Spurs v West Ham: I watched the Premier League’s most miserable fixture live | OneFootball

There’s a school of thought that achieving something you’ve longed for is always destined to be underwhelming.

Years are poured into climbing the mountain, literally or metaphorically, without thought of what happens next when the adrenaline wears off.

That’s not to minimise the sense of achievement and the feelings attached that’ll keep you warm as the years draw in.

But it’s tricky to renew your sense of purpose when the previous dream was so central to your identity.

Generations of Tottenham and West Ham supporters yearned for success, a moment of glory without strings attached. A night where their club wasn’t one of English football’s punchlines.

Many would’ve fantasised about Prague and Bilbao. Now the post-success glow has worn off and both clubs are perhaps more miserable than before.

Corportate efficency football

It’s already busy at 12.30 outside Seven Sisters station. On a bright and mild January afternoon, everybody has the same idea to stroll the half-hour distance to the ground.

Seven Sisters Road has a time capsule quality to it; skim the surface and it could be any year since 1970 with its Caribbean cafes, South Asian shops and Greek-Cypriot takeaways.

This is London at its multicultural best, a proud middle finger to the vision Nigel Farage wishes to inflict upon the country.

The Tottenham Hotspur Stadium looms in the distance before revealing itself suddenly. It’s the opposite of inconspicuous, an arena designed to be London’s premier entertainment venue as much as Tottenham’s home.

Despite the rivalry between Spurs and West Ham, the atmosphere outside is muted with little chanting and minimal anticipation. People are here in body, not spirit.

Since ending their 17-year trophy drought last May, Spurs have sold their captain, the match-winner from the Europa League final and sacked the manager who masterminded it all.

Finishing 17th was alarming for a club of Tottenham’s resources and ambition, ultimately costing Ange Postecoglou his job.

But Thomas Frank has presided over a campaign of colourless football that has Spurs marooned in the bottom half again.

Matches have felt like the human manifestation of corporate efficiency culture; eliminate risk, kill personality, favour the fine margins and ‘optimise’ decision making.

You suspect Frank is mentally still managing Brentford. Spurs fans hate everything he personifies, even before posing with an Arsenal coffee cup before a recent loss at Bournemouth.

Tottenham had the worst home record of any Premier League team in 2025, but defeat to West Ham still felt unthinkable.

‘We’ll win 2-0’, one small lad tells his father as they wait for their salmon and cream cheese bagels. Resuscitating West Ham was surely beyond even Dr. Tottenham’s prowess.

Duracell Bunny

The Hammers arrived in North London without a league win since November and seven points adrift of safety.

But they weathered Spurs’ initial spasm of energy to boss the first half, snapping into tackles and moving the ball forward with purpose.

New signings Pablo Felipe and Taty Castellanos start in a revamped attack, while Crysencio Summerville plays as a Duracell Bunny with fully-charged batteries.

Summerville’s deflected shot, after being released by the excellent Matheus Fernandes, gives West Ham an early lead.

The away end’s celebrations don’t disrupt a planned ‘red card’ protest against the club’s ownership. Around 100 home fans protested against their own club’s leadership pre-match.

Both kits on show are awful, with Spurs adding an ugly grey trim to their traditional white and West Ham’s Boyle Sports effort a visual representation of perma-austerity. It’s all a far cry from Holsten and Dr Martens.

As the half wears on, the howls of anguish from the home end wouldn’t feel out of place in Wuthering Heights.

Guglielmo Vicario rolling his studs on the ball, waiting for a pass, attracts particular ire. Xavi Simons ducking out of a challenge with Jean-Clair Todibo elicits a disapproving groan.

The written account of Mathys Tel, Wilson Odobert and Randal Kolo Muani’s contributions wouldn’t fill a one-sided leaflet. Spurs are loudly booed off at the break.

You hope the supporters clubs in Lithuania, Izmir, Somalia and Pune (among several advertised throughout the game) aren’t watching.

Meat & potatoes

The second-half is the definition of helter-skelter, with challenges flying in and no pretence of control as the game becomes end-to-end.

Conor Gallagher, Tottenham’s new £35million signing, is in his element. Gallagher clatters into an opponent within 20 seconds of kick-off and treats the ball as a live grenade.

It’s a surprise to see his shirt isn’t tucked in – Gallagher would be captain of such an XI. It’s meat and potatoes football, without seasoning or gravy.

West Ham are inching back and Tottenham level after Pedro Porro’s cross is thumped home by Cristian Romero’s head.

Porro cups his ears to the home supporters. He later fails to beat the first man from a corner as Spurs press for a second.

But West Ham snatch a farcical injury-time winner. Vicaro flaps at a corner like a chicken watching a fox enter its enclosure and Callum Wilson prods home.

The away end convulses with rare joy. A season that includes a win at Spurs is never a complete write-off at West Ham, even one still likely to end in relegation. Their win is deserved for a committed display.

Spurs are the same, only in reverse. It feels almost intrusive to witness their fans’ anger at full-time, like seeing a strained couple rowing at a dinner party.

To be Frank

Frank looks like a beaten man. He later speaks of ‘turning round the Spurs supertanker’ and his insistence on ‘focusing on what we do’ emits self-consciousness rather than reassurance.

His days are surely numbered. ‘We win playing football our way,’ declared the Tottenham pre-match montage; Frank probably opens a packet of crisps with scissors.

Neither Spurs nor West Ham are easy football clubs to manage, but both are widely misunderstood.

Supporters of both are aware that success is elusive, especially when competing with nearby Arsenal and Chelsea, but are often accused of deluded thoughts of unearned grandeur.

The angst is surely rooted in their club trying to imitate London rivals, with supersize stadiums and all the trappings, while the owners still run the football team as mid-table entities.

Fans have been asked to pay eye-watering season ticket prices to watch percentage football with the sole aim of hitching a backseat ride on the gravy train. It’s not much of an existence.

At least West Ham now have a moment to savour in a bleak season. The prognosis for Spurs is fast becoming terminal.