Tomorrow is the North London derby. Even though it happens to me every time we meet that club, it still feels strange to be excited and terrified at the same time. My desire for time to speed up to kickoff is met only by my same brain counteracting that wish by craving it all to be over.
Lost in this emotional tug or war is optimism. This squad has earned that much. And I can say without a doubt that win, lose, or draw I will be proud of the squad when this match eventually ends. But my god let's hope I'm feeling that pride while spilling beer on Skipjack in a victory celebration.
I could go on, but I won't. More words won't calm my nerves or do the occasion justice. Nothing to do now but watch the clock.
North London is ours.
Now for the "news":
No word on the rumor that Eric Dier carried him to the stage to accept. Stay tuned.
I can't help but have a broken heart and be uplifted by that little boy at the same time. I didn't enter the medical field specifically because I didn't think I could take being around sick kids. It would've destroyed me.
We love you, Luke!
Only Beyonce is a machine. The rest of us are all too human.
Somewhere in the dark corners of Tottenham Evil Chirpy sits in a basement flat, sniffing coke and sharpening the blade that will exact revenge for this omission. Nothing for Molly Podlesny to do now but watch the clock as it tick, tick, ticks toward the inevitable.