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A Day in the Life of a (Northern) Spurs Fan

A Day in the Life of a Spurs Fan by Andrew Binns

Well, it’s Spurs first Home Game of the season and we are playing Leeds United. Always a great match for my particular group of friends as we all come from Halifax, 10 miles from Leeds. There are 15 of us travelling down to White Hart Lane and, despite our loss to Birmingham, spirits are high.

The thing about travelling to London for the Leeds game means that throughout the journey there are always repeated encounters with Leeds fans. Great fun when abusing them at 90mph on the M1, less fun when you encounter the recipients of said abuse at the Services – thank God for zip up hooded tops.

Anyway, we meet at 8.30am with people turning up with an assortment of alcohol ranging from crates of Budweiser to Vintage Beaujolais – such is the diverse nature of our Supporters Group. Hoisting the THFC Supporters Club banner in the back window, completely obscuring the drivers view, we set off in good spirits.

As typical Spurs fans we haven’t even joined the M62 before we have all convinced ourselves that we are going to lose. However, the first rousing songs about Sol Campbell and his seemingly lack of success with females gets everybody going and the lager begins to flow.

The first encounter with a car full of Leeds fans is good fun and lots of gestures (I think of goodwill!) are swapped as both vehicles sway across the 3 lanes of the motorway. A chant reminding the Leeds fans that they are not clean, from the North and lacking parental credibility is sung, without a trace of irony.

Well, we have been travelling for a few hours now and the clouds of the North are replaced with the smog of the Midlands and, after constant nagging, this prompts the first services stop. 15 lads sprint from the minibus to the toilets and a collective sigh of relief can be heard throughout the complex.

Piling back on and waiting for the appearance of the ubiquitous “adult magazine”, purchased by one of our braver (or drunker) group members we set off. Upon rejoining the Motorway cries of “toilet break” are resoundly heard throughout the minibus and we figure out why the journey takes as long as it does.

Much drinking and singing later we are now 5 miles from the ground and have ground to the usual halt. However, this has its benefits as many of the Spurs players drive along our route and the joy of seeing Glenn and the Chaps driving alongside us in their BMW’s and Mercedes evokes another chorus of songs.

Arrival near the ground prompts yet another mad dash to the chosen boozer (the Irish Club or the Cockerel) where round after round of vodka red bulls are consumed to keep our energy levels up. Many of us meet up with London based Fans and general banter about the grim north and cockney wide boys is exchanged.

3.00 approaches and the butterflies have arrived in everyone’s stomachs. These are soon quashed through a White Hart Lane Double Cheeseburger – the best in all the land. Reasonably lubricated, fed and content we enter the ground and the singing commences. Somebody unveils a West Yorkshire Spurs flag,which is greeted with a tad of disdain by Leeds fans. Apparently our minibus has been replaced with a “Yorkshire ambulance” and we will all be “going home” in one.

Still, as the referee prepares to start the game and the stewards make their attempts to seat an entire Stand of football fans I look back on the last 7 hours and think it was all worth it. The opportunity to see my heroes parading their exquisite skills around the grand Stadium that is White Hart Lane. I look around and see the joy of my fellow Spurs fans as we wait with baited breath for 90 minutes of footballing pleasure.

Three minutes gone…………………..1-0 down

Still the crowd are singing and the sun is shining. Plus a relegation battle means that our February to May games won’t be meaningless games this season. But hang on, whats this? Tarricco is about to shoot. Oh my god! He has scored, a 25 yard rasper. The Leeds crowd is silenced. The Spurs crowd goes ballistic. Leeds are reminded that they no longer seem to be gracing White Hart lane with their singing.

Anyway, to cut a long story (and day) short, the unthinkable happens and we actually win with Freddie Kanoute scoring a blinder nine minutes after coming on. A trouble free walk home and then we get into the minibus. After nearly 10 hours some of us are shattered and just want to sleep – that proves impossible as songs are sung ranging from insulting the driver’s wife, dog, goldfish, car, trainers etc to how Glenn is the King of White Hart Lane.

Arriving back in Halifax at 11pm we make a decision between celebratory drink, much needed food or home to bed.

As I climb into bed at 11.05pm I can still feel the vibrations of the minibus and the sounds of the fans. Still, I am happy and fall asleep dreaming of the journey to Anfield on Wednesday.

· The match report for the Leeds game can be read here

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