Back in the 40s, we decided here at Gentleman Towers to undertake some minor home improvements. When I say ‘we’ I mean Mrs. Gent decided to undertake some improvements; my only involvement was to sign the cheque. And when I say ‘minor’, I mean we built a new wing. The costs were extraordinary. I did not have a leg to stand on, having endured a somewhat ticklish time before the blackjack tables, I was a few hundred thousand down. “Well if you can spend our money on card games, you can certainly spend it on the house,” cried Mrs Gent, when she accidentally happened upon a poorly hidden bank statement from Coutt’s. Fair enough. She has no idea about the Cayman Islands accounts, the Swiss rainy day ones or the Isle of Man card fund, so I let it slide. And in the end, it was worth it.
I was reminded of this incident when viewing images of the end of our Tottenham Tussle on Wednesday evening, whereupon a number of the away chaps, no doubt having overdone the jazz salt, decided to redecorate White Hart Lane. They pulled down a sign which said hilariously ‘To Dare is To Do’, a slogan I always think is like a motorised scooter for the elderly having a sign affixed to it that says ‘Live Fast Die Young’ or an idle layabout shouting ‘I am King of the World’. Utterly nonsensical and completely misleading.
So by the removal of that sign, the away chaps did Tottenham a vast favour. Not least because a call from the local Trading Standards office must be imminent, informing them that they must modify ‘To Dare Is To Do’ into something a jot more realistic such as ‘We Try Hard But Nothing Happens’ or ‘All Our Best Players Leave’ or ‘We Burned Down Our Own Town’. So there we have it. Arsenal fans rip down hoardings and cause £200,000 worth of improvements. I know we should not encourage this sort of thing, and the personages in question will be fined and banned, but considering the awful state Tottenham leave The Emirates in every season it can perhaps be excused. Especially at their end of season party.
To the game then. Did any among us expect Matthew Flame to secure a brace? He and his parrot are quite the double act, and one cannot fail to be moved by his deep-seated hatred of Spurs, whichever colours he dons. Who has not enjoyed his superbly crunching tackle on Mr. Corluka whilst at Milan? It is quite the most stirring how-do-you-do on a Spurs player. He converts himself to a twelve stone billiard cue, chalks his feet and strikes the ball as if to show off a trick shot. Up pops the hapless Corluka, as if struck by a missile. Which in a way he was. Ah. Wonderful. But we digress.
When Mr. Flame flew into the perpetually irritating Daniel Rose Esquire on 37 minutes I quickly phoned my bookmaker to put a grand on him seeing the Daiquiri* before the final whistle. And yet we saw this fine, angry midfielder bag not just one goal – created through instinct and delivered by endeavour – but two. The second of which, a Nureyev* of extreme grace, will live long in the memory. Truly if someone deserves to have the motto To Dare is To Do it is not the Middlesex Comedy Club but Matthew Flame. Quite why that pribbling, flap-mouthed codpiece Harry Kane was not playing I do not know.
Every year they betray a confidence that they can overtake Woolwich and every year they fall flat. It’s not just their deluded fanbase of idle-headed moldwarps and toad-potted scuts, it is their players too.
“There is no reason why we can’t catch Arsenal, which is what makes this season coming so exciting.” Darren Bent in 2007. “We can definitely overtake Arsenal net year.” Jermaine Jenas, 2008. “If you look at the squads, the bench we have is stronger than their bench.” Robbie Keane, 2009. “Soon we will be above them in the league.” Peter Crouch, 2010. “Can Arsenal finish above us? No, no chance. We’re better.” Rafael van der Vaart, 2011. And so on, ad finitum. Next year, chaps, next year.
A word then on the unpleasantness at the dog track. A two-nil defeat, yes, but one the world now recognises was only achieved through the cheating of that errant, lumpish, impertinent fat-kidneyed, swag bellied psychopathic bellend Diego Costa. The whole affair seems to have really boiled the urine of Jose Mourinho, and anything which does that has to be worthwhile.
To Leicester then, to face Leicester Fosse. Always an appalling team, but somehow have contrived after six games to be above us in the league. The end times are near.
* A red card
* A goal scored when the ball is struck in mid air, as if by the great ballet dancer Rudolf Nureyev
