A Knob Named Poll

Yes. Graham Poll. The John Nash of the Premiership, except the good at math part.

Indeed.

I cannot recall being too upset at Poll last season for any performances. Granted, this is mostly due to the fact that I was learning the game and couldn't really tell my ass from a hole in the ground as it related to the skills of a ref. Now that I have a decent amount of gamewatching under my belt, I have come to the conclusion that this man has absolutely lost it. It almost seems that showing the third yellow to that Croatian in the World Cup caused something in his brain to wind down if not altogether shut down. I would have hoped that the rest of the summer sitting in a dark corner clutching a childhood blankie chanting "2 yellows for a red" would solve this problem, but it has transferred over into my beloved Premiership.

Basically, 2 games that had a profound effect on my season were against CSKA London and Olympique Londonaise. Both were blessed by having Poll oversee the proceedings in a rather clueless manner. Against Chelski, I was excited for John Terry to be shown a second yellow card, but I didn't see what the raucous was about. Did he say something? Who knows, but there was no physical action that warranted a red, and with Poll's recent track record, that sending off was always going to be in question. Also, that disallowed goal by Drogba was rather curious. I saw absolutely nothing wrong with it, but, again, was very happy that it did not count. A game that turned out amazing for me was a bit tainted by a man who looks lost on the pitch.

In Al-Emirates Stadium, Poll clearly lost the plot. Apparently, making an amazing saving tackle in the box to save a goal earns a penalty. Good job. In addition, handling the ball doesn't matter if, seconds later, you get fouled in the box. The earlier foul cancels out, and the penalty is henceforth awarded. As official as that rule apparantly sounded in Graham Poll's head, IT WAS BLOODY WRONG! OPEN YOUR DAMN EYES!

Sorry for raging there, but this guy has got to go. Footballers have a shelf life, as do officials, especially when said official has all the competence of an organization that can't get a country's national stadium up in less time than it takes for the bad luck to wear off after breaking a mirror. Wait, who hired Graham Poll anyway?

2 more and you're off, ya hear?

Countdown To Arsenal

01-12-06.

Look. Here’s the deal. As much as I enjoyed the disposing of CSKA London, destroying Olympique Londonaise is my ultimate high of football at the moment. Unfortunately, I have as of yet to experience this amazing event because every time we go ahead 1-nil, we give it back with about 10 minutes left in the game. It wouldn’t be so bad if it were against Liverpool, Newcastle (strike that; Newcastle would be horrific) or even Mordor United. (I’ll get to the Red Devils later.) It is the fact that our North London rivals snatch mediocrity from the jaws of defeat and it is pissing me off to no end. Right now, all that matters is Arsenal is playing like garbage and we are going to roll in there and embarrass them on their brand new sterile pitch. Former nemesis Billy Gallas is out with injury, so the back line will be rather porous if all goes well.

Step up Dimitar Berbatov. He is, without a doubt, the best foreign signing of the entire Premiership from last summer’s transfer window. Never have I seen someone who is so big be so silky smooth in every motion he makes. I don’t think I would be out of order if I called him Zizzou-esque. He isn’t the biggest of lads, but the way he can so effortlessly get around anybody and I do mean anybody, is absolutely astonishing. Last week against Wigan, he took the ball on his right foot, and in a matter of 1 second, he nutmegged his opponent and glided right past him on his way to powering the ball right past a helpless Chris Kirkland. He is very quickly becoming “The Man” at Spurs and not a moment too soon. Robbie Keane and Jermaine Defoe aren’t producing as I had predicted, but as Berbatov becomes a permanent fixture on our front line, both of them are getting better alongside him. Midfield wise, I like the pairing of Zokora and Huddlestone in the middle. Both of them have the capacity to drop a ball on a dime from 60 yards out and will do our front men wonders feeding them the ball to “bulge the back of the ol’ onion bag.” Aaron Lennon has definitely come through as the sensation just about everyone though he would be. The goal v. Chelski was nothing short of sublime has he faked Cashley Cole out of his jock when he took the ball down. Combine that with scorching pace and horrifyingly good control when running around in the box, any left back will be soiling himself at the prospect of defending him all day long. On the left side, we finally get a look at our last summer signing Steed Malbranque. From what little I’ve seen of him, I like his style and creativity. Steed could easily have netted one last weekend and helped set up another. As much as I like Hossam Ghaly, Malbranque is going to be the man out there on the right side and I could not be happier. An appraisal of our back line when fit is a good one. Chimbonda has been epic this season alongside the dynamic duo of King and Dawson. The real surprise however has been Benoit Assou-Ekotto. Not a whole lot was known about him coming into the campaign, and to be honest, I thought he’d get suck behind Stalteri or Y.P. Lee for a while. Not so, as he has made that left back position his own and done extremely well in a new league against some of the quickest players on the planet. I guess the people that I have just pointed out are the reason we’ve lost just 1 in our last 14 in all competitions. Props to you boys; this is becoming the team I envisioned at the beginning of the season.

Now to that team a few miles away. To say I hate Arsenal is kind of like saying Iran somewhat hates the United States. The basis of loathing starts right at the top; Arsene Wenger. Welluh, welluh, I do not like him. He uh, he uh, he gets on my tits to no end. I didn’t like the man from his antics on the touch line last year and that didn’t help much when he threw one of his hall of fame hissies on the line against West Ham after The Hammers scored the game winner at Upton Park. Bravo, you jackass.

Oddly enough, I don’t mind a lot of the players. Henry is pure class, Rosicky is a great signing, and Billy Gallas is a big upgrade from that tattered back line from last year. I do have a bit of disdain for Jens Lehman. I’m not sure what it is, but he annoys the piss out of me. I think the main reason is because every time somebody touches him in the box, he freaks out like that mongoloid from “There’s Something About Mary” when they touch his ears. Grow a pair and realize that this is a contact sport and sometimes you need to be roughed up a bit. Deal with it.

Ashburton Grave. While it is technically a marvelous stadium, it has all the warmth of Cruella Deville. It has no real character yet, and I say yet because I have to at least give it a chance to develop some charm like Highbury. I might be inclined to say that The Gooners’ record at Emirates Stadium has something to do with this. Well, that, and the comparatively enormous pitch they are playing on at the moment. At present, I don’t think they have the width yet to do what they do best, and that is playing “beautiful” football. Well, boys and girls, you can play all the beautiful football you want, but if you don’t stick it in the back of the net, it counts as much as the worst looking team in history not putting it in the net. As long as this pattern of do everything but score style of football is being played on Saturday, our boys won’t have the slightest problem piling onto the misery that is Arsenal’s 2006-07 season.



Finally, with this being the Christmas season, I’d like to end this blog with a little song.


Away in a manger
No crib for a bed
The little Lord Jesus
Sat up and he said

WE HATE ARSENAL!
AND WE HATE ARSENAL!
WE HATE ARSENAL!
AND WE HATE ARSENAL!

3 Points Is 3 Points No Matter How You Get Those 3 Points

Finally, the 2,984-minute goalless drought is over as the (not so) mighty Spurs create a much-needed victory against the (sort of) mighty Pompey. I, of course, am quite thrilled that we picked up the spoils today at The Lane, but I am not thrilled at how we achieved it. The first minute was fantastic as Defoe picked out the head of Berbatov who, in turn, had his shot on goal brushed away by Calamity James. Amazingly, someone from Spurs was actually in position to take advantage of it as Danny Murphy broke his duck for Tottenham with a cool finish into the left corner. Unfortunately for me, the audio on Fox was way out of sync and it was sort of difficult to get into the moment from my perspective. Thanks a lot, FSC. Wankers.

Let’s get back to the game. The half hour mark saw a curious decision from the match day official, a Mr. Steven Wonder, as Didier Zokora did his best Arjen Robben impression in the box and was awarded a penalty. I’m all for Spurs being awarded penalties but this one was cheap and, to be honest, a bit embarrassing on our end. If there had been even the slightest amount of contact, like a pinky finger, then fair play to Mr. Zokora. However, the wind from Pedro Mendes charging in to defend is not a reason to fall over and plea for a penalty. This is White Hart Lane, not Portugal. Hopefully Martin Jol will “shmack shum shense” into Didier as an indication never to do that again.

As a Spurs fan, even an embarrassing and cheap penalty that Defoe coolly slotted home giving us a 2-nil lead wouldn’t take away from the relative ecstasy of looking on our way to our first three points since late August. This is Tottenham, and we were reminded of that fact when about 6 minutes later when former Arsenal foe Kanu headed home a cross for Portsmouth and it became squeaky bum time inside The Lane. Our unease would only worsen as Pompey pretty much dominated us throughout the second half as we had all the ambition of a 40-year-old pothead going forward. Zokora, in an attempt to play real football, made some fantastic runs forward only to have his service into the strikers denied in the final third. Luckily on our end, the England number one saved a last gasp Lua Lua header in the 92nd minute to preserve our 2-1 victory and a bit of relief in the Lilywhite section of North London.

He loves proving me right. Uncanny, really.

I would be remiss if I did not mention my favorite whipping boy, Jermaine Jenas. I owe him a debt of gratitude for proving just about everything in my blog about him to be absolutely true. After a “thankfully” anonymous first half, he came into true Jenas form in the second. I’ll give him this. Running with the ball, he did fantastically. It is just the small matter of doing something worthy of positive recognition with it that seems to fail him at the present time. I’ll give you a brief rundown of the last 45 minutes for Mr. Jenas.

1. After a wonderful run down the right side, he manages to hit an extraordinary cross straight into touch. Good job.

2. Defoe and Berbatov manage to keep the ball alive just outside of the box and center it for Jenas who, as per usual, whiffs at it with all the gusto of a 400lb man with a hoagie in his mouth. Thumbs up to YOU, sir.

3. It just wouldn’t be a Spurs game is Jenas didn’t have a few shots go narrowly over the crossbar. By narrowly, I mean 15 rows up into the seats.

Yeah, I’m harsh on Jenas. “Thank you, Capt. Obvious,” I might hear anyone who stumbles upon this blog say. It is not that I don’t like him. It is just that such a skillful player isn’t playing up to form and it is really pissing me off. So much potential is not being maximized and it is really time for this metro sexual football player to kick it into gear. He’s better than his showing on the pitch and seeing him play like rubbish 99% of the season thus far makes me feel like a parent whose kids are just slacking off and wasting what talent they have. However, let us just get one thing straight. As a Spurs fan who loves his team, I have all the right in the world to bag on Jenas. Any Arsenal twat, or whoever else for that matter, does not have said right. That is just the way it works in modern sport.

Now, as I leave you with this post, we enter into the breakneck, slam-bang, laugh in the face of death, exhibition of daring-do that is Euro 2008 qualifying. I’ll pause while you collect yourself as the very thought of it overwhelms every fiber of your being.



You are welcome. 2 weeks void of any meaningful football have us sullen, downtrodden, and generally bored until the next game. Villa away. No easy feat by any stretch of the imagination. 1 point would please me to no end, as a matter of fact. The way we played today honestly gives me little more hope than I had a few weeks ago that we would make Europe again. Something has to change. Lennon, Lennon. Wherefore art thou, Lennon? Deny thy injury, and resume thy game!

Mike.

A Bit of Insight.

Something has come to the forefront of my consciousness in the last few days. With the resumption of the Champions League this past Tuesday and Wednesday, football has officially stepped up the priority list that is my daily life all the way up to #2 just behind staying alive on a basic level. Some may call it pathetic, but, the way I see it, I am immersing my spirit in the greatest sport on the planet. I found myself telling work to screw off just so I could come home early and watch Liverpool v. Galatasaray. Is this irresponsible behavior? I guess it would depend on what one defines “irresponsible.” Personally, I find that ignoring something you feel passionate about is irresponsible when it comes to addressing what makes you happy. I also find that when a particular activity inspires you to do other activities to enhance your life, why not go in headfirst? Football has inspired me to write again after about 8 years of ignoring the thimbleful of talent I happen to possess. I might even go back to school and study journalism and make it into a career. What I most want to happen is to be able to contribute in some way to a regular footie mag. Unfortunately, this might take quite a lot of time and effort, but I’m willing to make that sacrifice. I realize that I require a lot of work in the area of actual column writing, but I’d like to believe I have the basic tools in which to improve upon. After all, isn’t doing something related to an activity that positively gives you goose bumps somewhat of a dream job? I dare say it is.

Now that I have gotten the personal part of this blog out of the way, it is time to actually talk football. Champions League match day 2 was fantastic as far as I am concerned. The Tuesday matches were a bit rubbish for the most part, to be fair, but Wednesday’s were just pure fun to watch. Liverpool played what I can only describe as one of the best halves of football I have seen all year. 3-nil and 1 absolutely unbelievable goal as a gangly, 11ft. 2in. tall Peter Crouch bicycle kicked a Steve Finnan cross past a stunned Galatasaray keeper. A true “Holy Sh*t!” moment if I ever saw one. The popular consensus might be that a Ronaldinho, or an Eto’o, or even a Robbie Keane (heh) would score goals in this manner and not, for example, a big, red giraffe such as Crouchinho. Yes. Some Liverpool fans have taken to calling him “Crouchinho.” I’d like to think they’re just taking the piss, but they are dead serious.

To their credit, the Turkish side nicked 2 goals in the span of about 6 minutes and caused thousands upon thousands of Reds fans to chew their fingernails clean off over the remaining 25 minutes of the contest. I wasn’t very convinced of the Liverpool defense’s ability over that last third of the game, but they got the result, and that’s all that matters.

The most intense match for me was German side Werder Bremen hosting FC Barcelona. I have become a bit of a Bremen fan after watching them in the Bundesliga over the last year and really felt for them as a moment of calamity cost Werder a famous victory over Juventus and a spot in the quarterfinals of the Champions League last year. I suppose that’s what you get when you wear a bright pink shirt in goal. Just kidding. Heading into this game, he pundits, as well as myself, would have predicted a Barcelona victory. Deep down, I hoped against hope that the Germans would hold back what many in the world consider to be the best football team on the planet. It was a very inspiring performance from Bremen as they took the game straight to the Catalans. Amazingly enough, 2 or 3 clear cut chances within the first 15 minutes gave me confidence that Bremen wouldn’t be run off the pitch. Honestly, Barcelona’s back line looked a bit off and that made me very happy. Bremen’s, on the other hand, was stout and resolute in their defending of a certain World Footballer of the Year. Ronaldinho disappointed many fantasy team owners Wednesday night, as he was extremely non-existent for most of the game. All credit to Werder, as they locked him down save for one breakaway that didn’t even produce a shot on goal. Throughout the first half, and into the second, Bremen was the better team in my humble and borderline uninformed opinion. Then, dreams came true. UEFA Defender of the Year, Carlos Puyol, directed a Bremen cross directly past the keeper to boost the Germans to a 1-nil advantage around the 1-hour mark. I uncontrollably yelled out as if it were Spurs winning the Premiership. (Hey, it could happen one day.) Deep down, however, I realized that it was only a preventative measure as to not get beaten when Barca eventually scored. Sure enough, Messi hammered one home right at the death to rescue a point. As I thought about the game I had just witnessed, I could only have a sense of admiration for Bremen for attacking Barcelona and not just trying to play for a point the entire game. I am of the firm belief that the best defense is a good offense. Good on ya, Bremen.

Since I am not contractually required to review every game from Tuesday and Wednesday, I’ll leave it at that when it comes to the Champions League. If you want write-ups on the other contests, shoot me an e-mail at madk0w_44@yahoo.com and I’ll see if what I can do. Please allow 6 to 8 weeks for delivery or 1 to 2 if you are a hot woman and send me nude pictures.

Doom lingers.

Lastly, a blog of mine would not be complete without a Spurs comment or five. As you can see in the picture above, something horrible seems to be parked above White Hart Lane at the moment. It is amazing the amount injuries that currently plague Tottenham. The list would comprise quite a good team in its own right. Defoe, Berbatov, Malbranque, King, Stalteri, Lennon, Davids. Give me a break. It is a damn good thing we kept four strikers during the transfer window or else we’d be up Shit Creek without a paddle. Now, the onus is on Keane and Mido to end our pathetic scoring drought in the Premiership. One positive from the rash of injuries is that we can run out some of the less experienced talent such as Huddlestone, Ghaly, and Ziegler to see what they can do against quality opposition. Thursday’s test of that theory had mixed results at The Lane. While we advanced in the UEFA Jug, Spurs should have done better against the Czech Republic side Slavia Prague. No offence to Prague, but should it ever take 80min to score a goal at home if you are Tottenham? I think we know the answer to that.

Sunday, Portsmouth comes calling to The Lane and we need another loss like we need Jermaine Jenas as striker. It is awfully early in the season to call any game “must win.” This is one of those situations. I honestly think 4th place will be out of reach if Spurs capitulate against Pompey. I indeed fear for the safety of my television set if I am disappointed yet again. So, for my mental safety, and the safety of my Panasonic wide screen, please don’t screw this up guys.

Until next time, remaining as uneasy as a coke addict working on his 10th cup of coffee,

Mike.

Jermaine Jenas

Jermaine Jenas [Jur-mayn Jee-nuss]
-noun
1. A midfielder for English Premier League club Tottenham Hotspur
2. Someone who cannot seek out appropriate players to pass to in the game of football.
3. A player who cannot put a free kick on target. Also known to knock the ball into row ZZ on a semi-regular basis.

4. Midfielder who cannot kick a ball into an empty net from 2 yards out.
5. Twat.

I know this may sound harsh, but that is just the way it is in this mockery of a blog that I’m putting together. I wrote some harsh statements about the pretty boy midfielder at the very beginning of the season. Realizing it may have been too soon, I backed off of my criticisms and let the play speak for itself. Well, guess what? I did that and it has only infuriated me on a level that pretty much sends me into the seventh layer of hell as it relates to how much Mr. Jenas annoys the piss out of me. Case and point: 23/09/06. The travesty of a game against Liverpool that he had makes me borderline ill. Let me sum up. First half. Gets down the right side with regularity. However, does nothing of any consequence with it as he spectactularly sends crosses flailing into (and over) the 18 yard box with the skillset of a donkey getting pissed off at its owner and mule-kicking him in the nads. Also, manages to scare several fans halfway up the Kop once or twice. I say he just lacked confidence in his shot. He'll say he just wanted to keep them on their toes. The second half is where a vein almost popped out of my forehead. It is nil-nil as Danny Murphy and Edgar Davids link up on a fanstastic play that springs the Dutch pit bull running straight at Pepe Reina and all is looking glorious for my club. The glory is heightened when Davids sees a streaking player running into the box and picks him out for a sure goal. Nobody can screw this up. We're going 1-nil up at Anfield! GOAAA--.................................. WTF?!?!?!?! One thing runs through my mind. F'ing Jenas. Sure enough, The bloke announcing the game confirms my dread. "Oh, Jermaine Jenas misses an empty net!" Yeah, no shit. Who else on Spurs misses that shot? I'm not sure if it is just a case of mailing it in on a regular basis or just thinking about potential tail he might pull later on, but this mockery of a season has got to end sometime soon, doesn't it?

Perhaps later this week I'll have a proper post which doesn't blast any one particular player, but this guy is gettin' on my tits in a massive way.


Until later, Mike.
Frustrated as all hell Spurs fan as I weep inside.

Yeah! I sure do suck this year!

ManU Thoughts and Champions League Goodness

Welcome back boys and girls to another installment of "Me Talking Junk," a blog dedicated to my passion for Spurs and disdain for just about every other team in the Premiership. This week's edition poses the question; Is Man U really this good and are we really that bad? The answer is a resounding NO to both. How do you feel about that, Martin?

I like Gooaaald!

Thank you, Mr. Soprano. Watching Saturday's game gave me a lift that I never thought I would receive watching a loss. After the first portion of the game where United were the better team, I thought Spurs became the dominate side in the match. However, as Arsenal are so good at proving this year, (*hahaha*) dominating the match and controlling possession do not automatically lead to goals. The lack of finishing this year is shocking and hopefully the flood gates will open at Prague in the UEFA Jug on Thursday and will carry on through against Fulham this Saturday. The uplifting part of that 1-nil defeat at Salford was our defense. Chimbonda was a beast in right back and his royal highness Ledley King made a very successful comeback from injury in the center. Assou-Ekotto was very good on the left but couldn't make any runs into the opponent's half because of the lack of quality on that side of midfield and also to protect against a counter attack when Chimbonda decided to take on the Lennon role laying in crosses on the right. Zokora was coming into his own in the middle and Ghaly had a good premier on the right for the injured Aaron Lennon. Davids. Ugh. Jenas. Ugh. Both had a shocking game, even though Jenas improved a little in so much as he didn't hit row Z on a regular basis this game. I would have liked to have had Berbatov up front, but with his knock he picked up on one of the many utterly useless Euro 2008 qualifiers, it just wasn't in the cards. Mido was misused in that he was more on the left than sitting up front and missed 2 great chances to equalize. It was very nice to see him back in the squad from my perspective and once he gets his form back, I rate him to do great things again this year. Keane was a bit of a non factor again in this game, which dismayed me. I honestly think Spurs should play a diamond formation in the middle with Zokora playing the holding role and Keane playing right behind the strikers. He could be deadly in that sort of position as he proved in a similar role against Sheffield as he roamed all over the pitch. Sound good, Martin?

Yesh. Shexy. He's very toit. Toit like a toigerrrrr.

Granted, Jol probably isn't reading my blog right now, so I don't see this Keane thing happening.

On the flip side, Manchester United looked very average for me once they scored their goal. Rooney and Scholes were out, but that still doesn't take away from the ineptitude of Saha up front and their defense who was caught a few times looking at Mido and Defoe run right into the box unmarked only to miss very, very easy headers. I don't see this 100% record lasting beyond September and, again I'll say it, if they get some injuries, they are done for.

Champions League Goodness

It is the dawn of the greatest club tournament in the world. No, not the Canadian Football League, but the UEFA Champions League. The Champions League is responsible, in part, to me writing this article today. Without the amazing Liverpool comeback in the final, I'm not doing this today. Last season, I was still a fledgling football fan and the League was all very surreal to me. I didn't quite get the full gravity of the situation. This year, I recorded the draw on Setanta and pretty much re-organized my television service for the sole purpose of getting a maximum 4 games every day of pure CL splendor.

This season has some particularly fun groups, the first of which being Group A with 3 quality teams: Barcelona, Chelsea, and Werder Bremen. As expected today, Barcelona took Levski Sofia out to the woodshed and spanked their bottoms 5-0. The result I did NOT want to see was Chelsea blanking Bremen 2-0 at Stamford Bridge. I really want Werder Bremen to supplant Chelsea or Barca and get that second place finish in the group. However, that game may have snapped me back into reality as that dream of mine may already be fading to black.

Rooting for Liverpool in the CL, I was satisfied for the away draw at PSV, but I'm concerned about the lack of movement through the midfield and also, and more importantly, what the hell is Benitez doing leaving Gerrard, Garcia, and Alonso on the bench? He never went there to win, in my opinion, and was solely looking at this weekend's clash with Chelsea. I predict the Pool and PSV coming out of group C.

Wednesday's fun game for me is Manchester United hosting Celtic. Harkening back to the days of William Wallace, thousands of screaming, drunk Scotsmen will be charging out of the north to give cheer to their club at Old Trafford for their first Champions League group stage fixture. I pray, I hope, I fantasize that Celtic nick a win against their greatest export besides Trainspotting; Sir Alex Ferguson. I wonder if SAF deep down would be all that upset to lose to a Scottish side. After all, he coaches in the country that is Scotland's neighbor. I will be rooting for Glasgow United all the way in this one. And I'm sure Dave O'brien will be cheering right alongside me.

Lastly, I will speak of Arsenal's group. Not the pansy draw they got last year, is it? Hamburg, Porto, and the Moscow. Not exactly Prague, Ajax, and FC Thun. I love this draw for Arsenal for all the wrong reasons if you happen to be an Arsenal fan. This is a tough draw, and a 3rd place finish would please me to no end. Oh, a bit off track here, TWO POINTS IN 3 GAMES. HAHAHAHAHAHA! Sorry, had to gloat a bit. And before you curse me though the internet and retorting that you have a game in hand on us and we only have 3 points, I'll say this. I don't care! We're still above you in the league and as long as we remain as such, I'll gloat and shit talk all I want. Anyway, back to the group. Having to start away to Hamburg without TH14 is a big blow and a loss right off the bat could crush the fragile psyche that perpetually is Arsenal FC. Porto is no easy side to play against and having to travel to Moscow in mid October isn't exactly an enticing opportunity for anyone. At least it isn't in December in the middle of those fun Russian winters they seem to love so much over there. Too bad. Arsenal to finish 3rd and then get dumped by us in the Jug.

I could go on and on about the rest of the Champions League, but I really don't want to right now, so there. This blog ends...............now.

Down To The Wire.

My first official season following the summer transfer window can best be summed up by 1 word. Nerve-racking. Wait. Is that supposed to be 2 words? Ahh, who cares? Anyway, after a start fit for Sunderland fans, I was actually losing sleep over whether or not Spurs would use that 15mil they got for Carrick (haha) to go out and really improve this squad of underachievers.

May: Sure, the summer window starts out well enough, signing Dimitar Berbatov from Leverkusen right off the bat, but with Mido toddling back off to Rome, it was a must and not a huge surprise for me. Soon after, the rumblings from up north in Manchester started concerning our beloved Michael Carrick. Surely Spurs won't sell him. They'd have to be truly daft to sell our midfield linchpin. Nah, Jol won't be that stupid. I decide that is just United being United and pay it no mind heading into the World Cup. Stress Level on a scale from 1 to 10: 1. Pissed Off level due to losing 4th place: 10.5

June: Ahh, the pageantry and splendor (see: diving and cheating) that is the World Cup. Pretty quiet on the transfer market during the group stages as one might expect. Suddenly, right around the knockout stage, I hear about Spurs signing this Ivory Coast midfielder Didier Zokora. Who? What? Why? I do some investigating. Apparently nicknamed "The Maestro," he has been called one of the top holding midfielders in the world. Holding midfielder.............My lack of football knowledge is preventing me from figuring out that they........... HEY WAIT A MINUTE! THEY CAN'T SELL CARRICK! SACRILEGIOUS, TO BE SURE! ONE OF THE 3 TOP REASONS WE HELD 4TH FOR 3/4 OF THE SEASON! Immediately after this epiphany, I go into a temporary sulk that even Nicholas Anelka himself would be proud of. Granted, I haven't seen Zokora play and am now cursing myself or not paying better attention to that ever important Ivory Coast V. Serbia & Montenegro match, but what the hell is really going on here? I immediately go into denial mode. Is he there to take over when Carrick eventually moves on? Is he going to take over for Edgar Davids? Dear god let him replace Jermaine Jenas. (Sorry, but I had to get a Jenas dig in here somewhere.) Of course, Spurs might have just brought him in to reinforce the squad for their UEFA Cup run this season. "Yeah, that's it," I daftly reassure myself, as I try to ignore the Eye of Sauron-like gaze that glares from the evil land of Manchester directly on my Mikey Carrick. As June draws to a close, I see some strange names on the transfer list at Tottenham, all of whom appear to be French. Who the hell is Dorian Dervitte? What's up with Benoit Assou-Ekotto? I wasn't aware that a mandate came down from the board at Spurs to become Arsenal. So it comes to pass that June ends and I'm not impressed with the players we've brought in. Again, It is June and I am still learning about other leagues and other players in world football. Keep that in mind before you call me a twat for not being hyped up that Berbatov and Zokora have come to the Lane. Stress Level: A calm 3.14

July: July for me becomes what escaping from a maximum security prison is for inmates. Unbearable false hope. The World Cup comes to an end with the headbutt heard around the world and the tighty whiteys seen around the world. Dear God, Gattuso. You're Italian for Christ's sake. Can you at least have the sense of style stereotypical of your people to put on some fancy boxer briefs or even a banana hammock on in the off-chance you win the World Cup and decide to bare your nickers to about a billion people? Sorry about that. A bit off topic. Anyway, A week or two passes by and I find that we have come in for a nice little bid on Pascal Chimbonda of Wigan fame. Apparently my little snarky remark about us becoming Arsenal last month might come to fruition. Although, I am excited about this transfer as Chimbonda proved to be a bit of a beast on Wigan's back line. Anyone who read my preview knows how I feel about Spurs' defense. Having Pascal to shore up the back 4 should prevent the myriad (good word usage. *high five*) of goals let in during injury time last season from happening again this year. We come in for about 2.5mil to buy Chimbonda and after a bit of teasing, Paul Jewell decides that our bid is rather insulting. Apparently, Jewell decides to become Monty Hall and declares for the world to hear that the Frenchman is actually worth somewhere in the neighborhood of 6mil. HA! Does that dissuade our beloved board from coming back with another lowball bid? Of course not. In true Yiddo fashion, we retort with a rather contemptuous 3.5mil. Apparently we have underestimated Wigan's resolution to hold firm as 6mil as they laugh in our face and, for good measure, moon us as if they were a 17 year old with their ass hanging out of a car window. All hope seems to be lost as far as I am concerned. Dammit, we need someone worth a toss to get our back line in order.

Then, out of nowhere, I hear on World Soccer Daily from Steven "The Oracle" Cohen that we're in for Damien Duff. Happy days are here again! I actually feel a flutter in the old ticker as thoughts of Lennon and Duff torturing defenses around the league gleefully dance in my head. I even manage to put it out of my mind that this is Tottenham we're talking about and somehow we'll find away to bottle it up. Sure enough, in true Yiddo fashion, they decide they don't want to pay over 40k a week and even want Chelsea to share in some of the expense. Are you kidding me? We're going to haggle over a few thousand pounds and waste a glorious opportunity to bring a quality left winger to White Hart Lane? I have officially become downtrodden. My hopes are officially dashed when Duff becomes a Barcode in the northeast for half of what we were going to pay for him. A bit of a slap in the face by Chelsea, but I can't blame them too much. Spurs did look like some cheap bastards in this deal. A serious surgery is in need for the ones making transfer decision so we can remove their heads from their asses. And just to complete this month of torture and anguish, it looks like Man Utd are going to get Carrick afterall. I silently weep. It sure would be nice to get a decent chunk of cash for him. Perhaps our haggling ability will work in our favor for once. 8 or 9 mil would be about all I expect, but I'm sure we can go out and sign a decent player or two for that amount. July comes to a close. I pine for a transfer kitty like Chelsea have so these money issues that our lovely board of Yids won't piss away our ability to sign the players we need. I'm not talking about getting a Kaka or a Shevchenko, but Damien Duff was certainly in our range as was Chimbonda. I begin to wonder if our team is kind of like the guy on the street who flashes a wad of cash that exists of 1 $100 bill wrapped around a bunch of $1 bills. So frustrating. Stress Level: Creeping up to a solid 7. Feeling like a prat for supporting these cheap bastards.

August: Ok guys, this is it. One month to figure out how the hell to attain the players we need to make a solid run at 4th this year. And what a crackin' start we get off to:

"Yesh. Hello Gareth. I wush vundering, ummmmmmmmm. Any chance you vuld give ush Shtewart Downing? Yesh?"

"Piss off, Goldmember."

So, that went well. Apparently, pursing and ultimately not getting Damien Duff sent out red flags that we were really in need of a left winger. Most of our forthcoming inquiries of other wingers were met with increased transfer fees and the message that if we want our prized midfield replacement, we're going to pay out the ass for him. And, in true Spurs fashion, after yet another lowball bid, our efforts to retain the services of England international and Steve McClaren lapdog Stewart Downing were rebuffed. Soon after, my fear that Mordor (err Manchester United) would claim Michael Carrick was realized. Yet, I couldn't help but be happy about how the whole thing went down. Happy, you ask? How could someone who just 2 months ago all but pledged his allegiance to Carrick as if he were the end-all be-all of the midfield say he is happy about the transfer? Well boys and girls, it is very simple. 18.6mil for him. That is right. 18.6mil. Apparently, United was more desperate to get a midfielder than we are. To recap, we bought Carrick from West Ham for about 3 mil. We sell him for 18mil. Finally, the financial acumen that accompanies the stereotype of our team works for us. Woohoo! And what do we do with our new found riches? We tack a whopping 100k more onto the previous 3.5mil bid for Pascal Chimbonda. That of course requires the inevitable quotes from Wigan that include the words: insulting, pathetic, and my personal favorite, cheap bastards. Ok, that last one was mine, but it is how I'm feeling at the moment. For crying out loud, loosen the death grip you have on the wallet and dole out the extra 2.5 mil and call it a day. It is in this moment that I have a revelation. They are doing this on purpose to screw with me. Why else is this happening? Are they that cheap? Or is it just business savvy? Time will tell.

By the time the kickoff of the Premiership rolls around, rumors are rampant. Obafemi Martins? Stewart Downing? Pascal Chimbonda? Who will we get? More importantly, who won't we get because Mr. Daniel Levy wants to roll around naked in bed with his 18mil from the Carrick deal. For some daft reason, I convince myself that we'll be fine with the players we've got right before the game around 12:15pm EST. On 20 Aug. 15 minutes and 2 goals later, I decide that we're screwed. Undoubtedly, Martin Jol was of the same opinion. I could have sworn I saw him break out his celly in the 80th minute and whisper sweet nothings into Gareth Southgate's ear trying to persuade him to give up Downing. My own personal feelings after the game were clear as day in my mind. We need width in a bad bad way. Spurs feel the same way, and offer 8mil for Downing. One problem. They've repeatedly said they want 9 or 10. Our reply? 8. Quality stuff, gentlemen. While you're at it, just give 'em the finger. In the following days, we turn our attention to a Bulgarian by the name of Petrov who is also a left winger. This pleases me, as Berbatov would have a quality player to help with service the ball to him and also have someone to talk to about whatever Bulgarians talk about. The Eastern Bloc? I dunno. Of course, that doesn't happen as it was most likely a ploy to get the price on Downing lowered. Apparently 'Boro have I.Q.'s over 79 and see right through this. After a convincing half of football against Sheffield United, my fears are a bit lowered and think to myself; Nawww we're good. I should have initiated a moron alert on myself concerning this line of thinking. It was Sheffield United for crying out loud. This of course comes back to bite me on the ass as we lose to a 10 man Everton 2-0 while displaying a heartless and impotent performance. Stress Level: A Red Alert 10! Hair is falling out and fingernails are no more. Something needs to change or someone needs to be whacked!

That something that needed to change just happened to be the return of someone who I felt was vital to the success of Spurs: Mido! There's only 1 Mido! There's only 1 Mido! My favorite Egyptian has returned after we managed to buy him from Roma permanently. After a month of feeling like an ass for supporting a team who was too damn cheap to buy anyone decent, I feel a sense of redemption and hope for my club. More good news comes. Steed Malbranque (left sided midfielder here, Spurs) is allowed to move from Fulham negating Cookie Coleman's mandate that he will sit on the bench all year rather than be sold. In shocking news, Spurs trump West Ham's bid and Malbranque is on his way to The Lane. 2 signings in 1 week? Surely nobody can live at that speed! On deadline day, I wake up to some glorious news. The courtship of Pascal Chimbonda has finally culminated with a full on union of cash to Wigan for Frenchman to Spurs bliss. My faith has henceforth been restored in my club as we have done some amazing business to get some massive upgrades in the squad. Granted, the road to my revival of confidence was rocky, but it all worked out in the end? I knew they'd get all these deals done. No problem. After all, we're Spurs! Stress Level: How I feel after amazing sex: Zero.