I’ve always considered Tottenham fans-myself included- to be not the most attractive bunch. We might be famous for our bagels, but we also really love our burgers, and more often than not we’ll prefer a night on the tiles to a morning on the treadmill.
It’s thankful, then, that the Spurs team have, over the years, had some fine specimens on the pitch. Granted, they’ve never fielded a collective so aesthetically pleasing as Euro 2012 Spain (aka The Dreamiest Team Of All Time), but we’ve had some pretty hunky chaps scoring goals and breaking hearts on the gilded grass of the Lane.
In honour of AVB-no slouch himself in the handsome stakes- I’m going to line us up in his favoured 4-2-3-1 formation.
Goalkeeper- Carlo Cudicini
Only played once in 27 years. Unconfirmed reports from within Spurs claim the main reason for him being kept on is to balance out the gangly histrionics of Gomes and the jilted-lesbian-at-a-wedding vibe of Friedel. New-boy Lloris doesn’t actually look that different to Carlo, but needs to lose the puppy fat.
Left Back- Paolo Tremazzani
The Italian can lay claim to being one of the very worst Spurs players of all time, and more than anyone summed up the ineptitude of the Gross era. I get that. But look at this picture and tell me you wouldn’t want him giving you a fireman’s lift out of a burning building?
Right Back- Vedran Corluka
Absolutely no contest with this one. He might have found running fast a bit of a chore but he looked like a Croatian logger, not least when his beard was in full bloom. They might call Dubrovnik the Jewel Of The Adriatic; we called Charlie the Jewel Of The Lane.
Centre Back- Steve Perryman
A genuine Tottenham legend, playing 800+ times, winning a couple of UEFAs, and couple of League Cups, and an FA for good measure. Looked like he’d come third on the 70s version of the X Factor.
Centre Back- Steven Caulker
An absolute behemoth of a man, and he is still only 20. 6”3 and built like a middleweight, I dare- I dare- you to find a better specimen of the human race.
Defensive Mid- Nicol Berti
The first name on the team-sheet. Defiantly average on the pitch but so good looking Spurs fans have got a song about him: “My name is Nicola Berti/I’m aged around thirty/I come from a team in Milan-Inter!/And when I walk down the street/All the people I meet/They say, hey gorgeous! What’s your name?”
Defensive Mid- Scott Parker
Pre-game, owner of perhaps the very finest haircut in the Premiership; slick, stylish, with more than a whiff of the Scandinavian Lieutenant. This is fitting, because if there’s one footballer you’d want leading you in the trenches it would be Scott. Has a ballerina’s straight-backed gait, but don’t go calling him a pansy.
Left Mid- David Ginola
The second easiest pick after Berti. A man who’s handsomeness is only dwarfed by his own faith in said handsomeness. They wheel him out once a season during half-time at Spurs, and I am happy to report that he is growing old with the greatest of grace, though the locks have now gone. His autobiography is one of the greatest examples of self-aggrandisement known to man.
Right Mid- David Bentley
Is Bentley still a Spurs player? Most famous for dunking a bucket of ice over Harry in his pants after Spurs qualified for the Champs League, he was hailed as the next Beckham when we signed him, and there is something of the Becks in his looks, if not his footballing achievements. Certainly the Spurs player most likely to join a Westlife tribute band, and sometime owner of over-sculpted facial hair.
Attacking Mid- Niko Kranjcar
I took an ex-missus to watch Spurs a couple of seasons back. She spent the entire time-sat in between my Dad and me- rocking back and forth on her chair, pointing at Niko, twiddling her hair and whispering “he really is a very, very attractive man.” And you know what, he is. Very much the Beauty to countryman Modric’s Beast, it’s been said once or twice around these parts that he has eyes like a moonlit Adriatic.
Forward- Teddy Sheringham
Well it wasn’t going to be Rebrov, was it? Teddy had an old school, unhurried way of carrying himself, and cheekbones you could cut diamonds with. Gets extra points for being photographed out on the lash with some lassie the night before the 1998 World Cup, and giving Hoddle the hump.
Never a shred of doubt about this. A man to tick all the boxes- well-tended beard, strawberry blond, distant member of the Portugese family, intelligent and bilingual; he’ll make you reconsider how much you actually like girls. Has the demeanour of a cheeky urban fox.