This morning I have no interest in Russia. Not a thought for Ukraine, no interest in covid, never the merest consideration of Boris Johnson, Prince Andrew or the price of gas. Because, after losing our last 3 Premier League matches, causing sorrow, resignation, depression, despondency and the questioning whether life has any meaning whatsoever, we went to Manchester City.

And here’s the funny thing. We were discussing the match yesterday morning in a summit meeting (me and Spurs Paul at the net on the tennis court) and I actually said: “we could beat them. Even though we’ve been total shit of late, its different when we play proper ‘big clubs’ and also, for some reason, we seem to be Man City’s bogey team”.

So the match started at the Etihad and three minutes later Spurs are 1 nil up. What? Is that a typo?? No, City 0, Spurs 1. A goal of true wonder. Nothing more wonderful than the fantastic pass from the middle of the park by Harry Kane to Sonny on the wing. It was a pass of brilliance, of vision, and it was executed beautifully. Still plenty to do but Sonny did half of it and then Kulusevski finished it like the new and foreign signing he is. And we were ahead. Which only makes them angry.

We almost made it to half time, even though City had 98% possession (so it felt). They scored. A cheap goal. (For purposes of definition: a ‘cheap goal’ is any scored against Spurs). So it was 1-all at half time. Which is respectable.

Amazingly we scored again. On the break, as you have to against ‘them’, this time Harry scored, set up by Sonny. And then we only had to survive for half an hour. How hard can it be?

As it happened, not that hard. Because although City’s possession went up to 99.6% for that time, the only goal was scored by Harry, and promptly disallowed by VAR. We were hanging on as injury time started. Until we gave away a penalty. Oh dear. Fucking tragic. All that work and it’ll end 2-2. Mahrez duly scored his pen and there were just a few minutes to ‘hold on’. But then a funny thing happened. A weird thing. Something that, at the Etihad, never happens. Spurs scored again. Harry, again. Who, never mind the 2 goals (should’a been 3), had been by several miles the best player on the pitch.

I screamed at my tv. Harry screamed back at me. Then Antonio Conte did. Then we were all screaming, shouting, jumping, as the final whistle blew.

It was a brilliant game, all the more so for being so unexpected. A brilliant result, all the more so because it went our way. And Harry, who City didn’t buy last summer because he wasn’t worth 150 mil. He’s now worth 250.

Very happy Sunday

A xxxx