Can I Have My Spurs Back?: An Epitaph

Editorial | Article posted on March 18th, 2025

That it was Andre Villas-Boas that suffered the inglorious fate of dismissal is largely irrelevant. His was just another face that Daniel Levy in his infinite wisdom had lost faith in. This of course, despite the empty platitudes that are lavished on any incumbent manager when he begins his tenure at White Hart Lane. For Harry Redknapp, see Glenn Hoddle. For Ramos, see Jol. Then look up Santini. Now AVB joins the fools' gallery; a roll call of men hailed as the key to unlocking Spurs' 'potential', each consigned to the scrapheap by a club in thrall to profit, with little thought for sustained long-term development.

As a consequence of all this, in their desperation to gorge themselves on the riches that come with being part of an elite, the individuals that manage my club have systematically stripped it of all the pride it once had. Oh, how they love to parade Danny Blanchflower's famous quote about glory at every game. It's a hollow sentiment now. Broken. It evaporated into nothingness the very moment Spurs led football's stock market charge that so emphatically put greed-on-the-cheap above its fans. First Irving Scholar, then Alan Sugar, now ENIC presiding over this parade of avarice, sucking the marrow out of the carcass of this grand old institution.

And what of those fans? They are just poor saps who line up obediently at the club shop, year in, year out, to buy the cheap toot that some child worker has stitched together. We're told that all profits go to developing the team. That we're making a contribution. Meanwhile, our club's doing deals with ticketing agencies allowing people to hike up prices to astronomical, self-serving levels. But that's ok, right? After all, they've re-invested the cash for Bale on lots of fabulous new signings. Who cares if most supporters had never heard of them? Seven players, after all. Simple economic rules: quantity over quality. That'll paper over the cracks for a bit, shut them up for a while. Until next season at least.

Like maniacal evangelist preachers, they promise us heaven in return for our continued faith, just so long as we empty our pockets and keep their champagne flutes flowing, haw-hawing from the cosseted safety of their glass boxes in the West Stand. And when their promises are shown up for the sham they are, they placate the faithful with non-existent devils for us to rage against, shielding themselves from blame. If it's not lasagne, it's Chelsea winning the Champions League.

Chelsea. How we love to take the moral high ground when we compare ourselves to the noveau riche morality of our London neighbours. We mock the Oligarch for his impatience and his propensity for wielding his managerial axe with impunity. How are Spurs any different? At least Chelsea have an ever-growing trophy cabinet to justify Roman's policy.

But at least we're superior to Arsenal, right? Are we that deluded to place ourselves above a club that has always invested its faith in its managers for sustained periods whilst also successfully managing to build a wonderful modern arena that stays faithful to the club's community and roots? What do we have? A board that sought to move a North London club to East London on the cheap and is perennially procrastinating over completing a stadium next to where the current one stands.

How many more humiliations do Spurs supporters have to suffer? How many more players will we have to sell before it finally dawns on us that we are a selling club? Imagine if Carrick, Berbatov, Modric and Bale had stayed. Isn't that the kind of team that we deserve? But I don't blame those players for leaving. How can I when it's patently obvious that there is a clear directive at the club to purchase cheaply and sell for more. These players wanted to win trophies after all. To play for more illustrious clubs. To compete at the very highest level. It pains me to say it – but we're through the looking-glass now so let's speak a few home truths – Spurs will never be that club.

We can't delude ourselves any longer that we are a Big Club. We're a high mid-ranking one with delusions of grandeur. Intermittently successful but ultimately doomed to being also-rans. How can a club that has won two League titles in its history pertain to be bigger than clubs like Nottingham Forest and Aston Villa, both European Cup winners? A trophy every ten years or so is admittedly better than many clubs but they are just passing glories.

The infrastructure for an era of success has never and will never be there because we have a hierarchy in place that doesn't have the backbone to stick by the decisions and choices it makes. As fans we were entitled to criticise AVB for the abject displays his team put in against Manchester City and Liverpool. It's our club, nominally, and we care. However, kowtowing to pressure on Levy's part is either cowardice of the highest order or another clear indication that he knows very little about football. AVB, Jol, Ramos, etc deserved more time, whatever the fans may say. After all, we didn't appoint them. Levy and his acolytes did.

Help Keep These Tips & Guides Free Help Keep These Tips & Guides Free

And so the farce continues. How arrogant of Tottenham Hotspur to assume that other 'lesser' but more cohesive clubs will relinquish their promising young managers because of the allure of White Hart Lane. A year and a half from now and ENIC will have to feed the god of money again. Fire and sell. Fire and sell. And we'll keep turning up, keep spending, keep believing because we love our club. That's what we do.

That mythical Keith Burkinshaw quote has been swirling round my head since yesterday's news broke. Leaving White Hart Lane for the last time, he turned and remarked, "There used to be a football club over there". There still is. It's just their club. Not ours. A club run by financiers and hangers-on who turn up on matchdays and scoff their puff-pastries and spend the majority of the game in their suites glugging free beer, lolling about when the game finishes so their spoilt brats can pose for anodyne 'selfies' with the players. What grand days out they must have.

My family aside, I love this club more than anything but like a beaten wife who constantly takes back her abuser, a breaking point is eventually reached. The dereliction of duty by those gutting my club has brought me to tears today. How much more can anyone take? Years of emotional investment and obsession, all built on a lie. I used to actually believe all that 'my eyes have seen the glory' rubbish. Not any more. My eyes have finally been opened. And I am so very sad.