There was a gripping moment before kickoff outside the Tottenham Hotspur Stadium as the “Levy Out” supporters’ march reached its final stop. A single protester stationed himself in its path, holding up a “Levy In” sign in a lone act of defiance. The sign was quickly snatched from his hands but wait! He had another one. A minor scuffle followed, police intervened, and the marchers cheered before heading into their high-priced seats inside this dazzling mega-dome, a monument to commercial brilliance, to watch their team take on Manchester United, the great ailing, zombified giant of English football.
The energy outside the ground was visceral, as it was inside, where travelling United fans voiced their discontent with the club’s ownership. Their chants reflected a broader frustration, not just with transfer decisions and poor governance, but with the hyper-commercialization of modern football, where endlessly loyal supporters are monetized as a passionate backdrop to a sport that increasingly feels secondary to its own spectacle. On this occasion, the energy off the pitch felt as vital as the action on it.
On the field, Tottenham secured a 1-0 victory in what was ultimately a breezy, fun, medium-grade contest essentially a lower mid-table arm-wrestle. It was a good day for the home side, with key players returning and their opponents providing the perfect contrast: a club whose dysfunction made Spurs look like a model of stability by comparison.
Spurs’ season has been defined by strong individual performances amid a stuttering collective effort. Djed Spence had another excellent game. Dejan Kulusevski was a standout. Lucas Bergvall showcased his talent in midfield, repeatedly skipping past Casemiro in a mismatch that had the comic grace of an unbalanced dance duo.
United, meanwhile, lined up with a flat defensive five and Casemiro stationed just in front, moving cautiously in thick black gloves like a dad supervising at the playground. They struggled from the start with James Maddison’s movement, as he exploited pockets of space that unsettled their rigid system. Maddison was the one to break the deadlock after just 13 minutes. The goal was a testament to United’s defensive frailties a cross from the right, slack marking, a deflection, a half-saved shot, and only Maddison following up to finish. No moment of magic, no intricate play just a push against an already open door.
United had chances over the remaining 80 minutes, but they often resembled a team learning tactics from a leaflet. Their commitment to ingraining a specific playing style, seemingly at the expense of results, was striking. Has any team ever sacrificed half a season to enforce patterns of play in this manner? It’s as if they were hosting a party but were so preoccupied with the lasagne that they forgot to enjoy themselves, buy drinks, or even celebrate.
Beyond tactical concerns, the squad itself remains the most pressing issue not just its shortcomings but its exorbitant cost, the length of contracts, and the thoughtless assembly of players. Rasmus Hojlund worked hard but often seemed more like an observer than an active participant. Joshua Zirkzee toiled up front, eager and willing, like a friendly scaffolding tower.
Even United’s bench was a statement of their struggles a collection of young, eager faces that looked more like students on a school trip than a group of players ready to make an impact. The club’s current predicament is softened only by the fact that Ipswich, Leicester, and Southampton are so far behind the pack.
For Spurs, there was at least some sense of hope. For everyone else, perhaps the only real hope was in the energy outside the stadium a resistance to the forces that have brought both these clubs to this strange, uneasy place.
