Nearly 12 months, 36 Premier League games and a 25 goal haul of Gareth Bale-fired goals later, and for all the fluctuating of players and management, it seems nothing has really changed at Tottenham Hotspur.
The catering at our immortal cathedral still tastes like something Mike Tyson spat out circa 1995. The old git who used to flog shit computers and now flogs an even shitter television programme is still chatting absolute tripe about our football club. And, ah yes that’s it: we’re still unable to get the top four job done.
Groundhog day comes in all shapes and sizes, but like the worst nightmare that slowly turns into a haunting reality, this season has morphed into something resembling Groundhog year. With two games to go, for the second consecutive season, our fate regarding Champions League qualification hangs on a nasty, Arsenal shaped thread.
Now isn’t the time for post-mortems – after a season in which every performance seems to have been forensically examined like never before, the season review can wait till the end of the month. For now, we still have our half of the job left to do.
But for those feeling somewhat disillusioned about the excruciating prospect of recent history repeating itself, should it do so, there is a small chance that we might all get the happy ending generally assumed to have withered up and died in some decrepit corner of West London on Wednesday.
Take your minds back to last season.
With two games remaining, we went into the Premier League’s climax just the singular point behind the Arse, but with out fate ultimately out of our hands. With Arsene Wenger’s men playing host to an overachieving, yet ultimately limited Norwich City side at home, the writing so to speak, was on the wall.
Yet while the causes of last season’s demise are still quarreled between us nearly ten months after Harry Redknapp was canned, it seems remarkable to think how little prominence the fact we went into those last two games with our destiny in our own laps has been given– the Arse bottled it, drew 3-3 with the Canaries and set us up with what was supposed to be a crowning meeting with Aston Villa.
You know where this is going.
No one has qualified for anything or bottled any league campaign until 5.45 on the 19th of this month and while this may seem like clutching at straws, the same applies to our season, too. We can’t sit around crying, praying to the Gods that the gentlemen in red down the road have an absolute Weston. But what we can do is keep up our side of the deal and win our two last remaining games – something we failed dismally to do last term.
Sadly for us, you can’t evade the feeling that the wheels seem to have come off at exactly the wrong time for us this season and after our 12 game unbeaten run in the league came to the end, we simply haven’t looked the same side.
But performances simply don’t matter anymore. It’s time to grind, fight, kick and do whatever it takes to steal six points from the games against Stoke City and Sunderland. Let’s not kid ourselves here; it ain’t gonna be nice and it must certainly ain’t gonna be pretty.
For such a disgustingly pessimistic bunch of supporters, it seems the further we get backed into the corner, the more hope seems to spring eternal. Although it’s not over yet and for however slim a chance we may maintain of finishing in the top four, a chance it remains all the same.
Six points. Let’s do this.