Blue-ish Monday
Monday, Monday…
This international break has left me feeling like one of those hapless Rogue Traders victims who’re coaxed into getting their driveway asphalted despite having never once expressed a desire to do so. Or even admitted to owning a car. We’ll have it looking good as new, sir. Nothing to worry about. Only, it doesn’t look as good as new. And there is something to worry about. They’ve collapsed one side of the house and the dog’s been immortalized in six inches of flaky tarmac. Look, I can see one of his legs. I didn’t sign up for this.
Not content in putting an ugly great wedge in our fixture list for a bloody fortnight, the Euro interlude has gone one better and dropped Michael Dawson back on the doorstep all brokered up. A nasty fall on Friday- which most onlookers assumed either a severely turned ankle or, praise Jeebus no, a cruciate twang- will see our man on the sidelines for anything up to eight weeks. Depending on which source you’re partial to. I’m a horseradish man myself. Either way, it’s a huge loss. Mega huge.
Defoe did his upmost to lighten the mood for us Hotspur lot with an exquisite little treble spread over the ninety- taking the match ball and a short-lived limp home with him to prove it. Historic in its own, unassuming way as it pushes us above United in the list of all-time scorers for England; as well as the goals themselves being the first competitive triplet for a Spurs man in three lions attire since time began. Greaves, Lineker, Sheringham. Neither could manage the fete while decked in Lily-white. Defoe has that one all to himself.
Elsewhere, Alan Hutton has asked for his retail price to be dropped so he can scarper during the January sales. I’ve plenty to prove, he told reporters yesterday. Although his eyes seemed to say something quite different: There’ll be nair goin’ back to fecking Schotland, if that’s what you’re thinking…
I guess we’ll find out, Alan.
Alan?
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