That title is dead-serious and delivered with a dead-pan tone. I mean it. Seriously. No ulterior motives whatsoever. I want Spurs to end this season on an epic run, fueled by the injustice and the ignominy of losing at home to their most-hated rival. More on that desire of mine later. For now, let’s celebrate St. Totteringham’s Day, the second in a row after a six-year drought. Is it as momentous as winning the Prem at White Hart Lane twenty years ago? No, of course not. But to have won the North London Derby in this way does taste a little savory, especially with the amount of Spursy saltiness sprinkled around.

You’ve probably watched the match or at least read the post-match summaries. With us up 0-1, Kulusevski and then Maddison each went down in quick succession inside the 18. Had Kulusevski gone to ground more quickly rather than stumbling a few steps, he might have forced Michael Oliver to point to the spot. He didn’t (“he” here refers to both Kulusevski and Oliver). Maddison seemed to go to ground too softly with too little contact to interest Oliver whatsoever; he waved play on, and Havertz switched fields brilliantly, releasing Saka down the right flank. One on one against Davies, who didn’t seem to know that Saka likes to use his left foot from time to time, Saka cut inside and scored. In mere seconds, this derby went from a possible 1-1 draw to an 0-2 rout. It would be just ten minutes before Havertz scored to make it 3-0.

Cue the St. Totteringham’s Day celebrations! Paint North London red! Crown us as Prem—okay, hold the phone on that last one. It’s clearly too early. We still have to hope that Man City will drop points. Lest we get ahead of ourselves, let’s take a moment to make a silk purse of a sow’s ear while engaging in a bit of schadenfreude. Yes, Spurs fought their way back to a 2-3 scoreline and did look like they’d find a way to at least share a point, forcing us to drop two and slamming shut the door on our title hopes. They failed. Their hopes crashed up against the bitter reality of our stalwart defense. That has to hurt even more than having lost 0-3 or worse. We emerge from what was arguably our toughest remaining fixture unscathed; Tottenham now know that they’ll have to be all but perfect if they’re to pip Aston Villa for a Champions League spot.

Depending on how results play out among us, them, Villa, and City, Tottenham may face a very Scylla & Charybis-type decision. Assuming that all four of us go into matchday 37 having won all our matches, Tottenham go to the Etihad with a chance at securing that fourth-place spot while also helping us to win the Prem. What would they do? Would they roll over, sacrificing that top-four spot to prevent us winning the Prem? A small part of me suspects that a substantial part of their fanbase would want that. There’s a certain small-club mentality at work there.

For ourselves, we saw the best and the worst. The first half saw us set up strategically, looking to soak up Tottenham’s energy and hit astutely, and the halftime scoreline felt fair. I was befuddled to hear former Arsenal player Lee Dixon say something to the effect of “aside from the three goals, Postecoglou has to feel good about how his side have played.” Okay, Lee. Apparently, Gary Neville was worse, but you’d expect as much from a Manc. The second half saw us succumb to some nearly-fatal flaws. Between Raya’s howler and Rice fouling Davies, we were almost undone by these self-inflicted wounds. Still, form goes out the window in a derby, especially one in which so much is at stake, so it was reassuring to see us steel ourselves rather than let old frailties be our undoing.

This all feels quite different from a year ago, when the wheels came off in spectacular fashion. Back then, we had to have been suffering from impostor’s syndrome—did anyone seriously believe we’d be title-contenders? Whether we bottled it or not is another debate for another day. This time through, not only does it feel like we have a legitimate chance at winning the Prem; it feels like falling short wouldn’t be a bottle-job. It would feel like an injustice beyond our control.

I’ll close by saying, perhaps even with something resembling enthusiasm, “come on, you Spurs.”