Beef Bagel

Has anyone been following all the pre-season tours, all the Spurs in Spain and Marcos’ pre-season diary features on the official site? No, me neither. Utter waste of time finding out who’s doing what and how well people are gelling when we have no idea who the hell is going to be in the squad when the transfer window closes, let alone the 16th August.

What’s more, it’s a rather boring account. On the one hand, I am fascinated on what’s going on behind the scenes in terms of training and exactly what it is that former Sevilla fitness coach Marcos Alvarez does for us. Unfortunately, the guy’s not exactly a creative writing graduate and what we get is…

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Hypocrisy, illegalities, embarrassment, this has turned into one hell of a circus. I don’t remember such a strange summer of sales in my life. In fact this is the first year there has really been such a different feel in the air. It’s one thing for Dimitar the Great to be on his way, we expected that but Keano is another kettle of bananas all together.

We’re over a barrel with Berba or at least we will be soon. The man’s got a year or two left on his deal and he’s wanted to go to United from nearly the moment he set foot on English soil. MJ said it himself in one of the many quotes we get now he’s no longer holding the reigns. So, what can you do. If we don’t sell him now, he’ll go on a free later. We know this and it makes sod all difference whether or not the Chewing Gum Machine is tapping him up or not. Dimi tapped himself up a long time before.

As it stands, according to Harry Hotspur and the translation of an Old Trafford sanctioned Norwegian United site, Red Faced Fergie was specific in his public desires of our star striker. He said:

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Time scales. It’s all about time scales. The Bakery’s nearly looking like a home. Let me have a look…

…75% a home. It’s the rug under the coffee table that never itself existed. It’s the three house plants I always planned on buying; the sideboard for storage - two words I’d never really considered. What is a sideboard anyway? I mean, I’m looking it at and I was aware of its kind and existence before but how did such a thing come about? I know, let’s make the room a bit smaller and put some low cupboards and a cutlery draw in it. Surely the sideboard was the last of man’s furniture inventions? We couldn’t even name it properly. We just chucked a couple of other words at it and left it there.

The thing is, I quite like it. I knew I wanted it as soon I saw it, well as soon as I heard I could afford it. It looks pretty good and there’s place at the end to stash all your booze an area for mixing drinks. I’m sure that’s something we were always told to avoid. Sideboards positively encourage it.

So we sit here - me and Sidey - having a little tete-a-teak about change; the change that LB brings with her plant pots and rugs, the change that part of me kicks at and then wonders exactly why. Do I fear the unknown or maybe I just miss who I was, who I’m ceasing to be, or more to the point, is it about what future identity I have.

But then Sidey flaps his doors. We’re getting on pretty well the two if us and who would have thought that’d work out? Just because I have a sideboard, it doesn’t mean I’m not The Bagel.

I think you know where I’m going with this - well, I finally do anyway. I’m just worried about change.

Word comes in tonight that we’ve accepted a £28m bid for Dimitar the Unhappy, just when I’d dared to mention to Jimmy Bluto (nee Crazy Box) that part of me was beginning to secretly think that maybe we’d hang onto the beautiful Bulgarian. Just about all the papers are reporting it. It’s probably about the fairest price for both parties. £25m would have been too near a robbery and £30m to close to a rip off and it looks as if it’s 18 up front with a variety of “if he paints his locker blue and uses his right boot more than his left” clauses for the remaining 10.

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Well howdy. How’s tricks? LB is officially in the Bakery. She is wandering around as we speak. Well, I say wandering, purposefully striding from one side of my field of view to the other and then back again is more like it, and each time with an object in her hands and place to put it in mind. It’s not a girlfriend any more. She has become a nesting machine. It’s awesome sight to behold. I canceled my plans for the evening to make sure I was here to help. I’m doing nothing. In fact, I’m eating a well buttered, toasted bagel. And watching. But let’s leave LB to her flurry of clothing, fury of dusters and mumblings of storage. There’s dealings afoot.

The more time goes on the more convinced I become that Keano’s going nowhere and the sale of Peter Crouch to Happy Harry’s only adds further credence to the growing sense of warmth. Better still, were the words of Crazy Gus which I received via Twitter from the Yid of the Norf - loving this instant news thing - that ran…

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Ahhhh so long, it’s been so damn long. I’ll tell you all about The Bagel’s comings and goings when I have the time but there’s news to discuss.

Frankly, I’ve been in shock since Monday just after midnight when I read the headline in the Mail online that Keano had handed in a transfer request over the rumours about Rafa’s requests. I felt sick to my stomach. If I think about it too long I still do. Robbie is not only very special to Tottenham but he’s very special to The Bagel. The day I decided to buy my season ticket was the day he signed for Spurs and I’ll never forget him holding his Tottenham shirt aloft with a feeling in everyone’s hearts that we’d bought an exceptional player, one looking for a place to call home and that’s exactly what the Lane has become since he arrived.

No one tries harder than Keano and no one can do what he does. He is unique in style, in shape, in attitude and it’ll be one of the sadest days of my life when he leaves Spurs. We don’t sing “All I want is a team of Robbie Keanes” for no reason. I’ve always marveled at the way other teams haven’t coveted him before and in some ways it’s no surprise that finally one of them has seen sense. I’m sure he’d be a legend at Anfield. You simply cannot resist his charms, his chop-suey and his little Irish jigs. The thing is, he’s not going to go.

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