A Spurs Winter's Tale
After my last article the feeling was that we can only get better, then we faced Wolves at Wembley and we were humiliated. But as the excuses went, we were tired… a possibility, but the next game would tell. We needed to be focused and ready to reverse that humiliation into something positive. Could Cardiff be the place for that? And don’t forget that the day and date we were going to face them was on the 1st January; a new year, a year of hopes and dreams to be wished for. So, I hoped for a win over Cardiff, a victory over Tranmere (no replays) and a pissing contest with Chelsea. Can we – that is Tottenham Hotspur – show what we are made off and what our intentions are; that is to win the League Cup. Of course, to do this, we needed to trample on Chelsea over two legs and then face City in the League Cup at Wembley. Doesn’t that sound dandy?
But before that, we need to tell the story of Cardiff City and how Santa Spurs sneaked into the Walsh land of sheep and stopped the Cardiff boys from trying to get a scalp of a top three team.
Like all matches, there can be only three outcomes… a draw, a win or a loss. A draw or loss was for the timid, a win would propel us towards the dizzy heights of second place and touching distance to Liverpool’s frock (I can hear them shouting, “don’t look there, as there are no balls under here”).
Liverpool has been lucky this season… but we are not here to dwell on Liverpool's over-charmed blessed season, no, we are here to talk about Wales and the taming of the Cardiff mice (if they hadn’t been already tamed in 2018 by lesser teams).
According to the Welsh supporters of this little team in their big city, they are a team roaring to go, and are going to show it one day (but not on the 1st).
The Magnificent Lilywhites arrived in Cardiff pumped up after a mauling by stray wolves. We entered the Morris Dancers den and were greeted with fairy lights and the wind gently brushing our cheeks. The Cardiff mice looked on in terror and tentatively squeaked around the pitch on tenterhooks. By then we knew that there was going to be no repeat of a Wolves trouncing.
Both teams came out of the arena, only one of us was going to see those hopes turned into reality. Cardiff tested the water, we responded with Kane. He fired and scored, and three minutes hadn’t even gone by. The Cardiff players looked at each other and wondered how a one season wonder could score season after season (a contradiction they thought!). Before they could put meaning to their puzzlement up pops Eriksen to score Spurs second. “No,” they cried, “we wished, sat on Santa’s knee and tickled the bearded snowflake, and all we got was seeing two goals fly past us. Not what one would call the spirit of the festivities?” Then before they could re-kneel and pray again for something more solid another goal whizzed past their ears and straight into the back of the net (“Christ,” they yelled, “Championship football, here we come”). Nice one Cyril (ok, Sonny), nice one Son was the chorus of the moment. The Cardiff lot stood shaking in their boots. Before they could put a coherent plan together, the funny man in the middle of the park blew the protruding instrument that was perched on his lips. Halftime was here.
The boys in blue and white felt sorry for their Welsh opponents and decided not to come out for the second half. But no matter how Cardiff huffed and puffed they just couldn’t blow the ball into the back of the net. Finally, the referee blew his whistle out of sympathy for the onlookers and said: “enough is enough”. The match went to the Lilywhites. The roar that was meant to go up, from the Cardiff supporters, turned into a roar from the away end. All was sweet again from the Spurs worshipers.
Santa Claus had returned to the Spurs nest, but with a warning “Consistency will be your strength,” he cried, “but failure to listen will result in your demise.” Finally, on this warm evening, Santa lay down and invited the Spurs team to tickle his copious belly (it was a Santa Clause tradition for those he befriend, a criminal offence for others).
So, there you have it… a winter's tale, or a piece of nothing. Whatever, 2019 is upon us, so let us look to the stars for what is possible.
Don Scully
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