This Sunday saw the climax of the 2010/11 Premiership with just the major matter of relegation to be sorted and the minor matter of who gets to play in the Thursday/Sunday Cup aka the Europa League. I think deep down that both Liverpool and Spurs see the prospect of winning this futile battle as a hinderance to their 2011/12 Premiership plans, although they will both tell you that they would sooner be in it than not (more for financial reasons than footballing ambitions).
I was able to watch just 10 minutes of Channel 5’s football showpiece Europa League Final on Wednesday night before I couldn’t take anymore. My mind raced to this Sunday hoping that Spurs will play the kind of football that they played against Inter and AC Milan and win the Thursday/Sunday Cup. If ever there was a deterent to enter this classless competition then the all-Portuguese final in Dublin should have been it. The feeling of dread at the prospect of facing the dregs of European football on a wet cold Thursday night just makes me break into a cold sweat.
Its also the same feeling I get at time of the year when the postman walks up my path and drops that distinctive white envelope through my letterbox. The white envelope that tells me that I have around 2 weeks to find a small fortune. The white envelope that tells me if I don’t cough up the best part of a grand I will have to rejoin a waiting list of 40,000+ people who would walk over hot coals or broken glass to have my seat in the Spion Kop.
This time last year my football club were still in the clutches of the American Chucklebrothers. We had just finished 7th in the league and although we were minutes away from going through to the Europa League final in Hamburg we finished the season trophyless. Rafa was still in charge and the whole club stank of underachievement, uncertainty and turmoil. We thought we were at rock bottom but that was to follow with the appointment of Roy Hodgson.
Even so, the white envelope fell on my doormat at the beginning of June telling me I had to find an extra £50 more than the previous season. I knew quite a few people who though enough was enough and offloaded their tickets. I myself bit the bullet and struggled to get the money together but I begrudged paying every penny under that freeloading regime. It wasn’t the fact that the team had won nothing, it was the fact that we were paying towards a massive debt put on the club by a pair of clowns.