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The Ramos revolution
ONE of the more difficult aspects of being a Tottenham supporter over the last several years is the guilt I’ve felt in condemning my loyal sons to a fan’s life of such disappointment and unfulfilled promise – especially living in a manor where every other football follower is a Gooner.
So it was with tentative hope and curtailed expectation that I set off for Wembley with my two sons on Sunday.
Coming out of the station it’s a fine view over Wembley Way, a wide pedestrian route of a couple of hundred yards thronged with people, clothed in dark shades of grey and blue, making their way towards the imposing edifice of the new stadium ahead.
Coming closer, the crowd was separated into respective supporters going to opposite sides of the ground. So we had the warm and reassuring feeling of being surrounded by our own “clan”. As “a well known face off the telly” I am recognised more than I would, ideally, like, and on occasions like these, am particularly vulnerable.
While I was queueing for a beer I was spotted by a large group of tanked up and excited fans who started chanting “Trigger is a legend”, “Trig Army”, “Trigger give us a song”, and ended up leading a chorus of about 50 in a rendition of “When the Spurs go Marching in”. It was one of several joyous moments during the afternoon, characterised for me at that point by the sheer happiness of the Spurs supporters at being in the final.
This feeling was carried onto the pitch during the game and was marked by the exuberance of our support – in contrast to the Chelsea fans who were strangely muted.
Perhaps the Carling Cup didn’t mean so much to them. Perhaps they were already despondent in the knowledge that Avram Grant had picked the wrong team, but they seemed almost to be resigned to defeat, even after they took the lead, against the run of play, after another misjudgment by Robinson.
It was hard to escape the sinking feeling that we were going to blow it yet again. But after the interval, the Tottenham fans were magnificent, roaring their team on as if their lives depended on it. When we equalised with the penalty it was hard to contain ourselves, and when Woodgate scored early on in extra time at the far end I shouted “It’s gone in!” in ecstatic disbelief.
From then on in until the end of the game the Tottenham end of the ground was a mass of waving flags and shouting, cheering and singing, untiI I had very little voice left.
At times like these the crowd exerts a kind of primal force that is irresistible.
And when the whistle blew, the happiness felt by the fans and players alike was palpable, moving and a beautiful thing to be part of.
We were proud of ourselves, we were proud of our team, and most of all, we were proud of our manager, Juande Ramos, who had taken hold of the game and outwitted his opponent. It was a great feeling to know that we are in safe hands and can look forward to the future with renewed expectation. Another false dawn for the glory boys from White Hart Lane? I, for one, dare to think, this time, maybe not.
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