Author: Alan

Come On You Spurs (and Andy)

/ Alan / Leave a comment

As the media work themselves into a lather over grunting at Wimbledon, there’s an on-court sound that bothers me infinitely more. The individual voices crying, ‘Come on Andy’, or Roger, or Andy (again) are profoundly irritating. It’s not quite so bad this year, because we are spared the grating awfulness of ‘Come on Tiiiiiiimm’, as he has retired to bore us rigid from the safety of the commentary box, but I’ve already had enough. By last Tuesday, actually.

I confess I can’t quite put my finger on why this is so annoying. The last time I heard support like this was at primary school when we were marched out to support the  netball team in the local derby against St Gregory’s. Whipped into an hysterical frenzy because we were excused maths to watch the game, the high pitched screaming seemed to terrify our visitors and the goal shooter’s aim was as sharp as a drunk at a fairground shooting gallery. But we were ten years old and somehow that’s not going to put the fear and trembling onto the mind of a battle hardened veteran of the tennis circuit.

One irksome variant is the guy (and it is almost always a guy) who wants to be the last voice to be heard before the serve. As it surely undermines the mental composure of the preparing server, in most cases it has the exact opposite of the intended effect. Once achieved, one can only assume that our supporter basks in the glory of his achievement, imagining admiring glances from those around him. His fellow spectators nudge one another on the way home, see him, he was the bloke who shouted out ‘come on’, third game, second set. And it was a deuce point!!! I picture a website somewhere where these folk gather to share stories, or maybe a hierarchy of shout-outs. A Wimbledon final match point is surely the top of such lists. The king of the shout-outs.

Support for British players at Wimbledon is also characterised by the frantic waving of 5 inch square Union Jacks. A more ineffectual gesture I cannot possibly imagine. Quite how the waving of a miniscule flag by a Surrey matron will lift the flagging spirits of a downhearted Brit I really do not know. Yesterday during Murray’s game, a woman held up a Scottish flag hand-drawn on an A4 piece of plain paper. Rather than buy or make a flag, presumably she felt moved to smuggle in said paper and felt tip and furtively draw behind the Pimms and strawberry stall, before slipping into her seat to reveal the factor that would tip the balance in favour of the surly scot.

My son reminded me that years ago I had mentioned the way the aussies got behind Pat Rafter in the Men’s final. They generated great chunks of big noise, not chanting but just loud, strident and concentrated. He was too polite to add that this is obviously one of dad’s soapbox comments, trotted out every year in the last week of June and the first of July. Thanks for being gentle, son, I get the message. But it was real support, from the heart, and Rafter knew it.

The contrast between genteel Wimbledon and the raucous masses in football grounds could hardly be greater. In the end, my irrational irritation comes from the joy of supporting a football team and being part of the crowd. Obnoxious and abusive that support may sometimes be, but it is where I feel most comfortable, participating in a genuine expression of lasting commitment, one where victory means something and where fan and team are united as one against a common foe.

Of course the Wimbledon crowds enjoy their day and are absorbed with their heroine or hero, but they do not, cannot, feel it as we football fans do. After the match is over, how much does it matter to them who won?  For us, it means so much. It’s true passion. From the heart.

New Spurs Kit – C'mon the Lilywhites…and yellow

/ Alan / 3 Comments

Tottenham Hotspur Football Club play in white shirts and navy blue shorts.

They have done for the 40 years that I have watched them, and for countless years before that. We are known for these colours in Britain and around the world. It holds a beautiful simplicity.

Paul Barber says that, “We are privileged to have a great heritage and tradition at Tottenham Hotspur and the new range of kit pays homage to the three key Club colours used in previous kit throughout the Club’s history.”

Rubbish. Putting money into Puma’s bank account more like. Acquiescing meekly to the might of a German corporate creative team who know everything about making money, nothing about our heritage and who care even less. The yellow flashes on the shirt are pathetic. Value our culture and tradition by keeping the home shirt white.

Anyway, yellow and white does not even look good. I’m not exactly an authority on haute couture, but I really don’t believe that fashion has totally embraced the white and yellow look this summer, or indeed any summer in recent memory. I shall check this lunchtime when I walk into town, and if this means staring intently at women’s chests, I shall declare in my defence that it is purely in the interests of scientific research.

This is not some luddite rant about the good old days when my mum sewed a Spurs badge onto a plain white football shirt and that lasted year in, year out. It’s not even a yearning for the time, not so long ago, when Spurs stood out from other clubs by changing the home shirt only every other year, although it must be stated clearly that there is absolutely no need for a third shirt.

Football has become a leisure pastime, one among several, for many people. Fine by me, if that’s how they see it. A football shirt then is a brand, again one among several, like a Fred Perry or Nike shirt, and bought for that purpose. Where I live in Kent, the Chelsea shirt has become a fashionwear leisure item, worn by men and women who I would hazard a guess do not have a lasting allegiance to the Blues, but that’s not the point. It’s seen as something to look good in (I don’t get it either). If you want to be part of the crowd, wear Chelsea.

But the white first team shirt at Tottenham means more than that. Have the third shirt as the leisure item but leave the white shirt of Lilywhites, I said Lilywhites, alone. Leave it for the people who care, who really matter. Not the customers of JD sports, but we, the fans.

New season, new blog

/ Alan

Actually, when I come to think about it, not the best time to start a football blog. Enthusiasm got the better of me. Didn’t think it through. Just had to write it all down, that stuff whirling around inside my head….

Not that there is a close season these days, at least not one worthy of the name. I’m still raking over the embers of the season just gone when next week the players begin pre-season training.

It’s customary at this time of year to intone wisely that all teams need a good pre-season. Quite what this means I’m not sure. The squad need to get fit and judging from the photos of Huddlestone in the press last week, some have more work to do than others. On the other hand, the players must not overtrain because “it’s a long season and we don’t want to peak too early.” That’s not a real quote but I guarantee someone in the club will say so before too long, sooner rather than later if they start to lose a couple of friendlies.

Pre-season is also for team bonding -cue photos of the lads pushing each other into the pool at a ludicrously expensive foreign training camp. What’s wrong with Chigwell? Oh… But the fact is, they probably all hate each other because the other guy’s on more money or is going to get the nod for the first team.

Then there is the competitive element. This year we have several high profile games, including not one but two televised tournaments, Because they have made up names, the fans will become highly excited about them. Ah, the traditions of the Wembley Cup, dating back, oh, days. No summer break for the shouty Sky announcer.

Last season we had a superb pre-season, winning most of our games in great style.  Even after 40 years of watching Spurs I was fooled, resorting to muddy internet  streams to see the Ramos masterplan emerging away to Norwich in July. I knew it wasn’t the finished article, but ahead lay the intoxicating promise of pacy pass and move attack with plenty of goals. Just like Seville, who had the chutzpah to emerge from the also-rans and challenge the elite.

Back to reality. A good pre-season means diddly squat once the real thing begins. The Premier League is hard, bleak and cold for the underprepared, even in high summer. Pre-season does not foster the hard mental attitude that marks the distinction between winners and losers.

If slogging out laps in the wind and rain at Chigwell focuses the attention wonderfully, then that’s where the squad should be. And it will reduce the danger of skin cancer. It’s in your best interests, lads.

echoes@gmx.co.uk