When you nail your colour to the mast, some fucker comes along and shoots that mast down with a big cannonball. Bastards.

And so is the life of the football fan. His colours are permanently nailed to a mast and they’re always knocking it down. Every bloody week, so it seems. Yet hope must spring eternal. Because without hope we might as well all support Glasgow Rangers. Yet often that hope is tested. Are there limits to optimism?

All of which, of course, is apropos today’s maaaassssiiiiiiivvvvvvve north London derby match, 5.30 today at the Emirates. Or ‘hell’ as its come to be known over the last few years. And oddly, although Spurs fans are guarded about their optimism for this afternoon (ie; they have none, whatsoever), every Arsenal fan I meet is equally pessmistic and in a state of dread. Everybody, so it seems, except the pundits and press, hates the Spurs/Arsenal match. And why?

Because its so important. It has a value that is beyond points, beyond ‘local’ pride, beyond rubies, beyond almost everything. It is always season defining, and Spurs, who generally lose such events, stick to a pretty grim defninition of their seasons accordingly. And for all Arsenal’s claims of ‘its just another match, we’re more worried about Chelsea’, that’s all just so much posturning and mind-games. More for their benefit that for ours.

This will be my 151st derby game. I guessed that based on it being Wenger’s 46th and I’ve been around far longer.

Time has once again flown, the match has started; watch out for part 2. When I get an effin moment or three.

A xxxx