That day went much the same way as last night, though, as Spurs did not do their more successful neighbours a favour.
While Arsenal supporters on social media were debating how outwardly to cheer on their newly-found Middlesex brethren last night, I decided to fully embrace the Spurs experience. I convinced myself that Cristian Romero barrelling around like a bull in a china shop everywhere except central defence was a good thing. I cooed over the silky-smooth ball circulation of Pierre-Emile Hojbjerg.
I died a little inside.
For the first 45 minutes of the match, Spurs were surprisingly competent as the relentless — or should that be relentlessly dull — Manchester City cyborg showed glimpses of human fallibility.
Nerves? Fatigue? Playing in a stadium with less atmosphere than Mercury? Who could say.
I kept looking for excuses to walk away from the television and to not subject myself to surely one of my most debasing nights as a football fan.
City scoring through Erling Haaland early in the second half punctured the tension a little, the inevitable was under way and the cyborg chugged back into life.
Some have to do this every week, you know…
