Tottenham Hotspur have won the Europa League
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It will be no surprise to anyone that has logged onto X in the past year or so that the site is now borderline unusable.
Once a treasure trove of memes, news and information, X has become a hellscape, a place where hatred or porn is amplified, or the views of people so confident in their argument they have to pay to ensure people see it. Where once you could open it up and see something interesting or funny, it’s now predominately monetised bigotry, where the worst people in the world invest to have their hatred heard. It has to all extents and purposes become a propaganda machine, a vehicle for the far-right in America to spread misinformation, hatred, and support for Donald Trump. At least they’re things that go together.
As a result, I barely use it, checking in on a big news day, with searching for truth akin to looking for a needle in a haystack. But there is one area, just one, that has remained slightly protected from the relentless march of normalised fascism. I am of course talking about sport, sweet lovely sport, the opiate of the masses I inject into my eyeballs relentlessly and indiscriminately, almost definitely to the detriment of my productivity.
While I don’t post on X any more, preferring the safe space of Bluesky where there’s a better news to Nazi ratio, I do still peruse it after significant events, and few were more significant to me than Tottenham Hotspur winning the Europa league. After 17 long, long years, the mighty Spurs have finally won something, all of it delivered by Ange Postecoglou, the man who always wins something in his second season.
Born in Greece, the former refugee who moved to Australia as a child after a military coup helped Tottenham like he had so many clubs before, lifting silverware and removing the weight I carried around me for so long. For Celtic, these days are expected, but for Tottenham, they are transcendent. It has been days, and I still do not have my voice back, and I am nowhere close to a come down.
This is as much to do with the result as social media, and the numerous ways to celebrate and engage with it, so beyond simply watching the game. I have seen club captain Son Heung-min, a man who signed an extension when the club didn’t have a manager, sobbing with tears after finally winning something after 10 years with the club. I also haven’t just seen it once, but multiple times, from numerous angles, because I want to drink all of this in. I’ve enjoyed clips from the players parties after, seeing these elite athletes off their face in ways that almost makes them relatable. It’s the cuddles with their families, the videos from the stands, the defiant interviews from a team perennially written off.
It’s not even just the celebrations of Spurs that I have devoured, but the love from other teams. Social media is rife with former players celebrating, but also clubs our heroes once represented.
These wonders are not just on X, thankfully, but numerous other social media companies also selling my data. Social media is a disaster for our planet in so many ways, but at least this week, it has brought me and millions of others a little closer together.