We all hate Wembley, right? Why would we choose to love it. The stadium is a throwback to our past. Like a gloriously beautiful ex-girlfriend from your teen years. Remember what you were like back then? Shirt tucked out, swaggering around like a don. Everything you touched turned to silver. You oozed class and boy did she show you a good time. Boy did you show her a good time. You were practically invincible. Inseparable. That is, until she two-timed you with a lad from Coventry. There was also that casual from Liverpool you pretend never happened. Why cry over spilt milk, you'd say to yourself. The cracks were unavoidable but you'd pretend not to see them.
You got dumped and it was never the same again.
You still saw her out and about on the scene. Obsessing. You'd try to win her back. You did two or three times. But the occasional one night stand is now nothing more than a distant memory. You've tried to pull her again recently and she's blown you out for some Kings Road meathead.
Now imagine if you suddenly, out of nowhere, ended up living together. Not married, just together in an arrangement you're both a little uncomfortable with. A partnership to help each other out. She needs the money, you need a place to live until you can return home. You don't want to be with her but you have no choice.
'She's alright though' you say to yourself. She's had a bit of work done. Some botox maybe. Some reconstruction. Is that a new nose? New chest? She looks good in white and blue too.
'This might work', you whimper.
But alas no. You're not compatible like that. The past is history and those one night stands are a drunken glorious mess best kept for reminiscing. You can't seem to ignite that lost spark. Living together. It would be suffocating. You wouldn't go there, would you? You know it wouldn't work. It can't work. Yet you grudgingly accept and move in. Then there's the sex. 'What the hell' you say. 'Why not', you consider, when the alternative is some loose skirt in Milton Keynes. Friends with very average benefits. Bang average.
F*cking analogy. F*cking Wembley.
It's just not home. I want to go home. We all want to go home.
Wembley is just a big old place with lots of red seats that caters for big events. It's more suited for those special occasions. Those one-offs. Those one night stands. Semi-finals we lose and cup finals we never manage to partake in. It can still be special, even if we don't quite get our end away when presented with an opportunity At least the hype for it is palpable when it's every so often. But every other sodding week? It's not so special.
It's an inconvenience. A hindrance. A transition. An obstacle. A bridge that will take us back home to a new home. Until then, we're away all of the time, trying desperately to make the most of something that ultimately can't work. Because nothing is comparable to what we had before.
Yes, we are so petulant with stating the bleeding obvious. It's a first world problem right? When we return to N17 we'll have a magnificent new patch of turf to call our own. One that we'll be able to define with our support. Regardless of the high-tech internals, the place will be a proper football stadium. Compact with a massive single tier. The Lane had that intense acoustic vibrancy and the new place will too. The Lilywhite faithful will provide the vocal fuel to drive the place into the heavens.
For now, we have to endure fragmented accommodation that neither us or the players can connect to. There's hardly any sex, we're mostly sleeping on the sofa. Although we do every so often get invited upstairs. It's just not the same as being in your own gaff, balling around naked whilst hosting house parties where everyone is off their nut singing songs together.
This time next year. This time next year.
Enjoy this excellent video from Ball Street below that does a better job than me explaining the emotional disconnection. It's analogy free. Bonus.
I'll also leave you with some hope for the rest of the season. On the night the chaps produced the video we smashed Madrid 3-1 and in that moment it was inconsequential where it took place because the players and the team synced perfectly and the place was lit. The fans wanted it and Tottenham gave them everything. Still a one night stand though, right? But at least it's the type where we do get our end away. So it can actually happen. It might happen a few more times between now and next season.