I have a love/hate relationship with Tottenham Hotspur. Naturally, as a fan of another Premier League team, I'm hono(u)r-bound to loathe them and wish for their eventual relegation to the Arthurian League. (Which is the coolest league, by the way—what do you make of a circuit that includes a club called "Old Haberdashers"?) In the psychotic teleology of the football fan, the desired end state of civilization is one in which the top league consists of one team: yours. However, Spurs exude a certain sympathetic aura of pre-2004-Boston-Red-Sox-esque permanent near-miss haplessness. Plus, I know a grand total of one Spurs fan personally, and he's a great guy. At some point, he will have suffered enough. Right?
Still, there is a sick grandeur to what Spurs are doing this season. Two points from 21. The very sight causes a kind of pleasurable marathoner's masochism—like, it doesn't feel good, exactly, but you're also fascinated in just how bad it could get. As we all ponder the possibility of a "major" club plying its trade in the Championship next season, get over and read this fantastic summation of Spurs' malign accomplishment over at Run of Play. As Andrew Sullivan would say, the money quote:
"Chelsea have made it to the top by spending millions of pounds on talented players and skilled managers. Tottenham have made it to the bottom by doing exactly the same thing, which is, in many ways, the more astounding feat."
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