The universe sometimes just delivers ... and on Sunday it did
I OWE Danny Caro and the JC a debt of gratitude. To have been given the opportunity to write this blog, in this season of all seasons, has been a privilege. I now have a very personal chronicle of both a superb season on the pitch and a seminal season off it. My own personal story of the Lane, the finale.
The universe sometimes just delivers… and on Sunday it did. A 17th straight win, an unbeaten home season, a record low number of goals conceded, one of our own scoring the winner. And with the glorious timing of a Dele Alli far post run, the raucous and good-hearted pitch invasion delayed the closing ceremony for just long enough to ensure that while the rain came, it made way for the sun to reveal that picture-perfect celestial rainbow arching over the golden cockerel perched atop the East Stand.
You never know as you travel through life which snapshots will become indelibly signed into your consciousness. What is it about a moment in time, a sight, a smell, a sound that is so fundamental that it remains lodged forever? Whatever the answer, I know that my very earliest memory was as a five-year-old holding my grandpa’s hand and walking up those dimly lit stairs of the old West Stand to see the blinding brightness of the sun and the luminescent green of the White Hart Lane turf.
I don’t know what part of Sunday’s emotional farewell to the crucible of so many of my memories will be the one to last the test of time but I’m pretty sure when the grey cells are fading that something from Sunday, May 14th 2017 will still burn bright.
The whole season had been building to this game and inevitably the day itself was an assault on both my emotions and senses.
Strolling around the area in those pre-match hours, bumping into friends, seeing hundreds of familiar faces (the names of which I’ll never know) all taking photos, videos, just soaking up every detail of the final moments.
As I settled into my seat for the last time and gazed around the stadium my mind drifted. In my loft I have my collection of old programmes, piled up by season. I’ve long since stopped buying programmes (although on Sunday of course I made an exception) but I remembered one in particular from the early 1990s depicting what a future White Hart Lane would look like — three tiers, big screens behind the goals; it looked like a cartoon depiction of the Bernabeu. A decade later, the first images of Daniel Levy’s vision for the redevelopment of the Lane appeared. The stadium was scheduled to be open by 2012/3. In 2018, the revamped and considerably more ambitious £800m obsession to perfection will finally open its doors. I’ve no doubt the new ground will be very special, the coming generations of Spurs fans will lavish their affection on it as they create their memories.
For those of us whose very essence is inextricably linked to the rickety stands and peeling paintwork of White Hart Lane, we will learn to love it — it won’t be hard to do that because, after all, home is where the heart is — but it won’t be the same.
I was the last to leave my block, one final photo, one final glance and now it’s gone. Immortalised in hundreds of photos but never to be touched and smelt and experienced again. It leaves a void which is impossible to articulate.
See full article at thejc.com/sport
Jonathan Adelman co-manages North London Raiders B in the MGBSFL