This post originally appeared as a fanpost on Cartilage Free Captain. It is reprinted here because I felt like it.
Nobody lives happily ever after when they get what they want, because getting what you want sucks balls. Look at all the lottery winners who go bankrupt and have shitass lives after they win the lottery. Because you never actually get what you want. You only get what you think you want. And what you think you want isn’t actually what you want, because you’re a fucking idiot.
I’ve been a Spurs fan since the 2006-07 season, and not only is this season poised to be the greatest season since I’ve followed this team, but this could be the greatest season this team has ever had. And I’m fucking miserable.
In 2006-07 we acquired a beautiful Bulgarian bastard who dazzled in a magical partnership with Robbie Keane and every time we took the field it was a joy to behold. We had a rocky start to the season but we stormed across the finish line and finished in 5th place. And I was happy.
The next year started slowly again. Jol was forced out and Magic Juande came in to save the day. But we beat Arsenal 5-1 and won the Carling Cup and even though the rest of the season was totally mediocre, it didn’t matter. We won a trophy. And I was happy.
2 points 8 games. But Harry came in and righted the ship and we almost qualified for Europe. He showed us what these players were capable of. And I was happy.
We qualified for some little tournament called the Champions League. I have never been happier.
We swung our dicks around Europe and made everybody sit up and take notice of Super Tottenham from the Lane. And I was happy.
This year we were legitimately considered realistic challengers for the title. And I’m fucking miserable.
I know this is totally irrational and unfair, but I don’t care. We are the best team Tottenham have ever put out on a football pitch. And I’m pissed off every time I watch them.
This is the crushing misery of success.
I have seen what this team is capable of and it’s scintillating and completely fucking brilliant. And through January I wept tears of joy every time I thought about the moments of magic we produced on the field. And it spoiled me rotten. Because that team of swaggering badasses has completely disappeared.
And it’s the cruelest thing in the world to allow me to remember that team while being confronted by this gang of limp-dick lazy assholes strolling casually around the field completely incapable of producing a result. It’s all slipping away.
And it’s too late to save ourselves.
Two wins and the FA Cup is ours. A strong finish to the season and fourth place, maybe even third, and a return to the Champions League beckons. And it will still feel like a disappointment. Yes, that’s completely fucking ridiculous, but I can’t help it.
I’ve seen this team go half a season within touching distance of the title while playing the best football in the country. And then a ten point lead collapsed in a puff of smoke. I can’t watch them fumble their way over the finish line and bumble their way ass backwards into the Champions League after seeing what could have been. I demand better. It’s like Flowers for Algernon. You can’t go back once you’ve seen what you’re capable of.
We could have had it all. And now whatever we get, it won’t be enough. I thought this was what I wanted. A strong cup run and challenging for the Champions League. But I was wrong. Watching this team squander what they had breaks my heart. I wish we never got good enough for this team to be so disappointing. I long for the days of hopeful mediocrity.
At least I was happy then.