White Hart Lane is where it all started for me. When I moved to London, Walthamstow to be precise, at the age of 8 I wasn't particularly interested in football. However, within minutes of starting primary school it was obvious that football was my way in. I entered a world of Panini stickers and playground kickabouts. That school in Walthamstow was overwhelmingly Spurs. 1982 was a good time to be a Tottenham fan too. The previous season they had beaten Manchester City in the FA Cup final and they would again lift the trophy at the end of the season in which I arrived in London. I very quickly became a Spurs fan. A couple of years later I was considered old enough to be taken to a real match. An early season game against Leicester City that ended in a 2-2 all was my first taste of live football. By the time I went to my third Tottenham match 3 years later (against Liverpool in their opening 29 game unbeaten salvo) I was already an Orient fan; I never looked back. Before this week I had been back twice though.
So, since 1987 I've not seen much of Tottenham in the flesh. Orient must have played friendlies against Spurs but none come to mind and there was one spectacularly unmemorable FA Cup tie where even a last minute Gary Docherty winner didn't feel too heartbreaking for Orient. In 2007 I made my first trip to White Hart Lane in almost exactly 20 years with a freebie ticket for an underwhelming league cup tie (is there any other kind now?) against Blackpool in which Dimitar Berbatov stood out for not standing out.
I would be unlikely to watch Spurs in the Premier League on cost grounds alone. However, the early rounds of the Europa League are a (relatively) cheap way of watching Premier League teams play. Last year I was attratecd by the chance of watching one of the iconic names of Soviet football and £25 tickets. Unfortunately the game against Dinamo Tbilisi was a dead rubber due to Tottenham's 5-0 win in the first leg. What I came away with was a surprising sense of alienation. Would I call Spurs my second team? Maybe in the past but not now. At a push I'd describe them as my Premier League team. But unlike many non Spurs fans I am well disposed towards them. But White Hart Lane seemed like an overbranded corporate nightmare. All the things you read about the premier league (and I've still not been to a Premier League game) and over commercialisation and its ilk. I didn't enjoy the night as much as I thought I would and doubted I would return for similar. I But a year later I found myself at White Hart Lane again for the 2nd leg game against AEL Limassol
A first leg victory gave Spurs the advantage coming into the second leg but a one goal margin would hopefully keep them honest. I was especially keen to catch a glimpse of Christain Eriksen and Erik Lamela in action even if only coming off the bench. Unfortunately, Mauricio Pochettino was confident enough to leave them out entirely making 9 changes from the last league game so I had to make do with Harry Kane and Aaron Lennon. If the game against Tbilisi was dull the scary thing was how this one was almost indistinguishable. Limassol didn't offer a real challenge at any point and Tottenham reserves (who to be fair are probably still coming to terms with a new system) didn't click at any point and stuttered to a (still comfortable) 3-0 victory. For the home team it felt like a glorified training ground exercise while for the visitors it was one of damage limitation.
Before the game I had checked out AEL Limassol's squad. Unsurprisingly their cosmopolitan ragbag of journeyman doesn't contain any famous names but one did stand out. Their reserve goalie glories in the name of Pulpo Romero. Octopus Romero. Disappointingly, Octopus isn't his given name but it's good enough for me. Imagine my delight when he had to come on as a sub after barely 10 minutes play. His first task was to face a Harry Kane penalty as his goalkeeping colleague had injured himself giving away the penalty. Incredibly, he saved it to give the game its only memorable incident. For the rest of the game he played almost exactly like you'd expect a second rate Spanish goalkeeper who plies his trade as back up for a Cypriot league team. There was a LOT of flapping and punching going on. Fair play for providing some entertainment. He is now officially my favourite footballing mollusc.
And it was over. Another underwhelming Europa League night. It might be a little more lively against Besiktas and Partizan Belgrade in the group stage. So all that was left was the relatively short walk to the station (if you're used to the Tube this corner of London is a bit of void). So we followed the crowd, and followed, and felt we were a bit out of our way, and saw the crowd thinning out, and resorted to google maps, and realised that what was left of the crowd had happily accepted a long trek in exchange for the easy parking available at Ikea and Tesco in Edmonton. In fucking Edmonton! How was it possible to have gone so completely off track? Like low rent Iain Sinclairs we found ourself exploring the liminal spaces in the industrial hinterland that abuts the North Circular and is only broken up by the aforementioned commerical encroachment. We could see the trainline though and actual trains. Could we find Angel Road station? Could we heck as like. There were signs, we could see the platform. An entrance though? Nah, We gave up and headed to Tesco to source a cab. Accidental psychogeographer I may be but with a sense of direction like that I'll never be a fully fledged groundhopper!
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