Kinský, It’s Not You. It’s Your Workplace. | OneFootball

Picture it: the Metropolitano buzzing, Simeone doing his usual grumpy mime act on the touchline, and Spurs rolling up like lambs to the slaughter.

Their new gaffer Igor Tudor, bless his soul, thought chucking in some kid called Antonín Kinský between the sticks was a stroke of tactical genius. The lad hadn’t started since October, but sure, why not give him the Champions League baptism by fire on a pitch slicker than a politician’s promise?

Yeah, that didn’t work

Within six minutes, Kinský’s slipping around like Bambi on ice, gifting one straight to Julian Álvarez, who teed up Marcos Llorente for the opener. “Llorente pounces, as Kinský crumbles!” shouted the announcer. Seven minutes later his teammate Micky van de Ven caught a case of the stumbles, leaving Kinský high and dry to face Antoine Griezmann mano-a-mano. The veteran Frenchman, in his 115th Champions League match, did not miss scoring his 44th goal.

The Golazo Show co-host Nigel Rio-Coker philosophically stated: “Tottenham can’t do the basic things right.” Like staying upright. Or kicking.

They say tragedy comes in threes, and sure enough it only took another two minutes for Kinský to suffer another tragi-comedic gaffe. This time he shanked a pass right into the path of Julian Álvarez who walked the ball over the line with a hearty “gracias!“

It’s 3-nil before the 16th minute, and poor Kinský looks absolutely gutted. Who can blame him? And it’s about to get worse. Tudor, whose shriveled heart and demeanor makes the Grinch look like Mother Teresa, gives the Czech keeper the hook barely a minute later. Cameras follow the 22 year old as he walks into the tunnel flanked by two Spurs coaches who are ostensibly there to keep him from doing some serious self-harm.

Spursy, innit?

And that’s why anyone has to cut the keeper some slack. Kinský, it’s not you! It’s your team!

Honestly, after your walk of shame to the dressing room it didn’t get much better. Your replacement, Vicario, was forced into a save from HIS OWN defender’s header, only to have the rebound poked into the net by Robin Le Normand. Sure, Spurs clawed back a couple when Pedro Porro rifled one in, and Dominic Solanke nodded another, but it was simply putting lipstick on a pig.

At full time it ended 5-2. You have to hand it to Atlético. Simeone’s lot are proper bastards when they’re on it: gritty, cynical, and clinical. They smell blood and go for the throat. Spurs? They just rolled over, er, slipped and showed their belly.

The club’s been in freefall for months. Their domestic form is proper rubbish (no wins in 2026) and now this humiliation on the international stage wipes any goodwill they built up in the Champions League group phase.

There’s nothing like watching Spurs collapse to remind you why it’s called the beautiful game, and why supporting anyone else is marginally less painful. Cheers for the entertainment, lads. Now sod off back to north London and sort yourselves out before the return leg turns into even more of a farce.

And Kinský, buck up there boyo. Be the goldfish and forget about it. You can work it out in therapy when you’re older. “It’s not your fault.”