Okay, so I'm half cut, I've had 6 hours sleep in two days and I'm about to smash the **** out of Babestation or which ever one of those channels has the less silicone. Prefer the natural look. I'm a true gentleman of class. So, what we got? Manchester United away in the Theatre of Capitulation. No win there since 1989. Four points from a possible sixty six. It's pretty much the football version of Bugs Bunny versus Elmer Fudd. Have you ever seen Fudd get the better of Bugs? Nope. Bugs even dresses up in skirts and lipstick. With carrot in hand, he's positively teasing the crap out of him. He's got it won before he's even turned up. Everything that happens, happens because that's what people expect to see transpire. There result has to be fleshed out with entertainment. Although I'm fairly sure I've never seen Fergie chomping on a carrot in the dugout and even if United swapped their kit for high heels and a frock they'd still manage to beat us.
We don't turn up at all. They beat us.
We play well, don't do enough. They beat us.
We play well, they still beat us.
We play well, they get a controversial decision go their way. They beat us.
We take the lead. They still beat us.
We run out onto their pitch. Someone in Lilywhite does something stupendously silly. They beat us.
There's a referee on the pitch? They beat us.
Did someone say Foy + fourth official Clattenburg? They beat us.
At the time of writing, it's 23:15 (Friday night). I can picture the game in my head already. Spurs too slow off the mark. United penalty. Ball kicked opposite way to the goal, its still found its way into the back of the net. United score again, 2-0 from the kick off. In the press box the reporters are all naked covered in each others spit, dancing around a burning effigy of AVB. Foy dishes out the yellow cards when Spurs players attempt to pull him away from his touchline French kiss with Sir Alex. Drama!
Do people still bother previewing this match in the build up to it? If I attempted to in my current state (I'll give it a go in a second), or even if I was sober, I'd say we've probably got as good a chance as most to upset United. They can be got at. And we do play better away from home. The issue isn't so much about being outclassed. United have some superb players and they are a team seasoned on the fact they don't always have to be at their best to beat opposition. They just beat them because they can because they are United. Literally united. Whether it be a mugging (like the one dished out to us at the Lane last season) or being clinical or simply never entertaining the prospective of defeat. But its still a game of football and we have our own shiny set of quality too.
There's a chapter in United's history about 'How to show no respect to the opposition and be relentless bastards'. That's the page we need to rip out and scribble all over our arms before we run out to be tested. Hoodoo's can impact games thanks to the fragility concerning mental strength and believing in said hoodoo. So many Spurs sides of recent years believe in it. Much like so many Spurs sides believed in the one Chelsea had over us. Time to treat it as a one off. There is no history. There is just the present and you have to own the day to push into the next one with a smug smile on your face.
Therefore what? What's the master-plan then? It's that old cliché - belief. That commodity we so often fool ourselves into believing we believe in. I think. Hold up. Let me try that again. Belief - we think we can do it but we never do because we don't really believe we can. Legs turn to jelly, brains turn to mush. We welcome it with open arms. It's fairly pathetic to be honest. United don't need any help most times, so we endeavour to bend over for them each time. Yes, some decisions have been head scratches, but enough of the apologetic nonsense. I've said that every year for a fair few now. I'm having to be apologetic myself for wishing and hoping for something new to talk about in this fixture.
So, let's pretend we do believe. Come on now, let's just BELIEVE. New coach and new ways of preparing will equate to a new faith in ourselves and the players in each other in what they can achieve. All I want us to do is turn up and attack and take our chances. Proper basic football 101 stuff. Whatever happens, take it on the chin. Can't argue if you get outclassed. Defeats can sometimes illustrate what needs fixing in terms of positions, formations, instructions. It's the attitude that gels all that stuff together. The application on the day. No blue screens of death please. Lose in glorious fashion, not with comedy.
If we do lose and its another controversy or idiotic mistake then we're need more than a new coach to bury this hoodoo. We'll probably have to reanimate Harry Hotspur from the history books or offer a sacrifice to the footballing Gods pre-match, someone like Graham Roberts. That should get us a draw, minimum. If he's got a full set of teeth. Or perhaps Chirpy can do some voodoo in the dressing room, muster up some dark forces, momentarily paralyse the United defence every time Bale has the ball. Which Bale would welcome considering how slow moving he's been so far this season. That bloke is a full on nutter, don't ever mistake his cuddles and handshakes for anything more than an act. He's rotten to the core. Involved in all sorts. That's Chirpy, not Bale. You think Gareth got his ears pinned back? Nah mate, Chirpy + superglue. His idea of banter. Email me if you want to see photos of our Cockerel mascot, two handcuffed dwarves, a loukaniko and Lindsey Lohan. I'm telling you, he's messed up.
So onwards. With or without Lady Luck. Time we made our own luck. Time we forged our own destiny with our own hands. Time we got a grip. It's Manchester United. It's not a shadow of a colossus. It's not five years ago and it's not ten years ago. Let's hope for something, anything. We are up against it, only if we think we are. You're only up against it if you think that's your role, your place in life. If there's doubt, we lose. It's that simple. Step up, move up and believe you're more than just a plucky underdog that always accepts a patronising pat on the back. I want beasts not men. I want arrogance. I want character, not the fictional kind. Fire in the belly not fluttering butterflies.
Step up Tottenham. Spirit of the Spartans. Unleash hell! No, that's not it, doesn't sound right.
Ah, that's better.
We're gonna get dicked. Come on you Spurs.