Beef Bagel

I’m a little nervous about tomorrow. Nervous; no maybe not nervous. Somewhere between frustrated and depressed, leading to a touch of anxiety. On Sunday we showed what we can do with potentially the best defence in the Premiership, particularly when we get Gareth Bale involved as well. Remember him?

The problem is that straight away we get the news that Woody suffered a knock to his ankle in the final, which apparently he kept shtum about until the final whistle went - who can blame him? - and according to the Mail, King Ledley suffered a bad reaction with those tender knees of his which he is having to carry around in a wheelbarrow and smother with ointment until the shrunk down to normal size again; and that’s in three-games time according to the surprisingly reliable semi-tabloid. Of course, the official site and Beeb just leave it as “Ledley King could be rested” which is a lot easier to cope with. If the Mail is to be believed, it’ll be the away leg at PSV where Ledders makes his return.

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It’s hard to tell what’s been my favourite part of the aftermath: the pictures in the papers; articles on our impending great future; going into work wearing my Tottenham shirt in the face of a loud mouth little Chelsea fan, cheering in his face and then going, “ok, ok, I’ll take it off,” to reveal another Tottenham shirt and doing it all over again; or perhaps walking down Holloway Road the next morning in my 1967 Spurs jumper, head held high, going into a newsagents and buying a copy of every paper? The shopkeeper says, “Are you a Spurs fan?” I nod and show him my ticket for the game. “Are you an arsenal fan?” I ask. He nods quietly. I grin broadly, “Good morning.”

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“The only enjoyable thing about a cup game at Wembley is the final whistle, and then only if you’ve won” - The Bagel, 24/02/08

The half-covered red LEDs of a clock radio read 7.30 on a dresser beyond the foot of my bed. ‘Wembley’ the first word in my lips before even my eyes were open. ‘Wembley’ I let it roll around my mouth. I try to say it without smiling but it’s like eating a doughnut without licking your lips. ‘Wembley’ - the sound of the ‘m’ and the ‘b’ bounce around my head like a Berbatov ball juggle when he lands it from 70 yards up and under and onto his thigh, his foot, his ankle and puts it down wherever his genius chooses. ‘Wembley’ I’m wide awake, my eyes like saucers scanning the blank plaster ceiling of this dimly lit bedroom like it’s the stadium itself, the crowd and noise shimmering before me, Jenas eating up the turf as he pulls away from the helpless blue defenders and down the keeps throat in front of my eyes and thousands of Spurs willing him home. Wembley. Wembley.

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It’s 9.28am. I haven’t slept. Saturday’s have become an oddity for me since I’ve been working these filthy night shifts. I get back to the Bakery by 6am, I go to sleep, wake up and Saturday’s all but gone. But enough is enough. I’ve had it with my body clock this time. I’ve been up playing ridiculous facebook Texas Hold ‘Em and drinking single malt whiskey since I’ve been in. I intend to charge through the day without sleep and enjoy my weekend.

LB’s off in Ireland, Kerry I think. If you find yourself in Kerry and meet four noisy and attractive London girls, then don’t touch the blonde, she’s mine. All I know of that part of the world is that’s where the butter in my fridge is from. Well, it’s actually from Tesco’s but apparently that’s where it started its life.

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Must sleep. No time…energy to write today…this morning…whatever time it is.

Last night was rather an annoying game; one of the few occasions I’d rather have watched it on TV. But no need to dwell upon it. We took a risk and it paid off. It nearly didn’t but it did and now we have some well-rested key figures for Sunday and PSV in the next round of the Uefa Cup.

Anyway, you don’t need my words today. Just enjoy this…

The Bagel.

It’s all about saving for the future today, whichever way you look at it. The dawn of our UEFA Cup second leg comes and with it the realisation that we’ve some business of a serious nature to take care of before our big day out on Sunday. Finally the comments have come from the players and manager; the ‘just focusing on the next game’ comments, and why not with the coach of Slavia, Karel Jarolim, breathing his pilsner and prossie-warmed breath down our Mansion-shirted necks. He said:

“We don’t think they will be thinking about Sunday or resting players, but if they are we will be ready to capitalise.”

We may not be thinking about Sunday - well not much - but one big, juicy beef bagel says we’ll be resting a soul or two. According to Woody Woodgater:

“I will be going out against Slavia playing 100 per cent”

‘If I’m not fit for the Cup Final, then I am not fit. I will do everything I can to play for Spurs and if something happens, it happens.”

No, please be fit. We need you.

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Can’t say I’m too familiar with the works of Steve Nash but he sure knows a lot about us. The Phoenix Suns basketball player, seen here…

…making a 5XL shirt look like a child’s crop top, is a massive Yiddo, mostly owing to his parent’s North London upbringings, and would could like a piece of the Lane some day when he retires. I’d recommend the East Stand, home of the Bagel Wagon. He said:

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It’s eerily quiet out there. Listen.

Nothing.

Not a sausage.

Nor a bagel.

The deck creaks. The clouds gather and sky darkens the most unnatural of greens. There’s a news storm a-coming. They’ll be a downpour by the end of the week, flashes in the mainsail by the weekend and every man best rope himself to the rigging if he’s to survive whatever comes our way come Monday morning.

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Meet Scarlett the Yid, the world’s youngest Yiddo. No idea when or where she was born seeing as her father Toby has understandably been missing from our midst while he stares open mouthed down at the thing he’s created thinking, “Ok, I’d better try and be sensible now.”

Now I’m not entirely pleased she was named after something red and she may well disown her father, Toby, for it later in life, but thankfully she’s safe and well and according to facebook everything is good at Chez The Yid. Just wanted to pass that one on.

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Valentine’s Day? I ask you. Shouldn’t there have been some sort of UEFA ruling against any fixtures today? Maybe they did in on purpose? If one’s partner ever asked the dreaded question, “Who do you love more, Tottenham or me?” one could justifiably evade it by replying, “That’s not fair, Tottenham never asks me that,” but isn’t his just what Tottenham has done to us today with a little help from the European governing body. Incidentally, the other way around the question is by replying, “Why, you my love,” with your fingers crossed behind your back and then running off in the dead of night, getting your sorry arse down to WHL, climbing the West Stand and kissing the cockerel’s feet with a photograph of Ledley King in one hand while self-flagellating with a match-day program in the other. A severe punishment, you think? A severe crime, say I.

So, what of The Bagel? What have I chosen? Am I in Prague? The answer, sadly, is no. I tried, believe me I tried. I think it went something like:

“Sweetheart, do you fancy going away for Valentine’s Day……………..Prague but the thing is that there is an UEFA Cup game at the same time. Now obviously, I could have just lied, disappeared for two hours in the evening, return with some kind of ‘you’ll never believe what just happened to me’ story and dismiss all the pissed up Yiddos on tour as Bolton fans….from London.”

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