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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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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Quite a fascinating gambit of news today and yesterday and none more so than the rumour that our 60,000 seater Mega-Lane is to go ahead while the Spurs continue to play at WHL. It should be done by 2011/12 - which probably translates to 2013 - and as Wilson correctly pointed out yesterday it will mean a one-year migration to the new MK Dons 30,000 seater stadium which should just about squeeze in the season ticket holders, the players wives and not too much else. I should imagine the away players will have to change in the car park.

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I’ve got to admit, I was a little nervous about all this takeover speculation yesterday. It doesn’t make any difference who and what and where they’re from the Middle East of the Far East or East London. The fact is that General Levy is doing a good job and The Bagel wants him to stay.

I got the impression when all those United fans took to the streets before the Glazier family took over and it seemed they were more bothered about their English club falling into the hands of Americans than the leadership of their football business. I don’t think there’s any room for xenophobia in football. How can you bitch about foreign money in the game when half your side comes from abroad?

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It amazes me how still we dig up stories of transfer news but dig them up we do. You’d have thought with the window shut not 3 weeks ago there’d be no tapping at the glass, no breathing at the pane and only a few comedy shapes drawn into the condensation; let’s face it probably genitalia or maybe footballs in this case. But no story well forgoten

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Bagels and gentlemen, this represents the last of the mid-night posts. Yes, this is my last night shift. New job and new sleep patterns as of Monday - at bloody last - and naturally a whole new Beef Bagel routine. Not sure how all the timing’s going happen. I’ve a feeling I’m actually expected to work at work in this next position, so I’ve been playing as much poker and as many internet games as possible this evening between Cheshire Cat grins and insulting all the people I’ve disliked over this last four months. Yes, I think we can safely say The Bagel has burnt his bridges.

Ok, I know what you’re saying to yourselves; I know, you don’t have to tell me. I can feel it in the sweat of your mouse clicking fingers. The question you’re asking is “How long before he mentions it? It’s got to be first on his list of transfer rumours,” and you’re right, of course it is. I know it’s a little on the hopeful side but yes, I’ve read the stories and I’m just as excited as you are. Ladies and gentlemen we may be getting rid of Younes Kaboul this summer.

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It’s just after 2am and I’m still rammed with salt beef. If you opened my mouth you could probably see the pinky ends of the meat fibres poking up in front of my soft palate. I nearly choked on a piece as I sat munching on my third mustard-laden sandwich. “Oh my God,” I thought for a second gasping through beef juice bubbles, “what a way for The Bagel to check out. I’m about to die a comedy death!” Fortunately, it was more my over-developed sense of the dramatic than a life-threatening incident of meat inhalation.

So here I am, alive, full and ready to discuss the details of a few of the strikers tipped to pick up where Sergei Bent and the Little Yiddo haven’t and didn’t quite take off. The name on everyone’s lips this week is Sevilla from Brasilia, Luis Fabiano. He’s actually from Campinas, nowhere near Brasilia but it also sounds nowhere near as good. Luis Fabiano Clemente, as his full name goes, is in his footballing peak at 27 years old and has picked up a healthy strike rate in his two years at Sevilla with a goal every other game. He’s 6′ tall and makes a strong enough target at over 13 stone. Here’s his head…

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With much written about Juande’s proposed summer clear-out and the message to the players that the rest of this season is important in shaping the team, I thought we could have a little fun today. Let’s each be Ramos, just for Juande. Get it?

Anyway, what I’d like you to do for our collective amusement and to chip away at the hours until the weekend is put the Tottenham squad into three separate category according as whether or not they should be sold: Untouchable, Wouldn’t Lose Any Sleep and Dust. You’ve no need to write explanations unless you wish but just remember to keep a very pensive face so that everyone in your office thinks you’re doing proper work. Here’s mine:

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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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