"What we really need to do is create a powerful sense of dread," Super Hans confidently asserted as the clock ticked down. 'Jez' had just 39 minutes of studio time left to craft the jingle for 'Gog’s' Honda advert.
"The longer the note, the more dread."
You see, if Peep Show’s tragic joint-protagonist didn’t have Daryl's hapless Cor Anglais, Nancy’s "I sing in the shower vocals" and a crack-fiend on keys, but rather the folk presently running the show at Tottenham Hotspur, that "powerful sense of dread" would've been conjured with little fuss.
They'll be holding the note until the final day of a disastrous 2025/26 season.
After a Tuesday evening that probably ranks in the bottom three football-watching nights of my life, not even a perpetual angst for dopamine could push me towards social media. A scroll separated Lilywhite doom from performative glee, so the comfort of a genius British sitcom was utilised as some form of respite.
And here we are, ready to dump some thoughts after yesterday's tragedy.
Spurs squander another massive opportunity
There was just no way any good was going to come of our trip to Stamford Bridge after that banner emerged at the bottom of Sky Sports' broadcast, announcing Arsenal's title success.
We were 1-0 down thanks to Enzo Fernández's strike from range, having hit the post through Mathys Tel amid a bright start to the geame. This ground has been a graveyard for far superior Lilywhite teams, and the all-too-familiar feeling of wilting in west London resurfaced as a wayway Randal Kolo Muani pass into midfield helped double Chelsea's lead.
The goal came before the triple substitution that helped Spurs shift the momentum of the contest, with Richarlison soon halving the deficit to give us a chance to confirm our survival. We required just one moment to avoid five days of torture, and the most unbearable of occasions this Sunday.
The impressive Jorrel Hato compromised a fairytale James Maddison surge, then a free-kick in the most inviting of positions was curled hopelessly over by the returning Englishman. Once again, sustained Lilywhite pressure proved hard to produce when chasing a game, with any sequences of potential promise undermined by a distinct lack of quality when the final action needed to be executed.
Roberto De Zerbi has extracted all he can from a depleted squad boasting such limited quality in the final third. Tel's brightness is outweighed by panicked decision-making, Richarlison's sporadic contributions don't make up for a hopeless first touch, and Kolo Muani... well, let's not even go there, shall we?
Once again, this was a golden opportunity squandered. Chelsea are desperately inadequate and were without Reece James, Levi Colwill and a heartbroken João Pedro. Sure, the fans were up after their two goals, but that joy quickly simmered. There was no real sense that the Bridge or Calum McFarlane's group of players were utterly desperate to aid our demise.
Few expected us to go there and win, because that's something we simply don't do. It was only a point, and it's still only a point, but suddenly the prospect of avoiding the most unfathomable of fates looks like a serious ordeal again. The innate pessimist within is rearing its ugly head once more.
Sunday is going to be horrid, and I'd recommend sticking to that phone detox.
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