All the best, Roman.
Back home to the Motherland.
I thought you were cool.
This could be an eventful day. And then again, no- as Elton John would say. I'm not sure what
the implications will be of having a whole round of Premier League fixtures on the same evening as
the transfer deadline, but to me it sounds a spot iffy. For managers looking to get shot of a bit
of dead wood, I suppose, it's probably ideal.
Hello. A good a place to start as any, I suppose. You know where you are with hello. It's
comforting, familiar. In the same way it's nice to know that a tiny part of every Arsenal fan's
soul must die when they see Theo Walcott in the number ‘14' shirt  each weekend, only to more
often than not play like Lenny Henry rather than the garment's most formidable inhabitant.
Welcome, if you've managed to get this far. We're having one or two server problems, you see.
Hence why this page may've taken longer to load than an episode of Casualty. On a lighter note, I
did find a Dairylea Dunker in the fridge last night, so it swings in round-a-bouts.
Watford dans la Cup, then.
This'll probably be the end of this site. Who the hell lets a Chelsea fan write on their
Spurs blog, anyway? Well put the flaming torches and pitch forks away, folks. This one cometh in
peace and he's here to save the world. One person at a time. Trailer Trash's Harry Thompson talks
racism...
This being a Spurs site, and I, ahem, being a Chelsea supporter, I understand the absurdity of
the task writing for an audience that already hates me.
Well, what a day in the old Anglais de Premiero that was. (Pretty sure that's a flawless
translation) Barely had we put on a pair of trousers that could be deemed fit for public
display was Fernando Torres and his new chums doing a hilarious job of not beating Norwich
at Carrow Road.
So that's the title challenge put to bed for another year- I must say it was terrific fun while
it lasted. Barely had I got the blue and white bunting down from the loft after our win against
Everton, was I then tossing it into the fire with all my tax returns again on Saturday evening.
Easy come, easy go.
Any hopes we had of tiptoeing under the radar were swiftly punted into the Thames on Wednesday
evening after every man and his lame dog in the days following declared Tottenham of Hotspur as
genuine title contendersâ„¢. Alan Hansen, David Platt, S'ralex- even our own
Heemskerk Howitzer, Rafael Van der Vaart, has pitched his tent in the side of ‘why the heck
not'.
Ruddy nora and crikey hell! What about that, then? An absolute thunder-punt from everyone's
favourite Smart Car-driving, Oyster card-carrying Evening Standard columnist/community
support worker/international superstar footballer/all round good egg. If I was describing it using
the medium of retro beat 'em, Street Fighter II, I would conclude thusly: sonic boom +
flaming hadouken x hurricane kick= that goal.
First Paul Scholes and now bearded volleyball whizz, Terry Henry. Two mammoths of the game
busting open the crypts of their Premiership careers for one last undignified waltz under the
lights; with every possibility of coughing up something unsavoury into the laps of their adoring
fans and making a mess of everything that was once good.
It's January, as you might've noticed; and if you hadn't I would suggest those New Year's
resolutions about not drinking anything that really ought to be kept on a shelf in the shed aren't
going all that well. For the rest of you, you know the score. It's the beginning of the year and
that can mean only one thing: the always-good-for-a-laugh-don't-believe-everything-you
hear-better-off-not-opening-any-tabloid-newspapers-or-football-websites-for-a-month-pick-any-name-out-of-a-hat.
Excuse me while I cough up an organ, momentarily- I've just made the dreadful mistake of going
on a post-New Year jog in weather I can only describe as ‘a bit blustery'. If I don't crumple
onto the keyboard before the day's out it'll be a minor
miracleeeeeeeeertttttttttttttyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyhjjj.
So ‘Arry reckons he might get a bit bored managing England:
‘I enjoy the day-to-day coming in to work with players, said the media-introvert on
Radio 4 this week- going out on the training pitch every day, seeing the players.
I don't know if seeing players once every six or seven weeks.
Tally-ho and merry new beginnings to you all! What grander way to spend those final few hours of
the year 2011 than in unchartered, unfamiliar and altogether more foreign waters. Swan infested
waters, you might say?
Hmm?
*silence*
Oh alright, maybe not- but there's no need to look at me like that.
Merry tidings and whatnot. I trust you're all in good spirits? If not then I suggest you vamoose
down to your local retailer and get your hands on some as quickly as is humanly possible. If
anything it'll make reading this hogwash a darn sight easier.
To Carrow Road we head, then. A late evening kick-off with Norwich and the cold turkey leftovers
of a hectic Christmas schedule in the old Premier League.
