How to lose games and alienate your fans

Spurs v Bolton, 3pm kick-off, Sunday 26th.

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 chant. 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

~ Yidfellows, 1961 - 2008

This is it people. End of days. The last hooray. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Charlton Heston thumping the sand at the end of Planet of the Apes. Rocky losing out to Creed. Steve McQueen not quite making the motorcycle jump over the border.

We are gush, make no mistake about it. And there's not a whiff of a blockbuster performance in sight.

We are doing just about enough in each game to lose. We haven't been overwhelmed or battered by anyone yet. We just turn up, go one goal down, and quietly die on the pitch while the opposition, usually not that much better than us, more so plucky, get their heads in front and comfortably hold on to win.


We've heard it all now. From players and management. All the soundbites and ill-fated battle cries. Players, formations, tactics, substitutions. There is nothing left in the way of 'that one last chance'. Our past 3 or 4 games in the Prem have been 'must wins'. The game that will change our form and kick-start our season. And each one has ended in defeat. We've done more side-stepping than Vinny Samways.

We haven't got any worse over the past few weeks, in fact arguably we've improved. But that improvement is fairly invisible to the human eye, thanks to the fact that the results have remained the same. What we've managed to add to this cauldron of crap is red cards. We're not just pressing down on the self-destruct button, we are head-butting it.

It's impossible to know if the players are shit because the manager has lost all respect, or if the players are shit regardless or if the manager is shit or if the squad is so disjointed due to lost players and ineffective signings that nobody quite knows what the fuck is going on. Or all of the above.


Blame Ramos. Blame Comolli. Blame Levy. Blame Jenas. It doesn't matter any more who is at fault. What matters now is who will take responsibility and get us out of this mess. And the eleven players who represent us should be the ones because regardless of management and pre-match talk, it's the 90 minutes on the pitch that count. There is no lower ebb. We are there already. And it's do or die time. Because every defeat going forwards brings us closer to Championship football.

Luck (the good type) is also non-existent, and all mathematical omens are more ominous than the Grim Reaper taking a seat next to you at a doctors appointment.

Sunday is no longer about measured tactical ploys or 4-5-1. Sunday has be a Cup final (only one we'll get this season). Sunday has to be about setting the precedence for every game after that with regards to performance. Performance equating to: Fight, urgency, spirit, desire, guts, passion, belief and pride.

Go one down? Heads up, chests out, fucking well go for the jugular and claw/scratch/kick/bite your way back into the game. Go one up? Then push for a second with all your sodding might. Start to believe, regain that swagger and that confidence. Because even without Berbatov and Keane and a true DM - we still have players of quality. Enough of them to get us above Newcastle, Stoke, Fulham, Everton at the very least.

A win, 3 points, is not the fucking Holy Grail! Dry those fucking eyes, get a grip and win the sodding game. Getting smacked around by third-rate teams like we're a crack whore begging for a hit from her weasel pimp is FUCKING PATHETIC.

We are down to basics. Every time we have prayed that our players would take the game by the scruff (Wigan, Hull, Stoke etc) we have failed miserably. Its now do or die.


Over-dramatic? If I was drunk on rum I might suggest that losing to Bolton won't be the end, because Ramos would walk/be sacked and the new coach might galvanise the side to such an extent that the same bunch of players start to perform minor miracles. But that's pretty unlikely based on the fact that this dire form has been a year in the making. But then, that's what we are all hoping a win against Bolton will do. Galvanise. Because we have no choice now due to the maths and our position and the upcoming fixtures. With or without Ramos, we have to start winning.

So all that's left is for the home fans to sing till their mouths bleed and for the team out on the pitch to remember who they are and reclaim some self-respect and respect for the club and its fans and its history.

Otherwise, I'd suggest we sack the lot of them, run an X-Factor style competition to find out who the most athletic 20 Spurs fans are, and then stick them in the Lilywhite shirt. Because determination wise, they will run till their lungs collapse. And at least win/lose/draw - we can say we we're proud of the effort.

For one last time, it's over to you.....Gomes, Hutton, Woodgate, King, Gunter, Corluka, Gilberto, O'Hara, Zokora, Jenas, Lennon, Bentley, Modric, Gio, Bent, Campbell, Pavlyuchenko....

Bolton Wanderers..... go home and get your fuckin' shinebox.