Jolsch

Anyone who knows me will attest to my liking for a drop of the brew. You can't drink it till it's ready? Fuck that, my old son! Many's the time and oft that I have pillaged a home brew bucket. Vile. Force it down.

But that's beside the point right now, talking, as we are, of Tottenham Hotspur. I can only say that I am very grateful (not to mention stunned) that Spurs have managed to upstage City with their boardroom shenanigans this season. A couple of my friends are afflicted with the Spurs, and I do feel for them. I'm not sure what I feel, but I do feel. Really.

I have a long-standing superstition of not contacting anyone during a game in which either City, or one of the teams supported by friends, are involved. I believe that there is a karmic force at work which detects any attempts at bravura or schadenfreude and punishes accordingly. So, even if City are 4 up with 3 minutes to go, I refrain from sending crowing texts, and similarly, if we are 3 down with 4 minutes to go, I don't expect any of my friends to send me 'amusing' messages either. Most people respect this, with the notable and obvious exception of the Rags (I love the Persil ad about halfway down the page) who unfortunately move among us. Last night though, amazed at what was going on at the Lane, I sent a WTF? text to one of my Spurs mates. His reply? 'Not during the game.'

I felt terrible that I had broken the taboo, even though I don't think he is aware of this particular foible of mine, but he actually meant don't sack the manager during the game!

So anyway, the soap opera reaches the end of one plot and we move on to the next. Surely Daniel Levy must feel like a right twat this morning. I mean, how badly can one handle a situation? Even in the mad mad mad mad world of football, there is only one word for this farce. And that word is: dizzying.