FanPost

Lucky, Unlucky, Spursy Underpants


A few years ago, I was sent to boarding school. I say sent; perhaps it would be closer to the truth to leave it at 'went'. It was a tantalizing opportunity: to go back home to merry old England from hazy Indiana, where my mother's work as a French professor had brought us and forced me to explain why I supported San Antonio instead of the Pacers, when I did nothing and understood nothing of the sort. I doubt it was the educational opportunity that really drew me. I'm certain that it was just the call of my roots. Of course, what I didn't understand then was the sheer scale of the sacrifices my family made for me. I did get a scholarship, but I still had to have the uncovered percentage of the fee paid. It could hardly come out of my own pocket. I, meanwhile, had to give up on all of my friends, the comfort of my family, the ever-present opportunity to watch Tottenham. Ironic, really, that as I moved closer to home I had to give up some of the defining things about it.

I needed many, many new clothes. As I was packing on my final day at home, my mother walked in and threw a bundle of new attire onto my bed. There was a school uniform--a boring sweater, light blue shirt and striped tie--and a packet of new socks. I packed them duly and in doing so unearthed another package. Uninterested, I ripped it open to check what was inside. New underpants. I smiled, for these weren't just any underpants. These were official Tottenham Hotspur underpants. They carried a picture of our crest, with "Tottenham Hotspur", written in that famous font, beneath it. I'd try to give you a sense of the grandeur that they carry by embedding an image from the Spurs website, but they've been discontinued. Unluckz, m8.

It didn't take long at school for me to realize that I was one of two Spurs fans in the entire school, the only other one being the headmaster himself. I rarely got called to his office, but when I was it always ended in a laugh at Charlie, Noah, Victor and Max for saying that Walcott was a better talent than Bale--this was, of course, well before Gareth's sale to Madrid. Sigh. Anyway, yes. Chelsea and Arsenal fans absolutely polluted the school. Later, they would have their laughs about Berbatov and, in my last year, Modric. It was totally impossible to get the one television I had access to to show the Tottenham game. It was always Chelsea-Bolton, or Arsenal-WBA. What the hell, guys. Spurs-Wigan is a far better game. And for once, it was. And for once, I got them to show it. I chuckled all the way back to the dorms that night, and when I started to undress and get ready for bed, I noticed what underwear I was donning. The good old Tot'num pants.

Now, I consider myself a sensible, pragmatic down to earth person. I don't visit a psychic every week, I don't sprinkle salt around my bed and I've never begged the heavens or chanted anything in a devout/scary way. But after that, they sort of became a talisman. I would coordinate things so that they would be in the laundry and ready to go for every Spursday, every game, every week, every competition. Weird, I know. They lost their touch pretty quickly, but I persisted. I always trusted them. I was wearing them when City murdered us 6-0, or whatever. I know. All my fault. However. How-friggin'-ever. Something has been re-awakened in the underwear drawer since Levy appointed MoPo. Since West Ham, actually.

"What the...?! How is that, in any universe or semblance of reality, a red card? Chris F***ing Foy!"

And then I got up and put on the motherf***ing Spurs shorts. The rest is history. And this is what being a Spurs fan is: ridiculous, irrational, stupid, hilarious, weird, surprising.

And guess what, laundromat? You can keep 'em. I'm not going to where them on Sunday. We have a new lucky charm, and his name is Eric Erik Eriksen.

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