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I Have An Irrational Disgust For Tottenham

Edward supports Everton. Edward does not support Arsenal. Edward doesn’t even support West Ham. Yet Edward doesn’t like Tottenham.

I have an irrational disgust for Tottenham Hotspur, bolstered by the fact that everyone from Chelsea boss Jose Mourinho to my obese cousin are tipping them to “break into” the Top 4. Nick Hornby describes them as having a “smug air of ersatz sophistication” and this sums up my feelings on the matter perfectly. The funny thing is, I am an Evertonian. My opprobrium towards these masters of style over substance is purely because of a cold calculating hatred, not due to bitter Arsenal or West Ham football rivalries. Going to “The Lane” is probably similar to becoming a scientologist. Tom Cruise and John Travolta would be the perfect Spurs fans, and Glenn Hoddle isn’t too dissimilar to L. Ron Hubbard.

Scientologists believe that 75 million years ago an evil galactic ruler, named Xenu, solved overpopulation by bringing trillions of people to Earth in DC-8 space planes, stacking them around volcanoes and nuking them. Then the souls of these dead space aliens were captured and boxed up and taken to cinemas where they were shown films of what life should be like, false ideas containing God, the devil and Christ.

If all this sounds like nonsense, try talking to Spurs fans, they believe their own footballing version of this: that they should be the rightful leaders of the Premiership. Transmitting their superior style of play to the infidels, and restoring their “Glory Years”. Spurs are perfect for the new generation of hyped-up, over marketed, Sky TV football-watching, habitual masturbating football fans; it is a perfect marriage. Whilst most of us grumble about the state of modern football, for fake plastic Spurs fans, this is their utopia.

One Spurs fan I know told me at the beginning of last season that Spurs were going to “do an Everton” (qualify for the champs league on a shoestring budget) — In fact they did nearly the opposite — they nearly qualified on a budget that would sustain Everton for about a century.

Spurs are the doilies of football, or more precisely a pink and green polka dotted 1970’s bungalow strewn with a cornucopia of doilies; in crochet, beaded and lace. They are needless and grotesque to all but a deluded few.



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