For the second successive week I'm away, this time out of the country in hopefully the basking sun of Madrid. I'll also be hoping to find a pub with a plasma and Spurs Stoke all over it. Again in the hope (can you spot the emerging pattern here?) that we win and that our prolonged agony is stretched until the following week when Arsenal host Wigan.
Hope. Ifs. Buts. What ifs. Maybes. Probably nots.
This is Tottenham Hotspur and it's far better than being sat in mid-table. But the very notion of achievement means it hurts a lot more to be where we are now than to be aimlessly lost without direction ten places below. For the sake of one last time tasting my furiously beating heart in my mouth, I'm now hoping that the season transpires and gives us a final day of drama. If we're going to suffer we may as well suffer until the bitter end.
So, no blogs until I'm back in Blighty late Monday/Tuesday. I'll be immersing myself in alcohol whatever else I can endeavour to corrupt my soul. If I happen by Luka Modric, I'll have a word. If anyone has any recommendations for a four-day misadventure in Madrid, feel free to share in the comments.
Be sure to check out The Fighting Cock podcast for the Chelsea post-mortem.
Also this article from Martin Cloake reacting to Graeme Souness and his post-match comments about AVB being lucky is worth your time.
See you on the other side.