We’ve officially reached fever pitch. The bad thing has happened. It wasn’t a terrible dream after all.
I have to start off by saying I’m not surprised Poch has gone. Results in 2019 have rather forced Levy’s hand and we showed no signs of improvement at all.
The run we were on could not have continued for much longer without causing some serious damage to our season.
We are 14th, after all, below Newcastle and Brighton and without an away win since January.
But football moves fast. Look at Chelsea and Lampard after their shoddy start.
Yes we’re 14th, but we’re only three points off fifth. We’ve got one foot in the Champions League knockout rounds for the third successive season.
We’ve been terribly unlucky with injuries, our new signings all reduced to bit-part cameo appearances so far.
As Gary Lineker has pointed out, finding a better replacement is practically impossible.
The word ‘sacked’ should have never in the same sentence as the name ‘Mauricio Pochettino’. It makes me sick to my stomach.
The wonders he has done for this club, we should have given him a job for life. It’s not fair on him if truth be told, I would have rather he’d walked before he was fired.
Where to begin?
From annihilating the European champions Real Madrid at Wembley, to the mad night in Manchester, to the f*cking Champions League final.
From ending ‘St Totteringham’s Day’ – north London has been well and truly white in recent years – to turning Harry Kane into the most formidable striker in world football.
Even the Battle of the Bridge I can look back on with fondness and admiration now.
But if I had to cherry pick one moment, the best of the bunch, it has to be Amsterdam last May.
I’ve never seen so many grown men cry; me, Poch, my dad. Football peaked that night and I’m not sure I’ll ever come close to those emotions again. Relive those final, last-gasp Lucas heroics here.
It has been an absolute blast under the best manager I’ve seen in my lifetime at Spurs. The last year alone has given me moments I will never forget.
Here come the bloody tears again.
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My head feels like it’s about to explode. A very, very small part of me is excited about what Mourinho might bring. But that part is so small it almost pales into insignificance.
The rest of me is feeling truly overwhelmed. I feel like not only have my parents just told me they’re separating, but that my mum has also instantly moved in with an evil ‘special’ neighbour who insists on being called ‘Papa’.
In pure footballing terms maybe this is the best short term solution. Jose might be the only ‘elite’ appointment we have ever made in our history and the sort of name we should be going for.
On the other hand just look at how it ended at Chelsea and United. It was a joy to watch from a Spurs perspective, now that might become a reality for us.
My main overriding concern is our identity. Everything Poch has built in the last five years, in my eyes, will be undermined and reversed by Jose.
They are absolute chalk and cheese. Night and day.
Poch nurtures young players, turning them into world beaters through complex and attentive man management. Mourinho covets big name signings and sensationalised headlines.
I’m scared for the future of our club.
THE LAST WORD
I adore Poch and it breaks my heart he has gone. He has given me my best five years supporting the club I love.
Sacking him is the biggest gamble of Levy’s stint in charge of the club to date.
And there it is. I physically can’t bring myself to say anything else without crying my eyes out.
Thank you for everything, Mauricio you absolute dreamboat. He’s magic, you know…