Passionate, Not Plastic

“How can you be a Tottenham fan? You’re from Wales. Go support your local team”. This is the type of dig I get from time to time from fans of rival teams if I dare to show support for my team.

I was born and bred in a small village between Newport and Cardiff. I enjoyed football growing up but had no affiliation with a team. Newport County were my nearest local team playing in the old 4th Division. I’d check their results but never had anyone to take me to their games. Later in the 80’s they folded and went out of business, leaving me with no local club.

The closest I came to supporting a club was each year before the kick-off for the FA Cup final, I’d choose a side to support for that day. Every year that team would lose. After the 1986 final I decided I needed a club to follow. I had seen a lot of Spurs, and was transfixed by Chris Waddle, Glenn Hoddle and the goal scoring feats of Clive Allen. I liked what I saw and as luck would have it, they reached the FA Cup final the following season.

As I watched the build up to the final, the anticipation and the buzz that “we” were one game from glory overwhelmed me, this I thought is how it must feel to support a club. I had taped Chas’n’Dave’s “Hotshot Tottenham” off the Top 40 show the previous Sunday and had memorised nearly all the words. We all know how the day finished.

My new club, who had never lost an FA Cup Final in their previous seven attempts, lost. I could have walked away there and then. Maybe supported Liverpool like everyone else at school, but no, not me, not this time.

I decided to stick with my new club. I scoured the newspapers all summer trying to keep up to date with all things Tottenham. Our bright start to the next season, one defeat in eight, was ruined when David Pleat failed to drive over 15 mph at night in a  seedy part of town.

Fresh from his successful stint in Spain in swooped the messiah, Terry Venables. What followed in the coming seasons, were misery and glory in equal share. Out went Hoddle, in came Gazza. Out went Waddle, in came Gary Lineker.

I had the euphoria of the FA Cup win in 1991 (Mabbutt’s revenge) followed by years of turmoil and more flirting with glory. I turned on Sir Alan Sugar when he tried to sack Venables. I got excited at the prospect of Ossie managing our team with Jurgen Klinsmann up front. That was followed by the Gerry Francis and Christian Gross seasons and then the arrival of the Man in the Raincoat.

What I’m trying to say is since that day in May 1987, I have lived and breathed Spurs. I may not be there on match days but my entire being is consumed with how we’re doing. My life and my character have been shaped and moulded around the highs and lows of being a Spurs fan. I have done everything you’ve done. My finger nails have been chewed, my hair pulled and I have ran around the house screaming at the top of my lungs when we’ve scored.

I learned that life is shit but I’ve always remained optimistic that we’d come back and nick it in the end. Life, like Spurs, will promise a lot and once you’ve had a taste, then it whips it from you, yet you still keep coming back for more. It’s that never-ending belief that one day, it’s going to be perfect.

In November 1995 I had my first opportunity to visit White Hart Lane as part of a supporters club based in South Wales. I got my ticket for Arsenal at home. We travelled up on the coach signing and watching videos of previous games. I walked into the Paxton Road end lower with thousands of other Tottenham fans. We sang “Nayim from the halfway line”. I had the day of my life. We won 2-1 that day and on the coach on the way home I committed to come back again and again.

Unfortunately I stupidly got married the following year. My life was became consumed with mortgages, bills and my two children. I was never able to afford the money needed for a trip to London and the cost of a ticket.

Today I am no longer married but I am a Child Support paying part-time father of two. I have a wonderful new lady in my life, but Tottenham are still my first love and always will be. However, with today’s crazy prices and me being as poor as a church mouse, regular or any visits to the Lane are rare to non-existent.

I make up for not being there by doing whatever I can, legal or otherwise, to see my beloved Spurs play. I sign up for Spurs TV. I scour the internet for live feeds of our games. I then watch every highlight I can get my hands on and read every report I can find.

Although I warned them before to expect a lot of heartache, my kids have seen my passion and they support Spurs now. I told them “support any club you want, but make sure that whoever you choose, you support them through thick and thin.”

So when a Brummie Villa fan, in response to my little gloat at knocking them out of the cup, accuses me of being a plastic fan because I wasn’t born and raised in the North London, I think I’m entitled to be riled by this.

I’ve done the miserable times. I’ve suffered along with the Season Ticket holders and the natives of North London. Tottenham Hotspur FC are my club, my team, My footballing passion.

Come on you Spurs!

[author name=”David Jones” avatar=”https://si0.twimg.com/profile_images/1931035854/image.jpg” twitter=”DiddlyDaiDoh” tag=”DavidJones[/linequote]