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Mauricio Pochettino – A Love Affair

4 min read
by Jack Doyle
The memories of that glorious final year at the Lane will never be forgotten by those lucky enough to have been there. Walking into the Park Lane knowing you were about to witness a demolition was an experience I will always treasure.

It was the 8th March 2014. Tottenham Hotspur, my beloved Tottenham Hotspur had just been battered at the Bridge. Tim Sherwood came out in his post match interview and chastised his players. He took aim at the club that employed him. Despite the fact that he was lucky to be in the role he was in, given his distinct lack of qualifications. And in spite of the excruciatingly laughable Adebayor-Sherwood salute celebration that would occur less than a month later which made me question his sanity.

He was absolutely right in his criticisms.

It was at this point that I realised I had never in my life felt so disconnected from the club I had loved from birth. Even through the dross that was served up to us in the late 90’s and early 00’s I had always (naively) held hope and a sense of optimism about the potential we had. But that was gone and what was left was Sherwood’s words. The players were useless and as fans we were hopeless. That following summer, however, came a man. Slowly walking towards us, in the distance, through a plume of smoke, wearing a cape and a cheeky smile. A man with tiny teeth and a huge dream.

The love that grew for Mauricio Pochettino was gradual. The 14/15 season was awash with glimpses of what potentially could be. Although, seemingly, the effects from an AVB/Sherwood tag team from the previous year were still there. He took on some tough decisions, worked the players hard and put his faith in youth. The disconnect I had felt had begun to slowly but surely wash away and from that moment on it was truly a magical journey with a truly magical man at the helm. We ran Leicester close but it wasn’t to be. We imploded at Chelsea, but the fight the players showed was to be indicative of Pochettino’s reign. For the first time that I could remember, they were playing for the shirt.

The memories of that glorious final year at the Lane will never be forgotten by those lucky enough to have been there. Walking into the Park Lane knowing you were about to witness a demolition was an experience I will always treasure. But for once I was incredibly confident that it wasn’t going to be us on the wrong end of a spanking. We tore teams apart playing a brand of football so exhilarating that even the most ardent pessimists in the stands believed we had arrived. He then somehow managed to navigate the choppy waters of discontent that 18 months at Wembley had provided.

The wins against Real Madrid, Dortmund (twice), Chelsea, United, Liverpool will live on in the memory despite the venue and its many popcorn stalls. Once it was time for us to move back to N17, there was nobody I would’ve rather had lead us into our new home. On top of that, the players he created along the way (which makes the recent “downing of tools” by so many so much harder to take) that have and will become legends of this beautiful club will, without doubt, place Pochettino in the pantheon of Spurs greats himself.

In Europe we struggled, then threatened, then excelled. He had taken us from the Europa League qualifying rounds to the Champions League Final in five years. He beat Europe’s best, he shed tears on the pitch in Amsterdam for us. An image now seared in the brains of every Spurs fan. He took us from having a sense of misplaced entitlement to genuine contenders with a style befitting a club like ours. From disinterested and detached to feeling pride, the sort of which we had not felt for thirty years.

The lack of trophies, as desperate as it sometimes seemed, was a stick to beat him with throughout his tenure. But if silverware was all that mattered in football then stadiums up and down the country would be empty week in week out. The journey he took us on and the memories he has left us with will be revisited with future generations for years to come. When we were told the stories of Bill Nick, of Hoddle and of Anderlecht, we listened.

And in the future when we tell stories of Poch, of Kane and of Ajax, they will listen. In a period that I felt so detached, so disenchanted with the club I adored, he willed me to love again, to wear that famous lilywhite shirt with pride. He made us believe the things we had been tentatively telling ourselves for years. We are a big club, we just hadn’t behaved like one for a while.

Towards the end, like a lot of relationships, it had begun to sour. Regardless, though, of how it all ended I will forever look back fondly on his time with us. A man no one had really heard of 18 months before his arrival at Hotspur Way, he dared us to dream. And we did. And it was brilliant.

But most of all, he wanted to make us proud to be Spurs again. And f*ck me, did he do that.

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