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Doesn’t matter if we win cup – we beat spurs
TRAFFIC jams. Irritating people with whistles and horns in the street. £12 programmes. A three-handled cup. More traffic jams.
Who really wants to go to Cardiff on Sunday?
Spurs. That’s who. They really want to. They want to be in the Carling Cup final and they  are not. Instead, they will be watching Country File on Sunday afternoon. As usual.
The bottom line: They are not going to a cup final they really care about – they possibly care more about this tournament than any other team in the land – because they couldn’t beat Arsenal.
It was beyond them.
Sure, they could thrash Milton Keynes Dons and they even squeezed past Southend and Port Vale. They were proud of that. But when it came to two legs against Arsenal in the semis, they bungled it – even with a two-goal head start.
Sunday should be a fun day out, still worth decorating the car and turning the M5 red and white.
But, of course, it doesn’t matter if Arsenal (reserves and youth team) lose to a team of millionaires now.We have done what we needed to do in the Carling Cup this season and ruined it for Spurs. Stamped on their dreams. If anyone deserves to have a medal for his part in that, it’s Julio Baptista. So let’s hope it doesn’t go to penalties.
A YEAR is a long time in football. Twelve months ago Gooners were sashaying around Madrid yodelling: “David Beckham, Zidane, Ronaldo, we gave your boys one heck of a beating.”
A year later, the Gormless lot were crouching behind their bed settees with their fingers in their ears trying to block out the sound of Clive Tyldesley squawking: “It’s not quite the time for Olé football” while  Dutch no hopers PSV gave Arsenal one heck of a beating.
Premature? Maybe, but I bet even Mark Hughes managed a celebratory hoot in his best Spanish on Tuesday. In between texting his heartfelt commiseration to Cesc Fabulous that is.
Ah Cesc, one minute you’re ribbing Sparky that his Northern cloggers aren’t a patch on the club that battered Arsenal in the Champions League.
Next, you’ve been sent to polish Mr Hughes’s FA Cup medal collection with yer tongue.
Yet even a week can be a long time in football. Last Saturday, watching Spurs was as painful as listening to Craig Bellamy sing karaoke.
On Sunday, it was more rewarding than a Wayne Rooney marriage proposal on a petrol station forecourt and just as poetic.
“Barcelona football?” We’ll all say Olé to that.
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