Season 2011-12

Too Late, Too Far Gone

/ Alan / 48 Comments

Dear Ashley,

Wise words, my friend. You’re right, so right, I shouldn’t get worked up.

I paid proper attention to that comment in my last piece, because it was all getting out of hand, what with the tension of the last day of the season. I ate lunch during half-time of the Villa game and as the minutes passed, I felt like I’d be physically sick, such was my frustration at not scoring and fear that we would come away with nothing. Ridiculous. I’m a grown man, with hair- and waist-line settling into middle-age even if my enthusiasm for the good things in life lags two or three decades behind. Enjoy the game, the passion, the excitement and the downside that inevitably comes with it, but don’t allow it to take over.

Never have I needed such wise counsel as this week. I couldn’t shift the Doomsday Scenario from my mind. It had been coming for weeks and now it was almost here. Ar****l were ahead, Chels could just turn up, open up the deckchairs in the centre circle  and still come away with a win. Abramovich could persuade fate to his way of thinking. RVP, the semi-final, Barca, all down to this; the gunners take third not on points, not on goal difference but on the odd goal scored. Chels then usurp our Champions League place as well as ram the trophy down our throats for evermore. In the 45 plus years I’ve been an active Spurs fan, this wasn’t just the ultimate indignity, this was the end of days.

These days I just roll with it. Thought it would diminish with age, fade away like the careers of so many fine players I’ve seen come and go at the Lane. Not a question of too late to stop, it’s a force beyond my control. I think it, dream it, talk about it, but it’s the feeling most of all. Visceral, all-encompassing, a physical and emotion reaction in time with the ebb and flow of our fortunes.

I missed half a season in each of several years in the nineties when the kids were young. That’s OK, priorities right and all, but the thing is, I still felt it. Felt guilty that I wasn’t there – hah! As if the club cared. Felt better when I was there. Can’t deny it. Still, on matchdays, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. Trips to the park glued to the radio. Alone in my flat on a bank holiday weekend, kicking every ball as we fought relegation at Wimbledon.

Took my children as soon as they were old enough, whether they wanted to go or not. Oldest on my shoulders when we won the League Cup but he still kept his Liverpool shirt. Other son when he was 5 or 6. He told me later that because of his eye condition, he couldn’t see the game at all. Thought he spent a lot of time playing with the cord on his anorak. Daughter came along just so she wouldn’t be left out. Now my oldest has sadly gone but we three sit together. I apologised at full-time yesterday.

Kick-off was a relief. At least we were nearer to knowing. Sunny day, players with new hairstyles, committed, focussed, up for it. Noise rolling around the grand old ground, back in time to these seething crowds of 56,00o that had me under their spell. Never found the antidote, but then again I haven’t looked very hard.

On the old BBC radio commentaries, Peter Jones used to cut in halfway through the second half to “welcome listeners on the BBC World Service, wherever you may be”. That really made an impression as a child. Football brings people together the world over like nothing else. And so it is with Spurs. Me, I’m grateful and mildly surprised that anyone reads this blog. Tottenham On My Mind because it is. Helps with the obsession. The obsession of a non-obsessive, non-addictive personality? Sounds damaging, that’s just occurred to me. It will always be niche but the new wordpress stats tell me not only how many people read it but where they live. People all round the world check in. People from countries I have never heard of. Wherever in the world they may have been, at 3pm their hearts were in N17. Their  hearts were beating fast.

Kaboul ventures forward. Too early, a contender for player of the season but he remains impetuous at times. Or clever tactics maybe – push the spare centre half forward if Fulham only have one up front. No time to think about it. Ade to Rafa and back, perfect side foot, I’m right in line and leap to the skies before it hits the back of net. Beautiful football, the perfect start. If I’m a nervous wreck, the players must be calm. They were overjoyed – it meant something special.

The Lane is rocking, don’t bother knocking. Well on top and a rumour that WBA were 3-1 up kept us bouncing, but downhill from then on. We made and missed a few chances, Bale and Rafa but were performing well enough. Fulham, limited ambitions but we let them back into the game and twice Friedel saved us, the second a fine, fine save low to his right. If the game was a trial for Dembele, as far as I’m concerned he passed and we should bid.

Defoe put us out of our misery, picking up a loose ball to settle if not totally quell the nerves. Before that, a polite version is that we played possession football, same after. Less generous assessment is that it was the dullest game of the season. A couple of beachballs in the Paxton but it felt like Margate on a rainy autumn day.

Plenty of time to ponder on what might have been. The January window, not who we didn’t buy but the lack of cover by letting Pienaar and Corluka leave. Injuries, to Daws and King in particualr unsettling a jittery backline, to Sandro, mighty alongside the excellent Livermore today and how we could have done with his drive and tackling. Stoke, points dropped at home, offside goals away. Chels at Wembley, goals and sendings off that never were, Norwich, rubbish (us not them), Villa rubbish (us and them), even after all the ups and downs just one more win, two draws even. Fourth is a good season, but  the might-have-beens are an itch I can’t scratch.

I guess the blog is a form of therapy, Ashley. I can’t believe people take the time and trouble to join in. They read it it and actually bother to comment. I’m touched by it, each and every one, genuinely. Very emotional, see. Wept when we played gorgeous thrilling football earlier in the year, wept as we shouted, screamed for Muamba to live. Guess in reality the blog is all about one thing, why this wretched beloved team holds its grip after all these years. Some of the stories get the closest. Adriana tolerates but doesn’t understand, why it’s always on my mind.

Too late to change, so roll with it. Regards to everyone who reads Tottenham On My Mind and sincere thanks for the many kind comments I’ve received this year. I’m profoundly grateful, it’s kept me going.  A busy week for me but a season’s round-up in the next week or so, a few more pieces over the summer, change of design but it’s all about the words so it will be, basically, exactly the same.

Time for a dip in the pool, Ashley, then a stroll on the strip with the models, poseurs and queens. Me, I’ll look forward to my next trip to Tottenham High Road. It’s where I belong. You’re a good man, have a cold one for me.

Kind regards,

Al

Spurs Are A’Coming! Circle The Wagons!

/ Alan / 29 Comments

Tottenham Hotspur’s spring tour of the lower regions of the Premier League finished in the Midlands on a frustrating note as we hammered away at Villa’s massed ranks for 90 minutes without scoring from open play. Going down to ten men early in the second made only a momentary difference to the pattern of a game where we had all the ball, plenty of shots, countless corners but were unable to find that single moment of finesse to create a golden chance. As it was, we bludgeoned away at the one place where our opponents were strong, the centre of their defence, with a predictable lack of success.

It’s set up a cataclysmic final day at the Lane this coming Sunday that epitomises the contradictory nature of being a fan: we could well do without it but are desperately compelled to be there. Last August, the promise of the chance to take third place would have been enticing. Now, it’s laced with fear and dread, a threatening reminder of the devastating emptiness of failure rather than the prospect of joyous glory just 6 days away.

This of all seasons, where we have at times played the best football in a Spurs generation, will generate more debate than any other. Look back for a turning point and there’s something in most of the last twenty-odd games, ranging from the whole tactical and motivational approach at the club through the capitulation at the Emirates, refereeing decisions at Stoke, the January window and the width of the lace of Defoe’s boot away at City.

Yesterday was no exception. This tour has not shown the best side of scenic England. At least Bolton were brave enough to play some football and take the game to us. If you want another turning point to add to the lengthy list, Boyata’s miss just before half-time tipped the balance of that match at least. Blackburn and Villa were both awful but whereas the former lacked motivation and resolve, Villa seemed hamstrung with nerves and fearful of their own lack of ability to create any sort of attack. By the finish, their manager was slumped in his seat sharing dark jokes with a coach, the result in the hands of fate. There was nothing more he could do as his eleven were swamped by our ten.

Yet by then they had managed to score from open play, something we conspicuously failed to do. Granted it was courtesy of a giant deflection – I don’t see how Friedel could have reached it – but it was another crucial moment. We should have closed down the scorer but by then had already established the pattern, pushing forward from all sides and angles. We should and could have more alert to the basics at the back.

You want turning points? As if that wasn’t enough for one match, how about an inexperienced full-back charging in for a loose ball in a relatively safe area with his foot off the ground? Rose was a little unfortunate – the ball was off the turf but he caught Hutton with his follow through. However, he had to go. Whilst I admire his commitment to go wholeheartedly for that ball, a calmer head would have shown the discretion that was required at that point. As it was, chasing the game and down to ten men.

Our panic was comical. Having totally dominated, we then madly kicked the ball backwards high towards the goal, fell over and generally went barmy. Soon it became apparent that it really didn’t make much difference. Villa had no idea what to do with the ball so allowed us to re-establish control. For the rest of the match we huffed and puffed, forcing our opponents back into their box as they threw the wagons into a circle for a last ditch rearguard action.

In the end, it was an old failing that did for us. Despite being gifted an opening when the otherwise inspiring Dunne fouled Sandro in the box, we failed to capitalise. Early in the season we could break down defences through movement, pace and patience. Somewhere along the way we’ve lost that ability. Once again we could not find a way through the massed ranks. Bolton win friends because they want to play but we ruthlessly exploited the gaps that they left behind. When Villa had no inclination or apparent understanding of how to keep the ball in our half of the field even though they had an extra man, it’s a very different matter.

I’m not inclined to be too harsh. If you had joined the game for the last 25 minutes, there was no way to tell we were a man down. However, although we kept plugging away, we could never produce the width or the extra man to make the breakthrough. In the first half, our moves broke down late on as we got near their box through lack of a decent final ball. Modric disappointingly never found his range, while Bale and Lennon came inside too frequently where the ponderous but stout Villa back four were ready for them. Not a great one for stats, nevertheless at half time my stream showed that only 6% of our attacks came down the left. With Bale and Rose, we needed more but the latter’s dismissal scuppered the half-time tactics talk to give us more width.

As it was, we repeated past patterns of failure. A stream of crosses into the box that the Villa centrebacks headed away. They did it extremely well, all credit to them, but as I’ve said before in these cyberpages, I’ve spotted that we only have one big striker, Spurs still haven’t picked that up. Villa wouldn’t budge and we did not demonstrate the patience or wit to hold onto the ball and try to shift them from their entrenched positions. Back to the ten men again, back to the might have beens.

Nobody played particularly badly. Rose’s positional play was dodgy again and Luka’s passing was way off. No one had an especially good game. Kaboul made some fine tackles but at other times was wayward and impetuous. Sandro was strong and mobile, Lennon was bright and Manu’s movement was decent. Redknapp dithered over substitutions but I’m feeling unduly sympathetic. I would have brought on Defoe and gone for the win – even allowing for the remote possibility of Villa scoring, a draw doesn’t do us much good. Parker on earlier and three at the back could have calmed us down but to be fair we were well on top and I can see the argument not to change anything. I did enjoy the moment when JD nearly came on. HR gave him an unusually long set of instructions whilst Defoe took not a blind bit of notice.

Win against Fulham, that’s fourth and then see what happens at the Hawthorns. Rest well this week then give it everything. If we do, we will win. The stomach-churning, gut-wrenching nausea is already making me giddy and weak. Yesterday I made the mistake of eating lunch at half-time. I nearly threw up later as the tension cranked up to ridiculous levels. Goodness what Sunday will be like but the prospect of redemption will lift me to the heights. I trust the team feel similarly inspired.

 

Two Down, Two To Go

/ Alan / 12 Comments

The pass sliced a clinical arc through the hapless defence. The ruthless beauty of the surgeon’s art won the game.

If I could, I would. The dreams of a paunchy jowled man who is fighting off the strictures of middle-age are little different from those of an equally podgy fresh-faced only child pestering his hard-working parents to schlepp him across London to see a meshugenah game of football. Except now when I close my eyes, if I could have just that one moment, I wouldn’t have the top corner screamer. Sure, I can sense the satisfaction in the perfect co-ordination of mind and body, pouncing on a bouncing ball at the edge of the box, the feel of the ball on the soft leather, the thwack as it sizzles on its way into the top corner, the private fizzing as it rolls down the net that only the players close by can hear.

Now I’m grown up, for me it’s the pass. To take out an entire defence, rather than hit it, to aim for a spot and put the ball right there, to have the presence of mind amidst the tackles, the bedlam and the fear to see not only what’s happening but what might happen, if you put it there, just there, into the stride of the winger…

Luka Modric can do both, and more. Even I his biggest fan has ruefully acknowledged that this season he’s not done it either as well or as often as his prodigious ability allows but last night he helped first to conquer the midfield, ably supported by a strong, tenacious performance by Sandro,  then went on to win the match for Spurs, a vital three points as the season reaches its desperate climax. 

Spurs were the better side for three quarters of this match but the decisive period was in the other quarter, the 20 minutes or so after half-time where we failed to respond to our opponents’ renewed purpose. Modric toiled from the beginning to establish our pass and move rhythm. Although he was dropping deep, this enabled us to settle on the ball and build. Sandro eased forward to compensate. The duo combined well. We stuttered but it was enough to stay on top as the half went on. Lennon and Bale, staying wide mostly, were always dangerous. Walker and Petrov tested out each other’s pace in an absorbing old-style winger v full-back battle, while Kaboul restricted Davies’, and therefore Bolton’s, attacking options.

However, a series of poor touches meant we were never fluent and therefore never completely comfortable. Adebayor couldn’t make the ball stick and his overall play was below par. Rose did not have a good match, the ball bouncing wildly off his boot at every touch and he left gaps behind and to the side of him at the back.

Having gone to all the trouble and effort of taking control, capped by Modric’s lovely goal, and then profiting from a bad miss by Boyata on the half-time whistle, we proceeded to throw all the hard work away by conceding a soft goal. Dozing at a throw-in deep in our half, Reo-Coker’s sprint into the box revealed that we had only three men in our own box. It was absurdly poor, an example of the slack mental attitude that will have cost us dear if we do not finish in the top four. Harry should replay that in the dressing-room before our final two games – what not to do.

As they dithered, I raged at this apparently fatal wastefulness. Then we were transformed. Using Bolton’s pressure to our advantage, we counter-attacked from deep, rediscovering that skill that peaked away to Norwich, only to fade from view. Bale, space set up by a little interchange, drives from deep, a perfect ball to Rafa. It’s pace, it’s first touch, it’s the way to play. Then the pass, Modric from the halfway line, credit to Lennon who set off before the ball reached Luka’s foot. A perfect ball to Adebayor, it’s pace, it’s first touch, it’s the way to play. The stunning simplicity of a memorable goal.

Another interchange of passes, Bale again to Adebayor. Manu had a lousy match. Two perfectly taken goals. That will do. Bolton were sunk and we played out time, well on top. Time to chuckle at the delicious irony of Davies complaining to the referee about being fouled. Redknapp took the risky choice to have Sandro mark the man who always scores against us. For the most part it worked although Davies did set up their goal. He didn’t get the decisions, so Sandro got an elbow in his face for his troubles. That mouthguard came in handy.

Talking of decisions, we did get the rub of the green. Clear handball by Sandro before Luka’s opener and Gallas a little later at the other end. Karma evening itself up? It’s rubbish, all that…

The tension is unbearable, but it’s two down with two to go. We thoroughly deserved this one, which should be the template for struggling Villa this weekend. They are vulnerable, so we should take them. Not saying it’s all getting too much, but in the second half this podgy middle-aged man slid off the sofa, stretching to convert a cross that Manu just missed. The pressure is getting to me but let’s hope I never grow up.

One Down, Three To Go

/ Alan / 5 Comments

Just what Spurs needed – three points. No alarms, a decent effort that lacked a cutting edge to convert our massive superiority into more goals but none was needed in response to opponents who reeked of the sickly unpleasant odour of apathy. And people have said our players don’t care. I’m surprised the Blackburn squad could summon up the effort to climb the stairs of the team coach. 

Then on the way home, the Big News. In years to come, will you remember where you were when Hodgson became odds-on for England manager? No, me neither. That apathy, it’s spreading. The South Circular for me, as a matter of record. Looks like our Harry is going to stay for a while longer, whether we like it or not. I bet he’s hurt, at not being asked. Maybe he was, discreetly. More likely the quiet little chat was between the F.A. and Daniel Levy. It went something like this. David Dein: “HOW MUCH?”

The fans are not so sure but Levy wants his man to stay, hence the big contract. Hope that leaves some cash for a transfer budget worthy of the name. In the meantime, it’s one down, three to go.

Motivation was an issue for both teams, given recent performances. From the start Spurs showed plenty of appetite for the task ahead – my imagination but did the huddle last a fraction longer than usual? Gallas’ ankles are going but there’s fire and ambition in the belly still. Modric and Sandro took the midfield from the kick off and everyone was keen to get on the ball. Quickly we established the rhythm that has served us so well this season and when we added the high tempo, we could really swing. 

Blackburn however were indifferent to the point of fascination. Fans of all clubs splutter at the baffling decisions of their manager but for Kean to set up his relegation threatened side so they did not have a single shot in the entire 90 minutes takes lacklustre to cosmic levels. Five the back, they never closed down the space in front of their box thus presenting us with total control. Injury time approached, two down but they weren’t going to budge. Oh no, not them. Never mind the score or league position, this is the set-up and we are sticking to it. Several of their more experienced players were happily chatting and smiling throughout. I’ve had a lot of time for the dignified way in which Kean has refused to either buckle under the pressure or criticise his fans despite the abuse he has received (whereas Redknapp bristles indignantly at the slightest provocation), but this was unfathomable.

I’m not given to extravagant predictions but last season I called Sandro a world-class prospect. Yesterday he showed how much we have missed him. The perfect defensive midfielder is strong, athletic, fearless in defence with good positional sense plus the passing ability to launch attacks. Don’t ask for much, do we, but he delivers. He’s lost weight and looks all the better for it. He tackled, thundered the bar with a long range hammer and above all never looked stretched. When he tired in the second half, he hung back and covered, just as a DM should when we are leading. Complete control, of the pitch and of his own game. Best not to slide tackle around the Park Lane penalty spot, though. Spilling your guts for the team is one thing but that was going too far.

Modric had a good first half. Early on he dashed deep into the box to cross from the byline and it was good to see him so involved in proceedings. Again, it’s something else we’ve missed. That drop of the shoulders that gives me goosebumps, he’s away and calling the tune. The whole game picks up when he’s on the ball. Some delightful passing including one curling ball into the box for Lennon that combined sublime touch with the prescience of Mystic Meg.

This fine partnership provided the impetus for a return to the delightful passing and movement of the good old days. Seems like so long ago. The Newcastle game was only 2 months ago, feels like I’m talking about a different side. The old problems were there: a lack of sharpness in the box. Adebayor making good runs but he’s too far in front of the near post when the cross comes in to be of maximum danger, Rafa and others hanging back when they should have been belting towards the 6 yard box. It’s the sort of stat that I think I’ve misheard but 5Live said that Jelavic has scored his last 28 goals with his first touch. We should take note because it won’t happen at Spurs.

The goal was a message about what works. A deep cross from Lennon that Bale got his head to and the rebound was forced in by Rafa. Nice to get a messy goal for once but the point is, the cross was aimed to a man, not space and we had men on the spot to score from close range. Too often we’ve been outnumbered.

Gallas hit the bar from a corner, shame, it was a good header, but it will probably be another 150 -odd corners until we score another one.

We didn’t start the second half as well as the first but it didn’t matter because Blackburn were so flaccid. We went through the motions without causing many problems. I was waiting for the inevitable breakaway and the one shot one goal equaliser that’s so familiar. Blackburn have the pace that other teams have used to unsettle us but they didn’t believe in giving Hoilett or Yakubu the ball. Anyway, Kaboul was mighty at the back, three solid headers from awkward deep balls and unbeatable on the ground, one great tackle on Hoilett in particular. Gallas was determined but neither were stretched. It was so quiet, I could hear Friedel barking out instructions to his defenders, and I sit near halfway.

None of which stopped me worrying. Talking of apathy, nothing induces it more than a Spurs free-kick within shooting range. May as well count the pigeons in the stands. The pundits around me are fine upstanding loyal fans, behind the team through thick and thin, it makes watching the game even more of a pleasure. I had to agree with the voice that said, ‘My money’s on the goal kick’ as Walker stepped up, then a flash and a blur and it’s in the back of the net. The first league direct free kick since January 2101, I do believe. I won’t say it was worth waiting two years for but a shot of that power, spin and accuracy is a bit of a marvel. Wonderful.

Neither Rose nor Bale had outstanding games but together they were a threat. Rose’s crossing wasn’t quite up to scratch but he did well enough. His presence enabled Bale and Modric to make use of the space inside the full-back even though Blackburn had an extra man at the back. Walker did well bar one missed tackle. Once again he played on in some discomfort, at least for the entire second half. His battered legs look as if they are stuck together with tape, such is this new high-tech strapping. He is focussed and committed, as well as being a top class footballer. A big favourite of mine.

I’d hoped the relegation places would have been a bit clearer by now but what with Villa being pulled into it, I expect more fight from our opponents in the next two games. Little can be judged from this one but if Sandro’s attitude can spread just a touch through the team, we’ll be in with a great chance of making it two out of two on Wednesday night.

Competition corner: It’s like Vision On, only with words. Another one for the kids there, which last week’s competition certainly wasn’t. The Spurs player pictured was Terry Naylor, who before he was a footballer used to be a Smithfield meat porter and he treated full backs the same way as he handled those carcasses. the winner was regular correspondent I Know Alan Gilzean, mainly because he was the only one who got both parts correct. Good man!

I have been promised a copy of Louis Saha’s book Thinking Inside the Box by those lovely people at Vision Publishing. Yesterday on 5Live Ian Payne described it as ‘extraordinary, like no other footballer’s autobiography.’ Sounds promising. here’s the deal: I’ll read it then you can have the chance to win my copy. Stay tuned.