Daniel Levy; Tottenham Chairman. Quantum Leaper. Part 2.

Maybe the next leap will be the leap home. Editors notes in Italics

Our hero finds himself surrounded by some chaps wearing loose fitting clothing, carrying those bendy swords like out of Aladdin and doing that lalalala sound which is very worrying and dramatic.

‘’Not again’’ says Daniel, looking into camera, shrugging his shoulders and making a Stan Laurel face.

‘’We take you to Sheikh Mansour’’

Credits roll showing Daniel being hoisted onto a camel *Producer Amos Leotard* and being led to a really Arabian looking Taj Mahal type castle in the middle of the desert *Executive Producer Shovels O’Toole* then Daniel is thrust before a ‘proper robed up’ Asian bloke. *Directed by Kool Poon*

‘’So Mr Levy. I must say I am honoured to meet such a master negotiator. In fact, I saw @YidLedge say the other day that you were a genius… but then @SpursBwoi1882 says you’re a tight fisted, brainless moron intent on raping Tottenham of all its assets, only satisfied when you see the Spurs playing Sunday league on Hackney Marshes. So, Mr Levy, which is it?’’

‘’Would it suffice to say that I’m just trying to do what I get paid to do?’’ Retorts Daniel, the constant Leaping is currently playing merry hell with his glands. He also wonders where Andre is and looks around nervously.

‘’NO! There must be only extremes. Do you not know how this works? Anyway, do you have that Adebayor contract drawn up yet?’’ Mansour is rather impatient at this point. He is eager to get back to his favourite hobby of backcombing horse hair and drinking oil.

Daniel produces a document entitled ‘OMFG. Can you imagine if he actually signs this?!’ One of Mansours hooded servants takes the contract from Daniels hand and delivers it to Mansour who is sitting on a throne made from gold and chipmunks. Mansour impatiently signs it, but just as he’s about to hand it back…

‘’What’s this?! Manchester City continue to pay £80k a week, even though he’s a Tottenham player! This is an outrage’’

Points contract back at Levy

‘’Guards, seize him!’’

In a flash, the hooded servant takes off his head scarf to reveal Andre Villas Boas who has been here the whole time. He gives the Sheikh a withering look and says in his graveley voice (sort of like Batman if he’d bothered to munch some ‘Tunes’) :

‘’I’ll take that. Fax very much’’ Alluding to Tottenham’s hilarious use of fax machines in transfers despite it being 2012.

The Sheikh is lost in his dark, brooding eyes and hands over the contract without a moment’s hesitation. Meanwhile, Daniels legendary athleticism comes into play again as he leaps out of the way of the grasping guards onto an inappropriately large child, using him as a springboard to join Andre by the Chipmunk throne.

‘’ That Fax line was a bit shit, but they’re getting better. You got that signed contract?’’ Daniel asks, his eyes scouring the room as approximately seven thousand guards close in on he and his sidekicks elevated platform of relative safety.

‘’Yep, all good, just teleporting it off to The Lodge, they can finally announce the Ade deal’’

‘’Thank fuck for that’’ (Necessary swearing? Yes. This is a pressure cooker situation and Daniel is a lithe, powerful man in need of expressing extremes of emotion. I will fight tooth and nail to keep that ‘fuck’ in the final edit). ‘’Never thought I’d say this but when are we leaping?’’

‘’Good news, we’re off to the Ukraine in 8 seconds. @AgentFabricate has us there discussing  a deal for Willian’’

‘’You mean William?’’

‘’No, it’s Willian. He’s Brazilian’’

‘’Sure he’s not BraziliaM? Hahaha. Top  bant’s Andre. Top bloody bant’s. Let’s do one.’’

Guards all pounce to where Daniel and Andre are standing, but the light shards have already appeared, and the guards end up in a heap on the floor where our heroes once stood.

*Kaleidoscopic whoosh through the universe*

Daniel lands on his backside on an immaculately manicured lawn.

‘’Where am I now?’’ Questions Daniel forlornly. The camera pans out to reveal he has landed underneath a ‘Welcome To Glorious Donbass Arena. Home of Masterful Shakhtar Donetsk (check that we can replace that sign with all the funny Russian writing on it with an English one).

Credits roll. Daniel is dusted off by a kindly Ukrainian wearing an ‘I *heart* Socialism’ t-shirt *Producer Brenda Cream* and led up to the Shakhtar corridors of power *Executive Producer Flaps Piping* The kindly Ukrainian shows Daniel to the directors bathroom as he’s dying for a piss, and then kindly Ukrainian phones his local despotic councillor to donate all of his life savings to build a crocodile-sized bookcase for his local school to underline how much he loves education/crocodiles/socialism *Director Swastika Stool*

Daniel unzips, a moment of calm at last for the leaping Tottenham director.

‘’Ur-in(e) for some work here boss’’ Says Andre, appearing from one of the marbled cubicles. Check appropriateness of piss gag, although, to be fair, we’re in a men’s toilet, there must be at least one or people are just going to switch over and look for them elsewhere.

‘’Wheeeeeeey, nice one Andre. They’re getting better’’ says Daniel, his mood elevated with every pube rinsed away from the backboard. (Check approximately how pubic each Ukrainian is to ensure this would tally up)

‘’According to twitter, many clubs have tried to prize Willian away from Shakhtar. None have succeeded’’ says Andre; nervously but handsomely.

‘’None have been Daniel Levy; Tottenham Chairman, Quantum Leaper’’ Just to anchor back to the programme title ‘’and besides, I’ve never heard of this guy. The itk’s have only been talking about him for a couple of days. It’s not like Ade or Modric. This one’s a wildcard, so let’s spring a surprise’’

*Cuts to Shakhtar boardroom with 5 men who all look like Ivan Drago wearing Shevchenko hats*

‘’So chaps, what are you after for your boy?’’ Enquires Daniel.

‘’Twenty million British pounds’’ Insert extra borderline xenophobic typical Eastern block dialogue.

‘’For a lad who can’t even spell his own name? I’ll give you Jenas, a Ford Capri and half a pot of tiger balm. Take it or leave it you slaaaaaaaaaaaags’’

Andre shakes his head and worries that the leaping is causing some serious brain malfunctions. He holds the twitter synched handlink up and accesses the brain scanning function, revealing that Daniel has unfortunately channelled Danny Dyer and his knowledge of Ukrainian ‘firms’. This could spell disaster. Meanwhile the Shev-hatted board members begin to bristle at Daniels tone and begin to crack their knuckles.

‘’Will you excuse us momentarily, gentlemen’’ Says Andre, grabbing Daniels arm and dragging him out of the boardroom.

Out in the hallway, Andre shouts ‘’GET A GRIP’’ really dramatically

‘’Leave it aaaaahhhhttttt saaahhhhnnnn’’ Replies Daniel

In a furious flurry of violence, Andre slaps Daniel upside the chops, in a manner only appropriate between the very best of friends. This goes to show that despite a bit of bickering every now and again, they really are as close as 2 frogs in a bag.

‘’Thanks Andre, don’t know what came over me’’ Says Daniel, apologetically, but in a way where he knows that Andre doesn’t really need an apology because they’re such great mates and it doesn’t matter

‘’That’s ok Dan, it’s this constant leaping. It’s whomping up your thought box. Besides, we’re such great mates, it doesn’t matter’’ Replies Andre, confirming the tone of Daniels previous line of dialogue.

‘’Let’s get out of here. We need to get this Damiao deal finalised before anything else anyway’’

‘’Well that’s a bit of luck, @AgentOracle has you haggling a fee in 3, 2, 1…’’

*Kaleidoscopic whoosh through the universe*

To be continued...

Daniel Levy; Tottenham Chairman. Quantum Leaper. Part 1.

Maybe the next leap will be the leap home. Editors notes in Italics

*Kaleidoscopic whoosh through the universe*

Our hero finds himself in a bull ring in Madrid. Credits roll. *Producer Abigail Liquorice* We can tell it’s Spain because there are lots of Spanish flags everywhere, and nobody working in the afternoon. *Executive Producer Calculator Seaman* A small child with a moustache holds up an ‘I *heart* Madrid’ sign to narrow down the geographical location.*Directed by Alan Whore*

‘’What’s this red cloth doing in my hands? And why do I have this funny coat on?’’

Daniel looks up and see’s a bull charging at him.

‘’Yikes, time for me to get outta (out of) here’’

Daniel, surprisingly fleet of foot, throws down the cloth and performs miraculous somersaults to escape the charging bull and manages to escape over safety hoardings, made mostly of straw and the shattered dreams of orphans, to great boos from the crowd.

‘’Glad I didn’t get the horn’’ Daniel remarks, hoping Andre is around to hear it. Turns out it doesn’t really make much sense and isn’t particularly funny.

‘’I heard it boss’’ says Andre, appearing from behind a parked tricycle, no hint of a smile.

‘’Oh there you are Andre. Sorry, not much good with double entendres’’

‘’How about ‘I really lost my rag’? You know, because you threw the cloth away’’.

‘’Bit shit though’’

‘’True enough. Anyway, the Handlink has been synched to twitter. According to this, @AgentSeatSniffer has you in Madrid for the next 17 minutes to get the Modric deal completed’’

‘’Fuck me!’’- Daniel is not averse to swearing. Also, he doesn’t have to worry about getting in trouble with NewsNow for swearing. Because he’s a rebel.

‘’To The Bernebau quick-smart. We’ll get the deal finished for Modric, then I can tell all of the ITK’s who I know personally so that the full and accurate account of all our dealings are reported’’, quips the confusingly handsome Andre.

*cuts to Bernebau boardroom with about 10 blokes who all look like Rafa Benitez*

‘So it’s agreed then’, sighs Daniel, ‘We’ll take £35 million, you can report it at £30m to make it sound like you’ve got a bargain, and we’ll report it at £40m to make it sound like we haven’t been rolled over by Johnny Foreigner’ Daniel now has a hint of annoyance in his voice; this is at least his 14^th leap to Madrid. He senses that it won’t be his last.

‘There was just one more thing…’ says Rafa Benitez #4 ‘I was speaking to Rafa #7 about the installments’

‘Installments!’ Booms Daniel. Andre turns away, such is his chairman’s wrath. But before things can escalate, Daniel is discombobulated (check meaning!) in a shower of low budget spikey light shards, as he and Andre are transported to…

*Kaleidoscopic whoosh through the universe*

Our hero finds himself thrust into a compromising position with the FC Porto chief transfer negotiators wife in the groundmans wash room, covered in ham.

‘’Woh’’ says Daniel, but as the title music begins, the 30 second montage of him completing deals for Kaka, Benzema and Patrick Kluivert presumes enough time to have elapsed for the whole misunderstanding to be put to put to rest.

Daniel and chief negotiator shake hands while opening credits roll *producer Aristotle Shoepolish*, sweeping the whole wife/bathroom/ham affair under the carpet with a firm handshake. *Executive producer Cornelius Gelatine*Mrs Negotiator goes and has tea with Eusebio and his wife (or something). *Directed by Tim Shit*

‘’Are we FINALLY getting my Mouty Call’’ asks Andre, appearing from behind a used apricot.

‘’Don’t call him that, it sounds well weird. I prefer it when you talk about his dimensions, although I have to say that doesn’t sit too comfortably either. How come we had to leap, we were just about to close the deal with Madrid for Modric!? Again!’’ Daniel is VERY flangey at this point

‘’It’s syncing the handlink to twitter that’s done it. @AgentWebTrawler has you in Porto finalising the deal for Moutinho. We’ve only got another 11 minutes before the next leap, so let’s get it done’’

‘’Agreed’’

*cuts to boardroom with chief negotiator and Chairman Pablo Untrustworthio*

‘’So Monsieur Untrustworthio (check language), despite the fact that you are a chairman much like myself, and you want the best deal for your player, I’m afraid I’ve been shouted at in block capitals over twitter about not signing anybody, so let’s get this done at £20m and say no more about it’’

‘’No, I think Moutinho is worth £25m. There’s still some work to do’’ Chairman and negotiator twiddle the ends of their moustaches mischievously and rearrage their  sombreros (check cultural relevance)

‘’I don’t think you’re quite getting this mate/bruv’’ Dropping Ray Winstone impressions into negotiations is a tactic often employed to bamboozle rival chairman and transfer negotiators ‘’@BiggestSpursFanEver has just tweeted saying, and I quote, ‘’FFS LEVY! JUST GO AND SIGN A GOALKEEPER/ DEFENDER/ MIDFIELDER/FORWARD’’

‘’I understand, but…’’ attempts by the chief negotiator to break Daniel off while he meticulously scours fan tweets (at least 90% of his working day) does not go down well.

‘’HASHTAG COYS HASHTAG INLEVYITRUST HASHTAG GETITFACKINDONEYOUTIGHTTWAT. I am going to stand here belligerently shouting, crying and throwing money about until this is done.’’

‘’Erm, boss’’ chirps Andre, looking worriedly down at the Handlink

‘’Not now, I’ve got these guys on the rack. Just watch and learn. This is how a master negotiator rolls’’

‘’But boss, @AgentScrote has you in Abu Dhabi in 3,2, 1’’

*Kaleidoscopic whoosh through the universe*

To be continued…

ITK's and Other Cliched Pre-Season Rubbish

Blogtacular salutations old chums. It’s been a while.

So what’s been happening since I last updated? AVB appointed, a mad rush of signings in consecutive days (erm…2), and then lots of chatterboxing. We also played some games of football that we either won, drew or lost, that apparently mean nothing but are also great indicators of who will be starring for us this season. Got it? Laments on ITK’s are perhaps duller than the characters who promote themselves as said oracles, but let’s not pretend we don’t all love it, and that without it, it would just be a summer of the OS and F4. There’s only so many times one can hear about some youngster in the academy being out to ‘Earn His Spurs’ *eeeuuuurrrrggggghhhhh*, before you have to accept what wonderful background music it provides to this crazy footballing orchestra who assemble on timelines and forums throughout the land.

Still, there’s only so many times you can hear that it’s Ade’s/Citeh’s/Spurs’ fault that that particular Festival de Snooze hasn’t sparked into action, or that discussions with Madrid are ‘ongoing’, before the temples need a serious massaging, and a step away from the info boxes to get back to reali…

… ooooooh, Soldado! Now that sounds interesting *haemorrhages from ears* *dies*

With Modric finally being off (hopefully), my prediction, for what it’s worth, is that being fans of the good news/bad news management sandwich, his ‘we wish him all the best for the future’ will be buried somewhere between someone ‘earning his spurs’, Defoe once again being really brilliant at goal getting for the mighty English (but still ignoring the fact that he’s a bit rubbish), and further trampled by announcements of incomings. In other words, it’ll all be done at once. Also, expect someone that nobody has mentioned coming along, followed by ‘I knew there was something going on, but this is another ‘rabbit out of the hat’ and they have been very secretive about this’. Maybe a  ‘even MY source wasn’t privy to this’. And with all the RVP nonsense, it might be a good day to get this one sewn up and buried asap. Just hearing that AVB will be holding a press conference this afternoon. Will this be to discuss the Newcastle game, OR HAVE WE SIGNED EVERYONE WE’VE BEEN PROMISED?!?!?

But more important than all of this is just how we’ll end up doing this season, and a few predictions. A point on Saturday would do, and if we’re not top 3 after 6 games, expect mass panic. At close of play in May 2013, top 4 is doable, and should be the aim. You’ll hear talk of being happy with 6^th as long as there are signs of improvement, but this isn’t a fantasy land, and while it won’t be a sackable offense, won’t be tolerated to the levels that many are already alluding to. Get it right now or get out. I just hope the powers that be are brave enough to stick to their convictions and at least give him a chance to top 2 from 8.

Other than that: goals will be scored, others conceded, there will be poor refereeing decisions and ‘I can’t wait for video technolog-ies’, with some liberal measures of footballers airing their dirty undies on the twitbox and being told off for doing so. And Di Matteo looking like someone drew a face on a balloon.

Rio’s Premier Prediction: Di Matteo to sacked before Christmas, Redknapp, who has already been lined up as cover, then acts as caretaker until next summer when Guardiola is finally appointed. You heard it here at some point.

The Boas Constrictors

Get used to the puns, you’ll be seeing a lot of them.

There appears to be a real disconnect with what has been reported as being the fans mood to the appointment of Andres Villas-Boas, to what we have been reading. I say ‘we’, as, if you’re reading this, you’re more than likely to be somebody who seeks out an online opinion, as opposed to those who read the red tops and listen to TalkPoop radio, and among ‘us’, there appears to be universal approval. Andres is ‘one of us’, or certainly, we’d like to think he is; modern, a student of the game, theoretical, an absorber of facts and opinion to devise strategy. AVB: The Champo Generations, thinking mans, Carol Vorderman Manager.

He’s not someone who’s easy to label. He’s not the happy-go-lucky, wheeler dealer, cockney wideboy, rent-a-gob. He shuns the Redknapp-style catch phrases in favour of ‘phases’, and speaks of ‘transitons’ and ‘low blocks’. It’s easier for these people to relate to the easily digestible ‘well, we had to go for it, so I threw Crouchy on… etc’ type of viewpoint, than of a man who’s spent his youth meticulously picking apart the smallest facets of the modern game. The same people who cry out for an English ‘La Masia’, and singularly fail to acknowledge any of the components that make it tick. ‘Well they just tell ‘em to ‘old onto it and give it simple’. Anything more complicated and it’s ‘football’s not a science’, ‘football’s not played on a tactics board/computer’. ‘Watch out for the big centre-half on set pieces’, versus horizontal and vertical penetration *snigger*.

Could it be plain old jealousy from these so-called journalists? A handsome, educated young man who has achieved more footballing success at the tender age of 34, than these windbag chair softeners have in their 50-odd.

The smear campaign has already begun. Apparently, employing a manager is a ‘gamble’? Did you hear about this? If only we could get hold of that crystal ball that Manchester United used all those years ago before employing Fergie. How remiss of our chairman to gamble, rather than get the clairvoyants in.

Also, he has to tap into that most basic of human physical, social and professional survival skills and ‘learn from mistakes’. Well, well Mr Villas Boas, did you hear that? You’re going to have to do something that only EVERY OTHER PERSON ON EARTH has the ability to do. Reckon you can manage that? Are you sure, it’s a tough one?!

Initial impressions are positive. Spurs themselves announced that the first thing Mr Villas Boas did after signing his contract was to check the state of the training pitches. A lot of this blog is in support/recognition of this article from the Telegraph (bit.ly/nvV9XJ), and an attention to detail is part of  a more modern and professional approach. Like many Tottenham fans, I just want a dedicated professional doing his best for our Totters, not someone who takes their eye off the ball and singularly fails to do what they’re employed to do. I don’t expect the title, but I do expect to see direction. A point to it all, an ethos, a philosophy. I like hearing things like having dossiers prepared on the opposition. I’m not too keen about having our players being told to ‘run about a bit’. I too have contempt for the gutter press and don’t mind if our manager does. Scowling answers to their contemptable questions will be welcome. All the better if they’re laced with a little wit. Less rent-a-quote, flippant responses designed to get a giggle from- and give a headline to- the redtops and talkpoop’s of this world, and more facts. Or better yet, keeping things to one’s self.

Believe it or not, I like the term ‘project’- it gives the impression of a far more professional approach to a club that has, sadly, descended into a bit of a used car dealership in recent times. It’s how successful organisations with a strategy and goals talk- Apple, Microsoft, Google, the people that make Angel Delight. Why should Tottenham Hotspur be exempt from this? And if it’s a relationship you’re looking for, both chairman and manager speak the same language. Again, no surprise to see Levy getting his name dragged through the gutter in all of this as well. The weak will always try to sabotage the strong, particularly when they have no way of pigeon-holing their intentions.

My only worry? The players being a bit too thick to take his ideas on board. It would be unfair to label all English footballers ‘thicko’s’, and all of the European mainland philosophical geniuses, in a footballing sense, but I do fear when I look into Kyle Walkers dead eyes, or read about the youth team popping off to nando’s to fuel up before their big PES session, or whatever it is the kids are doing these days to avoid work, mind expansion and responsibility. Buying a couple of lads with long, fancy, European names should help…

So Mr Villas Boas. I say to you, welcome. I would also say ‘ignore the press’, but like most of us with half a brain, you can see through their shallow agenda… and certainly won’t be trolling any blogs for tips on what to do.

In other news, because Google are gaylords, this site is no longer on NewsNow. Something to do with corrupting the blog with something or other. I’m far too lazy to work out what the problem is, so it’s back to just talking into the darkness. If you have found this blog, well played. Why not tell your friends or pets who might support Tottenham and be adept enough to use the interbox?

Born On The First of July

Hello Tottenhamers

Muchos excitmentinados! The 1^st of July is fast approaching, which means that we can start getting some commitment ink onto some legally binding paper very shortly. Word on the cyber streets is that AVB is to be named el presidente of Tottenham Hotspur v20.12 slash 13, but the identity of his posse of gringos is providing some interesting side stories.

Apologies for the fluent Spanish being spouted above. The missis made me a rather nice Mexican style breakfast this morning, and I think it’s affecting my word combobulations. And Spain are playing later. I’m so on trend.

To Spain! and it’s understood that that’s exactly where young Modders will be plying his trade next year. Jose wanted David Silva to add to the attacking luminaries currently on show, but it’s little Modders who’s now been identified as the man to come in, and in turn, make them a bit more Barcelona-ey. All that keeping possession and finding a team mate nonsense is over rated anyway. The lad’s in need of a move, and if his half-hearted efforts last season on the promise of an escape this summer were to be stone walled again, I shudder to think what we’ll get this term. Even though player part-ex deals seem to exist only in Champo 97/98, it hasn’t stopped young Sahin’s name being thrown in as part of the deal. I won’t lie, I know nothing about him beyond him being Turkish, quite promising, and having no chance of ever appearing in a Spurs shirt.

Gylfi Sigurdsson! Gylfster, Gylfo, The Big Gylf. El Glylferino. He must have impressed the newly promoted Tim Sherwood on his trips to keep an eye on young Ledley 2, Steven Caulker, as he’s poised to spurn the advances on Swansea (because Brendan Rodgers isn’t there anymore), and Liverpool (because Brendan Rodgers i…), to join AVB’s White Hart revolution. There have been quite a few Liverpool fans doing great impressions of wet hens on the Twitbox at the very idea that he should choose the Spursers over their club. Presumably they are all still discussing the Berlin wall coming down as ‘potentially good’ as well.

Aaaaaaaaand Jan Vertonghen. This one’s dragged on a bit hasn’t it? My theory is he actually signed weeks ago and it’s just a lot of chat to keep things interesting by the print media until 1^st July. And by ‘interesting’, I of course mean ‘Michael Owen twitter timeline watchingly dull’. First we were stalling over a couple of mill’, then it was Ajax who were playing hardball, and now it’s Jan who’s sulking over a transfer fee percentage. It’ll be our fault again tomorrow and the deeply unpleasant merry-go-round of blame stories will continue to rotate until a bemused Jan arrives to pick his shirt up and asks why everyone looks wee wee’d off with him.

Right, I’m off to enjoy my birthday.

What? Nah, 23!, 25 at a push, but… aaaah, embarrassing. You guys are too much. Thanks, thanks very much. Cakes on Pete’s desk.

What Do You Mean Harry's Gone?

Hello everyone.

I’ve been in France for the past week, hope I haven’t missed mu…

Oh my.

The ‘well this is MY view on the Redknapp tinning…’ has been done to death, so rather than saturate the market further, I’ll attempt to soak it up and squeeze the analysis sponge over your tired eyes and ‘on the one hand’ brain scales, and put forth the following.

The people whose blogs and opinions I find myself largely in agreement with through the rough and smooth of following this mob of ours, have presented essentially the same conclusion. Namely, thanks for the good stuff, but I’ll be shedding no tears for a man who valued personal gain over doing his job properly. I can only agree.

A squad containing so much quality, we shouldn’t have been concerned by a sorry excuse for goalkeeping at West Brom or a shambles of a Champions League final. A second late-season collapse in a row, this time with a tangible distraction to pin it on. Not good enough, and we can do better than this self-serving window blabber. If Harry walked into Apple and colour coded the bins, he’d claim credit for making it into a market leader.

So it looks like failed expensive Wimbledon Chelsea badger AVB or crab-mouthed boursin-botherer Matt Le Blanc seem to be edging ahead in the managerial gallop. Quite how Laurent would have found time to have had any form of discussion over our vacant recaro I don’t  know, but gun to the head… I quite like the idea of AVB striking back at the football world, wielding Tottenham Hotspur as his mighty staff (ooh, er), smiting doubters and building an empire where a load of garages and fried chicken shops once stood.

And how about them Oy-row Championisings eh? Greece, they are cards aren’t they? And funny little England. Haha, look at them there with their belief and flags and beer. Lovely stuff.

I’ve put money on Ukraine.

The Tottenham Tumble Dryer (or how I channelled Partridge to deal with this mess)

This is it. This is LITERALLY ‘IT’.

Finish third and the history books will have this down as a glorious campaign; a fight against all odds to secure a position behind the 2 teams that gave us a walloping in the first couple of rounds, only for us to dust ourselves off and fight off the challenge from the best of the rest. Perennial Champions Leaguers, the ‘South London Migrants Select XI’, and said competitions current finalists Nazi FC, while also seeing off the extraordinarily spirited effort of the Mag’s from Geordieland.

Finish fourth with Third Reich Rovers winning the champey pot (slash) finish fifth, and it’s been an unmitigated disaster. A lesson in exactly what not to do when poised for achievement. Salvaging utter incompetence from the jaws of very very unincompetence.

Inches, my friends. This game is measured in tiny margins, as Al Pacino sort of said in that film about Americanised Football.

There are those that will say that they and everyone involved at Spurs would have taken this scenario after the first 2 games ‘all day long’. There are others who, walking away from the Newcastle game with a conviction that this team could be something a bit special, now feel a bit guilty/stupid/angry for finding their hopes thrown into a big, sort of football related tumble dryer, with no idea what will come out. Will it be the warm, soft, automatic 3^rd place denim shirt (put on an ‘extra cupboard dry’ cycle and a sheet of ‘bounce’ which makes them smell really, really nice and easier to iron) that keeps us cool, and looking razor sharp over the  summer months, or will it be the shrunken, smelly (bounce-less) vest t-shirt that should have been thrown away a long time ago but I just haven’t got time to go shopping for under garments that nobody other than my wife ever see, that will intermittently embarrass us until it’s time to cross swords again?  

For what it’s worth, I think Woolwich will get a draw. I also think we’ll match that result, meaning we’ll need Everton to get a point at home to the Mag’s. Which they probably will.

Who knows what’ll get served up on Sunday. I’m almost beyond caring at this stage, but know it’ll be my only focus come 3pm Sunday. One thing I’ve learnt this season is that I have literally zero effect on the outcome of any match, there or not, watching or not. There’s always a tiny part in the back of each of our minds, a little ego perhaps, that tells us our attendance or our viewing of a game will somehow affect the outcome. Surely it’s not just me? We’re all just socks in the giant Tottenham Hotspur tumble dryer, thrown around at the whim of whether Gareth spent too much time in Faces the night before, or whether Harry thinks Parker for VdV is a good idea. Sometimes we win (warm jet of air- still with the tumble dryer motif), sometimes we lose (buffeted against other potentially wet/odoured socks), and sometimes we draw (collision near a warm air jet).

Another Typically Tottenham season.

Bayern Munich scarves at the ready.

Uncomfortably Numb

Wellity, wellity, wellity.

It’s everyone’s favourite Uncle, but at least Harry seems alright about it:

‘’Yeah, it was me all day weren’t it? Wasn’t it? I even had a tenner on meself. Not really. Or did I? Been on the blower to Frank loads over these last few weeks, was after JT’s autograph, wanted him to put in a good word with the other English Lions they’ve got there. He’s a lion isn’t he? Top, top pro. Nah, just kidding, not spoke to Frank in a while. We were knocking up formations when I was round there for dinner the other day. Great if they won the Champions League wouldn’t it? Although it might ‘urt us. Let’s hope we both win. Nah, but seriously, didn’t really want the job anyway, but I would have loved it. Nah, not really, I’ve got a great job here. Where am I?’’

He might not have said any much of that, but here’s a bit of the word nourishment he provided his starving press children from his Range Rover:

‘’I am very fortunate…, I am just so lucky to be working here with fantastic players… I will just get on with my job… Champions League… that’s where my focus is and always has been’’

Etcetera.

I wonder if Harry reads those comments to himself as he cries himself to sleep, wiping his nose clumsily on his St Georges cross bed spread, lovingly clutching the John Terry and Bobby Moore collage he made himself from back issues of 'shoot'. ''I really love it at Spurs'' *sob sob*. ''I've got a great job'' *sniff*. ''It's a great club'' *bottom lip quivers*. ''Just focussing on getting back out there on the training pitch with this group of la...'' *drives off* *self harms*.

It’s most difficult to find the energy to concoct blogulations when the management and playing staff seem to have given up so completely on what promised to be such a successful campaign. There are some brave souls in the blogosphere that find the words, somehow, to summarise what the flip is going on; offering some wonderful summarisation of what us fantabulouses are feeling. Unfortunately, the bitter disappointment, manifesting itself as feelings of deception and being well and truly betrayed, make it difficult for this blogger with other ship going down, to lift my flaccid footballing spirit to the heights of rallying calls or even make sense of the collapse we’ve all had to sit and watch. Most frustratingly, with a reasonable grip on what’s going wrong and what needs doing to rectify it. It’s not rocket surgery.

Uncomfortably numb.

Us humans have a finite amount of energy we’re able to muster on a daily basis, and sometimes there are times when things like watching the team you love become so rudderless and left to coast off the edge of a cliff is just too much. I watched the first half of the QPR game only, safe in the knowledge that there was no way we were going to score in the second. I had a ticket for Blackburn on Sunday but didn’t go. I’m going to go kitchen shopping with my wife and child in an attempt to make real life more pleasurable, rather than tuning in for whatever is going to be served up by Tottenham at Bolton tonight. Energy needs redirecting to a more positive place.

Supporting Tottenham is life itself. Mostly really hard but the good makes it all worthwhile. When a metaphor for life encroaches on everyday reality and takes more than it’s fair share, just how hard is it to separate the emotion from the grand plan, and do you even want to? A football Succubus, as opposed to… a much nicer kind of bus.

Or we might just need to play 2 DM’s.

Whatever.

Pleasantville

An artists impression of Sunderland

Wotcha.

A double dose of easter eggcellence from our Hotspur-crossed bunnies on the way, and what better mood to enter the old 2 games in 3 days period, than the one we find ourselves in right now; swagger restored in the nicket of time, as we stare down the barrel of 7 league fixtures that will determine who lines up for us on the continent next season. Will it be the Tommy ‘Charlie Bucket’ Carroll dancing around the assembled might of FC Tyjxfryjjxxx in Romania, or Eden ‘Ed’ Hazard tearing the Catalans a new one at Camp Nou? What do you mean he hasn’t signed yet? Get ya faaaaaaaakin chequebook out Levy you onion!

I have a friend who went to Sunderland last year, and he’s not been quite the same since. A marvellous result failed to inject any colour to his world, and the once dancing, playful and wistful boyhood chum has gone and turned… well, grey. According to his harrowing tale, the roads were grey. The pavement was grey. The houses were grey. The sky was grey. I imagine it to be like ‘Pleasantville’, minus the ham fisted attempts at delivering a racial equality message. Oh Reece Witherspoon, what have you done?

From the harrowing tale my lost friend tells, Harry could do worse than sellotape kaleidoscopes over the eyes of our chaps as our fun bus travels through the streets of slumberland, removing them only for the game, where I have been reliably informed that the Sky Sports team have painted the northern grey grass a deep ‘southern’ green, in order that global audiences remain calm and avoid melting in their arm chairs. As for the result, a rejuv’d (I’ve been working on rejuv’d to replace rejuvenated for a while now. Hope the effort shows?) Sunderland away is no easy three-sy, and it wouldn’t be typical Tottenham if signs of recovery suffered an instant setback. The returning Lennon will play only one game, according to Harry, but I wouldn’t be surprised to see him do 45 in each. Late-ish equaliser and we’ll draw 1-1.

Norwich and Paul Lambert (or budget Brendan Rogers) for a bit of Monday resurrection and a nice 2-0 home win would be marvellous. I have no Norwich related insight to offer (other than cheap shots about inbreeding and a fully stocked armoury of Partridge quotes of course), but on the footballing side, it appears they’ve been rather good, claiming the same number of points as Swansea, but without anywhere near the love-in that their Welsh fellow-promotees and manager have enjoyed. Like Swansea however, Norwich have gone about things the right way, and in so doing, set themselves up for a football match which we should have too much for them to cope with.

Merry Easter you marvellous little chicks.

***If I may be so bold as to turn your attention to the top left of this page, there’s a link to my JustGiving page. For you see, I am running this years London Marathon in aid of the Teenage Cancer Trust. If my sums are right, and if every visitor to the page gave just a pound… There'll be an extra twenty quid in no time.***

Just What We Swan-ted

Oh yes, I do word play too.

Like an estate agent trying to convince you to part with more money than you’re comfortable with, I’m here to tell you that the ‘green shoots’ of recovery have poked themselves through the wasteland of our March into the abyss. While all 3 evaded us at the Bridge, seeing the players trotting out with those most precious of commodities; a plan, and a clue; was a welcome relief, and Tuesdays professional looking job against the veiled Trotters was another step on the road to redemption.

We looked like the side we were at the start (not the VERY start, obviously, but post-Parker) of the season. The ability to pick off sides who came to stubbornly sit down on the goal line and not budge. It was the anti-Stoke performance, which was a horrible watch. Like going back in time… and not in a cool way, like going to the Enchantment Under The Sea dance, more like going to Jurassic Park when pea-brained monsters dicked over Attenborough’s fancy gizmo’s and human brain technology. That sort of thing.

As for Swansea, I don’t believe they’re capable of being horrible, and could be the perfect opposition for a Spurs team clawing their way back to form; a side that will come and play football. Brendan Rogers strikes me as a smart and hard nosed chap, but The Swans are set up to play; not usually a recipe for cooking up 3 points for an away side with a reservation at the White Hart Bistro. Owen Coyle, in charge of Burnley a couple of years back, was renowned for playing football despite the size of the opposition. We won that one 5-1. Pardew had sniffed too many fumes and begun to believe his ‘realistic candidate’ England manager talk to the extent that he sent out his rag tag mob to go toe-to-toe with what we had. He was wrong. This is why teams don’t come to the Lane to play football. Brendan Rogers will know this, but I can’t realistically see him having the personnel or the  wit to out do what we’ve got. Send the Lilywhites out with a plan of action and we should win this one at a canter.

4-1 to the Spursers.

Tottenham Do Football Good Now

You slaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaag

I've seen some shambles in my time, but the trip to woolwich, the limp-wristed efforts against manure, and last weeks bungle in toffeeland will take some beating. Saying that we've lost the plot recently would be a tad generous. It implies there was a plot line to be followed in any of these games, other than 'let's throw 11 footballers onto a pitch and hope they're better than the other lot'. Is that a plot? It's a really crap one if so. If it was a soap, it would be the equivalent of sending out a bunch of actors to shout at eachother until a storyline developed.

Basically, we were EastEnders.

We should at least be aiming to be 'The Bill', or something of equal calibre. Is 'The Bill' even on any more?  Either way, we were rubbish, and Harry's exasperated lamentations on how we didn't manage to win a game we were clearly so terrible in last week smacks of a man desperately trying to deflect attention from his rapidly fading allure, and recapturing his lustre of a month previous, when all and sundry had effectively clubbed together to make his 'Harry Redknapp- England Manager' gold plaque, and hang it on his Wembley office wall. I wonder how many 'We want you to staaaaaaaaaaaaay's we'll hear tomorrow?

Bolton then, and even the 'let's throw 11 footballers onto a pitch and hope they're better than the other lot' should work, like it did against Stevenage, purely because Bolton aren't very good at football. However, what would be even better, and just because I'm a fan of watching my team look like they've been dosed up with 'clue medicine', would be to see us set up with a plan of how we're going to go about winning. Even nicer would be to know that if Plan A doesn't work, that we'll have the wherewithal to try something other than wing switching and doing 'hoofs' up the line to their full backs. It's not exactly moon on a stick stuff, just a decent formation and properly instructed ball kickers.

Let's start doing football properly again.

You Know It’s A Special Kind Of Terrible When You Make Rosicky Look Like Ronaldo

Remember playing left? Good, get back there.

Dear oh dear, where to start with this shambles? It’s a game many of us, including yours truly, just couldn’t see us losing. Where was their threat going to come from? Aside from the Dutchman, what on earth could they possibly have to hurt us with? Walcott, Arteta and Rosicky? Is that it? I laugh in the face of your strongest midfield personnel mr frenchie, you think that lot can out-work and break through Parker and Sandro? Oh, Sandro isn’t playing? Oh well, he must be injured. He isn’t? Oh well there must be a bloody good reason why he’s not there though. Still, there’s enough in the middle to handle that. 4-4-2? Ooooh, is it the 70’s again already? How retro.

0-1-          Great start. Haha, look at Sneezy trying to get it! Look at his Rick Astley hair. He’s funny. Maybe 4-4-2 has a future?

0-2-          Christ, how has this happened? We’re getting over run and playing pretty poorly. Thank jiminy for Modders who’s doing everything. Oh well, that’s what good teams do isn’t it? 2 up away from home and playing far from vintage stuff. Shouldn’t that have been a red card? Meh, we’ll walk this anyway. Just wait ‘til we get going, this could be a memorable pasting. Emotionless celebrations. Getting the job done.

1-2-          Yeah, least they’ve deserved, really.

2-2-          Hard to argue with that. We’re probably a bit lucky it’s level to be honest.

HT Subs- Oh. Sandro. Why weren’t you on from the start? And Rafa, 4 in 3 against this lot, big game player, you’re fit too? OK, well this is a bit more like it, let's sweep that mess under the carpet and start again. That rocket they’ve had at half time and something approaching correct personnel should see us home now. Let’s just hope we haven’t lost all momentum and 15 minutes is enough to set this team up with proper instructions.

3-2-          Is that Ronaldo, here on loan in a red shirt? Oh no, it’s Tomas Rosicky, we just seem to have lost the ability to track runners or remember how to follow instructions. Anyone got any dosh to buy this lot a naffing clue for the rest of the game?  Sort it out, we’re better than this, and we’re better than this lot as well.

4-2-          Walcott? Seriously?

5-2 -     Walcott? Seriously?

Some other observations that I can’t be bothered to construct paragraphs out of. Gareth- stop reading your own press, get out on the left and stay there. Harry- relay those exact instructions to him, please, and take some of it on board yourself… about the press I mean, not playing out left. Oh, and NEVER play 4-4-2 EVER again. It’s outdated, prehistoric and simply embarrassing to think that you can pick your way through an albeit shoddy, but technical midfield 5. You’ve been brilliant for us, nobody could argue that, but your selections yesterday had us on the back foot from the start and cost us a routine victory. We went 2 up, you say? We lost by 3 because there was zero cohesion from start to finish in a game that we should have comfortably won.

A 13 point gap would have sent us into next week’s home dust up against United with a bit of swagger and knowing that the dropping of a couple or even all 3 points wouldn’t have been a disaster. As it is, tightened up and desperate for all 3, we could find ourselves with just a 4 point cushion as the wanderers and chelski have very winnable games. Let’s not let this derail or detract from what has been a fantastic season, and respond in a manner befitting the overall pattern of the campaign. They’ll only beat us if this one performance paves the way for an embarrassing collapse. Let’s not let that happen.

Ten Reasons Why Spurs Will Beat The Woolwich Wanderers on Sunday

1)      Better players.

2)      Better form.

3)      A greater sense of belief and purpose.

4)      It’s not like we’re playing someone with any sort of clue, like Stevenage. It’s the Woolwich Wanderers for gawd sake. Did you see them against AC Milan? The same team we betrayed our principles (Lol-sickles) to outplay and beat last year, so how bad must they be?

5)      We’ve got VASTLY more attractive players. Gareth has such a pleasant face and lovely hair, and has anyone seen Niko recently? Dreamboat! Sagna, Gervinho, Wilshere? Shipwreck. At least we’re spared Jack fat-tongue and his incessant lolling. I mean, honestly, what does it say of our quest for a greater quality of visual entertainment when we’re being force fed images of these orc’s? No wonder that frenchman’s depressed. I’d be pretty hacked off if I had to come into training every day to be faced by team after team of ugly, ugly, footballers. You can have Bentley back if you like. He’s not much of a player but his grooming regime is faultless.

6)      Any Wanderer you speak to has this down as a ‘save our season’, or at least ‘pivotal’. Hear that? It’s the sound of straws being frantically grasped.

7)      Their vocal support. They make a right din in that place, I tell you. Bloody deafening. Eboue, Arshavin and Chamakh can all testify to the noise they make. They’ll give you the booing of a lifetime and make no mistake. Where’s that booing coming from? Lego block Stand? That one with the heated seats and a clock? Upper tier? Lower? Oh man, it’s so loud, the boo’s are everywhere! But wait; is that the sound of some support breaking out?

No.

No, it isn’t.

Never.

8)      Our water bottle management is significantly more impressive. Day one at Spurs Lodge:

Item 1: Welcome to Spurs

Item 2: Always screw your caps back on to your water bottle, post-hydration, lest you look like a massive tit box should you ever need to throw it down in anger.

Item 3: NEVER mess with Sandro.

9)      We have Sandro. Even if he’s not fit, and even if we somehow manage to conjure up defeat, he’ll roundhouse kick the scoreboard into submission until it posts a huge Spurs victory. After it’s humiliating pummelling, the scoreboard will then cry electronic tears all over the crowd, and all the wanderers will drown in cyber water, while Sandro’s body hair woven life raft will safely float all Spursers home to beautiful, beautiful N17 (aka Eden). Either way, victory is certain.

SANDRO IS HARDER THAN EVERYONE

10)  While we’re discussing which of Europe’s finest will be joining our playing and management staff this summer, they’re running blogs on whether Francis Coquellin is an adequate replacement for Kieran Gibbs, and let’s not forget the hard-hitting PAT RICE: SPECS OR CONTACTS? YOU DECIDE.

      11) We’re much cleverer.

What a FA’Cup

Not really, no disaster at all, we came up against a bunch of determined men probably playing the most glamorous fixture of their careers. Besides, our reserves used to play there, a lot of Spurs support in the local area, let’s try and give them a break… not like, lay down, but, you know, just maybe not try a million percent at all times. Who said ‘fix’? Because I certainly didn’t. Jesus, you lot need to leave it out with your 9/11 style conspiracy theories and get real. This is Football, not… a… bloody… Bronx Tale.

Now we’ve well and truly dealt with any of those nagging doubts you’ve been having about the result, Harry isn’t usually a man to over think things, but he probably got it a bit wrong with that 5-3-2 stuff. The guy knows the FA Cup, and he knew that with a pitch fit for monster trucks, Somme re-enactments or rugby, that Stevenage would probably try to hit ‘em high and generally be a bit physically pesky. If our plan was to deal with this then I see the logic, but perhaps being 50-odd places higher in the league standings and playing some delicious stuff, we might want to have let them worry about we could do instead? Also, perhaps someone more learned than I can explain why that goal was chalked off? My understanding is that Parker would need to have influenced the outcome of that attack. Not sure that had he not been there for the ball to skim his backside, that the outcome of Saha’s effort would have been any different? Oh well, credit to them and I don’t begrudge them their money-spinning replay and subsequent drubbing in the return. Magic of the FA Cup? Form book goes out the window? This is their cup final? Battling performance? *gets clubbed to death by the cliché police*

Bolton in zu hausen dans le quatres (perfect European?) it is then, all things being equal. I’ll tell thee what, if we don’t get at least one Wembley trip this year then I’ll eat my hat. How long it's been; Tottenham and our favourite silvery mistress have been separated for far too long, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hopeful of a sweet, sweet reunion in May.

Pav’s Gone: Get Your Violins Out

Nicely done chaps. Most enjoyable in the majority, some fine goals and a tidy victory. Not so impressive was how we mentally disappeared down the tunnel after 80 minutes, and with a little less fortune, might have found ourselves at 3-2 with a fair amount of time to go, but that’s just a minor grumble. Anyone see that tackle from Leds in the first half? Wowzerooney. Also nice to hear the home support, for the first time in my memory, give a heart string tugger of a ‘There’s only one Harry Redknapp’. Harry duly responded by applauding back. I barely heard him utter ‘’stop staring at me’’.

So Pav’s gone. Minutes per goal are misleading in extremis. If minutes per goal were a clear indicator of ability, then Peter Crouch is England’s greatest striker in the post-war era, or at least very close to that accolade. The reality is that more often than not, Pav decided his concrete boots and ‘little trots to make it look like I’m trying’ were the way forward. He reminds me of a guy I met when I was a 15 year old on work experience, who told me to always carry a broom around site to make it look like you were working when you were actually doing the sum total of bu**er all. Why wasn’t he a success? Lack of ability and lack of opportunity? Not a bit of it. Not turning up to training and game day with a burning desire to make himself undropable? A bit closer to the truth, but don’t let your rose tinted ‘misunderstood forrin’ genius’ specs slide down and get in the way of that violin you’re playing ‘Pav’s Lament’ on. Thanks for the memories, Roman. When you decided to turn up, you were a joy, and the goals at Bolton, Young Boys, as well as at home to Liverpool, Fulham and Chelsea will be remembered fondly, and I wish you the best of luck in finding the spark-tak that will unleash that undoubted ability on a regular basis.

I might be in the minority, but Saha has a touch of the ‘Gudjohnson’s’ about him, and I for one welcome his arrival. Still got something to offer on a bit-part basis; mobile, a good finisher, but most importantly, another title winner around the Lodge and on the bench to keep everyone honest in the run in. Between them, Levy and ‘arry haven’t signed too many lemons, and I can’t see Saha being one either. Nelsen? Let’s hope he’s a more reliable back-up than Bass.

PROOF! That Harry Is Still Picking The Team

Just been emailed this little gem. Learlz.

Sky’s The Limit

Evil Sky

Wotcha. What to say about the Wolves game that hasn’t already been said?

Last year, Sunderland, West Brom, Everton and Wolves all came to our gaff for a point and, other than Wolves, they all got what they came for and we got 6/12 points from those 4 home games. This year, the same fixtures have now yielded 10/12.

Satisfied with a point at home to Wolves? Not really, but a recognition of our collective ability to overcome the boring brigades of this league this year is certainly due.

After being touted as Champions in waiting this time last week, only to be cleverly edited just 24 hours later on MOTD to show us wearing baggy trousers, clown shoes and red noses, (with big top music clearly being heard over the tannoy), we now travel to Sky Blue City in our familiar role of Sky fodder.

I went a bit mental after we lost 2-1 away at Chelsea towards the tail end of last season, claiming that neither of their goals should have stood (which is irrefutable), but that because Chelsea at the time were the only realistic challengers to Manure, having them lose or draw to us would have rendered the last few weeks of the title race a non-event, so them winning was certainly the most agreeable outcome. I agree, it is a bit mental, but the whole charade stunk of foul play and still raises an eyebrow when memories of that game flood back.

Anyway, a Spurs win on Sunday would probably suit all agenda’s (apart from City’s) in terms of making things more interesting, but realistically, the race for the title is one that most of the more pragmatic among us concede that we’re probably not quite in. Although it would sell a few more t-shirts if we were…

As for City, after being frankly terrified by their movement when they opened us up like a tin of old beans in August, they’re recent form has been less than impressive, losing at home for the first time in however long to a decidedly average Liverpiddle movement. Nasri, fizzing around our befuddled back line that day, has gone a little flat as journo’s strive to justify their wages by stirring debate about him not finding his best position. Dzeko too, has fallen somewhat from his goal scoring heroics of that afternoon and found the going a little tougher since.

Anyway, before I lose any further credibility (quiet at the back!), let’s put the mortgage on a 0-0 extravaganza of not-quite-knowing-what-to-do from either team. Rafa behind Defoe hasn’t yet worked, but it’ll be our only option in front of 2 banks of 4 I shouldn’t wonder. Rumours of Ledley having a chance would, as always, be a huge boost to whatever ambition we hold.

I’d Love ‘im At Spurs: The Adventures of Super Mario

In light of this marvellous little tale today from the BBC’s website of Manchester City’s undefinable Mario Balotelli turning up at a Manchester College to spend a penny, I received an email yesterday that chronicled some of the other things he’s been up to over his short, yet eventful career.

Mourinho couldn’t deal with his antics, and even ‘father figure’ Roberto Mancini often looks more incandescent than impressed at his enfant terrible. Like many a fan, when he first turned up, I thought he summed up everything that was wrong with the modern day Premier League player; Brash, arrogant, passionless and ambivalent towards any sort of team ethic. However, the more stories I read, like the one about him swapping back to his old Italy shirt at half time because he didn’t like the new one (a personal favourite), the more I’m beginning to begrudgingly admire the lad, and far from perpetuating a horrible stereotype of the loutish footballer, he’s becoming a bit of a breath of fresh air.

Perhaps I’d stop short of wishing him upon our dressing room; Assou-Ekotto owning an oyster card and getting his hair done down Tottenham High Road is about as eccentric as I can handle in this new age of squad harmony at The Lodge, but a player with Mario’s unique outlook on life would certainly mean that life would never be dull, and Twitter never silent.

So here they are. They may have been taken from somewhere else, but I’m too lazy to check, and you may have heard a few of them already. What’s your personal favourite?

· Survived a usually fatal disease at birth

· £10,000 in parking fines.

· Car has been impounded 27 times.

· £300,000 fine for throwing darts at the youth team.

· Won £25,000 in a casino, gave £1,000 to a tramp outside the casino.

· Threw tomatoes at a Serie A manager.

· Threw Water Balloons at a Serie A disciplinary hearing.

· Started a fight with 4 bouncers after breaking the “no touching” rule at a strip club.

· The “bib” saga.

· Had a £120,000 Audi imported, wrote it off within a week.

· Had his friend approach girls in a nightclub and say “Balotelli will see you now”

· Sent to the shops by his mother to buy essentials for the house, came back with a giant trampoline, a Vespa and a Scalectrix.

· Has started fights at training with Kompany, Boateng, Tevez and Richards.

· Was frequently seen at the AC Milan superstore while playing for Inter Milan.

· Went on TV wearing an AC Milan shirt with his name on the back while playing for Inter.

· Whilst playing for Italy under 21’s, he is fouled, he sits on the pitch for 3-4 minutes ignoring the opposition, his team mates and the referee.

· He is then offended when he gets sent off and protests about it.

· Winks at Ferdinand after FA cup semi final and celebrates in front of the United fans.

· After the cup final on live TV, he says “I have been s*** this season, am I allowed say s*** on TV?

· Was stopped by police going around his hometown of Hulme with £ 25,000 cash in the passenger seat. When asked why he replied “because I’m rich”

· Had to be physically hauled away by Zanetti for refusing to let Samuel Eto’o take a penalty that he had earned.

· Once broke up with a girlfriend via text whilst she was presenting a live show.

· Drove his car into a women’s prison because he wanted to “look around”

· Has connections with the Italian mafia, he has testified in court at a Mafia trial.

· Brought his Ipad on to the bench for Italy’s international against the Faroe Islands because he wanted to play games on it.

· Was seen in a Manchester shopping centre “hi-fiving” city fans the day after City had beaten United 6-1.

· Became the face of a firework safety campaign a few days after setting his house on fire from letting off fireworks indoors.

· Hands £50 notes to strangers when out shopping in Manchester.

· Chanted “Rooney, Rooney” at the prostitute who claimed to have slept with Wayne Rooney.

· Italy had just brought out a brand new home kit, at the start of the second half for their first match wearing the new kit, Balotelli came out in the old kit, claiming he didn’t like the new one. Nobody else had changed.

· Turned the landscaped back garden of his house into a Quad bike track

· Balotelli at it again...
apparently he pulled up in a petrol station and told everyone there to fill up because he was paying!

Well Hush My Mouth

Apologies go out to Lake Jivermore. Not wet or motionless at all, but shimmering, glimmering, grand and serene. Well played young man, you’ve just won my prestigious man of the match award. It’s in the post, although I couldn’t afford stamps, and don’t have a clue where you live.

Run close by Van der Vaart, who in the last 2 league games has been exemplary in his intelligence and space finding, and proving he’s got the hammys for a consistent run around. You too, Benny Sue; lovely pass that had Leighton Baines chasing his tail, and what a thwumper of a finish. That, along with denying any sort of attacking movement on his territory, made it a rather good evening for our favourite community support officer.

Title talk is being whispered within our small circles, while some two footed tackle in a far inferior game dominates the back pages. That’s the way we like it, and if there were ever a way of going quietly about a real tilt at the big one, then surely this must be it? Realistically, I’d still take 3^rd if you offered it now, but while our band wagon continues to defy gravity and roll uphill, caution is being flung from the sides with reckless abandon, and calls of ‘can you imagine if we ACTUALLY did it?’ Not too loudly though, you’ll have to listen carefully.

Wolves are the next head on our chopping block, and despite us being a little short in a couple of departments, surely the biggest danger of blunting our axe will come from complacency within, rather than a footballing undoing at the hands of Mick’s grafters. I just hope Harry tells them that you get just as many points for beating Wolves at home as City away. Mind you, it is ruddy tempting to look forward to facing a Kompany and Toure’s-less City, with a, hopefully, fully recovered Captain Combover in our ranks. Just a shame Adebayor isn’t allowed to play…

…Yes, Wolves. Let’s beat them. Don’t get ahead of yourselves Spurs. We’ll do that for you.