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.