I know that in these modern times of sensory overloads and relentless information processing, we're often consumed by the sheer amount of variables out there. You're not just reacting to a slice of news, you're also reacting to the reaction. We still find time to sit and stand and dissect and discuss everything. It can get congested. We end up draining the enjoyment out of any given topic. Everything turns into a fight. We over analyse with microscopic commitment. We shout over each other waving and dangling our bits to prove we're bigger than the person waving theirs.
I had to unfollow a few Tottenham fans on Twitter recently because they morphed into pure concentrated misery leaving me staring at an infinity loop of fear. You've heard me waffle on about this before, many times. Repetition after-all is additive and provides comfortable familiarity. Self-deprecation is an art form and it's one that we find solace in-amongst its comedy and the truth it masks. But when does it cross the line of no return? When is there too much negativity and criticism?
Am I crossing the line myself by once more diving deep into this mind swamp? I have to if I want to get my hands (and everything else) dirty.
Down the rabbit hole we go...
Each to their own, right? We all have our ways of enjoying football. We also have personal methodology when it comes to accepting a loss or poor performance. How we seek to assign blame or project emotions. It's complex and it's not too dissimilar to how we react elsewhere in life away from our chosen escapism's. Although it remains often exaggerated. When a snapshot is shared on social media, it can lose something in translation. Context becomes fragmented but for the most part, if you make a point it's understood clearly if you respond to it and clarify your position. So there's no excuse and everyone should be responsible or be prepared to defend their stance.
Why did I unfollow? I like conversing with people I don't see eye to eye with. It allows me to test my resolve and question if I'm sometimes wrong. Or prove I'm right. However, if you're going to be constantly disparaging and pessimistic, always looking at the most negative outcome and losing yourself in its finality, no matter what, then what is the ****ing point of it? Honestly? What's the point? Where's the balance? Where is the desire to treat football the complete opposite way you treat all the mundane b*llsh*t you're surrounded with every day?
We are practically slaves to the machine, conditioned to work by a set of rules society has built over centuries, worshipping money and conforming to what mainstream expectancy deems as success whilst we chase it obsessively. Be cynical in all walks of life but in football? In the one thing that is meant to give you that escape, that freedom of expression? If you are a pessimist, then perhaps appreciate the reality that as fulfilling football can be it's not in any way something that should attract the sheer level of seriousness that it does.
Yes, it's also a conduit we all use to channel all the frustrations and disappointments elsewhere, so when football does let us down, we tend to abuse it even more whilst accepting the pain and suffering it gives back. We are still making it about ourselves. That's the kicker and that's where people lose themselves to the darker side. They allow the grim moments in football to consume them to the point where they end up accepting it as normality. Fearing fear itself. It's like being gagged and bound, never reaching a climax because the pain is more pleasurable.
I can never stay mad at Tottenham because it's been the most dominant constant in my entire life. It's outlived everything. My hair on my head, my youth, hedonistic k-hole days being chased by black helicopters on the dance floor in Fabric, girlfriends and flings...the lot. It's always there and as long as my entitlement is measured, it never lets me down. Even when it does, it doesn't because it's still there for me, picking me up, taking me on another journey. I choose to go back every single time. Why wouldn't I? Why would I expect it to treat me any differently?
I do take it seriously. Ten years, I've had to channel my thoughts via this blog as it's one of the very few ways I can process and work through things. It's cathartic. It's therapy.
I don't take it seriously to the point where I vanquish everything that exists within it that allows me to be entertained.
'Entertained' is too lightweight of a word. I'll try again.
It gives me - it gives us - the very extreme of pure emotional release, a tribal volcanic eruption that screams "F*CK YOU" to everything else on the planet. It's positively orgasmic. And those players, those pampered men out on the field are the instruments of our ecstasy. Without them we don't get to punch the air with wild admiration, feeling utterly invincible in the seconds that follow. Unlike sex there is no consuming guilt that leaves you sat there in a mess. At times, most times, the high from football is more potent than the one from sex. I'm sure the ladies will also agree.
I guess you can still do all of the above (the good stuff) and still moan and display disdain when you're having some downtime. You can still be critical of the things you love. I'm not disputing that. But I do dispute that doing so constantly is tentatively sociopathic. I guess you could, turning the pages of your soft copy Daily Mail, anger up the blood over reports of rape-gangs and abuse whilst also reviewing pictures of a celeb's 15 year old daughter in a bikini. You could fester in hypocrisy and being scared to wear your heart on your sleeve. You could also choose to be hateful and vindictive. Imagine choosing to be like that. All of the time.
I don't sit here and wonder what I can complain about today* just for the sake of it, smashing the keyboard and slating Dele Alli for sticking his middle finger up and then losing myself in contemptuous bile for A PLAYER WITH UNLIMITED POTENTIAL THAT REPRESENTS OUR CLUB AND SHOULD BE BACKED UNEQUIVOCALLY BY OUR OWN. At least until he joins Real Madrid.
*I am complaining tho, lol
Is he a bit nasty? Got a bit of a temper? Ooh you afraid of the dark or summit? Monsters under the bed? Rather him than a drink driver?
This attitude. It's abhorrent. Writing him off because he has a streak of petulance that boils over every so often. God forbid you ever dare attempt to rate his existing abilities and belief because apparently that means you'll over-rating him. By simply showing support. I'm not talking about bitter Gooners here that still rate Jack Wilshere above most other players. That ilk of delusion is altogether a different type of maddening nonsense. I'm referring to those that choose not to celebrate just how magnificent it is to be a Tottenham supporter. Yeah, you heard me, choke on this emotive romanticised glory right here.
Sure, he's raw and does daft things. For some inane reason this takes priority over his actual talent. His edge. Those that don't quite grasp football accuse him of not being that good. 'Doesn't do much, just occasionally scores'. Christ, football ain't quantum physics, it's not that tricky to wrap your head around the basics concerning space and movement. Look at his stats. His goals and assists. Imagine being so good at football that you don't do anything other than assist and score important goals. lololol, the haters gotta make up their mind what stipulates acceptable boundaries of end product when they use THIS as a reason to prove he's over-rated.
Is he having a lull? Growing pains? Is he learning, developing, attempting to mature? With the weight of the world on his shoulders? With pr*cks that construct hate campaigns for nothing more than ego-bursting self-harm, finding reason to hate on something good because of no apparent reason other than perhaps hating themselves?
It's self-loathing. Insecurities eating away at them, so they gather them all up and then direct them onto another target. Sh*t. Am I doing that myself right now?
That ain't me though.
I absolutely love belonging to this awkwardly imperfect football club. I'm even content with releasing emotion and admiration for footballers that don't even know I exist as an individual that will no doubt move onto another pay cheque some day. They do so in order to progress in their own version of conditioning and conforming to what society expects of them, slaves to the pound note (millions of them).
Dele Alli is a kid. He's brilliant. Does he need a kick up the backside? Sure. I'm certain Mauricio Pochettino is in a better position than any of us to deliver one. Talk to the people that know him off the field and he's on of the most level-headed youngsters we've got. Of course he can improve. He's still one of us though. For as long as he's wearing our colours. He's not alone either. It's also common to belittle academy players and automatically decide they'll never make it. Even though they might display the same qualities and potential other players of a similar age or ones that showed less and still broke into the first team. Let's not forget Danny Rose and his transformation. Even Harry Kane.
Is Dele a role-model? Sure, as much as a father is at the football screaming obscenities at the opposition players whilst his son sits beside him.
I'm wondering what the definitive connection here is with disparaging any one that showcases promise and the possibility of making us crow even louder.
Aside from the obvious cosmetics, apparently if you (the supporter) display traits of faith and belief (which the player has in abundance) then you're too eager to bestow a likely/unlikely future crown on the head of the fledgling hero. Imagine that. Wanting to see Spurs blossom. Oh the humanity. Why the hell shouldn't we pin our hopes on his ability and those exquisite moments he delivers even if there's a risk of him also undermining his work with idiocy. Why are some of you afraid to be wrong? What do you truly fear?
Be critical but don't lose yourself in the abyss. Don't lose sight of what we are. We're Tottenham and everyone on the outside wants to see us fail. Why would you choose to stand alongside them?
Siege mentality. Grasp it.
No money-shot conclusion. That's it. I've vented. The blog has ended.