whitelightwhiteheat
SC Supporter
- Jul 21, 2006
- 6,517
- 3,195
http://www.thefightingcock.co.uk/2013/04/hate-the-shirt/
The mad cocktail of Spurs offers a necessary diversion from the freefall of our lives. But if you boo or abuse a player in a Tottenham jersey, you are hating the shirt. Loving the shirt, for me at least, means supporting the person in it through ninety plus minutes of pleasure, pain and misfortune.
A fan is for air-conditioning, support is more than the silky boost of a Victoria’s Secret bra on supple, young skin, it is something that lifts you higher and forms a brick wall in the face of adversity. No-one shines in the face of dog’s abuse and it is in any Spurs lover’s interest not to pillory our players in a manner befitting the likes of Jack ‘Coke Zero’ Wilshere. Criticism, borne from frustration is human and understandable, unhinged personal abuse reveals more about the shouter’s own situation and is destructive to the Spurs cause. For some poor souls, it seems far easier to hate than to love.
After Emmanuel Adebayor’s comedy run-up and orbital penalty shoot-out miss against the Basel Amateur Dramatics Society (BADS), the knives were out from the usual suspects. The fact that Adebayor had played a useful but thankless 120 minutes and is farcically Spurs’ lone fit striker (see Daniel Levy’s wallet – which manages to award our pint-sized chairman an almost 25% pay rise yet adeptly sidesteps a gasping need for a natural goalscorer over SIX transfer windows) in an injury-ravaged, 10-man team of battlers was redundant. It was all Adebayor’s fault. Veiled racism and hate reigned like confetti. Brad Friedel’s statue-like topples in the same shoot-out and Jan Vertonghen’s kamikaze red card (which tipped the balance in BADS’ favour) barely merited a mention.
The nature of player scapegoating is that it is usually your least favourite player’s fault rather than a combination of factors. Had tired veteran William Gallas clipped the charmless Marco Streller and flipped the tie on its head all hell would have broken loose. But Vertonghen is a firm fan favourite and thus afforded near teflon status. I love our Belgian ‘Superman’ and his gratuitously drawn out signing by the penny-pinching Levy (cough, except where his own salary is concerned) has proven a slow-motion masterstroke. Yet our Belgian’s gaffes are conveniently airbrushed out of the picture. Jan was body-popping in the first leg against Basel yet inevitably it was ex-Goon Gallas who took the fall across social media despite the veteran having a far more effective match during an admittedly slapdash Spurs defensive display.
Players of all abilities have good and bad games. So many criticisms hinge on perceived likeability rather than the ability or actual performance of the player concerned. We all yearn for a Tottenham victory, whatever the game. Our joy should not be dependent on which players take us there.
Shortly after a recent Q-List ‘celebrity’ reality show, social media was awash with tributes to bulbous participant Neil ‘Razor’ Ruddock whose most noteworthy contribution to North London has been advertising value suits in that mecca of high fashion Golders Green. Words like ‘legend’ were bandied around. I gagged on my bowl of Krave and took a long sip of a Singha. Were the rumours true? Had Walter White expanded his crystal meth empire via social media?
Ruddock was a chest-thumper and a bullshitter who appealed to football’s often uncomplicated and guileless gallery. Certainly not the worst defender to play for Spurs but one who frequently offered minimum effort and shrugged it off with a geezerish wink. Ruddock bailed at the first opportunity when Liverpool came calling, but due to his hulking presence and barking, faux Spurs fan persona he is somehow regarded fondly by those who never watched him play.
Contrast with the oft-maligned Gallas. A bargain Bosman transfer via our nomadic friends from South London whose flawless performance at the Emirates in 2010 gained Spurs their first derby victory on away soil since the virgin season of the Premier League. Gallas was also magnificent in guiding Spurs past AC Milan to the Champions League quarter-finals and has been widely praised by fellow players, Andre Villas-Boas and marmite predecessor Harry Redknapp as inspirational in the dressing room. The Frenchman was a rare voice in championing Spurs’ brief title charge in 2012 when Levy went AWOL in another January transfer window (standard) and Harry’s season-destroying flirtations with the England national team sent a breakthrough season into a tailspin.
Gallas cost £5million less than Ben Thatcher, £4million less than Chris Perry, £3.75 million less than Ramon Vega, but the tragedy is he will be remembered less fondly in some (perverse) quarters. The Frenchman’s career is now winding down, and the fourth string centre-half now only plays due to rotation or injury, but it is easy to forget he cost Spurs nothing and made a significant contribution unlike a long line of costly defensive failures. When I praised Gallas for a critical intervention in the home tie versus Basel I was messaged by one philosopher, ‘Fuck Gallas and his block.” Better that the Swiss side had scored? Oh, jog on.
We have our share of mugs purporting to be ‘supporters’. This disease is not particular to those of an Arsenal persuasion, but as Spurs’ season enters this final, critical phrase with a Champions League charge more than alive, all players wearing that famed lilywhite shirt need your support rather than your scorn. The booing of individuals or the team is mindless, unacceptable and poisonous to the cause.
This week a Spurs supporter was banned for swearing after being shopped by another fan via the club’s weasel-like texting service. But maybe true Spurs believers can use this shadowy system to their advantage. Should you see Adebayor, Gallas or any Tottenham player being abused in the remaining home games, text that ‘fan’s’ seat number to 07537 404821. Don’t hate the shirt. Love it.
The mad cocktail of Spurs offers a necessary diversion from the freefall of our lives. But if you boo or abuse a player in a Tottenham jersey, you are hating the shirt. Loving the shirt, for me at least, means supporting the person in it through ninety plus minutes of pleasure, pain and misfortune.
A fan is for air-conditioning, support is more than the silky boost of a Victoria’s Secret bra on supple, young skin, it is something that lifts you higher and forms a brick wall in the face of adversity. No-one shines in the face of dog’s abuse and it is in any Spurs lover’s interest not to pillory our players in a manner befitting the likes of Jack ‘Coke Zero’ Wilshere. Criticism, borne from frustration is human and understandable, unhinged personal abuse reveals more about the shouter’s own situation and is destructive to the Spurs cause. For some poor souls, it seems far easier to hate than to love.
After Emmanuel Adebayor’s comedy run-up and orbital penalty shoot-out miss against the Basel Amateur Dramatics Society (BADS), the knives were out from the usual suspects. The fact that Adebayor had played a useful but thankless 120 minutes and is farcically Spurs’ lone fit striker (see Daniel Levy’s wallet – which manages to award our pint-sized chairman an almost 25% pay rise yet adeptly sidesteps a gasping need for a natural goalscorer over SIX transfer windows) in an injury-ravaged, 10-man team of battlers was redundant. It was all Adebayor’s fault. Veiled racism and hate reigned like confetti. Brad Friedel’s statue-like topples in the same shoot-out and Jan Vertonghen’s kamikaze red card (which tipped the balance in BADS’ favour) barely merited a mention.
When I praised Gallas for a critical intervention in the home tie versus Basel I was messaged by one philosopher, ‘Fuck Gallas and his block.
The nature of player scapegoating is that it is usually your least favourite player’s fault rather than a combination of factors. Had tired veteran William Gallas clipped the charmless Marco Streller and flipped the tie on its head all hell would have broken loose. But Vertonghen is a firm fan favourite and thus afforded near teflon status. I love our Belgian ‘Superman’ and his gratuitously drawn out signing by the penny-pinching Levy (cough, except where his own salary is concerned) has proven a slow-motion masterstroke. Yet our Belgian’s gaffes are conveniently airbrushed out of the picture. Jan was body-popping in the first leg against Basel yet inevitably it was ex-Goon Gallas who took the fall across social media despite the veteran having a far more effective match during an admittedly slapdash Spurs defensive display.
Players of all abilities have good and bad games. So many criticisms hinge on perceived likeability rather than the ability or actual performance of the player concerned. We all yearn for a Tottenham victory, whatever the game. Our joy should not be dependent on which players take us there.
Shortly after a recent Q-List ‘celebrity’ reality show, social media was awash with tributes to bulbous participant Neil ‘Razor’ Ruddock whose most noteworthy contribution to North London has been advertising value suits in that mecca of high fashion Golders Green. Words like ‘legend’ were bandied around. I gagged on my bowl of Krave and took a long sip of a Singha. Were the rumours true? Had Walter White expanded his crystal meth empire via social media?
Ruddock was a chest-thumper and a bullshitter who appealed to football’s often uncomplicated and guileless gallery. Certainly not the worst defender to play for Spurs but one who frequently offered minimum effort and shrugged it off with a geezerish wink. Ruddock bailed at the first opportunity when Liverpool came calling, but due to his hulking presence and barking, faux Spurs fan persona he is somehow regarded fondly by those who never watched him play.
Contrast with the oft-maligned Gallas. A bargain Bosman transfer via our nomadic friends from South London whose flawless performance at the Emirates in 2010 gained Spurs their first derby victory on away soil since the virgin season of the Premier League. Gallas was also magnificent in guiding Spurs past AC Milan to the Champions League quarter-finals and has been widely praised by fellow players, Andre Villas-Boas and marmite predecessor Harry Redknapp as inspirational in the dressing room. The Frenchman was a rare voice in championing Spurs’ brief title charge in 2012 when Levy went AWOL in another January transfer window (standard) and Harry’s season-destroying flirtations with the England national team sent a breakthrough season into a tailspin.
Ruddock was a chest-thumper and a bullshitter who appealed to football’s often uncomplicated and guileless gallery.
Gallas cost £5million less than Ben Thatcher, £4million less than Chris Perry, £3.75 million less than Ramon Vega, but the tragedy is he will be remembered less fondly in some (perverse) quarters. The Frenchman’s career is now winding down, and the fourth string centre-half now only plays due to rotation or injury, but it is easy to forget he cost Spurs nothing and made a significant contribution unlike a long line of costly defensive failures. When I praised Gallas for a critical intervention in the home tie versus Basel I was messaged by one philosopher, ‘Fuck Gallas and his block.” Better that the Swiss side had scored? Oh, jog on.
We have our share of mugs purporting to be ‘supporters’. This disease is not particular to those of an Arsenal persuasion, but as Spurs’ season enters this final, critical phrase with a Champions League charge more than alive, all players wearing that famed lilywhite shirt need your support rather than your scorn. The booing of individuals or the team is mindless, unacceptable and poisonous to the cause.
This week a Spurs supporter was banned for swearing after being shopped by another fan via the club’s weasel-like texting service. But maybe true Spurs believers can use this shadowy system to their advantage. Should you see Adebayor, Gallas or any Tottenham player being abused in the remaining home games, text that ‘fan’s’ seat number to 07537 404821. Don’t hate the shirt. Love it.
, he gets alot of hate which is a shame and I was surprised to see alot of hate to him from the likes of Alan Sugar(thank fuck this tosser aint at the club anymore despite him saving us)
