Something doesn’t sit right with me about all this Harry Kane Ballon d’Or hopeful stuff, this Roy of the Rovers reboot. Its not that I don’t absolutely love the guy, his somewhat dopey demeanour, and under-awed approach to tearing the Premier League apart is refreshing as it is endearing. But it’s completely come from nowhere, for most of us anyway. There was no hype that faded and reignited, no topping ‘ones to watch’ lists, no wrapping him in cotton wool. In fact it was the opposite.

He was bundled about the lower leagues on ‘loan’ to ‘develop’, which to perform in was evidently beneath him, as he trundled back to Spurs. And has since barrelled into our hearts, enjoying a meteoric rise, well, that is to say if meteors did in fact rise. Which they don’t. The mind boggles as to how this had come about.

The reason Harry Kane’s fortunes make little sense to you and me, is because it shouldn’t. There is no basis for this happening. There was no actual reality before the North London Derby, just a confused collective memory – a de ja vu of sorts.

The universe has filled in some blanks but we are left with a lingering doubt, like waking from a dream you immediately forget. It now makes perfect sense

You see our reality, in which Harry Kane is the captain of your fantasy team, isn’t real. It is an alternative reality, created from a schism in a paradox caused when hope, belief, an expulsion of gas and a solar flare met in N17. This cosmic event crafted this reality we reside in where this otherwise unremarkable son is the central, God-like figure, for which everything falls into place for.

Out there somewhere is a different Harry Kane. A world where a young man loves chips, is single, hangs out with Ryan who works at Halfords, and is completely different from the world in which this figure operates, and is a world where you and I are some confused semi-sentient part of this. The universe has filled in some blanks but we are left with a lingering doubt, like waking from a dream you immediately forget. It now makes perfect sense. We are the poorly drawn faces in the crowd from a children’s book, which sing his name, we are there but we aren’t. Don’t agree? Of course you wouldn’t.

Think about it, draw back the curtain. It goes beyond the concept of Harry Kane. Can you honestly say your entire life to this point has made any sense?

Like set-dressing extras in the Queen Vic mouthing the word ‘Rhubarb’. It’s all just to sell the reality of this boy from Chigwell becoming the hero

No, of course not. Because it hasn’t. The universe’s autofill that created your so-called-life to support the gag-gift reality didn’t need to stand to scrutiny – it just threw some paint on the walls as a quick fix. Like set-dressing extras in the Queen Vic mouthing the word ‘Rhubarb’. It’s all just to sell the reality of this boy from Chigwell becoming the hero.

There could be other realities where Kane snr didn’t produce the ‘scorer of winner for Tottenham’ as his gift to us. There could be a reality where Harry Kane wins Formula 1, and where Harry Kane takes over for an under-the-weather Spider-Man. Where Harry Kane is Chancellor of the Exchequer. Or Cilla Black. Or Neil Armstrong. Or Louis Armstrong. Or Stretch Armstrong. The layers and possibilities are endless.

Of all the potential infinite number of alternative realities though, I like this the best.