I saw that Roberto Mancini geezer on the telly this morning. There was a clip of him at least, there he was, giving it his up-most; playing it cool, giving it that whole continental touch. ‘It’s a big game, not war…’ So the deceit begins.
Oh that the thought bubble on the snap above were true. The reality is that this guy, whilst on a short term deal at Eastlands, he will be showered in diamonds, rubies, emeralds and Wispa Gold bars if he can put the Bluemoon Boys into Europe proper.
This game is large. Sod City, a win for us is the last nail in the coffin for all potential Spurs shirt sponsors for next season. Suddenly any mutterings of , ‘You’ll never see the likes of that Mansion Money again, Daniel…’ will be dwarfed by Levy & Co sliding a Champions League fixture list across the table. God help the poor bastards wanting to ‘Insert [their] Name Here’ on our new fruit bowl.
I became a bit of Eurosceptic. Having sat through some bloody awful UEFA games last time around the ‘magic of it all’ was as about as alluring as the Great Soprendo in his Speedos. But Champions League is different gravy. And we are a much different proposition than we were then in so many ways. Sur, there’s still much to be done, but we certainly have the bones of a great team here. And crucially one that wouldn’t embarrass itself at that level.
Can we do it? Absolutely.