I confess: for my sins, I am a Tottenham supporter. It’s a terrible lot, having my emotional wellbeing tied to the fortunes of 11 random strangers living halfway across the world from me. Especially when this is spurs we’re talking about: that once-great, might-be-great-again team that blows hot and cold like my grandfather’s old heater. I have tried, truly, I have tried to stop following them; cut myself off emotionally, dismount that dopamine rollercoaster. And yet, every time I do, I hear a snippet of news: “They’re in the Champions League Final!” Or, “Bale is back!” Or, “Antonio Conte has...
Monitoring Antisemitism Intel
