Oh good grief, now this is awkward. I had only just made myself comfortable in readiness for a
lengthy period of smugness, gloating and absolutely unbearable braggadocio. And why the devil not
– our lot produce the most jaw-dropping eye candy since that lady from the Sean Connery days
emerged from the sea to jiggle about in her skimpies in frightfully uncouth manner.
Casual lobotomy is one of my less typical weekend pursuits, but I'm willing to hazard that were
one to pluck out the respective brains of BAE and Scott Parker, the two would be as dissimilar as
medically possible. At one point in the second half yesterday I'm fairly sure Benny executed a
scorpion kick, seemingly just to pass the time.
Entertaining and exciting, with a most satisfying finale – oh that the game had matched the
quarter-final draw, but we can't have everything I suppose. Should I ever cross paths with His
Eminence The Lord of Time there are one or two queries I would throw his way – whether Superman's
little fly-ruddy-quickly-around-the-world jape really could turn back time, for a start – but
high up there on the list would be a polite request to have my two hours back after the
excruciating trudge through treacle that was our draw with Stevenage.
Awkward. Maybe we should begin at the beginning...
The Glorious First Five Minutes
Ah, ‘twas a pleasure to be a Tottenham fan. Our heroes produced some ovely stuff. Swift, slick
passing; patient but pacey; sideways if necessary but probing forward whenever opportunity even
threatened to knock.
