Well there’s certainly one way to forget about the election, forget about Brexit, about Labour, Corbyn, McDonnell, forget about Hong Kong, even forget about Prince Andrew. Just sack your team’s manager and everything else becomes unimportant, trivial, almost meaningless. But even that truly massive, globally humongous, tragically earth-shattering event almost pales into insignificance when the new manger is introduced to the world.

Jose Fucking Morinho. To give him his full title. ‘The Special One’.

The king is dead, long live the unbalanced, psychiatrically-challenged, terminally-whingeing Portugeezer.

But I come to praise Pochettino, not to bury him. (Sorry, Julius). Because all Spurs fans simply love the man, with all our hearts and souls. He took a team with promise but no spine, with money but no sense of value, with physicality but no endurance and turned all that potential into something remarkable, something impressive, something wonderful. And all the while speaking (mainly Spanish) with intelligence, with humour, with class and most importantly and unusually, with humility. He is what is known as ‘a mensch’. He improved the team’s fitness to the point where we were fitter, faster, more active than any other team. We became the Duracell Bunnies of the Premier League. We had to in order to play the ‘high press’ game that signified those wonderful 3 years. Which all ended in January this year. No-one knows why, but turn to shit it did.

But alas January happened. And whether due to dressing room issues (sleeping with another player’s wife can do that, if it happened) or due to transfer rumours and intentions, the ‘love’, which had been so strongly and constantly evident during the Poch years, simply ended. And after the break this season just carried on in the same abysmal way, which has been awful to see. Mainly for Daniel Levy. So Poch had to go. Causing tears to flow in every single Spurs fan.

And then he appointed Morinho last night, and the crying increased. As Tory-boy succinctly stated: ‘we’ve enjoyed trophyless glory, maybe time for gloryless trophies’.

Because Morinho is famous for two things: winning trophies, which he has done at every club he’s managed in the last 16 years; and cracking up under any strain and blaming his players, individually and collectively, for anything bad that happens. Or the team doctor. Anyone. The former we can forgive, the second we may have to adjust to.

His contract is for 4 years. That’s the pay he’ll get. The duration of his stay may be much less. It’s the Morinho way.

This headline in today’s paper lifted my spirits no end. I’M STILL MIDDLE-AGED!!!! And so is Jose.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx