Intergalactic, Another Dimension

imagesAfternoon, campers. I dare say this is what we’ve all been waiting for. A fixture in our diaries so teeming with glamour and potential fireworks it’s got a page all of its own with the important details underlined in gold pen. October 20th. Tottenham go to the San Siro. Inter Milan. If we wanted big cheese- then by thunder have we got it. When Peter Crouch uncoiled his rather long, glorious spine at Eastlands five months ago- to nod home that crucial winner and set this whole shebang rolling- it was with cautious optimism that we looked ahead to nights such as these. One hurdle was cleared, but the thought of seeing our chaps rumble with the continent’s finest still appeared as a small dot on the horizon. Closer certainly, but still plenty left to do.

But now here we are. A few hours from watching Gareth Bale- some left-back turned left-winger poached from Southampton with an erstwhile fondness for ending up on the wrong side of a score-line- up against one of the world’s finest right-backs in Maicon. With every chance of having him churned into a paste and spread on toast. Tom Huddlestone. That fat lad from Derby, right? Sweet right-foot but lazier than a La-Z-Boy 3000 with a beer fridge in each armrest? Well he’s mixing it with the Wesley Sneijder and Thiago Motta. Bassong? A salvo job from the train-wreck on Tyneside? It’s his thankless task to keep tabs on Samuel Eto’o. Sure enough our heroes have come a long way. From Sherwood Forest to Giuseppe Meazza.

The biggest dents in our team-sheet are all too clear. With Van der Vaart suspended and King’s piqued groin, there’re sizeable cavities. Ones that are not easily plugged with bits of chewing gum and crossed fingers. Put simply, we’re a different proposition without them. King would’ve been massive. I’m sure he’s miffed as anyone that he wasn’t able to add Eto’o to the list of renowned hitmen he’s had stockpiled in his back pocket over the years. There’s always the second leg. Same goes for VdV. If he had to miss a game while trying to wrestle the weight of genius of sheer madness, the one which we’re expected to get little from would be the one you’d choose. I think we’ll do ‘em at the Lane, you see.

Right, deep breath, swig of Holsten, watch this and try to get your head around the fact that we’re playing Inter Milan in the Champions League. I’ll take 2-2 with Robbie Keane playing some part in it. COYS!

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