Published: 24 January, 2013

ARSENAL
THEY’LL say they won’t be, but Arsenal's sensational 5-1 win against West Ham in midweek will have rattled all of your friends of the Spurs persuasion.

It’ll be obvious from the confused looks on their faces, it’ll be dented in the worry lines across their spams. They will try to cork you a line about how they’re not really bothered, because “we’re still above you in the table”. They protest far, far too much. They are as rattled can be. Right now, your Spurs friend, and we’ve all got at least one, is the Lord Mayor of Rattledsville, the prospective parliamentary candidate for Rattled East, the Sheriff of Rattledham.

When West Ham were leading at Ashburton Grove, Spurs were looking at a seven-point lead over Arsenal in the local league. That’s now just four and Arsenal look ready for their traditionally more productive second half of the season. The annual winter hibernation should almost be over.

The tragedy of the piece is just how much Spurs fans are desperate to finish above Arsenal, as if it would be a greater achievement than winning the grand final of Fifteen To One (bring that back, by the way).

It is almost hurtful to witness their hopeful little faces, like kids hoping for a train-set from Santa but only getting a satsuma.

Our feathered friends – the ones who once haplessly wore “Mind The Gap” t-shirts last year – are fearing a repeat of blown leads past. Their inner cockerel is telling them that some majestic ill fortune could still beset them. Don’t blame them, pity them. If they slip-up for the umpteenth time, Arsenal finally look ready to give a good chase.
Richard osley

TOTTENHAM HOTSPUR
IT’S been another week of thrills and spills. Obviously not for Arsenal. They were a disgrace and a mess on Sunday.
Not my words, but those of expert football wonks on the telly box.

And Gran’s, although she said some ruder things, too, but then she had drunk one too many crème de menthes by the time the evening highlights came on.

And who could blame her?

She’d just watched our chaps stuff Bobbin van Persie’s tongue back into his mealy mouth and send Man Utd’s line dancers and their moany manager, Fergie, packing.

That said, I’m not sure we’ll ever know how she managed to leave her teeth at the match, but luckily she’s still got Grandad’s in a mug somewhere so she’ll be back on the half-time bagels in next to no time.

I was tempted to raise a glass or two myself this week.

To Bradford City for having beaten their second rubbish Premier League team (I won’t count Wigan, they’re not quite so rubbish) to make the League Cup final.

And to Pep Guardiola for snubbing Fur Coat No Knickers FC in favour of Bayern Munich. It’s nice to know that money isn’t everything, although even I would choose to work for a club owned by its fans over one owned by an oligarch.

And I can’t even afford a Spurs shirt.

And finally, to AVB for giving the players and fans something that’s been lacking for a long time – belief in ourselves no matter the opponent.
Come on you Spurs.
catherine etoe