Dear sirs of The Fighting Cock:
I noticed you’re recent post on the blog where you requested that your international readers describe their Spurs matchday rituals, and seeing as how I fit the billing, I wanted to offer up my routine.
As a supporter living in the Northern suburbs of Cincinnati, USA, the manner by which I consume Spurs’ matches is entirely dependent on the time of kick-off and the day of the week. Though Cincinnati is a mid-sized metropolitan city here in the States, we sit in the crux of the conservative-leaning Rust Belt and Southern Bible Belt regions of the country, meaning finding a pub that will open it’s doors and serve a pint for a 7:45 or 8:00am kickoff is about as likely as Giovanni dos Santos finding his way into this Saturday’s starting XI. In those cases, I normally role out of bed 20 minutes before game time, groggily pull on the cleanest Tottenham shirt hanging in my closet, let the dog out, make a quick trip to the corner convenience store to grab a RedBull, and then back home just in time to wake up my wife so she doesn’t miss the kickoff.
On the days where the schedule makers have blessed us with a later start, we make the most of it. Now, keep in mind that when I say “late start”, it’s still relatively early here… 11am or half past noon. So by the time my wife and I make the 20 minute commute to our favorite pub, The Claddagh, we’re usually the first one’s through the doors. We’re normally joined by two British expats about 15 minutes before kick off — a Birmingham City season ticket holder named John and a Manchester City supporter named Dave — and the occasional random American footie fan, plus any friends that we manage to coax out by offering a free pint if they join us. Management at place know us well, and have rewarded our loyalty by hanging a Spurs flag in the dining room this season.
Midweek games are an entirely different story, as those kickoffs normally fall during normal working hours. If I have time to plan for it, I usually take those days off. But if not, my afternoon’s are normally spent discretely flashing between work files and a live stream in the browser. I’m usually made by way of a Spurs goal, as I’m apparently physically incapable of suppressing my joy and celebrating quietly. And if neither of those options work, I normally put myself on a media blackout until after I’ve had a chance to watch the recorded game once I get home from work.
Quite the routines, eh?