glasgowspur
Chris Jones
The day we lost the Champions League final, I took a long, very drunken walk that led me...well, I don't know where, really.
Eventually I remember finding myself in some woods hours from home. Lost in the wilderness, trudging around in a dress shirt and a Spurs scarf, no doubt looking extremely foolish to the owls and squirrels that were chirruping away on a warm summer's evening.
And when I got home, the one thing that struck me like a hammer was that I might never see us experience a night like that, ever again.
All the hope, all the nervous energy, all the passion and the roars and belief, just...brought down in the cruellest, coldest way. Shorn by the reality of us being Spurs. Always the bridesmaids, football's lovable losers - the ones who sink to their knees in the background as others write life's joyful stories.
It's been a long time since that day, but the ghost of it has haunted me all the way. And not just me - collectively, that final hung around the club like a miasma, the thought of what might have been slicing through every moment of happiness since.
On Wednesday, we exorcised a lot of demons. And the biggest one, for me - was that I was able to experience that night again.
With the same shirt. The same scarf. In the same bar.
The same roars - the same energy, the same passion. The same tears. the same drunken stumble through the streets. The same finding myself in unfamiliar places, wondering how I got there.
But with one, beautiful difference. For just one night, one golden moment I will never, ever forget - we were the main story. We were the heroes. We wrote this story, and no one would ever take this from us.
And as I sang until my voice broke and my partner looked at me like I was mad, it reminded me why this club means more to me than almost anything else in my life.
Thank you for that, Ange. Thank you for that, lads. Thank you all here at GG, and elsewhere.
You made me whole again. And you will never know how much that means to me.
Tottenham until I fudging die.
I had a family bbq that night.
My parents, in laws, my brother and his wife and a couple of mates.
Didn't expect to win tbh but always held out hope.
Remember nothing of the game after the pen and that's without being drunk.
I had my gallbladder out three days before the Amsterdam game, and a couple of weeks after the final I began feeling poorly so our regular nights of entertaining and cooking for the family were put off.
Mum and dad were really poorly at Christmas with flu (we suspect it was covid before covid was known about) so the Christmas day dinner was cut down to just the four us.
Then covid hit.
Mum hadn't been well all that year and passed away in Feb 21 from cancer.
My dad passed away in Jan this year.
That CL final was the last time my family was altogether in happy circumstances.
Yeah we got beat, but it brought my family together, they all came to support me.
That's what it's all about, you can keep your worst ever, lowest tally, blah be bloody blah hand wringing crap, it's a game of football.
It's the connections, the bonds and emotions that are important.
My dad would have been over the moon at the win on Wednesday night, he wasn't a spurs supporter but he knew what it meant to me.
I'm pretty devastated he's not here to throw an arm around me say how pleased he is, but I know he would and I'm going to hang on to that and never forget Wednesday 21st May 2025.
COYS!
