Beef Bagel

Storms on both sides of the sea made missing breakfast for an early start a blessing in disguise for the turbulent, Alton Towers-esque journey to Amsterdam. Once on terra firma with settled stomachs we grabbed lunch and took in some of the city highlights (art galleries rather than red light district – honestly!) before heading to the train for PSV. Met a few Ajax supporters also coming along to the game, seemed a good bunch.

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Hi all, I’ve found some blog hacking software - as you can see, it’s rather good!

So, here’s my opportunity to tell you the way it really is.

Let’s start with a bit of background - without revealing my age, I can tell you I remember the League Cup win over the rapidly declining Liverpool team of 1986-7, vaguely, and remember losing to Luton the following year.

Those days were tough times for us Arsenal fans. We were, as a team, methodical, workmanlike, proper working class footballers, supported by proper working class geezers, it seemed to fit. You could respect the game and the players, you could empathise, but also you felt frustrated, there were many times during the early days that I thought that I could easily replace Lee Dixon, I could plod through a game, hold a line, make a decent tackle and hoof the ball to Alan Smith.

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It’s the waiting that really gets me.

I gaze over at the clock. The luminous hands tell what I already know, only this time they have moved a whole five minutes: 3:45 am. I turn my head the other way and observe the enormous, dark mound next to me. It’s MrstheYid. Eight hours earlier I had been greeted with the words I have been preparing to hear for the last 8.9 months:

“I’ve had this back pain all day, I think it may be on its way.”

A thousand thoughts run through my head but one really sticks, drowning everything else out – Your baby is on its way, Toby.

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As I got on the tube at LB’s local stop, I must confess I was feeling a little smug. “That’s what you get when you drop Tottenham players, Mr. McClaren,” were my thoughts as I picked up a copy of Metro to bathe in vindication on Robbo’s behalf. But the minute I saw the pictures, I knew I couldn’t do it. Etched on the faces of McClaren, Carson and every player in every photo were the obliterated hopes and shattered dreams I know so well and so personally from the Hand of God to the square shaped posts, from Owen’s wonder goal to Beckham’s red card and every penalty shoot out that England ever lost.

But what really did it for me was a letter I chanced upon amongst the sack-fulls of fan mail waiting for me back at the Bakery and this is how it goes…

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When The Bagel approached me to write an article for BeefBagel.com, I was a little anxious. I’ll be honest with you - and prepare yourself for this – I am not a Tottenham fan. I actually support Man United. There. The truth is out there.

However, I like reading the BeefBagel, and I harbour no ill-feelings towards Tottenham whatsoever. I even harbour guilt over the Roy Carrol incident. Apologies to all the folks at WHL. Yes, you were robbed.

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