce. He became attractive football’s nightmare. The Pragmatist! His team ran out, scored one goal, in the 6th minute, then shut up shop for the day and let their truly awesome defensive unit just run the other 84 minutes down. Altogether now: “1 nil, to the Ars-en-al, 1 nil, to the…”

The problem? You meet a team who will find a way through. Were always going to find a way through. Spurs played PSG and were 3 nil up before eventually losing. Because they don’t stop. And by giving them 75% of possession is really never going to end happily.

Out of respect (such as exists in football) for my Arsenal friends, I won’t go into details about last night in Budapest. But it didn’t end well. In fact it ended terribly. You can never, ever lose ‘well’. And so the Arsenal fans, so ‘high’ on their winning of the Premiership, feel a massive deflation on losing the final last night. Little Harry over here, in his ‘Saka 7’ shirt, was crying as… as the shit happened. Gabriel happened. The player of the match, probably the league player of the season, yet he’ll be remembered for that penalty miss. Which is a shame. It’s all a shame. It’s all tragic. Open topped buses down the Holloway Road just won’t feel… as good as they should.

Whereas at White Hart Lane, there is only ecstasy. Only the incredible joy and immense relief that our short time goal of ‘staying up’ was achieved. That we hit the bottom and survived.

We alone can enjoy total, unconditional joy and happiness. Because we were never the best at anything this season. And in fact, only needed to be a bit better than West Ham. Whereas Arsenal fans had a different world view. Which last night in Budapest (or even Cadiz) came a’crashing down.

Happy Sunday

A xxxx