Erik Lamela isn’t missing. He is here with us right now. He has been absorbed by us and become part of us. We failed him, he failed us, Spurs failed everyone. One day I hope we all find each other, not just him.
Supporting Tottenham Hotspur is not something you simply choose to do; it’s a vocation, a directive from above, a randomly assigned genetic code over which you have no control. Once Tottenham has you, like a Darth Vader choke hold, it never lets go.
From the wizardry of Gazza, Bale and Waddle, to the misery of bad lasagna and Arjen Robben penalty misses, all of this is part of what makes Spurs such a unique and wonderful club to follow.
You will find me most days chained to a desk where I finance my Spurs addiction by working on B2B editorial or, thanks to my lowly Bronze Membership somewhere in Blocks 29 through to 32 at White Hart Lane.
Alternatively you can follow me on Twitter @ARLombardi
I should have learnt that hope is a dangerous emotion as a teenager when I was brutally blown out in a night club, but the older and “wiser” me continues to hope, especially when it comes to Spurs.
Join my fantasy of “five games to glory.” Imagine the big sweaty writhing mess of winning all five games and spending the summer basking in a top four finish or slaying that stupid Saint something day. Imagine. Fantasise. Join me.
So Sherwood will officially be on his way this summer. Should we rejoice or should we take stock that yet another manager has been chewed up and spat out by Tottenham
After the latest 1882 game at White Hart Lane, a Tottenham fan wakes up with a hangover and surrounded by Spurs players we all have tried to forget. They want Levy out and their names cleared. The truth is revealed about what is really happening at the Lane.
Perhaps the time has come to be a bit like Tim. Burn the tactical books, chuck the blackboard in the bin. Play with some spirit. Balls out on the table. Let’s just go for it.