The movement and determination was pretty much ceaseless from the off. Like a hunt dog with the scent of blood about it, Pavyluchenko must have showed the biggest sceptics amongst the Tottenham coaching staff that this boy is indeed, the real deal.
Each of his fine, fine goals are greeted with hugs, cuddles and the general craziness players normally only experience in Cup Finals and indeed, the World Cup itself.
Modric was sublime. He is by far the closest thing we have in the
modern game to Cryuff. I woke this morning and just wanted to carve a number ’14’ in a tree. Or a school desk, or Jenas’ forehead. I’m oozing Hotspur admiration.
I wispered in the missus’ ear after his goal, ‘I wonder what he’ll look like in a Man Yanited shirt?’ Readers will be pleased to hear the swelling has gone down.
And I have a black eye.
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