England's Number Two

Tottenham Hotspur v Watford

Saturday 17^th March

From Euston to Seven Sisters, Joss and I talked about the match on TV last week and he commented on how good Bouazza’s goal had been. We talked about the subsequent drawing of ManU or Boro, who replay on Monday, and wondered about where we’d have to head to see the match. Jun and Faisel are already signed up but Rod will be in Mexico and therefore unable to make it. I’ll make a couple of other calls when the opponents and venue have been set to see if others want to get in on it.

We walked up the High Road, a few hundred metres from where I used to share a flat with Sue at Clyde Circus, and on amongst the stream of white-clad fans towards the Lane. Having decided against the programme seller with a small queue we were disappointed to discover the regular guy in the away stand was off sick. We were in early enough to see the guys training and hear that Spurs had left Dimitri Berbatov, who has been white hot, Aaron Lennon and Robbie Keane (each red hot) on a sizzling bench. They are replaying Chelsea on Monday after a 3-3 draw at Stamford Bridge. Early chants from our end included “3-1 and you fucked it up” in reference to the lead they lost that day.

More to the point, though, was the fact that they’d scored three against Chelsea in a run of hitting threes and fours in the League and a successful UEFA Cup run. This is a much better Spurs than we played four and a half months ago. They looked threatening from midfield but Jay Demerit and Danny Shittu contained Mido and the Jermaines – Defoe and Jenas – who were indisputably a second string. It was only when I had decided for sure that Jenas wouldn’t score that he did five minutes before half time and, although Ben Foster could do nothing about a header into the bottom corner, our boasts that he was “England’s number one” seemed blunted in the presence of his clean-sheeted rival.

We got our programmes and Joss went for chocolate in hot liquid and cold solid forms, with money from his dad, who’d taken him to Watford Junction. Watford looked as lacking up front as they have most of the season but it was a freak goal just after the hour that will make posterity. Robinson took a free kick outside his area and it looped all the way into our box. Under pressure, Shittu left it for a surprised Foster to deal with and he couldn’t. “That’s why you’re number one,” they chanted as the rest of the team ran back to congratulate England’s keeper. I only heard one fan mention Croatia…

That killed us, though we responded to their fans with a few rounds of “Yellow Army”. They didn’t look particularly like scoring again in the following twenty minutes but then Hossam Ghaly let off a deflected shot into the bottom corner and we had to go through the whole “Yellow Army” thing again as our own were deserting us for North London’s streets all around. By way of consolation for those of us who stayed, Tommy Smith ran to the goal line and crossed for Darius Henderson to get his third of the season and we got our biggest cheer of the game.

We walked out and back down the High Street. A guy in a passing car shouted “Going down with the Hammers” and I replied “Shut it”. When we caught up with the car at the traffic lights a bit further up he seemed rather aggressive in asking “Shut what?” but I smiled at the programme I was studying and ignored him. We got back to watch the second half of England’s defeat to Wales in the Six Nations with Mum (Nanny) & Brian (Grandad) and then went for pizza and bowling in Finsbury Park. Jun came second to me and I took a pound off Joss for his unwise bet as he slipped to third.