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Everything football is meant to be

3 min read
by Dennis Creegan
Waking up in the early hours to watch the North London derby over a pub breakfast is normal for those living in the US. Dennis Creegan shares his experience of derby day in Washington, DC.

At 6:15 AM EST I woke up on my friend’s sofa in a daze, shook the boys awake, and hopped in the shower. I’m not sure the weight of derby day hit me until about five minutes into my early morning shower, and the following ten were spent entertaining sweet visions of Harry Kane carving through the Scum’s defence like West London butter…

The sun was just beginning to rise as my friends and I squeezed into the 2 and one quarter seats in my Ford Ranger, sweating from the close-quarters. It was ominous, it was nerve-racking – it was derby day.

The drive from College Park to Washington DC is neither long nor complex, and thankfully so – the road was the last thing on my mind. We pulled into the Irish Channel Pub a half hour before the 7:45 AM kick-off here on the East Coast. The three of us sat at the bar, ordered some of Gerry’s Famous French Toast, and discussed the implications of starting Eric Dier and deploying Dembele in the middle with Eriksen on the wing, only pausing periodically to hiss at Arsene Wenger standing pseudo-stoically on our sacred grounds.

[linequote]Every muscle I had forgotten existed tensed as I sat pleadingly on the edge of my barstool.[/linequote]

Kick-off finally came, followed by a chorus of Come On You Spurs and North London is Ours from the now standing room only corner of 5th and H. I finished my breakfast and nodded for a top-off of what I imagine was my sixth cup of coffee. It was exceptionally suspenseful – every muscle I had forgotten existed tensed as I sat pleadingly on the edge of my barstool, only standing to shuffle uncomfortably at the near brilliance of a Danny Rose wonder goal.

From that point on, I remember nothing of the specifics of the game.

Of course, I remember Ozil scoring: the silence, the expletives, the secluded shouts for offside. I remember both of Harry Kane’s galvanic goals, and with them I remember hugging someone, slapping someone, shouting, singing, scarf-waving, the sheer pandemonium of sticking it good to the Scum. I remember the final whistle; screaming “F*** OFF BACK TO WOOLWICH” as loudly and heartily as my spent lungs would allow, waving my tattered Spurs flag while running down H Street.

But if you were to ask me then to analyse the influence of Nabil Bentaleb aside from the assist, or the contributions Erik Lamela made in a somewhat shocking start on the right wing, or even the omnipresent brilliance of Hugo Lloris in net on that day, I would not have been able to give you an answer.

The fixture as it was played on the pitch was a flash. My memory of it is limited to collections of chronologically arranged film clips and their corresponding sound-bites.

[linequote]Watching alongside a crowded clan of like-minded Yids, the atmosphere at the pub was rivalled only by that at the Lane.[/linequote]

Yet I can undoubtedly say that that game may have been the most enjoyable experience I have ever had as a Spurs fan. The absolute domination Spurs demonstrated that day was magnificent, possibly one of the best Tottenham performances I have ever seen. And with that, I have been told the atmosphere at the Lane was the best since Inter Milan in the Champions League – maybe even better.

I believe it’s the in-betweens that made the game so enjoyable. Watching alongside a crowded clan of like-minded Yids, the atmosphere at the pub was rivalled only by that at the Lane. Filling the mental gaps between match changing moments are songs, chants, full lungs, full hearts, and full confidence in the team, manager, and men on the pitch to pull out another hard fought and well deserved three points – a general sentiment of hope and love for the shirt on all our backs and the crest on all our chests that was equally present at the Lane.

On the pitch, it was all Tottenham for 90 minutes. There was no doubt who was the superior side; even Wenger admitted it in his post-match interview.

Leaving the capital, there was not one moment when I stopped smiling – even in the dense DC traffic. I spent the entirety of the drive banging on the steering wheel, pumping my fists, screaming out the window, high-fiving my friends – it was an extension of the scenes of pure jubilation from before, ecstasy beyond earning three points. The experience of this North London Derby is exactly why I love this sport and why I love Spurs.

All views and opinions expressed in this article are the views and opinions of the writer and do not necessarily represent the views of The Fighting Cock. We offer a platform for fans to commit their views to text and voice their thoughts. Football is a passionate game and as long as the views stay within the parameters of what is acceptable, we encourage people to write, get involved and share their thoughts on the mighty Tottenham Hotspur.

Dennis Creegan

Current student at the University of Maryland in the USA, majoring in Nursing with a minor in reading Spurs articles during lecture. Member of the DC Spurs supporters club. You may call me Deep Scoop.

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