The game started, and it was a firestorm. It was not a football match. It was a street fight. A brutal, attritional battle for every inch of turf. The tackles were flying in, the challenges were late, the referee's whistle a constant, shrill soundtrack to the chaos.
Tottenham, stung by their two previous defeats, came at us with a ferocious intensity, their players snapping at our heels, their aggression bordering on violence. But we didn't flinch. We didn't back down. We gave as good as we got.
And then, amidst the chaos, amidst the fury, our quality began to shine through. Our 4-1-2-3 was overwhelming them, our movement too quick, our passing too sharp, our attacking intent too much to handle. And at the heart of it all, a raging bull in a red and blue shirt, was Connor Blake.
His first goal came in the 25th minute, a moment of pure, unadulterated power. Olise, with a shimmy and a burst of pace, beat his man on the right wing and whipped in a vicious, inswinging cross.
