Us? Idiots? That’s Unpossible

Morning all. How about that final day, then? It wasn’t enough that the season closer was an outright molestation of the senses for those immersed in all the grisly stuff; they had to try and involve the rest of us, too. Even if, for the average sit-at-home hero, it was just an exercise in making sure the part of our brain usually reserved for processing basic arithmetic, hadn’t leaked out of our ears the night before in a syrupy gunk. Who’s up, who’s down? I haven’t a bloody clue, was the answer.

For little old Tottenham it was the luxury of top billing, courtesy of the good folk at Sky Televisuals. Sadly, though, our role was merely a spoiling cameo in the great tragedy that was the relegation of Birmingham City Football Club. Bringers of doom and misery, it said on the script, scribbled next to our names in Biro.

I have to say any sympathy I had for McLeish’s lot went out the window when they started diving like the Spanish. There’s no telling the lengths one would go to in such circumstances- after all, the stakes don’t get much higher than Survival Sunday™- but I’d imagine most supporters would’ve winced at the sight of Matt Derbyshire throwing himself around like a berk. You could almost here the embarrassed shuffling of feet in the commentary box as Alan Smith declared that that was something he definitely didn’t like to see. Not one bit.

What I liked seeing was Pavlyuchenko replace Peter Crouch and score two bonafide humdingers. It was almost like a cut-out-and-keep-how-to-guide for the exiting England striker as to what he should’ve been doing in the time he was allotted. Like this, Peter. Like this. By my count that’s ten league (or is it nine?) goals for Roman this term, compared to Defoe and Crouch’s haul of ‘not many’. And he’s the one we’re looking to sell.

Mercy.

‘This is as good as it’s going to get’ said our loose-tongued leader after the game. Oh crumbs, really? In some ways I know what he’s getting at, even if, written down, it sounds like the hopelessly dismal reasoning of a man who might well keep a loaded gun in his desk drawer. Things have been a heck of a lot worse than this. I’m sure you don’t need me to dip into the archives to prove it. Fifth place and a Champions League quarter-final hardly smell like fruits of a rotten campaign. Regardless, it does seem an odd routine to make plonkers of those disappointed that we couldn’t finish in the box seats this time out- particularly when it was Redknapp himself who’d painted the tide markings so much higher than usual. He was talking of winning the whole bleedin’ lot in November. And the Champions League, he was asked in January? Sure, we’ll have some of that, too.

But, no, you’re right. Expecting anything higher than fifth is just greedy. Not to mention stupid. You big stupid dummies. Duuuuuuh!

Okay I’m done.

End of season awards and whatnot to follow soon.

Peace be with you.