Seven minutes of mind-blowing pleasure

Even Mila Kunis would struggle to provide seven minutes of such mind-blowing pleasure. Spurs’ late, three-goal salvo against Champions Manchester City touched the realms of fantasy and provided the best happy ending available on a Sunday afternoon in North London.

This was one of those rare, great days for Spurs fans to savour. A past experience of pain only serves to heighten the joy and purity of the moment. If you truly love a team, as most of us do, it often feels like a harsh and unrequited love. Those listless 0-1 home defeats to mid-table non-entities and dogged relegation battlers feel so personal. The funeral atmosphere and farcical refereeing decisions (no Spurs penalty at home for TWO years) add a further, bitter taste to the stew.

But perhaps you need to experience the many faces of football crapulence to truly appreciate Spurs hanging out the back of the Premier League champions after banging in three goals within seven breathless minutes and showing there is life in this North London dog yet.

In the first half, Spurs were often outplayed but worked tirelessly to deny City’s billionaire-fuelled plaything. After a bright opening few minutes, Spurs were suddenly behind after Benoit Assou-Ekotto was caught in no man’s land and grim-faced northerner James Milner teed up Mr. Personality Samir Nasri to slot inside the post despite the despairing dive of Kyle Walker.

The buccaneering right-back had one of his better games and was a rare Spurs player to test England keeper Joe Hart in a first half where the home side did well just to hang in there. This was largely due to the alert, cat-like presence of Hugo Lloris who thwarted the dangerous Edin Dzeko and pulled off an impossible close range save from a point blank Carlos Tevez header. On such moments, games are lost and won. The lion-like Jan Vertonghen was also immense in defence, shrugging off a blood injury to lead an overworked backline. City, at this point, looked the best side to play at White Hart Lane this season, but a one goal lead is always fragile no matter how good the team.

Spurs emerged with renewed purpose in the second half. Previously confident, City suddenly sought to waste time through Hart. There is a touch of the Paul Robinsons about England’s current keeper – cracks in his confidence and ability are appearing and these days he carries a vague air of vulnerability. Could Spurs take advantage of his skittish behaviour?

The introduction of the waspish Lewis Holtby and an on-point Tom Huddlestone flipped the game on its head. The German was everywhere; defending, probing, battling and seeking the opening whereas a resurgent Huddlestone showed his full repertoire of passing and adeptly spread the game, taking full advantage of the tiring legs of City.

Suddenly, the game opened up like a drunk girl at Faces. One could sense a goal coming. The removal of lone striker Emmanuel Adebayor initially seemed unambitious by AVB, but a ‘like-for-like’ swap with Defoe paid rich dividends. The Portuguese clearly felt Clint Dempsey had the nous and positional sense to score a predatory equalizer and how right he was to retain the hard-working US international on the field of play.

Bale deliciously threaded a pinpoint, outside of the boot cross through the flatfooted City defence and Dempsey swept the ball into the net at the far post to evoke memories of his equalizer against Manchester’s other team. All hell broke loose in the stands. The home crowd (which had refreshingly backed the team throughout a losing cause) suddenly switched hope for belief.

Spurs came again. The dynamic Holtby picked up the ball and released Jermain Defoe in that position he loves best, running at the final man before cutting in on his right foot. His touch mugged Vincent Kompany before JD unleashed a powerful, dipping missile that Kim Jong-Un would have been proud to launch.

The foundations of White Hart Lane almost shook with delight. Yet more joy was to come. The excellent Huddlestone’s threaded pass released a rampaging Bale who eased past the City defence before clipping the ball over the despairing Hart. The Paxton End went absolutely mental. Children and pensioners were flying through the air. The stands were in dreamland. Our Champions League aspirations may not be fantasy after all.

* Just before the unexpected, avalanche of goals, a strange thing happened. Something whizzed through the crowd in my direction. On first view, it appeared like a tiny flying rat but it was actually three bees copulating in mid-air. With Floyd Mayweather like reflexes (cough), I dipped to avoid the bizarre insect ménage-a-trois, yet within minutes the three bees’ ecstasy was replicated on those faces around me. Pleasure was truly in the air.

** On the way back home, I was accidentally given four Stella pint cans for free courtesy of a major supermarket chain. It was one of those days.