North London love story
Tottenham Hotspur, the North London football club, have given me many things. A lot of lost sleep getting up to watch them underwhelm against someone or other over the years. A good way to get into arguments with friends and strangers alike. Occasional hope.
This week they gave me the chance to practically spontaneously combust on a bench outside my son's classroom, glued to my phone, watching them complete a ludicrous comeback to steal a place in the Champions League final at the very, very very last minute. They were playing Ajax of Amsterdam away, a club with a history of fine, pure-hearted football and a crop of young players who are about to be sold off to Europe's giants.
Spurs are a club that prides itself on playing stylish football - our motto is the stirring 'To dare is to do' - but we've developed an reputation as bottlers, going close but not quite getting there. 'Spursy' is football fan shorthand for unsurprising choking, and it's very unpleasant.
We were one-nil down after first match, and soon two-nil down in the first half of this one. Then Lucas Moura, the brilliant, balding Brazilian scored two goals five minutes apart and it was all on, as the complicated two-legs, away goals rules meant we needed one more to win it. Suddenly Ajax, who'd completely dominated us, looked wobbly and we looked like ourselves again. The scenes when Moura scuttled in the winner in the 96th minute were unforgettable, the two added minutes agonising, and the celebrations amazing, with our manager and support staff holding a very public bacchanal on the touchline.
It's a funny relationship, you and your football club, especially when you live halfway around the world from them. I can't even really remember how mine started, sometime around the 1982 All Whites run to the world cup finals while watching Big League Soccer on a Sunday and being vaguely impressed with Glen Hoddle, his droopy socks and silky skills. I've followed them since, got to see them as much as I could when living in London, and been privately astonished as we've actually gotten pretty good in the last few years. We have a wonderful Argentinian manager Mauricio Pochettino, who organises our team into unbeatable shapes and bursts into tears when we win. I love him.
Now we're playing Liverpool, who put on their own miracle to beat the mighty Barcelona 4-0, in the final on June 2. It's going to be a hell of a match between two English teams, one with five European Cups and one in the final for the first time. It's a dream final for NZ Football Twitter and Snapchat besides.
It's a hell of sport, football. At times, there's much more drama than a Shakespeare play, plus you're personally involved. Everyone loves to roll out Sir Alex Fergusson's famous quote at times like this, after Man U did their own last-minute winner thing: "Football. Bloody hell." It does sum it up nicely.
Thanks for reading - Richard
The week's best NZ sport writing
Everyone knows scrums are rubbish, Dylan Cleaver tells us exactly why [NZ Herald]
Pioneering round the word sailor Tracy Edwards is looking for the young girl she met in Auckland during the 1989-90 Whitbread [LockerRoom]
Typically astute analysis from Ian Anderson - attacking flair wins consolation prizes, but defence wins trophies, as New Zealand teams often fail to learn [Stuff]
Steve Deane goes football loopy [Newsroom]
Video nasty
That will really hurt.
Long read
Bike Snob NYC is the all-time great bike blogger - here's how he flew across the USA, bought two rubbish bikes and rode them in a pair of stunning California rides [Outside]
Selected weekend fixtures
NBA playoffs - 76ers v Raptors (2-3) at 12 today, followed by Trail Blazers v Nuggets (3-2) at 2.30pm. Tomorrow it's Rockets v Warriors (2-3) at 1pm, they're on League Pass and some are on SKY
Super rugby - Blues v Hurricanes tonight at 7.35pm and not much else, it's on SKY
Bring back the gif
When you know you won't have to buy a drink for the rest of your life.
