Befuddledstone, More Like…Oh Dear

February 15, 2010February 15, 2010 / Alan / 21 Comments

Spurs v Bolton – we could have lost, should have won, and we’ll win the replay.

I doubt very much if there is a team in the League that is more frustrating to watch at the moment than our beloved Spurs. Capable of so much, we deliver so little at times. Used to asking the question pre-match, ‘which Tottenham team is going to turn up?’, after yesterday we now have to pose the same query at half-time as well because who knows what they are going to come up with? Problem is, I suspect they don’t have any idea either.

Players make mistakes and teams go through bad spells. Intensely irritating but after all these years I’m used to it. What really grates, what digs around deep down inside and contorts my innards into a tight aching throbbing mass of bile-filled fury that bubbles and froths until it is fit to burst open the lining of my stomach, shatter the rib cage and spew into the light drenching the room with rancorous acid, is when we don’t learn. And round about now, it feels like we never learn. Nine days ago our performance against Aston Villa was arguably the best of the season, albeit with a few too many long balls. We dominated the match by imposing ourselves on a quality team and by sustaining our effort and application for 90 minutes. Our centre midfield of Wilson Palacios and Tom Huddlestone ran the show. A few days later, we don’t bother to get off the coach at Wolves. Redknapp was severely at fault with a team selection that unnecessarily disrupted our continuity but no such excuses yesterday. Watching from the high television position at the Reebok, at times our team looked like Subbuteo figures on a giant pitch, spread out far and wide and just as mobile. I would have given them more than a flick to wake them, I can tell you. Memo to HR- at the next team talk make sure they understand that when you talk about making space, it’s not supposed to be space for the other team.

And while I’m at it – Wolves, remember, no graft, concentration or application and the pain of defeat. This all meant nothing as they carried on from where they left off up there. Maybe there is no pain in defeat after all, but there is for us fans.

Freed from the evil clutches of the ogre Megson, Bolton skipped and gamboled in the wide open meadows of our midfield. Hud and WP clearly enjoyed their pleasant passing game, watching from afar as they made several chances. Mind you, marking Elmander, sitting back was a perfectly reasonable option, just wait for him to blaze it wide. And high. Into touch. Goal kick or throw in, it was all the same to him, and we defended well enough in the box under the Bolton set-piece bombardment.

Then came their goal, well-worked and very well taken by Davies. We failed to put any pressure on the ball in the centre of the pitch. Then, Dawson chose to go with his man across the box. He could have passed him on to a left sided defender but his choice not to should not have been fatal. However, not one of the midfield opted to drop back and cover, so we had only our back four in or near the box when Elmander (oh the irony) crossed it.

Still we did not get the hint. Hud and WP consistently failed to come back to cover their back four, and as absolutely nothing was going on up front, I really don’t know how they accounted for their time. The TV angle means you can’t see so much off the ball and of course ITV kept it especially tight for fear of revealing the sparsely populated Reebok stands and thus giving the game away that actually the Cup was not quite the attraction that every commentator stated it was, every 5 minutes. However, there were two other occasions where these two were ambling back in the face of a Bolton attack, whereas they should have been hammering back at full speed and with total dedication. Wolves would have, Villa would have, so why can’t we?

Enough of the first half. It was a stinking measly effort on our part, reeking of apathy. Harry’s half time team talk had no effect whatsoever as the pattern continued as if the break had not happened. Then Crouch beat the keeper to a cross, hit the bar and everything changed. Without playing especially well we were on top for the rest of the game. Not much of a plan was apparent but at least we had a spring in our step. Kranjcar replaced the sorry-looking Modric, a player upon whom the future success of the club depends but who left the pitch looking forlorn and unloved, reflecting on what was a poor effort on his part. The ease with which we took over said much about the standard of the opposition. They are a decent team, much improved under Coyle but they were stretched under pressure, especially from Bale, our man of the match with his determination, pace and direct running from left back. His advances not only provided chances but also cut off the lingering threat from Lee Chung Yong on the Bolton right as he had to firstly drop back to cover then was substituted in favour of a defender.

Defoe’s goal when it came was a fine move out of place with the rest of our display. He’s been wasting chances of late but this time it was one touch, a perfect touch, one goal. Sadly we didn’t give him much else as the rest of the afternoon was spent in frustration as Crouch’s touches went, well, nowhere near him. More long balls and, from Bentley, poor crosses – it’s not the way forward and Crouch’s good performance against Villa became a distant memory.

Penalties are all in the mind and most Spurs fans winced when Big Tom stepped into the role abdicated by Defoe. He hasn’t got the head for this sort of pressure. For a moment or two I was optimistic as he calmly kept his eyes firmly on the ball while the referee sorted the rest out. Having seen JD miss several penalties after doing a cocky little oh-so-clever Strictly Come Dancing run-up, what else is the lad going to do but his own version of the poxy paso doble. How could it have conceivably crossed his mind that he should take a penalty in this way, especially as Tevez converted a spot kick on TV only a few days before. Didn’t someone tell him? Doesn’t he know he strikes a ball superbly? JUST HIT IT! And Harry’s quote this morning about how in training he just hits them is frankly not at this point reassuring in any way.

I don’t know why I’m making light of this – it was pathetic. More self-inflicted harm from the Marshmallow Men. So it’s back to the Lane where we will win the replay. It’s the long way round but we are two games from a semi-final and if we play to our potential then the Cup is still on. However, the attitude and effort from the players needs to be massively improved before we can think of scoring a goal, never mind win a trophy. Redknapp’s managerial skills are being seriously tested for the first time since we climbed clear of the relegation zone about this time last year.

Finally, thanks and good wishes to the Spurs fans up there, who could be heard loud and clear on TV. I’m not sure the club deserve you.

Tottenham Stories: Always On My Mind. The Do.

February 12, 2010October 17, 2014 / Alan / 8 Comments

The attendant opens the door with a grand gesture and fusses over my coat and bag. More than my gilt-edged invitation, this absurd attention confirms my new-found prominence, and makes me distinctly uneasy.

It’s a break for me, an opportunity to put behind me those wasted years and chances spurned, but my tentative tread as I stroll along the oak-panelled corridor festooned with self-satisfied portraits betrays my sense of not belonging. I affect an air of disinterested nonchalance, trying to take in the grandeur and undeniable beauty without looking like I have wandered in from the streets, a refugee of the London Big Bus Company tour.

The crystal chandeliers lie heavy from the ceiling, their brilliance eclipsed only by the glittering egos of the great and good. And the not so good, as long as they have money to ease their guilty conscience. I glance around, wary of eye contact. With the right person, it’s fine but an itinerant gaze is a sign of desperation. A stirring in one corner: within this room any spontaneity stands out. Adriana throws back her thick wavy hair then bends forward slightly from the waist, the laughter flowing through her body and rippling out to the group of six or seven guests around her. The women look away, the men shuffle a fraction closer and laugh a little too long. She catches my eye and shrugs imperceptibly. ‘What can I do?’

I begin a smile in return but our line of sight is swiftly interrupted by a tuxedo, anxious to secure her undivided attention.

There is an art to these gatherings. My usual chosen option is to skulk around the edges, pretending that I am content in my solitude and that drinking a glass of fizzy water in 185 sips is really how I want to spend my time. However, today I’m at the top table and must drink my fill. An assertive stride towards my target, followed by a firm handshake. I’ve practised my lines. ‘We met briefly at last year’s conference” I lie but they won’t remember me, whether it is true or not. A few short moments to make an impression – in a good way, so my approach is unencumbered by champagne glass or canape. Well chosen words and a card pressed from a clammy palm.

They know after a minute or so. I’m desperately polite and flattering, adding a succinct and devastatingly accurate critique of the new Bill. But they strip all the baggage away – is this guy useful to me or not? After a minute comes the tell-tale glance over my shoulder, seeking someone more worthwhile to converse with. It’s over and I depart.

The hall is full now. As I gather myself for the next foray, an actress few people have heard of is welcomed on stage. I pause, then slip away. Adriana glares at me wide-eyed from across the room, angry and enticing. Now I shrug and continue on my way without a backward glance. The cloakroom attendant purses her lips in surprise as I disturb her flirting with the burly doorman. She hands me my coat and the carefully rehearsed plan is enacted with precision. Two minutes to the exit (unseemly to rush), seven minutes walk to Liverpool Street for the 19.22 and I’ll be in my seat at five to, just before Fulham kick off. It’s a shame that I’ve missed the pre-kick-off chat and atmosphere, but we all have to make sacrifices.

Didn’t Think It Would Go This Wrong

February 11, 2010 / Alan / 14 Comments

Straight away let me say that I did not see all yesterday’s match. Whatever you think about Tottenham On My Mind, know that I like to make up my own mind about things rather than relying on the secondhand or received wisdom. My plans were undone by a combination of a dodgy stream and having to take my grandson to football practice as his mum was at St Thomas’s. I can share the improvement in his stamina and positional play but his close control and concentration needs more work. Or is that JJ?

On Radio 5Live the excellent Pat Murphy commented that whereas we were well muffled in gloves, undershirts and long sleeves, Wolves to a man took the field in short-sleeved old gold. This apparently epitomised their fighting spirit, although I would point out that no one criticises elite athletes in spring marathons or cross-country when they wear gloves: it is sound advice for exercise in the cold to keep warm without losing too much sweat by covering the extremities. Medical advice or not, we certainly lived up to the clichéd jibes and failed to turn up in the inhospitable cold of the black country. We were neither strong enough to withstand the pressure nor to drag ourselves back into the match in the second half.

By then it had become a rather surreal experience. The stream by now was Ok but cut out intermittently as these things are wont to do. Several times it froze as we attacked, our players in athletic poses and good positions with plenty of space in front of their box, as if pausing momentarily for the Spot the Ball photo. However, when it restarted only a few seconds later, Wolves were coming away with the ball. Trouble is, when I did see the whole move, it may as well have been a blank screen for all the effort and ability on show. Simple passes going astray, slotted into touch with apparently great care, no blend or invention. JD running down blind alleys or long balls to Crouch, both separated from team-mates or our midfield time and again, unable to set up even a half chance. I fail to see the point of bringing Modric on then playing the long ball. Wolves and other teams have cut down our time and space but I saw yawning gaps last night. This time it was purely our fault. I saw a stat that we did not have a single shot on target in the second half.

Thanks for all the comments on yesterday’s piece, ‘What’s Going Wrong?’ It contains a few suggestions about why we aren’t scoring enough goals or are able to break down defence-minded opponents. It makes the unspoken assumption that we are playing reasonably well and consistently: I had absolutely no sense that these days we could implode like last night, let alone against a very average team. I also mentioned that in the long run Crouch is not the pivot of a top four team but the reasons for changing the starting line-up baffle me totally. We played really well against Villa, despite a few too many long balls at the end. Something even vaguely approaching that effort would have secured victory, yet the personnel changes served only to unbalance a team beginning to enjoy the comfort of familiarity. Gudjohnson is not fully fit and cannot yet have got used to his team-mates, while we have got used to how to perform with the big centre forward. Palacios had an excellent performance on Saturday and he and Hud combined well then, looking after each other and with Hud at last showing his ability to impose himself on the midfield.

I understand what was on Harry’s mind. JJ to drive on in midfield on the assumption that Wolves would have a defensive outlook even at home (we wouldn’t therefore require so much defence ourselves in the middle) while a mobile front pairing would unsettle Wolves pedestrian centrebacks. However, the Villa game showed we could do that well enough anyway. Unnecessary changes made to the spine of the team, the balance destroyed and points thrown away.

It’s too early to say if our hopes of 4th place have gone with them. There’s still a way to go. But here was an opportunity that we failed to grasp, and moreover failed spectacularly badly. It’s the manner of this capitulation that grates this morning. The positives of Villa have faded away, replaced by those doubts, nagging away in the background, that we don’t look like a Champions League team. Opportunities remain but they are fast running out.

What’s Going Wrong?

February 10, 2010February 10, 2010 / Alan / 21 Comments

You know those people, older usually, who come out with the same old comments every time certain topics come up. The warning sign is a sentence beginning, ‘Well of course in my day…’ or ‘Kids today, don’t know they’re born…’. Delivered with deep gravitas, as if this is a totally fresh insight into the ways of the world, they have an effect opposite of that intended. This is signalled typically by groans and synchronised eye-rolling from an audience that has heard this one before.

Sad to say, perhaps I’m becoming one of these old codgers. Seen it all before. Nothing new under the sun. I know because I was going to use my pet line to begin this piece before I checked myself – what am I turning into? But here it is, something I heard once and stayed in the brain, crushingly familiar to colleagues and family:

“For every complex, complicated problem, there is a simple, straight forward answer.

That’s completely wrong.”

After my health warning, you might find it useful. Handy for politicians – there’s an election on the way – or saloon bar bores and know-alls. In my experience their favourite recommendations are national service, castration or sack the lot of them. Perm any one from three and you can’t go far wrong.

It is easy to point the finger at certain individuals (many would include referees here) or formations but there is no single reason why we are not scoring netfuls of goals at the moment. Some of our play has been dazzling, some downright pedestrian, most somewhere in between, but more than good enough to earn more points than we have.

Early in the season I was fretting about our defence but it’s been clear for several months that our fate depends on scoring consistently. Although our defensive record is excellent, we are not able to organise ourselves as well as teams like Villa and so must play to our strengths – we will score one more than you. This season I am reliably informed that in the 13 league games we have drawn or lost, we have had 212 goal attempts, 122 of which were on target, yielding a total of 7 goals. Since Wigan we have scored only 13 times.

Some of this is down to the defensive fortitude of our opponents. Spurs are sussed. Massed ranks in front of goal, little ambition bar a possible sucker punch breakaway. This is one thing at the Lane but I suspect Wolves will try the same tactics at their own ground, emulating Villa’s second half at Villa Park.

A deep back four who stay close means there is no space behind them for Hud’s long passes nor room in the channels. Crouch’s flick-ons are similarly dealt with and JD’s speed is taken out of the equation. The midfield funnel our attacks into the middle where they founder on a mound of flying blocks and determined tackles. It’s hard to hit the byline too, especially without Lennon to keep a couple of defenders busy or left trailing in his wake. Villa, Wolves, Hull, all the same.

At the moment we do not have the wit or patience to break them down, although we tried hard enough on Saturday. The absence of a playmaker able to dictate the game leads to hurried efforts and rash decisions. We must maintain possession far more efficiently and keep both ball and man moving. Be patient, keep probing and something will come out of it. Modric and Huddlestone have the talent to fulfil this role eventually but their inexperience shows when the pressure is on.

One thing we could do more of is to have the midfielders making late runs into the box. Coming from deep or diagonally off either flank, defences cannot easily pick them up. Modric got into those positions early on Saturday but missed the chances and Villa then shut up shop. We could score more from midfield, something in favour of Krancjar’s place in the starting line-up.

Another tactic is more movement up front. We’re better away from home when we start attacks from deeper positions, unless Crouch is left isolated upfield and we hammer the ball forward to him, which is useless most of the time. Leeds left us the space for those through balls or byline crossing, and Defoe profited. Often however, Crouch and Defoe loiter at the edge of the box and move across it. They need to vary this and come deeper sometimes, to move up and down as well as laterally. This unsettles defenders who are uncertain about whether to remain in their comfort zone or follow the man they are supposed to be marking. Insert midfield runners into that space and we have more opportunities. That interchange of personnel up front is crucial. Crouch and Defoe can sometimes play their part by taking opponents away as well as scoring themselves.

Scoring, ah yes…both have decent records, Defoe especially, but frankly I can’t find a ready remedy for another blight that affects us currently – we keep shooting straight at the goalkeeper. Keepers must love playing us; their pre-match preparation includes planning where to drink the MOM bottle of bubbly. We have made it too simple for a succession of them to fly flashily across goal, arms and legs stretching, but the ball has been too close to them and (relatively) easier to save.

I just don’t know what’s happening – shooting practice? Modric needs it. No coincidence that Defoe broke his duck against Leeds with a mishit after striking previous chances hard, true and at the keeper.

Which brings me to Peter Crouch. The fact that he had his best performance for us on Saturday in retrospect highlights his limitations. We will find it extremely hard to be a top four team if he plays regularly. Again, there’s no single element to the equation. Some of it is not his fault. We don’t have to hit long balls to him so often if he plays, but we do. His presence is a refuge for players under pressure. One or two touches, nothing on, so wang and the pressure’s off. That is an option but not the only one. He can contribute to pass and move and is a target for crosses but our success will be founded on football played on the ground.

As an individual, Crouch’s distribution is generally erratic, Saturday being an honourable exception. He wins so much in and out of the box yet so little actually comes from it. It’s a percentage game that takes you so far but not to the very top. In the box, he is eased off-kilter, a little nudge, he’s off balance and the hard-won cross slides just wide. At the far post, he’s static and therefore easier to handle. Not easy, but at the top level defenders can deal with him and his bobbly little knock downs, vaguely directed across goal. Similarly, his reactions are poor and once the message goes all that way from brain to legs, the defender sweeps up the ball in the box just waiting to be hit.

The future requires a centre forward more mobile and versatile than Peter, but until we find one, sorry, make that find another one as Berba has come and sadly departed, just remember that we don’t have to kick it to him all the time and if we play the ball in front of him in the box, as he moves forward onto it rather than loitering at the back post, Crouchie can finish.

Any improvement requires collective resolve, something that has been lacking in the Marshmallow Men but promisingly on Saturday we kept going. I’ve said a lot about this lately (see ‘March of the Marshmallow Men’ in ‘recent posts’, so enough already. Wolves is a good place to test this is action. Try some of the above, add a bit of width and the win will come. Battle at the top is now well and truly joined so we must fight to the limits.