Walking through the turnstiles of White Hart Lane in the 1980s gave me some of the most poignant memories I have. With my dad by my side and surrounded by a sea of chanting fans in lilywhite and navy, the sense of pride and belonging, and the adrenaline rush that came from watching Villa, Ardiles, Hoddle and all, was like no other.
This was Saturday afternoon working-class culture writ large. We may not have looked like most of the faithful in that old stadium but for 90 minutes, nothing else mattered. We were all one family. We were all Tottenham Hotspur.
