Dear fellow Spurs fans,
Last weekend was my fault. I know, I’m sorry. Trust me, I’m just as mad about it as you are.
I don’t know why. But I know it was my fault.
I’m not an overly superstitious man. I don’t worry about black cats crossing the street or walking under ladders. I graduated college and attend graduate school. I believe in logic and reason. Like all right thinking individuals, I prefer Karen Gillan to Billie Piper. I say this not to emphasize how awesome I am, but to make a point: I am not some mouth breathing troglodyte who believes that Luis Suarez was innocent.
And yet, I think that my actions can somehow influence the games of my beloved Tottenham Hotspur.
This is, of course, insane. I live 3,600 miles away from White Hart Lane. I have been to the Lane for a game, but I doubt my presence made a lasting impression on anyone there. To the best of my knowledge, I have never met a Spurs player or anyone involved in the club and I certainly don’t have regular contact with them. And fortunately for my mental health, my closest connection to Arsenal is an insufferable gooner bar down the street. There is no possible way that, I, in Baltimore, could have any influence on a football match in North London.
But I am convinced that I did.
I wore the same jersey (2007/2008 away) I had on when we beat the Scum back last year, so it must have been the long sleeved shirt I had on under it. Or I had the wrong thing for breakfast, or not played the game ahead of time in FIFA. I am a grown man and despite all knowledge and common sense, I am certain that something I did affected the outcome of this game.
Don’t look at me like that. There isn’t a sports fan on the planet who hasn’t had these thoughts go through their head at some point.
I know they’re stupid, I know they’re ridiculous.
But don’t worry. I’ll figure out which Spurs kit is the right one to wear before the next North London Derby. We can’t let that shit happen again.