Can six words more suitably, stressfully sum up just how close Spurs are to guaranteeing a place in next season's Uefa Cup at least, thanks to the need for four-out-of-four Bolton wins, three-out-of-three Tottenham defeats and the kind of goal-difference upheaval not seen since Perry Suckling was "guarding" between the sticks for Crystal Palace...?...
... and yet, and yet, those selfsame six words can somehow still contain within them all the power and potential for the most Tottenhamesque acts of oh-so-destined hari-kiri...?
I feel sick.
No, wait - I can all-too-readily envisage an even more galling outcome. But we won't go there just yet. It is only still-four-days-til-the-derby Tuesday, after all.
Come on you Villa...(real), of course....
I've decided to watch the semi-final first leg in the Porterhouse, more for the chilled beers than the previous experience of a shoddy covers band sprawling their insipidness across the TV football action...
Yet if musicians do turn up, and start hollering out themed renditions of tracks by the Scum-supporting likes of Dido, Spandau Ballet and Rachel Stevens, I shall be collecting my coat and leaving for home swifter than a Sol Campbell...
0 comments:
Post a Comment