Why does it hurt so much? But like really hurt? For a male Spurs fan, losing at Chelsea hurts more than childbirth. More than toothache. More than having your spleen removed without anaesthetic. Because the pain doesn’t end with ‘a procedure’, it essentially starts when the procedure is finished. That moment when hope is extinguished, when joy is suppressed, when LIFE IS EFFECTIVELY OVER!!! for at least 3 or 4 days anyway.

But life is a yin and yang kind of a deal. So as Spurs were losing, we had ‘our’ baby asleep upstairs. Waiting for the official start-of-the-day which yesterday was 04.50. Holy shit. Yet as I lay there listening to her calling out in my McEnroe moment (YOU CANNOT BE SERIOUS!!) I pondered how the joy of seeing that little face, all excitement and energy and enthusiasm, almost makes you forget that Spurs had lost their second game in 4 days, this time to the most evil force on the planet, Chelsea. Almost.

I’ve said it before; if you essentially align your mental and emotional well-being to a bunch of overpaid divas who are loyal first and foremost to a pay-check, and accept the capricious nature of sport as your guiding light, then you’re gonna get fucked. Royally and often. Not that I have issues with my wonderful (normally) players because I love them all. It’s just the principle of football fandom that we love our clubs f’rever; they love our club as part of their careers.

So now, from sitting pretty, just last fucking week, enjoying the squabble beneath us for ‘4th place’, we’re now embroiled in it. Part of the rabble along with Chelsea, Arsenal (God help us all) and Manchester United. Four teams fighting for 2 spaces. Unless Liverpool and Manchester City get struck down collectively by the Lord Almighty who keeps a Spurs scarf under his long white beard. But must have had something important to do on Wednesday fucking night. Makes all that ‘faith’ shit a bit dubious.

We play Arsenal tomorrow. Last Saturday morning we were 10 points clear of them in the league. Today its four. If the forces of evil should conspire against us tomorrow then it’ll be just one point. At which time even the Lila effect could be hard pressed to raise me, and 40,000 like-mindeds, out of our collective funk. And I’m not talking Earth, Wind and Fire.

But just so’s you know, I currently FUCKING HATE FOOTBALL. And by tomorrow afternoon that anger, fear, hatred will have either coalesced into acts of unspeakable violence. Or lifted my very soul to the highest of spiritual planes. Where even Buddha feared to tread. Because he was an Aston Villa fan.

Reasonably unhappy Friday

A xxxx