There was an odd atmosphere on Monday night. The on-pitch burners reminded me of the ultimate pointlessness of life itself, but the tifo set us up and the crowd got going. This faded as anxiety took over, rekindled only when we scored. I can’t go away but it sounded as if the fans at Villa gave everything to get behind the team. It doesn’t feel like a do or die atmosphere at home. Partly this is anxiety, but also there’s something niggling away at me about a degree of resignation. Not acceptance, but somehow fate will decide and it’s out of our hands as supporters.

I thought Frank’s organisational and motivational powers would meet the needs of a squad with unrealised potential. At Brentford he got the best from his players and made them better, as individuals and as a team. Ange’s approach was wonderful when it worked but too frequently he was outwitted by the PL norm of hard running, disciplined and well-drilled teams.

In reality, he clearly wasn’t able to take that step up. It felt as if in his head, he was still managing Brentford, only the players somehow looked different. The team became disorganised and disillusioned. Those in charge (I use this term because it’s not clear whether the board or the Venkatesham/Lange combo were taking these decisions, although I’m pointing the finger at the latter) acted too late. They then showed their disconnect with the situation in general and presumably with the mood of the players by appointing Tudor. He appears, in public at least, to have employed the tough love approach. I paraphrase, but as he said in answer to the question what’s wrong, ‘the defence, the attack, oh and the midfield.’

He was right but that’s not the point. His approach was never going to turn the team around, not in the time available to him anyway. Our decision-makers misjudged the mood of the squad and this could prove to be fatal. They failed to understand let alone address a fundamental question that applies to any team in any sport at any level – motivation. They researched Tudor’s ability to turn things around in failing clubs without digging into how he achieved this and whether his methods fitted the needs of the Spurs squad. Also, Tudor the temp wasn’t going to be around for long, so this limits the players’ investment in him and his methods. Plus the fact that all these players could get a good deal at another club. This disconnect wasted precious weeks and points. It is a crucial error, avoidable if the decision-takers had done their jobs properly.

What did our players have to play for? One answer is, play for the shirt. Another is professional pride, but these are abstract concepts. Most people in any job need something more tangible, and usually that boils down to two things, money and colleagues. At Spurs it’s not money because they are well-rewarded, so you play for your teammates and your coach. They may hold the badge up to the fans, but that is a tangible sign of team spirit and their loyalty to their manager.

De Zerbi knows this, and this is what he has achieved in a short space of time. The players have, I assume, little automatic fidelity to a club that has messed them around. They see all too clearly the problems we’ve faced in squad building, transfers and the managerial churn. In saying this, I’m not excusing them totally because they are professionals and their effort has at times been lacking, but this is the modern world, where players expect to be coached into their patterns of play. De Zerbi has given them this and a degree of positivity. It’s hardly original, but he’s buoying the players up in public and private by all accounts, treating them as individuals and developing their confidence. Men like Gallagher, Bentancur and Paulinha are shining because he gives them responsibility and plays them in roles familiar to them. In a remarkably short space of time, the defence and midfield are organised, working hard and playing as a unit.

There’s hope there, which I guess is all we can wish for right now and is an emotion I’ve not experienced since mid-January. I’m conscious that I’m down about this season but we have those two points and goal difference in the bag.

However, at the same time the improvements have brought the problems into stark relief. I’ve already discussed the biggest one, the decision makers’ dereliction of duty. The other is that our front line is poor and we lack the creativity to make enough chances to increase our sense of security. Tel is a promising young player -what a beautiful goal – who lacks the poise and nouse that hopefully comes with age and experience, except we need something now. Richie had a game to forget on Monday, while Muani provoked a vigorous discussion on Bluesky as to whether he is the worst loan signing the club has ever made. Good judges went for Gedson but at least we could hide him out of the way in midfield or on the bench, whereas Muani is crucial to our goalscoring aspirations.

One move from Monday summed this up. Tel facing his own goal was trapped on the ball, again, and ended up wildly hacking the ball across our box, fortunately just missing the attackers. It ended up with Muani, who in space proceeded to botch his move with a mindless run and dreadful control, so we lost possession. Then Tel did what he did, when calmer heads should prevail and we let slip the valuable two points that could have meant safety.

It’s in our hands. There’s hope, but sadly there’s no trust. You simply can’t trust them. Danso solid but makes the injury time error. Tel does what he does. Richie misses in front of goal. We give the ball away easily, still. On countless occasions we destroy an attacking opportunity for want of decent ball control or an accurate ten yard pass, which is not asking much. The most predicable element of our play is that we will make a key mistake.

But hope lies in our redemption stories. Kinsky shows remarkable courage in overcoming the Athletico debacle, where other keepers more experienced than he have seen careers disintegrate after such a confidence destroying game. His fortitude spreads from the back into the rest of the team. And Maddison made an immediate and discernible impact in the short time he came on. He probably won’t be fit enough for 90 minutes before the season ends so the decision is whether or not to use his limited minutes from the start or save him until later.

I would describe myself as mentally and emotionally resilient, thanks to my caring parents, although I did not realise this at the time, to me it was just normal. As a Spurs fan this helps successfully navigate the ups and downs, a perspective where the highs feel more exhilarating than ever because they are so precious while the lows can jog on, there’s always next week.

But I am exhausted by this, this mess, this shambles, this self-imposed purgatory. I’m not motivated to write as often as I used to. I just want to write, it’s awful, awful, awful awful. I don’t want to think about it but think about little else. Tottenham always on my mind after all. I’ve never demanded success or trophies, they will come our way if we play decent football and hubristic expectation is not part of me being a fan. Loyalty, family, being there, the camaraderie of good friends and those who sit around me, that’s what matters. If we go down, that remains and will sustain me. If we’re useless, I can handle that too, but this is all so avoidable and that’s what undermines my long-established coping strategies.

I’ll handle the banter and the comments, although currently they come from all sides. Friends (albeit it gently), comments from strangers if I wear something with the badge, topical comedy on the radio and TV, it’s ok because I know what being a fan means to me and that will carry on regardless of the outcome. It’s my club that has got to me. Years of negligence, of lousy decision-making in the transfer market, the arrogance of those in charge who thought we could manage, whose cursory disregard of supporters is unforgivable. Whose sloth in taking remedial action at the beginning of the year could take us down.

The true heart of Tottenham Hotspur beat at half time when the club showed a montage of those fans who died this year. Ten or more minutes passed as we applauded their smiling faces, one by one, wearing navy blue and white, each one representing a lifetime of support, some long, some tragically brief. I wish their families long life.

On Monday I met a long-standing season ticket holder who goes to every home game. Well, almost every one. He’s missed two this year, family stuff, which means he’s not seen Spurs win for 13 months. But he’s still here and so am I. I say I rise above the banter, but as my son pointed out, on the last day W Ham, AFC and Palace are all playing in London. For those of us who live in town or journey home through central London, that could be fun. And if those in charge ever made that journey on public transport, ever had to come out of their bubble, ever talked to those who have passed and truly listened, Spurs would never have reached this point.