The problem is mainly that Spurs, currently, are very very good.
So much so that my confidence raised more than it perhaps should
We’ve beaten them all, the good and the bad,
particularly at the Lane where they’ve all left rather sad
But this was Arsenal, this was not the norm,
upon this match stood mocking, derision and scorn.

So yesterday, match day, at just about mid-afternoon time
I did what every real, true Spurs fan and devotee would find just fine.
I went to the Tate Britain, the David Hockney exhibition to see
(Booked months ago, in advance, absolutely nothing to do with me.)
Because I’m so cultured and genteel and a total arthouse dude
I wandered round staring at the pics, predominantly of men in the nude.

“Oh, that’s his first California period” I pretentiously would exclaim,
“wonderfully vivid colours”, whilst staring on my phone at the game.
Yet I needed not to watch it, really needed the distraction
Because its just too unsettling to get anywhere near the action.
Instead I decided, in my unselfishly devoted state,
to place my trust in Lila, who has never let us down, of late.

For Arsenal, meanwhile, a crunch game this would have to be
Their entire season in a mess, their future no-one can see
They had to beat the auld enemy, had to thrash them good and sound
Or face the grim reality that indeed new players and new manager, should be found.
So with passions higher than high, emotions ready to be dashed,
I was poncing round the fucking Tate looking at ‘a Bigger Splash’.

I needn’t have worried, shouldn’t have given a care
As Arsenal’s many frailties were repeatedly laid quite bare.
Spurs, on the other hand, were simply, magnificently, in every department too strong
The Arse couldn’t cope, couldn’t score, couldn’t stop us, got it all wrong.
And in doing so, for the first time in 23 horrible, long, hard years
We will finish the league above them, which brings me to copious tears.

So as I sob my way through the aftermath, the celebration, the hope, the joy
It takes me back to the glory days when I was merely a boy.
Because on this most important day, essential match and game
Tottenham were victorious, no matter who you choose to blame.
For me, for Lila, for all the loyal fans; Tottenham Hotspur won
Making it a bad day for Jeremy Corbyn, Osama bin Laden and (probably) Atilla the fucking Hun.

Happiest Monday Ever

A xxxx