Mood

 

Smile. We won. Just about. I mean, it's three points so we won but...well, you know. That isn't enough.

*looks at league table*

We are not even playing that great and yet we're comfortably in the mix. How you define 'the mix' is always going to be unique to your own mindset and how good you are at maths. I will probably be forced to swap 'comfortably' with 'uncomfortably' by the baying public if we persist with our brand of functional non-sexy football. We can only improve, right? Or stay exactly the same...forever and ever. 

There's no need for pretence or deflection. The existing problems are the ones we've had throughout the entirety of the campaign. Dominant with ball at feet yet very little in the way of devastating creativity. Statistical possession kings of the post-match graphic. We make it all look like such a hard graft. Plenty of marauding and not enough end product. We have countless attempts at goal but not enough that hits the target with finesse and clinicality. There's sustained character in the team, the will to do well. However, it's erratic in execution and nowhere near the supremely disciplined hark we are capable of crowing. We are doing alright but not great. Winning ugly (where have I heard about that trait before?) but not with regularity. 

It's a game of inches and our crown jewels have inverted like a shrivelled penis in Antarctica. When we do have something swinging it's usually way too girthy (Mousa and Victor lining up side by side in a home game against a struggling travelling side). There's no curve, no measured shape to get to that magic spot. Penetration analogies aside, there's also no natural width either (unless you're going to cite the overlapping application of Danny 'I love him so much' Rose and Kyle 'May I assist you?' Walker). Moussa Sissoko is the confused resolution to this particular conundrum, usually providing an untidy stretch towards the right flank. This time, he retained a central position long enough to power through the middle and assist the winner. It's not quite making sense. 

It wasn't all bad. Their goal was thanks to some lacklustre defending. Our equaliser was really decent. The exact type of backhanded smack (thank you Dele) we should be producing more often. Tempo. It's all in the tempo. Pockets of it are enough to get you out of sticky situations. Prolonged periods of pace and punch will push you way ahead of your punished opponent. 

*looks at table*

Three points adrift of second spot (at time of writing).

Makes. No. Sense.

Nothing has changed bark the aggrieved. I can feel their festering misery. Same old Tottenham.

*looks at squad*

Lloris, Vertonghen, Alderweireld, Rose, Walker, Wanyama, Dembele, Dier, Eriksen, Lamela, Son, Dele, Kane...yep, nothing has changed. Really wish we had a proper set of players capable of mustering some passion and intelligence to get us out of this identity crisis. Desperate times, eh? This lot are hopeless, yeah?

*cough*

Actually it does make sense. A below par Spurs team is still good enough to see off most teams. It's the other teams I worry about. The top %. Below par is no longer something we associate our club with and rightly so. We set a benchmark, we need to work towards retaining it. That includes rolling with the punches we take to the gut whilst we work on our footwork and switch it from orthodox to southpaw. We need us a pick me up and we need it fast. I'm at the point now where my call to arms will enter questionable territory. The point of no return. Not challenging for the title is now deemed a disappointment. The times are not changing, they've already changed.

We are almost at the half way point. Mauricio is sat in a self-driving Tesla. He needs it swapped with a muscle car. He needs to be in full control not auto-pilot. Okay, so a Tesla can out pace a muscle car but you get what I'm saying. We need a gear change. Where is the pick me up going to come from? When are we going to land a flurry of our own punches? How many analogies can I intertwine in the single blog?

I'm going to have to write Santa a begging letter, aren't I?  

 

Dear Mr Claus,

Can we please have maximum points from the festive fixtures?

I know it might be tricky for you to deliver, what with you dressed in about the same measure of garish red an Arsenal season ticket holder is draped in. Obviously the results and the three points gained aren't all that matter. They are vital, of course, but so is regaining that tenacious swarming zest and ruthless bullish spirit. It's nigh imperative to the challenge at hand. We need the gratification of footballing style to accompany the collected points.

I want my Spurs to slap down the opposition and when they're on the ground, kick 'em into a shallow grave and bury the ****'s in amongst the dirt choking drowning bodies of other helpless victims. It's what baby Jesus would have wanted. Remember him? You crucified the lad in the commercial stakes for December. It's his birthday and yet everyone has you, chimneys and mince pies on their mind. Personally, I've always been partial to having his white hippy face on the sides of those Coca-Cola trucks. Big bold eyes, warm white smile, a beautiful brown coloured beard and holding a bottle of Coke with an air of Godly confidence. Jesus saves. Although I'll much rather keep the faith with Hugo.

Christmas isn't Christmas without those trucks.

Christmas isn't Christmas without crisp white snow.

Tottenham isn't Tottenham without ye old siege mentality, facing off the entire footballing community as they do their utmost to best us and stop us. Loved it last season when they all realised what we had and what we could have potentially got our hands on. We've not quite showcased the same guile since. So we've sort of been written off by many, including our own knee-jerking fanbase. As someone eloquently put it recently; we've waited this long to be a side that can contend with the top teams and now that we're here some choose to just give up all hope. No fight, no digging deep. Just a sense of entitlement. Like it's meant to be easy. Like we're owed the earth. Sprinkle some of that reindeer dust on the miserable faithful Santa, when you do your rounds. They might wake up Xmas morning and be grateful with what they've got.

With pundit favs Chelsea, Arsenal, Utd and the mighty Liverpool all stealing the attention in this first part of the season, Spurs have once more been relegated to the 'not bothered by them' category of hype.

Stealth has its merits, on the quiet all hush hush. But chasing the leader is too rich with sickly risk (as witnessed last time out). Even though we're mathematically in the mix, we're going to need certifiable evidence we're up for getting further up the table. I've been waiting for that burst of energy since week one. We've had teasers. I want the full monty and not just a flash of the bum. 

So, please grant me this single wish. Empty your sack all over us in one glorious money shot of momentum. Literally, come on you Spurs.

Yours saintly,

Spooky

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