“You get what you pay for” is an adage that has weighed on me for much of my life, usually coming from people with money.
During the hazy days of my youth, I would lurch home at 4am with the balls of my feet burning and toenails bleeding/missing in the killer heels that I’d bought in the sale at Faith (younger fans: ask anyone who was around in the 1990s), whilst my trainee management consultant friend sailed gently home in deliciously foot-cocooning Kurt Geiger loafers. Cheap burns out rapidly and costs more in the long run, whereas expensive is forever and actually turns out to be the economical choice. That was always the lesson.
The start of this season saw a positivity that I have not seen before in my years as a fan. There was something intangible yet magical in the air, which I put down to a good pre-season (I’m still glowing after that Eintracht Frankfurt game), high-profile new signings, key returns from injury and, best of all, three decent kits with no brown in sight. Our home kit, although somewhat unremarkable when viewed as a pixilated JPEG from a leaked kits site, looked smart on the pitch, with the sharp gold accents distinguishing it clearly from any red and white striped rivals out there.
Furthermore, on the morning of our match, a bee flew into my house. I did my civic duty of rescuing it and placing it in a courgette flower outside; was this a sign? The poor bee was more likely trapped and panicking, but the whimsical part of me shall just ignore that and pretend it stopped by to wish us luck.
Despite all the positivity thrown forth by the universe, I couldn’t ignore the shadow of the manager of our opening day opponents; I would have felt more comfortable playing against a Tudor Spurs or a Frank Spurs (sorry, Thomas) than a De Zerbi Spurs. Even more difficult to ignore was the fanfare about the money spent on prominent players and, whilst I was confident that we could compete with the names, how could we compete with that spend?
Match Day saw us gifted with resplendent sunshine, and bad things never happen on such beautiful days, right? There were crowds of fans drinking by the river, and we even glimpsed a group in Brentford shirts in a rowing boat, soon serenaded from the river banks by chants of “You only sing when you’re rowing”. The Gtech was an ocean of red and white, with flags waving and the new Sangaré song ringing out – in tune! – from the West Stand. I wish I could meet the person who created it, so that I could shake their hand and buy them a drink; I was planning to go down the “Mamadou-dou-dou, push pineapples, shake the tree” route, but “I wanna dance with Sangaré” is better.
Jon Bon Jovi was in attendance. I know. I KNOW!
Our goals came, perhaps, from less obvious sources; most of us probably had Thiago, Ouattara, Schade and Sangaré on our bingo cards/betting slips, but I rather like the fact that we don’t need to rely on a small minority to carry us. “Where will our goals come from?” said everyone, when Mbeumo and that other guy left. Hopefully we answered that question some time ago, but this game really made the point hit home.
As for the result, this was one of those “It should have been more” games. The Spurs fans said it, too, but I didn’t realise just HOW many more it could have been until watching again on Match of the Day. Chances glanced off the crossbar or were just wide/high. We all felt that missed penalty – did Thiago fall victim to The Curse of the Stuttering Run-Up? – but, in terms of the right moment to miss one, if there can be such a thing, I’d far rather miss when we were comfortably 3-0 up than when we were hanging on by our bloodied fingernails with just minutes to spare.
Spurs played like a team who had only just met; it was as if someone had assembled them an hour before kick-off, saying, “Look, we don’t have a team, and we really need one. You’d be doing us a massive favour.” At least they were able to boast a nice shirt; it may have been panned by critics but I rather like the Terminatoresque “liquid metal tyre tread” look. Nobody else has a shirt quite like it (although there’s usually a reason when this happens).
I floated home after the game, for all the world feeling as if I were in Kurt Geiger shoes; you can’t go wrong with sunshine, a clean sheet, three points and second place in the league. (The husband helpfully informed me that not everyone had played, which is true but it’s not the point.) Whilst we may not be in Europe QUITE yet, I’d be more prepared to bet my house on that than on Spurs realising their dream of a coveted top 16 place.
So it turns out that, whilst the best things in life aren’t necessarily free, throwing money at your problems may not be the solution, either, if you can’t get those expensive parts to work together as a whole. And, as a famous Spurs entrepreneur once said, “Money is all right but, once you have it, you learn it’s not the be all and end all.”
Now, I’m off to do a wellness check on my Spurs friend, who has gone exceptionally quiet …
Nemone Sariman
