Thankfully, I was not alone. I had 1882.
We entered the ground after some odd delay. My out-of-place black tie and crombie combination received some funny looks and comments, however I managed to convince myself that that's how they all used to look 'back in the day'. I entered Block 35 some 10 minutes before the start, and, staring at the pristine green of the White Hart Lane pitch, the troubles of my daily life filtered away.
Perhaps it had something to do with my age, but occupying White Hart Lane is still a cause for many feelings of joy. I'm a proud cynic in real life, yet when I pass through the turnstiles, joy and positivity enriches my blood and tones my voice. This is why I feel the urge to align myself with 1882 ideology; there is no other way I can support my team.
It wasn't long before Block 35 began to fill. I couldn't tell you how many people came under the banner of 1882. We were just fans standing in a block, holding scarves and waving banners and flags; singing for the shirt. And, oh boy did we sing.
From the first song, I could tell this would be as fulfilling as I hoped it would be. Long, never-ending versions of 'Oh When The Spurs' till the point of laughter. Infectious renditions of 'AVB's Blue and White Army' (of course, followed by the fierce bellows of 'Yids'). Toing-and-throwing with the Shelf and 'Stand up' songs to engage with other parts of the ground. All the old songs like 'Glory Glory Hallelujah' and 'Hark Now Hear' as a reminder of our past. Judas songs. I could go on and on and on but you know the deal. This is 1882.
I saw at a few points throughout the evening fans being forcibly removed from the block for chanting our Yid songs. This made my blood boil. It could have easily tainted the event. However, the fans responded by chanting the word twice as loud. We got behind those victimised fans. They are us and we are all the same. 'Being a Yid' was the song of the night as a result.
I screamed at the stewards, "I'm a Yid! Arrest me!" This was part of a lot of talk between me, the stewards and the police last night. They were cooperative, but they seemed confused. When asked who told them to victimise the fans, I got told they were ordered from the club, the police, lawyers and the FA - all separately. When asked about over-zealous stewarding, they referred to safety certificates and guidelines. When asked if they knew who their boss was, they had no idea. Sadly, there's nobody to make accountable for the crime of criminalisation.
This is why groups like 1882 are vital to the fans. Who is going to back the fans given 'verbal warnings' when the club turned their back on them like they did on Thursday? This may sound cliché, but sometimes, we only have each other to turn to. We had that at the Anzhi game and I was proud of us for that. I implore fans to keep a dialogue with our Supporters' Trust, THST, for these reasons.
More about the game. It was very entertaining and the positive performance certainly helped get some of the fans off their feet. When we sang the name of particular players, you could tell they were loving it. The big smile in Holtby's face. The appreciation from Eriksen when he warmed up. Even Friedel's response to our questions about the score. At those very moments we sang their names, the fans loved them, and they loved the fans. Backing the players in this way help establishes this connection, I feel. Don't you agree?
The final whistle came and we headed out of the Lane, albeit slow, reluctantly and anxious to do more. I wanted to do this all over again. And soon. An explosion was heard at one point late on. None of us cared. I never felt a better sense of escapism than in that block on Thursday. I've had a lot of trouble and stress in my life recently, but it didn't matter when I was singing, when I was loving my club.
My lungs were aching. My throat was scratched. My head was addled. My voice was gone. But it didn't matter. None of it mattered any more. All that mattered was that I belonged. All that mattered was Tottenham Hotspur.
If you think I'm exaggerating, join us in Block 35. I dare you.
It wasn't long before Block 35 began to fill. I couldn't tell you how many people came under the banner of 1882. We were just fans standing in a block, holding scarves and waving banners and flags; singing for the shirt. And, oh boy did we sing.
From the first song, I could tell this would be as fulfilling as I hoped it would be. Long, never-ending versions of 'Oh When The Spurs' till the point of laughter. Infectious renditions of 'AVB's Blue and White Army' (of course, followed by the fierce bellows of 'Yids'). Toing-and-throwing with the Shelf and 'Stand up' songs to engage with other parts of the ground. All the old songs like 'Glory Glory Hallelujah' and 'Hark Now Hear' as a reminder of our past. Judas songs. I could go on and on and on but you know the deal. This is 1882.
I saw at a few points throughout the evening fans being forcibly removed from the block for chanting our Yid songs. This made my blood boil. It could have easily tainted the event. However, the fans responded by chanting the word twice as loud. We got behind those victimised fans. They are us and we are all the same. 'Being a Yid' was the song of the night as a result.
I screamed at the stewards, "I'm a Yid! Arrest me!" This was part of a lot of talk between me, the stewards and the police last night. They were cooperative, but they seemed confused. When asked who told them to victimise the fans, I got told they were ordered from the club, the police, lawyers and the FA - all separately. When asked about over-zealous stewarding, they referred to safety certificates and guidelines. When asked if they knew who their boss was, they had no idea. Sadly, there's nobody to make accountable for the crime of criminalisation.
This is why groups like 1882 are vital to the fans. Who is going to back the fans given 'verbal warnings' when the club turned their back on them like they did on Thursday? This may sound cliché, but sometimes, we only have each other to turn to. We had that at the Anzhi game and I was proud of us for that. I implore fans to keep a dialogue with our Supporters' Trust, THST, for these reasons.
More about the game. It was very entertaining and the positive performance certainly helped get some of the fans off their feet. When we sang the name of particular players, you could tell they were loving it. The big smile in Holtby's face. The appreciation from Eriksen when he warmed up. Even Friedel's response to our questions about the score. At those very moments we sang their names, the fans loved them, and they loved the fans. Backing the players in this way help establishes this connection, I feel. Don't you agree?
The final whistle came and we headed out of the Lane, albeit slow, reluctantly and anxious to do more. I wanted to do this all over again. And soon. An explosion was heard at one point late on. None of us cared. I never felt a better sense of escapism than in that block on Thursday. I've had a lot of trouble and stress in my life recently, but it didn't matter when I was singing, when I was loving my club.
My lungs were aching. My throat was scratched. My head was addled. My voice was gone. But it didn't matter. None of it mattered any more. All that mattered was that I belonged. All that mattered was Tottenham Hotspur.
If you think I'm exaggerating, join us in Block 35. I dare you.
