…especially when it’s the scalp of a Gooner!
Today is a day when I wish I’d been somewhere else. Not just anywhere else even though that in itself is quite appealing when all I have done today is to sit at my pooter since 7.30am writing a design report for an exhibition about bacteria! No, on this occasion the only place to be is a little bit of lilywhite north London. A spot in N17 that’s been the site of a sweet, sweet victory today, yep, that’s White Hart Lane to us mere mortals.
This design report is the penultimate piece of coursework for my degree and it has to be handed in tomorrow and I’m struggling with the will to live it’s so dull. So I took a couple of hours off this afternoon to watch the north London derby. If you live in the UK, even if you hate football, you’ll probably know that this is THE GAME of the season for all us north Londoners (even if that’s only north London by heart). It’s the grudge match. If you live anywhere else in the world, then trust me. It’s the biggie.
Most of the time these games don’t go our way if I’m honest – not that you need me to tell you that. In fact, the reverse fixture saw us go 0-2 up, then get a player sent off then lose 5-2. Talk about humiliating. Basically this means the game is watched in a kind of Dr Who behind-the-sofa sort of way. You almost can’t bear to watch but you can’t bear not to watch either.
The thrill of BAY-LE (Gareth Bale, the Welsh wonder) breaking free from a bunch of gooners and slotting home our first goal was, therefore, something of a thrill. Our neighbours enjoyed it (not – especially as they are notional gooners) even through the solid granite wall as we hollered and screamed our support. We’d barely got our breath back before Lennon popped in our second, almost carbon-copy of the first. More hollering, more shouting, more dancing around the sitting room like fools.
The trouble is, this all happened before half-time so we had 45 minutes plus stoppages to sweat on keeping our lead. As you’ll already have worked out, it’s far from beyond the bounds of possibility that a 2-0 lead can be turned into a 5-2 defeat by the red scum. To say that it was a nail-biter is an understatement. We were taking every kick ourselves, jumping out of our seat every time they came close. They did come close and in fact did score a goal but we managed to stay on top and won the game. Wooooooo hooooooooooo.
Now I am back on the report, a lot happier but also a lot more panicked as I now have been on it for 12 hours today (and all the hours over the last couple of weeks) and am nowhere near finishing. Tomorrow morning, come hell or high water, it’s got to be handed in. I suspect both hell and high water will play a part in the next few hours of my life but they can’t take away the sweetness of a bit of gooner scalp hunting. COYS. #We're the Park Lane, we're the Park Lane, we're the Park Lane Tott-en-ham.
