Enjoyment: the state or process of taking pleasure in something

Things are going relatively well in the league, we’re in one cup final and into the knockouts in Europe, have ‘one of our own’ bagging 20 goals by the end of January, Christian Eriksen flourishing into one of the finest attacking players in the country and 3 other youth team products working to cement their places in the starting eleven. Oh and Hugo, lovely Hugo. By any standards in our recent history, that’s a more than decent season. Compared to what was a miserable 13/14 season, all slips, capitulations and sour faces, these really should be heady days.

Yet a thick skin of negativity seems to remain for some. Whether it’s complaining about a lack of signings, our current players (or, in one notable former full-back’s case, current non-players) or the club’s ownership. Even while we’re winning. Even once we’ve won.

Maybe the cobwebs still linger from last season. Maybe it’s been waving Gareth and Luka off to sunny Spain. Maybe it’s a defence mechanism; even a stopped clock is right twice a day. If you moan about everything you’ll eventually be proven right and condition yourself for the seemingly inevitable disappointment. Maybe Sky Sports’ coverage of the transfer window, disgustingly desperate for football’s very own Black Friday – clubs throwing each other to the crowd and trampling each other because Danny Ings might, might be available for £7m in the last 6 months of his contract, has created an entitled fan. Perhaps progress on and off the pitch is no longer enough, it has to be combined with a spending spree that would make even Harry Redknapp shake with excitement.

Obviously the above are, to a degree, caricatures, but I’d be surprised if anyone didn’t recognise at least some of it. My first ever Spurs game was away at Chelsea, tickets procured by my non-football literate single mother for Christmas from a pal she worked with. They turned out to be in the Chelsea end. As Teddy Sheringham put us one-up, unable to control my then 7-year old emotions I made some enemies (it finished 1-1, we had to leave swiftly before the final whistle). As a child, I couldn’t understand why everyone was so angry – playing football out the back of the flats and following results on teletext doesn’t really prepare you for sitting in the wrong end at what was then still a very moody football ground.

[fullquote]Things are going relatively well in the league, we’re in one cup final and into the knockouts in Europe, have ‘one of our own’ bagging 20 goals by the end of January.[/fullquote]

I mention this as I’ve seen some of that same anger at Spurs in recent years, amongst my own fellow fans. The most dispirited I’ve ever been leaving a game came recently after the 1-0 at home to Sheffield United – booing of Adebayor and spending 90 plus minutes surrounded by angry, moany middle aged men took its toll (I know this can sometimes depend on where you sit/stand – even within the same block, there can be a world of difference in the atmosphere around you). For me, football is meant to be a release – you go to enjoy what’s on the pitch but, even if it’s terrible, you enjoy yourself in the stands or in the pub. I still can’t understand that anger. If you spend 90 minutes screaming at your own player that he’s brainless, useless, lazy (insert your word here), why bother going?

This isn’t really meant to have a go, we are by no means exceptional in this regard – listen to any nonsense football phone-in, read comments under articles or search any clubs fans on the internet. The idea of certain sets of fans being ‘special’ or patient I think has well and truly put to bed. But amongst this wall of negativity legitimate gripes, such as ticket pricing, stewarding or concerns about just what is going to happen when we don’t have a stadium for a season, get lost. It’s sort of like the boy who cried wolf – if everything is terrible, what happens when something genuinely terrible crops up?

We’re off the back of putting three past a Pulis team away. We kept a clean sheet. We play them on Saturday. My next home game is West Ham. And, like everyone else who has membership but no season ticket, I’ll be scrambling for cup final tickets. Three games where usually you don’t have to worry too much about atmosphere. It will be tense and no doubt frustrating at points, but there is the potential for glory. The kind of games that dictate your mood for a week. The kind of games that either have you texting every mate who supports another club for some well-meaning abuse or turning off your phone for a few days. Either way, I’m going to try to enjoy it.