A shambolic draw against yet another mediocre shower of journeymen, who we managed to make look like the 1978 world cup winners, Argentina. I’m sick to death of watching Pochettino football, and yet it feels only recently that the Spurs bit if the Internet was infested with know-it-alls demanding that I and others, ‘enjoy the ride!‘.
I did my bit, I de-platformed the Levyologist freaks on here, and kept an unerringly straight bat on the avaricious lunacy of ENIC.
The irony of course, is that I was portrayed as a monster, yet if one looks about these days, it’s tough to find anyone that isn’t saying precisely what I have been saying for several years.
There’s no pleasure in this, rather a sense of exhaustion one might get after endlessly telling a child to wash their hands after using the bathroom, then discovering they’ve contracted some awful adenovirus.
One does not build a lavish Formula 1 garage, then start wondering how one can find something genuinely worth parking in it. That’s utterly stupid.
But then Levy is the vanity publisher of all time. The Daniel Levy suite at the Shopping Center is actually a thing. It was a neat extension of the scorched earth policy applied to our heritage.
Never have we had a preseason worth a damn, because the club are too busy drumming up business in ‘lucrative overseas markets’; players have been mostly not bought at all, or bought against the manager’s will, or more recently, bought with interminable illnesses.
The toxicity at Spurs has reached a highpoint, which by Levy’s standards is no mean feat. Mauricio looks like he needs counselling and our first team squad could benefit from never setting sight on each other, ever again.
Tottenham have been rubbish on numerous occasions, well before we arrived here – but this is distinctly different – because this squad is jammed with players who used to be good for us.
The future is not bright. It’s as if after over a decade of prodigious management, Levy lost his mind.
One dark, stormy night, a stark realization washed over him. That on his watch Tottenham would ever be a conventional silverware winning side.
But there was a way out, a way of still making millions. “I’ll knock this down, and build and NFL stadium in the middle of a shopping centre!”
There is no cavalry coming. We cannot be sold. The business is leveraged to a point whereby only foetus could buy THFC and ever hope to get a return in their lifetime.
This is the ‘Leeds’ you warned us about.
Spurs play some Triple Letter Word Score outfit in the Champions League on Tuesday, followed on the Sunday by a merry jaunt up to Merseyside to get stuffed like a supermarket economy chicken by Herr Klopp, ze German butcher.