I grew up in North London, no family interest in football. Some time in late 50s or maybe 1960, while at Infant School, they took us to the park for our first game of football. As you would expect in North London in those days, they divided us into "Spurs" and "A*s*n*l", about 20 a side (no Londoner would support Manu or Liverpool then). I was put into the A*s*n*l side, while my older brother went into Spurs. We had no idea what those words meant.
So being contrary, I supported "The Spurs" from that day on (he started off with A*s*, but soon changed to Ch*ls**, in time for the 1967 Cup Final anyway).
During that first game, I knew immediately that something was wrong with playing for the A*s*. My team mates continually argued with the ref (our teacher), or offered her bribes; they gambled, took drugs and drank excessively. They fouled the opposition, the Spurs, who were trying to play the right way, with some sort of push and run philosophy. My side dived when no-one had touched them, and none of them seemed to speak any English. I knew I could never associate with such a side, however successful they might prove to be.
The die was cast: Spurs from that day on. I remember us as Champions, though I didn't really understand what that meant. Favourite player was Cyril Knowles, hence the handle.
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