Ding Dong?

So what could possibly wake me out of my blogging-hibernation?
I've just noticed that the last published post was almost a year ago, although to be fair, I've also rediscovered getting on for a dozen drafts sitting there, half done and now not in the slightest bit topical...

Reasons? Threefold...

1. I promised myself a while back, that I'd really make an effort to get back to the blog. In fact there's a plan to run a couple of separate blogs to attempt to separate the themes in a little more of a logical way as well as migrate this one away to a different content system and tart it up a bit (watch this space on that).

2. I'm sick (all say ahhhh) and sitting around feeling sorry for myself seems pathetic. But I can write a bit while the pills kick in.

3. Mrs. Thatcher - yes her.

This, may I point out, is absolutely NOT Margaret Thatcher

...no, no not at all!!!








 So, Mrs T, eh - that's what's got me blogging? Well, no, not really. I can only imagine how much has been written about her in the last week. Including some really good stuff but sadly most of it completely predictable, from both "sides".

But whether my thoughts on Thatcher would be interesting or cliched, it hardly seems worth adding any more to the clamour; especially on a blog with my tiny readership.

But - "Ding Dong, the Witch is Dead".

I have to say, as offensive songs go, this one's a wee bit pathetic (unless we are talking in terms of musical quality, in which case it's right up there with "I should be so lucky").

And for once, some of the right's response was a little bit less than po-faced; trying to get "I'm in love with Mrs Thatcher" in the charts too. Although they've obviously missed the irony that it was, well ironic in the first place. That seems to be the way it should work. Both those who love and those who detest her can make their point...I seem to remember that's how free speech works.

But to ban it? Oh come on. And in such a cowardly way. The BBC are of course in a bit of a pickle. On the one hand they love to claim they are torch bearers for freedom of speech but on the other hand I'm sure the phone lines (emails, texts) between Downing Street (and their allies) and the DG's office were metaphorically red hot.

Well tough, that's the business you're in, aunty!

It's a pathetic compromise (in fact not a compromise at all). A snip of the song will still be played and a news item will talk about it - so the "right" can get even more offended. But at the same time they've upset the "left" by de facto banning it.

Well, if recent history has taught us anything about the modern BBC it's that it has no problem in putting its foot right in it.

But there is a serious point here. Free speech is free or it isn't.

The thing about censorship that so many people simply don't get is that subjects that are on the approved list today can be on the banned list tomorrow. I had several augments years back with fellow Christians over the "Jerry Springer Opera" . Some were trying to get me to sign a petition to stop it being shown and couldn't understand my reluctance to do so. Now frankly, if it hadn't been shown, it wouldn't have bothered me and I didn't watch it. If it really was trying to get us to take a critical look at a particular genre of reality TV, I  didn't need to, I was there way before! Might it have offended me? I doubt it, but why bother putting myself in a position where I could be upset?

That begs the question of how many of the voices clmouring for the BBC to ban it would normally listen to the chart show and why those few that do can't simply turn off after the number 2 is played...

But my point was (and is) that it's dangerous to have the BBC (or anyone else) working from a list of what is an acceptable subject or position rather than the quality of the program (or record) itself when deciding what to broadcast. Fine, you might be happy this time but you have the possibility of something you hold dear being banned next year.

I see conservative lib-dem, Nick Clegg, thinks the celebrations of her death are puerile. Poor Nick, he really doesn't get it, does he? My reaction when I heard she'd died was more "meh" than anything stronger. For me, she's been irrelevant for years (although her legacy not so much). In any case I hope I don't find pleasure in the death of any human being. That's not me trying to take some moral high ground, it's just me, and probably informed by my faith.

But then I'm not the son of a miner who saw his father thrown out of work and the community I grew up in destroyed by her ideology.

Agree or disagree there are millions of people who believe that, at best, she was careless of the damage done to whole sections of society by her government's policies. At worst, that she led a deliberate attack on them.

If the worst these people feel they want to do is have the odd party or get a silly song to number one, then isn't that a price worth paying? Aren't the tories always banging on about free speech?

After all, next week there's her funeral at which undoubtedly she'll be lauded as some sort of wonder-women; at our expense.

There are countless examples of the BBC broadcasting material that they knew would greatly offend groups of people. their attitude has generally been that if you think you'll be offended, don't watch or listen. So what's different this week?

To steal a phrase from the woman in question - "Afraid? Frightened? Frit?"

Wine, Women and Filthy Luka to Bale

A little wine whine never hurt anyone...

Women - They tear out your heart and jump up and down on in until there's nothing left but a reddish stain on the carpet...

Oh wait, no, that's never actually happened to me. At least not since I was 13, and that doesn't really count; teenage love being what it is.

What I meant to say was: Football - it tears out your heart and jumps up and down on it etc. etc. etc.

Like an impossibly pretty girl, she lifts her skirt to flash her thigh...before rearranging her clothing and walking off hand in hand with a guy twice as good looking as you.

During the first half of the season, Spurs did more than lift their skirts. They got naked - and it was a beautiful thing to behold. But come February their collective head was turned. "It's not you - it's us", they whispered before turning and walking away into the night. For the next couple of months I had to watch, crushed as they went about their adulterous ways. But then a few weeks ago, can it be true? Begging for forgiveness they've come home! Perhaps not quite as pure and beautiful, perhaps a little used - but what matters is they're back; they love me as much as I love them!

But, love, hate on...(ooh Shakespeare!) they fooled me again.

I suppose last night should have been the least stressful of all the nearly moments this season as it was completely out of our control. But it affected me more than all the others, I suppose just because it was "last chance saloon". There was a strange inevitability about the proceedings. How Bayern dominated and produced chance after chance; I started to wonder if they had been reading Spurs' playbook. And then when they finally broke through - how long did the euphoria last? Well, Drogba; who'd have thought? And a missed penalty? If I believed in omens, I would have known that for once the German side would be the ones to lose their bottle in a shoot out.

Ho hum.

So Modric will be off, probably. Perhaps Bale as well and all Levy will be able to attract to WHL is a couple of thirty somethings with dodgy knees and a "hot prospect" that no one has heard of and who can't adjust to the Premier League.

Like I said... Ho hum.

The sad thing is, in the final analyis, we know the reason we missed out on the Champions League.

It wasn't Gomez shooting like - well like me. Neither was it the Russians being "resolute at the back" and "well organised". (How a hate pundits). It wasn't bad refereeing this season (although you wonder when we're going to get a break!). It wasn't even UEFA's stupid rules for qualification...btw, it will be interesting to see if there's a similar campaign from the press and media as there was for Liverpool a few years back. Somehow I doubt it.

But...

We just weren't quite good enough; yet again.

It might be Redknapp and his lack of tactical nous...as I've mused before. It might be the players who needed to get down in the trenches when things weren't going well. Perhaps it was the trial, the England manager...or a combination. But, you know, ten points clear in third...you really shouldn't blow that.

And I can't really blame Luka if he's at it again this summer. His abilities would grace any side and any competition. He's been with us four seasons - that almost counts as loyalty in a modern player - he'll be 27 at the start of next season. More money and the champions league - perhaps his last chance at a transfer to one of the "big boys"? There aren't many players who would stay. Bale's a different kettle of fish. He's younger and might be persuaded to stay another season or two. Maybe Levy will pull off the coup of the transfer window; I hear there's a guy called Messi that can play a bit and Jose might be up for a new managerial challenge. Whatever, please Mr Levy show them we mean business and get it sorted out a little earlier than usual.

But that's all detail and fluff.

At the end of most seasons I consider leading a less stressful life. Become a more detached observer of the beautiful game. Enjoy each game for itself, for the pinpoint pass, the bullet header, the fingertip save. Stop worrying about cups and league positions. Any success - perhaps the FA cup might come our way next year - is a bonus. I mean, it seems to work for most teams - or am I wrong and Stoke, Villa and Everton fans also feel like this?

Last week I had conversations with two fans who were both happy to tell me that they switched alligience after supporting other clubs for years. One who was proudly draped in his Chelsea shirt, was originally a Southampton supporter. Now in his fifties, I would judge, he told me that he watched them until well into his thirties before his job moved him away and he became, like so many, an armchair supporter. But when Abramovitch put his millions in, he decided to support Chelsea "so that at least we might win something". I doubt he sees the irony of his use of "we". I guess he feels pretty good this morning.
The other guy was an MUFC supporter who I gather followed Millwall as a young man. But what was more interesting to me was his comment on hearing I supported Spurs that "If I was you I would have given up supporting them 25 years ago".

I don't get these people. They may as well come from another planet.

And I may as well admit it...I can't wait until next season.

COYS

The Joy of (school) Sport

This really must win a award for the most unsurprising headline of the week.

PE Lessons Put Girls Off Sport

What bothers me is that they had to actually do some sort of research to find this out. Haven't any of these people got daughters, or sisters, or girlfriends? Aren't any of them female themselves?

And it's not as if we haven't heard this stuff before.

Although a Biology/science teacher, I also taught Games and PE and did a lot of coaching and refereeing. When you're starting out, you agree to just about anything. "Oh yes I'd be more than willing to coach third year football" you say at interview; which translated means "Please give me the job". In my time I coached football, hockey, cricket, athletics and tennis and a few others - the only one I flat out refused to take was Rugby.

So I have spent a fair bit of time hanging around in PE teachers' changing rooms. (Fill in your own joke here - it won't be as amusing as the truth...but that's another post)

Those of us of a certain age may have memories of sadistic PE teachers. I certainly do. His name was Mr Adams. Mr Adams hated any boy who couldn't "do" sport. I usually managed to avoid his viciousness as I wasn't total rubbish all the time. Although I never threatened the first eleven at football, I did make it into the cricket team on a few occasions - and I could run OK. (One year I managed to come third in the school cross-country).



 I suppose PE was in its dark ages. Friday afternoon football was the eleven best players against the next best eleven (where I usually found myself). This meant we usually lost 10-1; the solitary goal being scored by Mr Adams himself who came on to play for us for the last few minutes. This might have been out of sympathy but more likely he just enjoyed proving his superiority. As at least half of the better team tended to be from the first eleven, so it's easy to see that this was pretty much just a training match for Saturday morning's game.

I'm not complaining....it could have been worse. Those with basic maths skills will work out that 11+11=22. Given that there were 30 boys on the register and take a few away for illness etc. then this set up always left 5 or 6 "spare" boys. Mr Adams got them to play a 3 v 3 at the side of the pitch. Great teaching technique!

There was also, for those that "forgot" their kit, his standard punishment (also for back chat and for "not putting enough effort in, boy") - Laps around the school field.

This time could be referred to as the "dark ages" of PE teaching. By the time the young Mr Tinkles was let loose on the sporting youth of the nation we were rather more enlightened. Games and PE lessons had structure, attempts were made to be inclusive. PE teachers now sometimes even had degrees and talked in hushed tones of "sports science" and whether a pupil was an ectomorph or an endomorph. Interestingly at my first school we started to experiment with girls and boys together for some lessons. I note that this is one of the things that the girls in the survey complained about...

Don't get me wrong, there were some old lags still around - I remember watching almost open mouthed from my science lab as a lesson was conducted in the freezing sleet of early February. For almost half an hour the teacher lined up the kids in two lines about 15 foot apart while they took it in turns dribbling a football in and out of the line of their classmates. I'm still surprised nobody died.

Or at a new school the head of PE clearly wanted to help me out in dividing the pupils up at my first tennis lesson. There were two sets of courts at different ends of the school. "players to the top courts, duffers to the bottom" he bellowed. The saddest thing was that they divided up efficiently without the slightest uncertainty of which group each belonged to. Good to always know your place.

However these were aberrations and became rarer as time moved on. The vast majority of PE staff that I knew regularly searched for ways to encourage the less keen to become more keen. The drop in participation among girls in particular was a concern 25 years ago and all sorts of innovations were tried. New sports, mini-sports, alternative sports, non-competitive sports...one of my schools even included Pool as an option!!!

After all this time I came to a (sad/) conclusion...

Nothing Works!!!

It was Einstein who said that the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results...and reports calling for "PE lessons to improve" in order to get more people to exercise are exactly that...insane. Of course it is no bad thing for PE teachers to seek to improve their lessons - in common with teachers of every subject I would hope. But as a cure for teenage obesity...not a hope!

The reasons that some young people (and middle aged people and old people) don't like sport are probably complex. But the main thing is...

They. Don't. Like. Sport.

Even some that quite like it don't want to actually DO IT!!!

Like the surge in tennis playing every year at Wimbledon time. How long does that last? Not much longer than the tournament.

Or the talk of the legacy that will follow the Olympic games. I was playing Hockey through the 1980's when the GB team won gold in 1988 we saw an increase in the numbers at the start of the next season....but nearly all those extras had disappeared within a couple of months and all the increase had gone by the next season.

One of the problems with reports like this one and the reporting of sport is that it's done by people who love sport or have spent their life in sport. Academics who have never had to put in an eight hour shift at Tesco, cook the kids dinner, do the washing, ironing...and then they're supposed to pop down to the local David Lloyd for an hour on the treadmill (as if they could afford the membership). But it's not just about opportunity. These people seem to genuinely believe that "the whole country" is excited over the Olympics. Or that 'everybody" will be watching this or that match.

No they're not and no they wont.

Sometimes it's just hyperbole but sometimes they just cannot fathom how anyone might not be interested in the outcome at the velodrome.

I love sport. Or at least I like a number of sports. I have a particular passion for football and I really like American Football and Baseball. I've tried to like Rugby...but failed...it's just a little bit s**t. I love test match cricket but I just cant get into twenty20. I used to play football (badly) and hockey (well) and cricket (pretty decent) but it would take real money to drag me onto an American Football pitch (although that's probably more to do with self-preservation than anything). I detest boxing, rhythmic gymnastics and synchronised swimming but find myself strangely drawn to beach volleyball...(cant think why!)

I could go on...the point is there is little logic to be found in my likes and dislikes as far as sport is concerned. I would certainly need a lot of convincing that it had much to do with my school experience. I never played hockey until I was 20 but that was the sport I played more than anything; at school my "best" sport was athletics - or at least middle and long distance running - for years i have tried to get out a jog...but it's just soooo damn boring!!!

And one thing that the media tend to forget is that more people participate in sport today than at anytime in history.

When I was a teenager the only people who played sport were...well sportsmen (and generally it was men too). I cannot remember any of my friends' parents playing any form of sport (if we don't include darts down the pub). My kids would certainly not say that today.

Of course there's been a cultural and social shift; 40 years ago many jobs were more physical; people walked rather than took the car everywhere. None of my grandparents drove, my mum never did; I never once got a lift to school which was a trip of just under 3 miles. My mum probably kept fit because she walked to the shops everyday; she certainly never once stepped out onto a sports pitch once she left school. My dad did play football as an adult for his local team but that had stopped by the time they had me. He was too busy working all the hours God sent to give me and my brother a better life than he had. (incidentally, he's still alive at 91).

You cannot expect schools to make up for the huge change in our lifestyle.

Yes, there's a problem with obesity, yes too many of us are too inactive. Anything that might encourage us to a better lifestyle, I suppose must be good.

But, although I'd like to be proved wrong, "improving" PE lessons, (like the Olympics or even England winning this summer) won't do it.

Harry and the X factor (part 2)

Two posts this Wednesday...

First, an addendum to my last words on HR.

So we won't now get a chance to see if he has "it" - at least for England and at least not until after the press have turned on Roy Hodgson. If we give a bad show at the Euros, I would predict the campaign for "Hodgson Out" will start before the end of the summer from certain sections of the tabloids. But I doubt he'll be in any real danger until we're fairly well into the qualification matches for the next world cup.


But good luck to him...it might be an inspired choice. Out of step with a huge section of the Internet, I have little idea of why the FA went for him rather than Redknapp...


perhaps it was the money...


perhaps it was to get him in place a little earlier...


perhaps it was the taint of dodgy tax...


Perhaps it really was that they considered all the options and thought Roy really is the best man for the job...


But this is the FA so most likely they meant to phone Redknapp but the dialled the wrong phone. They're probably next to one another in the phone contacts...

FA Committee Meeting

Whatever....here's hoping it goes well - both for England's sake and Roy's.

It would of course help if the tabloids would stop thinking that we have some strange God given right to win every competition that comes along. But then we probably have a better chance of winning this summer than we do of a decent perspective coming out of the Sun.


As to Redknapp, Twitter and the blogs have been much abuzz with "Should we keep him?" etc. etc.


It's no so long past that we thought that he was our only hope of keeping Modric and Bale...which then is supposed to have the knock on effect of attracting Eden Hazard and his ilk. (was it only me that never could quite believe all that talk).

Does he have what it takes for us to regularly challenge for a top four place? Tactically? Transfer policy? Is he the man manager he's supposed to be?

And who does Levy get instead? I suppose if Jose or Pep wanted to try things out in N17...but that won't happen...

A bit hard on Old Harry but "the devil you know" and all that...

Harry Redknapp, Spurs and the X Factor

I used to imagine that one day I’d be a rock superstar.  As a teenager I was a pretty fair guitarist (still am!) and was in a number of bands, some of which even played before a live audience.  And so, I dreamed of being Eric Clapton or Jimmy Page...  Or even Dave Hill from Slade (Hey, I was young!!)

But, in the end I just had to face it.  I didn’t have the X factor.

I don’t mean the Simon Cowell – faceless, bog standard, small talent, churn them out for another crap Christmas single – X factor, I mean the real X factor.  You know, the way Mick Jagger may not be the greatest singer in the world, but he has that “something”.  And Keith Richards’ guitar work might be simple and frankly quite often just a rehash of the last single but look at him on stage and he just “has it”. 

Simon Cowell (left)

I realise using music as an example might not be one of which we would all agree – musical taste being so personal – but hopefully you get the point.

For four or five months I thought that Spurs had the “X factor”.

We were playing some of the best football I have ever seen, there seemed to be a great spirit in the club and the players looked as if they were genuinely enjoying themselves. 

 I turned a deaf ear to Harry’s often moronic statements to the press and interviews to sky news and fell in with the party line that it was just lovable Harry’s “way”.

I ignored the nagging doubts in the back of my mind about his tactical awareness (or rather, lack of same) and started to believe that you could build a champions league team by just putting your arm around a player and telling him he was “world class”.

I do remember around this time looking across at a friend while we enjoyed a quiet pint and saying something along the lines of whether he (Redknapp, not my mate) would be able to take us forward to become true premier league contenders or regularly get to the latter stages of the champions league.  Although I loved our run two seasons ago.  Let’s be honest, his poor tactics were seen early on.  Everyone remembers the game against Milan for Gareth Bale’s hat trick but this masked how naïve we were in the first place.  And we seem to forget how we went away to those giants of European football, Young Boys and went three nil down.

But back around Christmas time I had pushed all this to the back of my mind as I watched the gap between us and Arsenal increase. I even argued on a blog or two that expressed reservations as to Harry’s approach.

Surely even Spurs couldn’t ruin the position they were in; hell maybe champions wasn’t out of the question!

And so to today.  Home to Blackburn.  As I’ve said elsewhere I can never relax before a football match but surely this is one where back in December we would have swept them aside; thanks for the three points boys.  But today we find ourselves desperate for a home win just to reclaim fourth place and that being only possible thanks to Wigan!

"Listen, when I say run...!!!"

And what did we need from a manager this week?  Just about anything but what we got!  We’ve been told that Modric might go in the summer (like I needed you to tell me that Harry), that it is the size of our squad (that from the great wheeler-dealer himself) and best of all, the players aren’t “running around for him”.  Perhaps you should try putting your arm around one or two of them.

And of course we mustn’t forget, we tried to sign Tevez!  As if there was any chance of that; I’m sure MCFC would be more than happy for another of their stars to play for us and probably to pay his wages for us too.

Jedward

(Bale’s comment didn’t help either – shut up! at least have the decency to wait until the end of the season until you start touting yourself around Europe)

Look - it was the only Bale/sale type image I could find ! OK!

So the question is – do we have the X factor or can we get it.  If you have a pub band that needs a guitarist, I can do a job for you.  But if Noel Gallagher needs an extra guitarist this year, he probably shouldn’t ring me – I’m afraid I just don’t have the X factor (although I’ll give it a go if he wants).

And I’ve come to the sad conclusion that if you have a football club that wants to hang around the middle of the upper half of the table and occasionally squeak into fourth place Harry Redknapp may be the guy for you.

But does he have the X factor?  Well I suppose the sooner England find out the better.

Do we have the X factor…maybe next year…

Come On You Spurs

Sunday afternoon...a day off...but I won’t enjoy it all that much...

This is entirely due to the state of tension and stress I am at present being burdened with by one of the loves of my life.

I have four, I realised a while back. I have others that I love, - my computer for example - but they don't come close to the first four.

In no particular order (beyond a literary device).

There is my family. Well I have to say that, don't I - but I mean it. I was blessed to find my soul mate while at uni and here we are 36 years later and I am still as much in love (it might not seem like that to her all the time; I have also developed the "grumpy old man" side to my character...sorry sweetheart). I also have five children and one grand-daughter and these seven people make up one of the four.

These are not my cause of stress (at least not today!).

There is God. I have to say that too, don't I. Except that I don't actually have to but I want to. I've known Christ almost as long as I have my wife and I could expand on what He has done for me and how much He means - but that's no today's point.

He is not my cause of stress. (Although He can be, and that could be another post)

There is music. I thought a bit about whether music should actually be in the very top section or whether it belongs in the next level down of "very important but not quite" with my computer. But I once imagined what I would choose if I was ever asked on "Desert Island Discs" and I decided it would have to by some sort of iPod/MP3 player and a solar powered charger. (I'm not allowed to take people so that rules out the first - God is everywhere and of course you get the Bible, so I could take 2 of the 4)

Music doesn't stress me; in fact it generally does the opposite.

So what is number four?

Well of course, the mighty Tottenham Hotspur FC.

I have supported Spurs for longer than I have known the other three. Sometime in the mid 60's I was taken by my Dad to Stamford Bridge to watch Chelsea play Spurs. I've tried to find out the actual match but I have failed. My recollection is that Spurs won 2-1 but I think I may be mixing this up with the cup final of 1967. At the time we were living in north London...as it turns out my house was actually closer to both Arsenal and Chelsea than White Hart Lane but for some reason I gave my 7 -year-old (or whatever) allegiance to the boys from N17. It has been suggested that it was due to my being a contrary little git and that my Dad and his mate were rooting for Chelsea that day - I would not dispute this.

We moved away for four years (to the south coast in the New Forest, where everyone at my school seemed to support...Tottenham, so I was fine). It being too far to travel to the capital - so he claimed - my dad took me to a few Southampton matches at The Dell. I cannot recall a thing about them for which I am truly grateful.

It was not until after we returned to the London area (in spring 1970, to Hatfield, Herts) that I would be able to consummate my young love and make the trip the WHL for the first time.


The best thing to come out of Hatfield
- the A1(M)







My new school was also a majority Spurs establishment (this made sense, at least they were the nearest top league club) although Chelsea fans came a close second.


This is not actually my school in Hatfield - they pulled it down some years ago...but this charmless '60s-built building looks much the same....





It is at this point that I have to admit to a most shameful event. Like an adulterous affair, I was a Chelsea fan for two days.
Look, I have an excuse. It was my first day at a new school and in a Geography lesson I was put on a table with two guys who were clearly "hard". As it turned out they really were the hardest boys in the year. They were Chelsea fans and among the "Where do you come from?" type questions there was, of course "What team do you support?" As I viewed the square jaws (one of them seemed to have stubble - at 13!), the Neanderthal brows and felt the unspoken threat of sudden violence my attention was drawn to the CFC badges on the blazer lapels.

"Oh, Chelsea, I mumbled"

A day or two later I had met and stuck with the less violent types and discovered the large numbers of Spurs fans. Fortunately the boys in question were fairly nominal in their football fandom (although not in their interest in random violence – but strangely I always got on very well with them until they left at the end of the fourth year, it being the last year before ROSLA) and I was able to slip back into the Spurs fold much like an unfaithful husband sneaks in at 3 in the morning hoping his wife won’t hear the door. All these years later,I still occasionally feel a little soiled by this aberration.

Having fallen in with about eight fellow Spurs supporters, I learned that they made the fortnightly pilgrimage to WHL. My parents were not to be moved - it was, after all the era of the skinhead and regular newspaper reports of football violence. I had to content myself with the 1970 world cup and trying to play like a Brazilian on the playground. It was the summer of Pele, Rivelino and Bobby Moore and that bracelet.

I spent a large part of that summer holiday attempting to chip away at my parents resolve - "I promise to stay out of trouble, mum" and I either convinced them with the quality of my argument or just whined so much they would do anything to shut me up but on returning to school in September, I was able to announce the good news.

I think that up to this point my love affair with Spurs had been a bit like my love affair with Joyce Brown. I can use her name; I doubt she's one of the handful who read this blog. She was this angelic creature who I sat behind in Maths. There's a whole story of my later attempting to woo her and failing to win her heart but at this time I simply worshiped from afar. Spurs too, despite having taken deep root in my psyche were basically followed from afar. They were the team I hoped would be the featured game on The Big Match or MOTD. They were the result I listened for on the radio on a Saturday evening or the name I searched for in the back of my mum's copy of the Sunday Mirror.


But then on a Saturday in September 1970 four friends and I boarded a train from Hatfield to Finsbury Park followed by a bus up the Seven Sisters Road. I learned a lot that day. I learned that there were more than just eight of us (several couldn't come on that Saturday) but dozens - hundreds - thousands! They might come from strange exotic climes (such as Stevenage) - but with whom I shared a bond surely as strong as that shared by warriors of old. I learned that the ground wasn't actually in White Hart Lane; at the time no one could explain this...I'm not even sure any of my friends actually knew where WHL was! I learned to duck under crash barriers as the crowd surged forward. As that and subsequent seasons came and went, I learned some other stuff. I learned just how to watch for the station staff and ticket inspectors on the Hatfield line and which bits of station wall were lowest and not covered in broken glass. I learned how to squat lower than the counter in order to get in with a mate – we had BOGOF long before Tesco. I learned the best places to stand, to keep an ear out for “trouble” and where I could and couldn’t safely wear a scarf. I learned that “I missed the train” was not an acceptable excuse for turning up at 2 in the morning on a school night (EUFA Cup semi-Final).
And I of course I learned the Tottenham ARE, by far, the greatest team the world has ever seen.

This has got much longer than I planned – at least it has helped take my mind off this evening a little. I could mention so much more…the passion cooled a little while at university - there was just so much going on to draw my attention (this coincided with relegation, so it worked out fairly well). It was rekindled shortly after and to my surprise and delight, my wife now caught the bug too. I knew she was fully “one of us” when I had to restrain her from decking a Liverpool fan at the 1982 Charity Shield (I think he said something about Gary Mabbutt).
There were the years of being treated like an animal at away grounds (by the police as much as the clubs) of hearing about the Bradford fire while stuck in traffic on the High Road. There was getting shut out of the ground just two away from getting in – that happened twice!
And of course, (today of all days) I remember hearing about the tragedy at Hillsborough.
I often joke that I have never really enjoyed a Spurs match. Of course that isn’t strictly true. I DO enjoy it; but it’s not the same enjoyment I get from a good pint of beer or lying on a beach. I can’t relax as I can while listening to a great piece of music or how I might enjoy a good book (another thing that is on my “nearly” list.
With Spurs the enjoyment comes with something else – it isn’t quite fear (although following a club who are perfectly capable of blowing lead at any time and however well we are playing, it might often be fear).
I think I have worked out what it is. I just CARE so damn much. I can’t stop it – just as I couldn’t simply stop loving my wife by an act of will, I’m stuck with Tottenham and they are stuck with me. I might feel the same, say, at my children’s wedding…you want to enjoy it but there’s also so much of you invested in it going well and it being one of the best days of their lives it threatens to overwhelm you.

Difference is, whereas your children will only marry once (or at least a relatively few times) and even adding other extreme events for example childbirth - by my 5th child, I WAS quite enjoying the experience although I guess my wife was finding it a little tough - or graduation say, there's a Spurs match once or twice a week throughout the season. Off season we have the will-he-won't-he saga of Modric staying or going etc. etc. etc.

...stress, worry, nerves, tension...













Bill Shankly is (mis)quoted as saying “football is more important than life or death” – he of course was wrong – today’s anniversary should convince anyone of that...
…but it FEELS like it is…
Just under two hours to go – God, I’m so nervous...

COYS..

Go Directly To Jail, Do Not Pass Go,

I find myself struggling to have any sympathy with Liam Stacey.


Even given that I know very little about him; he might be kind to his parents, his cat and send large sums of money to the NSPCC. Perhaps he's a good laugh on a night out.

Is he a racist? By the Liverpool FC/Luis Suarez test, no. ("This charge is not saying Luis Suarez is a racist") Racism (along with most other isms) is of course rather nebulous. I was short as a kid and had the nickname "pixie" which I absolutely hated. Was that "heightism", just mean, or were my friends just unaware of the hurt they caused? Of course, being short doesn't come with the terrible history that racism has attached to it. (And I grew out of being short)

I've tried my best to remove any prejudice from myself and I think I've been fairly successful. I've got friends of all colours and creeds and orientations; even some short and tall ones.

I don't suppose you really know until your daughter comes home with a black boyfriend or your son announces he's gay...

Or they inform you that they are Arsenal fans - now that does merit a long sentence in Belmarsh.

I do remember on one occasion as a teenager falling out with a friend and resorting to "you f***ing p**i!" He later had to explain that he came from Tanzania rather than Pakistan - dumb as well as a racist, who knew?

But back to the delightful Mr Stacey. Whether he is a racist or not, he certainly tweeted racist and nasty stuff.

Even if he is usually a "jolly fine chap", my unease at his sentence has nothing to do with sympathy over his difficulties in taking his exams - although it's interesting to remember that "captain caveman" John Terry will almost be drawing his pension before he's up before the beak - God forbid he or Chelsea should be "inconvenienced".

And neither is it the length of the sentence per se. Hell, we're all used to seeing sentences that defy our understanding. Here's a couple...

A female gang who shouted “kill the white slag” while attacking a woman

Death crash driver escapes jail term

Is Stacey really so much more deserving of jail time?

I might be guessing, but did the judge feel under a bit of political pressure, real or imagined. Would Stacey have received such a stiff sentence if the Suarez and Terry incidents not have made racism such a talking point in football?

Still not got to the point - so...

I was interested by the judges comments...

what he (Stacey) said was "vile and abhorrent"

Well, yes. I saw some of his tweets via four or five of the people who I follow on twitter. Yes I think that phrase is probably justified, although we might ask whether retweeting them isn't actually making the problem worse. I am forced to wonder if the circle of "tweeps" who would have had a chance to be offended would have remained tiny if it hadn't been for all those "outraged" retweets; it's not as if Stacey was a celebrity. I'm reminded of dealing with disputes when I was a teacher. Often, so-called friends would cause more problems by repeating unpleasant comments about another pupil. I often asked them why they felt they needed to pass this on to their friend when it would only hurt them. My suspision is that they obtained a little sadistic pleasure from their friend's distress. But far be it from me to question the motives of the twittersphere.

"It was not the football world who was praying for [Muamba].... everybody was praying for his life."

Forget the use of the word "praying", (I've had a stab at that!) but what difference does that make? Is racism or vileness (or at least how we deal with it) dependent on how many people are bothered about it? Or how many people bothered to retweet it? Putting aside that it's not true - "everybody"? I know at least one person who had even heard the story as of yesterday and I doubt that the majority of people, while wishing Muamba a successful recovery, gave it that much thought - does this explain why, for example Frankie Boyle didn't have the police round over his joke about Jordan and son? We think the joke was a bit sick (and perhaps even discriminatory) but we don't have much sympathy because most people think she's old slapper anyway.

I, of course, would never say that.

I'm well aware there are differences but it's also true that without twitter repeating it, the joke would never have been as widely circulated. (BTW, who on earth goes to a Frankie Boyle show NOT expecting hear offensive material?)

What bothers me is this - who decides what is a step too far in what someone says (or thinks)? I'm not stupid, I understand why we have laws against incitement to racial hatred (etc.) But isn't this git being jailed for, well, for being a git? I'm not sure anything he said was actually inciting us all to racial hatred.

More than that, things change; what is today's acceptable rudeness might be tomorrow's couple of months in the nearest open prison.

Prison for what we say or think? Isn't that the sort of thing we condemn Iran and China for?