Tottenham's Unbeatable 12th Man Wins Us Another 3 Points

Gents apologies for my recent absence. I have been involved in lengthily discussions with the tabloids over a fee for the pictures sent to my sister and mother by what I have to describe as 'an anonymous Chelsea left back'. Based on the evidence presented to me...lets just say he's no Ledley King.

A rain soaked quagmire in Wigan is hardly the characteristic setting for a fairytale, Pavlyuchenko is hardly the name of a Prince but Sunday afternoon saw an ending that would have had Walt Disney bawling his eyes out. Ok, so the result was no 9-1, in fact it wasn't even a particularly impressive performance, but there are a couple of things that I felt compelled to record to posterity.

First of all it was nice to see us having a bit of luck. Defoe was so far offside for the goal I thought he was having a chat with Kirkland. Indeed, the way he reluctantly picked the ball out the net ready for a freekick said it all. Perhaps the linesman couldn't see through the downpour, perhaps the occasion of a packed DW stadium got to him, perhaps closet Spurs fan Gordon Brown had had one of those 'chats' with him at number 10. Anyway who cares. As 'Arry said afterwards 'sometimes ya get em, sometimes ya dunt'. We usually don't, this time we did, Huzzah!

Secondly something must be said about Wigan's impressive recreation of the Somme. Paul Merson, shortly before wrapping a red and white scarf round his neck and eating a prawn sandwich, claimed the conditions were most likely to hinder the home side's 'flowing passing game'. In fairness, both teams deserve a medal, and possibly counselling, after completing 90 minutes in conditions resembling the toilets at Glastonbury. When I saw little Luka strip off his tracksuit I felt genuine dread. My mind flashed forward to a vision of him, thrashing wildly, shoulder deep in mud and squealing out for Krancjar and Charlie. As it was, he proved an inspired substitution, unlocking the Wigan defence with some determined running and incisive passes.

Then there was Pav. I am not going to start waxing lyrical about our grinning, blonde mulletted Russian. At times he looks lazy and disinterested, like a considerably less technical Berbatov, albeit one who knows what a smile is. Indeed 'Arry has hinted time and time again that he doesn't put in full shift in training and has made it abundantly clear he is infuriated by his lack of English. Still, we are easily won over and after Leeds and now Wigan he must be given his chance. 'Arry need only remember the plight of Bentley and Bale before writing off Pav. Indeed, rumour has it the board were considering a bid from London Zoo for Bale before his run in the team; they have since focused their attention on acquiring Emile Heskey for the donkey enclosure. The way the players mobbed him says much for the kind of character he must be. We will need every striker firing on full cylinders in the push for fourth, Pav could still become a spurs legend.

However, for me, the most memorable aspect of both the Bolton and the Wigan game was the fans. This wasn't Fulham, this was the mythical 'North' where cannibalism and Viking raids are still commonplace. Yet, there they were in their thousands, a sea of white and blue. As both home teams struggled to fill even half their stadiums, we were there, packing a whole stand and drowning out the wind and rain. I can claim no credit having watched both matches desperately hungover on the sofa but it was enough to bring a tear to the eye. Even as we disappeared without a trace in the first half at Bolton, the fans could still be heard loud and proud driving the team on. Lets not kid ourselves, for all Arry's protestations to the contrary, for all his claims of 'im trainin really well this week', it was the fans who had Pav put on. As the game wore on the chants became too persistent to ignore, and what a fine bunch of tacticians we all are. There are clearly backroom forces at work at Spurs but you could see from Pav's celebration just how much the fan's support meant to him. Many things are beyond our power as humble supporters, but the adulation of the fans is the ultimate goal of every player, and chants of 'Super Pav' might just dissipate our Russian's homesickness come summer. If only Crouch was as good as our support...

InArryWeTrust