Yidfellas

'You know...we always called each other Yids. Like you said to, uh, somebody: You're gonna like this guy. He's all right. He's a Yiddo. He's one of us: You understand?

We were Tottenham fans.

Lilywhites. But Jimmy and I could never sit in the West Stand because we we didn't drive Mercs. It didn't even matter if you didn't own an Opus. To become a member of the Park Lane crew you've got to be one hundred per cent Spurs so they can trace all your relatives back to the old days in the 1960's.

See, it's the highest honour they can give you. It means you belong to a family and crew. It means that nobody can fuck around with you. It also means you could fuck around with anybody just as long as the old bill and stewards wasn't watching. It's like a license to sing.

It's a license to do anything. As far as Jimmy was concerned with Tommy being ITK, it was like we were all ITK. We would now have one of our own up a tree at the Lodge'

Burn your season ticket

 

dear mr levy memories, circa 2007.

 

'As a loyal supporter of Tottenham Hotspur FC I am in constant war against Daniel Levy and his propaganda machine, which continues to fool the Spurs faithful, season after season. An accountant shouldn't be running a football club.

Are we in an abundance of debt? No. Do we always have money to spend? Yes. But yet here we are trapped in the depths of an eternal struggle. Never sustaining the grandeur of glory we so richly deserve.

I'm also the founder of the The Association of Real Spurs Enforcers Neutralising Antichrist Levy and the League of Lilywhites. My crusade is one of immense importance and grandeur:

To free the spirit of Tottenham Hotspur from his evil grasp and allow us to progress forward rather than being ripped to shreds like a cockerel with no means of escape surrounded by rabid foxes (Levy, and his board of directors are the foxes in this metaphor. I'm the cock).

At the end of each season, I burn my season ticket in full view of the directors box, from my seat in the Park Lane Lower as a protest of disgust at his reign of injustice and humiliation.

Levy cares for nothing other than feeding his ego, spending money on superfluous players and knee-jerking faster than a West Stand season ticket-holder. My eyes see no glory. Just overly expensive bagels and dead pixels in the Jumbotron and DVD releases of score-draws'.

 

Draper Déjà vu

Much like Tottenham, I had momentum and lost it. In the past few years my life has changed with considerable responsibilities owning my time meaning my writing mojo has been erratic. Add to it the drainage of my remaining creative juices, exhausted by the vanity driven demands of social media and the far more fulfilling therapeutic journey undertaken with the podcast, I've been unable to shake free and reclaim the expressive freedom of the past. The past being before everyone had a voice that in the present has rendered most blogs redundant with everyone taking the role of a 'blogger' be it in 140 characters or so.

I'm having another Don Draper moment here.

The satire is rare. The irreverent musings occasionally appearing. There is so much consumption of all things Tottenham Hotspur that I find myself thinking, why bother writing up a review of something that everyone has already seen and discussed a 1000 times unless I can't offer something different. That something 'different' is my personal holy grail. 

I need to rediscover my form. Or at least try. I can only do so without the constraints of expectation and editorial regulations.

This probably won't end well.