TF MATCH REPORT – Tottenham Hotspur 1 (Gray 64’) Newcastle United 2 (Thiaw 45’ Ramsey 68’), Tuesday 10 February 2026

YOUSEF HATEM (@yousef-1892.bsky.social), from behind enemy lines, on a big night in North London.

This is why we do it.

So what if this was a dead rubber? Who cares if this was purely football as contractual obligation? Fine, maybe this was billed as two bald men fighting over a comb, as an easily stoppable force meeting a patently movable object. But frankly, who cares if United might still be a bit shit? Or if Spurs are irredeemably, singularly shit? The point – the entire point – of following a football club is to be able to cherish moments divorced from context, to be able to champion emotion over reason, heart over head, to be able to walk down a rain-soaked Tottenham High Road on a February night with the chest puffed out and a skip in the step.

We can, we will, we must – in time – address the shortcomings of this squad, this manager, this ownership, this complete and utter circus. 2025/26 remains a deeply unsatisfying campaign. But we have won a football match. Let’s just enjoy that for a bit. Otherwise, what’s the point of any of this?

Oh, and we deserved it, too. Two-one flattered the hosts. There was plenty to admire in United’s display, not least because so much came from less heralded quarters. Joe Willock, in particular, was magnificent. When he plays like this (and, okay, he often doesn’t), it is clear that his presence improves the team, however it is set up. Ramsey, too. Tidy. Economical. Deserved his goal and took it well. And then there was Bruno. Didn’t overplay. Didn’t lose control. Kept it simple. Kept the ball. Nothing flashy. Against such abject opposition, it was more than enough. Elanga made clever runs. Barnes likewise. Gordon was a constant threat, even if the end product was not always there. The back four and the goalkeeper did their jobs.

In truth we could have been two or three up by the time Malick Thiaw netted from close range in first half injury time. Willock, in particular, went close to scoring twice. Early on in the half, he shot just wide. Later on, he did find the net with a smart finish from an angle, only to find it chalked off for the most marginal of offsides. If there was a criticism, it was that for all their territorial dominance, United failed to test the shaky Vicario more.

Spurs improved a bit after the break, but not to such an extent that Archie Gray’s close-range leveller could be regarded as deserved. No matter: Ramsey found the net only four minutes later, and that was the stuffing knocked out of Spurs, there and then. There was no reaction. If anything, a third goal for the visitors looked more likely than a leveller.

I found myself in the home end for this one. God, these are unhappy. Can’t blame them either, given the non-performance their side served up. This is the worst opposition we have faced all season by some distance, and that includes Bradford in the opening round of the League Cup. Maybe I should revisit that “dead rubber” description earlier on, actually, because on this evidence I’m not sure Tottenham are safe. The impatience in the stands was quite something. Djed Spence received a chorus of boos for delaying a couple of seconds when taking a throw. Pape Sarr fired an innocuous shot straight at Pope from fully forty yards, and was inexplicably applauded for it. Every sideways pass. Boo. Every backpass. Bigger boo. The loudest cheer of the night was for a crunching tackle from Micky Van Der Ven, conceding a throw-in. What a sad state of affairs at that club. Still, not our problem. Though take note – tickets were on general sale right up to kick off. Whilst the official attendance was 59,773, there were easily about 10,000 empty seats (and what was available was too expensive: I paid £89 and was in the corner on my own). You know, just in case anyone of a black and white persuasion thinks the demand for what we’re serving up is inelastic.

It really, really meant something to the players and staff at full time. Let talk of Howe’s future, and Trippier’s future, be delayed at least for twenty four hours – here, in N17, it meant everything and you could tell. Howe is not by inclination an outwardly expressive man. Here, he was. What we saw – and let’s be honest, we badly, badly needed to see it – was a group of players who were playing for their manager. The celebrations in front of the away end, and one away fan joining in from an otherwise deserted home section, were long, lusty and emotionally charged.

These moments – when your current captain and your previous captain push your manager towards the travelling hordes, and he punches the air with delight – are the moments to be bottled up, to be preserved in aspic, to serve as reminders of why we put ourselves through this at all.

Tomorrow can wait.

United.

YOUSEF HATEM - @yousef-1892.bsky.social