jimtheyid
T'riffic
- Apr 16, 2005
- 13,497
- 7,235
Good Evening,
Please forgive my writing style. I am aware it can be a bit pompous. But it is mine, and if I try to change it my thoughts will not flow freely. I used to write a lot in my younger days but not so much now. I would like to get back into it so any constructive criticism is welcome. Just don’t touch the face.
The time is 5.20pm on Friday 1st April 2010. I was minding my own business at work, about to finish my shift when my phone rings. Withheld number. Now this usually means bad news. Withheld numbers mean that my days off are cancelled. Withheld numbers are the devil. I think to myself “Fuck it” and press the Green button. “Can you book a flight” are the words I hear. “errr what?” I reply, somewhat confused. “I have got you a ticket for the game, get a flight to Madrid, and I will meet you there” The journey began.
Elated was not the word. Me and Tottenham Hotspur, at the Burnebeu. On the same day. In a champions League quarter final. To borrow an overused cliché “It was the stuff dreams were made of“. Now, although the mighty Spurs were my one true love I always had a soft spot for Real Madrid. I grew up idolising the first “Galacticos” and now I was going to get to see “The Galacticos Part II” It was two lifelong ambitions fulfilled. See Real at the Burnebeu but first and foremost, to travel away with Spurs in Europe.
So fast forward to Monday Morning. 4.15am and I am waiting at Finsbury Park station for the first tube of the day to Heathrow. Poor Planning really, seeing as the first tube of the day is not until 5.31. But bleary eyed I took a smug sense of satisfaction as I stood outside the Arsenal shop in my replica shirt and Spurs scarf (I have owned it since I was seven!) whilst locals glared at me. Anyway, a few hours later I was on queuing for my flight… To Frankfurt.
For some reason, I assumed that there would be loads of Spurs fans on this flight. Hence the replica shirt and scarf. There was not. Just me. I felt a bit of a tit to be honest. A business man in a mullet and a West Ham United tie pin said “Bit out of your fucking way mate, Madrid is in Spain” I replied “Shouldn’t you be working out how to get to Carrow Road as a opposed to the Bernebeu?” He looked at me blankly. Well I thought it was funny. So I shrugged and got on the plane. As we came into land at Frankfurt Airport we flew over Eintracht’s ground. To my right I saw the cube screen that Robbo hit during the 2006 World Cup. I smiled and looked around hoping to point my discovery out to fellow Spurs fans….. Forever alone
At Frankfurt airport I found a few Spurs fans. Unfortunately they were all German, and I had not a clue what they were saying. Still they seemed pleasant enough. And I finally got to use some of my broken GCSE German. “Ein Grosses bier bitte” After what seemed an eternity, I arrived in Madrid. I negotiated the Metro whilst assuming every human was trying to pickpocket me. Trust no one. Everyone is a criminal mastermind and I am a dumb tourist on my own. I made my way to Plaza Mayor and found nobody. This is not what away ties in Europe are supposed to be like. At about 10pm and knackered I made my way back to the hotel. I wandered around and got hopelessly lost. I eventually found a metro station called Atocha, which was miles away from where I needed to be. Needless to say, eventually I got back, had a Domino’s pizza with a whiskey chaser and went to bed.
I arrived in Plaza Mayor early doors on match day, and the place was transformed. Thousands of White Hart Lane faithful. A fantastic rendition of “oh when the spurs” Was accompanied by a local trumpeteer. Who immediately demanded money from anyone in a spurs shirt within a twenty mile radius. My personal highlight was the school kids who approached and started talking to one of the Spurs fans. Cue everybody else singing “Are you Wenger in disguise?” The poor chaps face was redder than that of the laughing cows. Still it amused me and a few other hundred yiddos.
At around 3pm my old man and associates turned up. Finally I had somebody to talk to. It was slightly embarrassing that my dad had decided to wear a white suit jacket and appeared to be doing his best impression of the man from Del Monte. After some top class Tapas (I had the Octopus :hump: ) we made our way to Santiago Bernebeu. Emerging from the Metro I was in awe. What a sight. It was appeared huge. You could tell the Spurs fans as they were all walking with their heads tilted 45 degrees up and mouths open wide. I walked around to where the Ultra’s were gathered. The noise was absolutely incredible. I have no idea what they were singing. But it sounded great. I made my way to tower D and was relieved to see escalators to the top tier. After purchasing some “Real Madrid” crisps I took my seat. Walking out onto the gangway I felt s tinge of excitement slightly south of my belt buckle.
So the stadium filled and the atmosphere was electric. The spurs fans in fantastic voice. A particularly spine tingling rendition of “Can’t smile without you” will live long in the memory. The atmosphere, and the whole experience was tempered somewhat by the constant bickering between our own fans over seating arrangements. A gent in front of me spat. Yes SPAT. In another fans face during one such heated exchange. Naturally I was disgusted. The victim had done nothing than stand his ground. The gent then attacked the victim throwing punches. Luckily none truly connected. My old man and I pulled him away whilst many others looked on either ignoring it or doing nothing. I was sickened at some of the behaviour I witnessed. Sickened and ashamed.
However. I was not going to let a certain class of fan ruin this, the biggest night of my Spurs supporting life. As the teams lined up and the Champions League anthem belted out, I am not ashamed to say my eyes welled up. As described earlier, this was two ambitions of a lifetime fulfilled. I had just one nagging thought. “Where the f**k is Azza?!”
I won’t go into too much detail about the match. We have all seen it and this post is already far too long. What I will say is the players left on the field ran themselves into the ground. (with maybe one or two exceptions.) Nothing was left on that pitch. I didn’t necessarily agree with the tactics implemented. Or the changes made but I cannot fault the effort. We lived with them for 45 minutes. Had we eleven men we would have given them a hell of game.
What I did take exception to is the fact that at the end of the game a certain Mr Redknapp walked straight down the tunnel. As did most of the players. Honourable mention goes to Mr Dawson (who threw himself in front of everything by the way) , Gareth Bale and Jermaine Jenas. Yes the much maligned Jenas. He may have not used the ball brilliantly. But he ran and ran and ran. And at the end of the game when he was clearly shattered, he had the presence of mind to along with Daws abd Bale approach the fans and thank us. The same cannot be said for the rest of the team. Although I have slightly calmed down now, I was livid at the time. Especially as we had just been humped.
So after a few more skirmishes between embarrassment for fans we mad our way back to “Sol” for some “We are going to win 5-4 Pealla!” The taste of tears, and seafood was beautiful.. After a few too many beers I said my goodbyes to the old man et al and made my way back to the hotel. I was then up an hour later to make my way to Madrid airport. The journey back was via Geneva, where I somehow managed to pay a tenner for a ham sandwich. And it tasted like feet.
As we approached London it was a clear day and I could see what I thought was going to be our future home. As the plane banked I could see our current home. And then Wembley. I felt a tinge of sadness as the slow realisation that we probably won’t play there this year. I then got thinking about where we are going and how we are going about it. It’s a good time to be a Spurs fan. Ignore the bile in Spurs Chat after a poor result. Harry out? We just played the most successful, romantacised team in the world. IN the quarter final of the most revered competition in the world. And in true spurs way, even our failure had an echo of glory in it. As with Lasagna gate. The pattern of events that unfolded could only happen to Spurs. I wouldn’t be A Spurs fan if I didn’t bask in our glorious failure. As I got of the plane I sang to myself “my eyes have seen the glory of the cups at white Hart lane ” A fellow fan patted me on the back and said “it could be worse mate, we could be West Ham”
Please forgive my writing style. I am aware it can be a bit pompous. But it is mine, and if I try to change it my thoughts will not flow freely. I used to write a lot in my younger days but not so much now. I would like to get back into it so any constructive criticism is welcome. Just don’t touch the face.
The time is 5.20pm on Friday 1st April 2010. I was minding my own business at work, about to finish my shift when my phone rings. Withheld number. Now this usually means bad news. Withheld numbers mean that my days off are cancelled. Withheld numbers are the devil. I think to myself “Fuck it” and press the Green button. “Can you book a flight” are the words I hear. “errr what?” I reply, somewhat confused. “I have got you a ticket for the game, get a flight to Madrid, and I will meet you there” The journey began.
Elated was not the word. Me and Tottenham Hotspur, at the Burnebeu. On the same day. In a champions League quarter final. To borrow an overused cliché “It was the stuff dreams were made of“. Now, although the mighty Spurs were my one true love I always had a soft spot for Real Madrid. I grew up idolising the first “Galacticos” and now I was going to get to see “The Galacticos Part II” It was two lifelong ambitions fulfilled. See Real at the Burnebeu but first and foremost, to travel away with Spurs in Europe.
So fast forward to Monday Morning. 4.15am and I am waiting at Finsbury Park station for the first tube of the day to Heathrow. Poor Planning really, seeing as the first tube of the day is not until 5.31. But bleary eyed I took a smug sense of satisfaction as I stood outside the Arsenal shop in my replica shirt and Spurs scarf (I have owned it since I was seven!) whilst locals glared at me. Anyway, a few hours later I was on queuing for my flight… To Frankfurt.
For some reason, I assumed that there would be loads of Spurs fans on this flight. Hence the replica shirt and scarf. There was not. Just me. I felt a bit of a tit to be honest. A business man in a mullet and a West Ham United tie pin said “Bit out of your fucking way mate, Madrid is in Spain” I replied “Shouldn’t you be working out how to get to Carrow Road as a opposed to the Bernebeu?” He looked at me blankly. Well I thought it was funny. So I shrugged and got on the plane. As we came into land at Frankfurt Airport we flew over Eintracht’s ground. To my right I saw the cube screen that Robbo hit during the 2006 World Cup. I smiled and looked around hoping to point my discovery out to fellow Spurs fans….. Forever alone
At Frankfurt airport I found a few Spurs fans. Unfortunately they were all German, and I had not a clue what they were saying. Still they seemed pleasant enough. And I finally got to use some of my broken GCSE German. “Ein Grosses bier bitte” After what seemed an eternity, I arrived in Madrid. I negotiated the Metro whilst assuming every human was trying to pickpocket me. Trust no one. Everyone is a criminal mastermind and I am a dumb tourist on my own. I made my way to Plaza Mayor and found nobody. This is not what away ties in Europe are supposed to be like. At about 10pm and knackered I made my way back to the hotel. I wandered around and got hopelessly lost. I eventually found a metro station called Atocha, which was miles away from where I needed to be. Needless to say, eventually I got back, had a Domino’s pizza with a whiskey chaser and went to bed.
I arrived in Plaza Mayor early doors on match day, and the place was transformed. Thousands of White Hart Lane faithful. A fantastic rendition of “oh when the spurs” Was accompanied by a local trumpeteer. Who immediately demanded money from anyone in a spurs shirt within a twenty mile radius. My personal highlight was the school kids who approached and started talking to one of the Spurs fans. Cue everybody else singing “Are you Wenger in disguise?” The poor chaps face was redder than that of the laughing cows. Still it amused me and a few other hundred yiddos.
At around 3pm my old man and associates turned up. Finally I had somebody to talk to. It was slightly embarrassing that my dad had decided to wear a white suit jacket and appeared to be doing his best impression of the man from Del Monte. After some top class Tapas (I had the Octopus :hump: ) we made our way to Santiago Bernebeu. Emerging from the Metro I was in awe. What a sight. It was appeared huge. You could tell the Spurs fans as they were all walking with their heads tilted 45 degrees up and mouths open wide. I walked around to where the Ultra’s were gathered. The noise was absolutely incredible. I have no idea what they were singing. But it sounded great. I made my way to tower D and was relieved to see escalators to the top tier. After purchasing some “Real Madrid” crisps I took my seat. Walking out onto the gangway I felt s tinge of excitement slightly south of my belt buckle.
So the stadium filled and the atmosphere was electric. The spurs fans in fantastic voice. A particularly spine tingling rendition of “Can’t smile without you” will live long in the memory. The atmosphere, and the whole experience was tempered somewhat by the constant bickering between our own fans over seating arrangements. A gent in front of me spat. Yes SPAT. In another fans face during one such heated exchange. Naturally I was disgusted. The victim had done nothing than stand his ground. The gent then attacked the victim throwing punches. Luckily none truly connected. My old man and I pulled him away whilst many others looked on either ignoring it or doing nothing. I was sickened at some of the behaviour I witnessed. Sickened and ashamed.
However. I was not going to let a certain class of fan ruin this, the biggest night of my Spurs supporting life. As the teams lined up and the Champions League anthem belted out, I am not ashamed to say my eyes welled up. As described earlier, this was two ambitions of a lifetime fulfilled. I had just one nagging thought. “Where the f**k is Azza?!”
I won’t go into too much detail about the match. We have all seen it and this post is already far too long. What I will say is the players left on the field ran themselves into the ground. (with maybe one or two exceptions.) Nothing was left on that pitch. I didn’t necessarily agree with the tactics implemented. Or the changes made but I cannot fault the effort. We lived with them for 45 minutes. Had we eleven men we would have given them a hell of game.
What I did take exception to is the fact that at the end of the game a certain Mr Redknapp walked straight down the tunnel. As did most of the players. Honourable mention goes to Mr Dawson (who threw himself in front of everything by the way) , Gareth Bale and Jermaine Jenas. Yes the much maligned Jenas. He may have not used the ball brilliantly. But he ran and ran and ran. And at the end of the game when he was clearly shattered, he had the presence of mind to along with Daws abd Bale approach the fans and thank us. The same cannot be said for the rest of the team. Although I have slightly calmed down now, I was livid at the time. Especially as we had just been humped.
So after a few more skirmishes between embarrassment for fans we mad our way back to “Sol” for some “We are going to win 5-4 Pealla!” The taste of tears, and seafood was beautiful.. After a few too many beers I said my goodbyes to the old man et al and made my way back to the hotel. I was then up an hour later to make my way to Madrid airport. The journey back was via Geneva, where I somehow managed to pay a tenner for a ham sandwich. And it tasted like feet.
As we approached London it was a clear day and I could see what I thought was going to be our future home. As the plane banked I could see our current home. And then Wembley. I felt a tinge of sadness as the slow realisation that we probably won’t play there this year. I then got thinking about where we are going and how we are going about it. It’s a good time to be a Spurs fan. Ignore the bile in Spurs Chat after a poor result. Harry out? We just played the most successful, romantacised team in the world. IN the quarter final of the most revered competition in the world. And in true spurs way, even our failure had an echo of glory in it. As with Lasagna gate. The pattern of events that unfolded could only happen to Spurs. I wouldn’t be A Spurs fan if I didn’t bask in our glorious failure. As I got of the plane I sang to myself “my eyes have seen the glory of the cups at white Hart lane ” A fellow fan patted me on the back and said “it could be worse mate, we could be West Ham”
