Ten Years

Way back in 2004, I was so excited by the potential signing of the Gascoignesque Andy Reid that he inspired me to start ranting about my obsession during my fledgling stint on message boards and forums. From the depths of the abyss of my mental anguish and the maddening thumping of the keyboard, I slowly shifted towards a more measured approach. No more Caps Lock. Instead, I started to pen letters to Daniel Levy, chairman of Tottenham Hotspur. 

10 years ago today, I created this blog and began a campaign to overthrow ENIC and free Spurs from the soul crashing imprisonment they cursed us with. 

Laugh out loud, turned out alright in the end, yeah?

48 letters (67 if you include all the pre-blog rants), an Eminem cover and thousands of mammoth articles later...I think it's been a fairly glorious waste of my time and yours.

The satire and parody that fuelled this place in the early days is missed from a creative point of view but self-deprecation tends to work best when your team is rubbish. Thankfully there is plenty of source material out there that occasionally gives me a chubby. Talking of which, gutted that Reid never worked out.

We've grown up a lot in the past decade. We've gone from a culture of comfort to title contenders. Thankfully the ascendancy of Spurs has also been matched by social media and comedy (that aforementioned source material) can easily be found for all to still enjoy. Everyone's a blogger these-days. Some even get paid for it (lololololol). We are truly living in a blessed era.

So thank you for the support. Thank you for the love. Chronicling Tottenham's journey has been cathartic. Wisky Tom, we all miss you mate. tehTrunk, Windy and all of The Fighting Cock crew...brothers 4eva. A special mention to the Glory Glory forum and the ITK community. Good times. I built a monument for myself and it's still standing, tall and erect.

As for Mr Levy...not even a single out of office or acknowledgement or a 'thank you for your concern' correspondence in ten sodding years. I know where you live. Well, I don't but I'll follow you home and when I do I'll be stood outside, vigorously shaking my fist at your mansion gates whilst spitting foam from the corner of my mouth absolutely livid that we didn't move to Stratford.

Now talk amongst yourselves in the comments section about how I'm the GOAT. I've got lines of coke to snort and a brass that needs paying.