Scary huh? There’s no second chances any more. Whatever our opponents do, we have to at the very least win our home games, probably more in all honesty but that’s essential. When Swansea’s equalizer bounced into the corner, the tension slammed down like a 14lb sledgehammer on a melon. Scary.

The final scoreline wasn’t the only common denominator between the Bolton and Swansea home fixtures. For the second game running, when things weren’t going so well Spurs kept playing. There’s a determination and focus that will stand us in good stead over the coming weeks, a rediscovered confidence in our own ability that seemed to have disappeared after the Emirates debacle.

We may have wished for new blood in the January window but it’s the experience in the spine of our team that’s driving us on and yesterday gave Bale the space to come up with a powerhouse performance that rendered him unstoppable. Parker quiet but effectively marshalling the troops. He’s not at his peak but he does more than enough and is prepared to give others the limelight. Gallas the winner – seen it all, done it all and wants to do it again. Again his performance was eclipsed on the day by his younger fellow centre back Kaboul, who tackled and blocked in timely fashion. Two blocks stand out at crucial times, one when it was level and he could not face going a goal down, the other when, the match seemingly won, we were slack at the back. I say we – not Younes, concentrating first to last. But Gallas’s desire to win burns deep inside. First to the celebrating Adebayor, he clasped his head like a loved one and told him just how beautiful his goal was.

And Friedel, calmness personified. Much as I loved Gomes, it’s impossible to imagine him in this team, all fret and agitation spreading like contagion through the side. Most keepers lose their spring as they get older but Brad is a remarkable man. Like him, my friend Adriana does yoga religiously but she couldn’t have got up into that top left hand corner.

Manu’s had his winter break a little later than most and the trouble was, he was on the field for most of it. However, he’s decided he’s back for a final fling. Frankly he’s been rubbish at headers this season. It’s been a real weakness and he’s missed far easier aerial chances on a regular basis. then two come along at once, two classic smacking foreheads of goals, made by intelligent positioning in between the centrebacks followed by prodigious leaps. Sky high they were. Truly a man can fly.

The incentive was two pearlers of crosses, one from a corner (two in two games!), the other on the run from Lennon, who quickly got his range after coming on although he had plenty of time to acclimatise as they barely passed to him for ages.

Why bother when you have Gareth Bale on the left. Playing like this, you can’t stop him. He’s a phenomenon. In a tactical age he stampedes through every barrier. This is old-fashioned pace and power coupled with the touch of a maestro. His late zigzag through the defence, sublime.

Poor Rangel. I felt so sorry for him, yet his manager left him inadequately protected. Rodgers has been justifiably praised for his tactical acumen and his team is a pleasure to watch. It’s rare that at home Spurs concede the majority of possession to our opponents. By not detailing a man to double-team Bale, he refused to sacrifice the balance of his side for the sake of an opponent but it meant Swansea were constantly exposed to danger. Bale had too much space and made full use of it. His crosses were made more dangerous by Caulker’s absence from the heart of the Welsh defence. We’ve scored few goals from headers but the Swans were never comfortable in the air.

Much has been said about Rodgers coming to Spurs should Harry go but for me he’s not sufficiently experienced. In an ideal world I’d like to nurture a youngish british boss but if we are to challenge for the very top next season, the Lane is no place for someone to develop their trade. Like our spine, we need someone who has the experience.

As I’ve said, Swansea keep the ball well but it was their pressing game that made life difficult early on. Still, Modric was able to find ways through, darting into the box or a delightful throughball, outside of the foot inside the full-back, for Bale to set up Rafa. He didn’t need to blast it, confident enough to hit it first time, placement not power always wins the day. Luka had a good match, again not the dominating figure he’s been in the past but in this team he doesn’t have to be. Others will influence it for him and Van der Vaart again epitomised the been there done that do it again mentality. Now he’s fully fit, he covers the ground and has the big match attitude where under pressure he can play at his peak. Late on, Modric dallied unnecessarily after Bale mesmerised but then as Swansea broke quickly, it’s Rafa who’s back tackling 40 yards from his own goal.

Despite their organised approach, Swansea can’t be everywhere at once. Teams that press and push midfielders up into the box are tricky to handle, and in the first half Sandro and Parker failed to track back as often as they should. However, it means they left space behind them and we used this well, moving the ball efficiently and keeping the pressure on their back four. With Lennon to come on, it was the perfect way to sustain that pressure against tiring legs, which resulted in our third. Ding dong!

Strong minds and hearts of stone took Spurs to the semi-finals of the FA Cup and showed that we are well set for the run-in. Although Tottenham made and missed countless chances, we were consistently inventive and resolute in our determination to win this match. Ironically the breakthrough goal finally came not from one of any number of scintillating moves but from a set piece and a centre back.

The warmth from Bolton supporters, manager and players is genuine and welcome. This cynical age has its football to match but the goodwill between the two clubs has created a lasting bond. The applause rang out long before the announcer signalled its formal beginning. There was a liberal dose of relief in that noise. The last time I saw Fabrice Muamba he was, to all intents and purposes, dead. I had no doubt: as I left the ground that Saturday evening, I had to make a work-related phone call, and choked up completely, uncontrollably. When Pratley went down injured in the same spot, same physios, same stretcher, the deju vu was painful. It’s no miracle: it’s testimony to the physios and the NHS. Very best wishes to Fabrice and his family in the long months of recovery ahead. I really value Coyle’s comments that our club and fans behaved with dignity throughout. Means a lot.

Relief too that football moves on. Sometimes it feels out of place and insignificant to play to the backdrop of some tragedy or disaster but mostly it’s a reminder that life goes on. This became a tribute to the enduring power and passion of the game. An intense cup-tie played to the finish, no holding back and played with passion in a bubbling atmosphere.

As the match went on, it looked as if it would be one of those days. 30 shots in all, 30!, 16 on target and add another 5 or 10 for the ‘whisker away’ category. We even had a free kick that hit the bar. Except I don’t believe in ‘one of those days’. Missed chances are errors, a sign of weakness and although full credit the excellent Bolton keeper Bogdan, who is not their first choice, we took too many touches in the box too often. Bale’s explosive shots from outside the box were well set up but as soon as the ball leaves the area, the keeper reckons he’s in with a chance. Misses from Parker, Manu and, unforgivably, Rafa were bad mistakes.

We got there in the end because we kept on playing. Players and crowd became edgy at the start of the second half when we dropped the tempo and lost possession regularly. However, the feared degeneration never happened. Instead we picked ourselves up, remained patient and came once more for a sustained, inventive assault on the Bolton goal.

Take this game alongside Chelsea. As well as the tempo and possession, the determination and resilience is back. The spine of the team, men whose experience has not dulled their desire to succeed, have looked at the previous few efforts and said, enough. That ability to take a long hard look at performances and have the force of personality and self-belief to turn criticism into the motivation to be winners again has reinvigorated the side. We’re looking forward to the eyeballs-out give everything finish rather than pining for those effortless salad days before Christmas. Rivals have found momentum from a few goals and a couple of wins. We’ve generated it from within but it’s just as powerful. Wembley and a run-in full of home games – bring them all on. But don’t forget the shooting practice, eh lads.

Spurs rapidly established their dominance with sustained periods of pacy combination play, classic economic triangles down both flanks that shredded the Bolton defence. Modric, Bale and Assou Ekotto were especially effective together, with Gareth timing his runs perfectly and making productive choices over staying wide or coming inside and Benny pinging slicers through the eye of a needle. On the other side, Walker was noticeably attacking more and we looked all the better for it. His late runs to the far post are becoming a feature of our attacking play. Later in the game he could be forgiven for taking a breather after a series of lung busting runs like a 400 metre runner doing intervals in training, all in single-minded pursuit of a goal.

It’s good to see Luka controlling the midfield as he did in the first half. When he played, we played. In our two flat spots of an otherwise consistently excellent performance, around 30 minutes and then at the start of the second half, he wasn’t on the ball. With Parker and Livermore solid behind him, he’s able to get to work, foraging for loose passes, seeking angles and making runs into the box. The same goes for Rafa – they have a fine understanding, working hard and moving intuitively into pace and covering where necessary. Wonderful to watch.

No goals though. I’m not keen on indiscriminate shooting but Manu and Luka really needed to out their foot through the ball rather than try to work the perfect opening. One touch and it’s gone. Livermore was unlucky with a powerful athletic effort and nothing from the rebound.  With Bolton barely in our half, let alone in our box, Livermore is more than capable of coping on his own so Scotty pushed further forward, only to prove that he’s not so good at that. At half-time I turned away from the big-screen highlights to have a chat, only to look back several minutes later at what appeared to be an endless loop-tape of Bale shooting just past the left hand post.

Redknapp delayed Defoe’s arrival. It looked as if it may be fatal hesitation but we were making plenty of chances without him. As it was, his assist rather than his shooting sealed the game, a perfect ball to Bale who carefully slotted it well wide of the keeper. Before then, after all the cracking flowing gems, the game was turned by a far post header from a centre half wearing a shirt that could easily double as a two person tent for cub-camp. Nelsen will be vulnerable to movement and pace but man to man and in the box, he was supreme. He won everything. He also has that precious skill for a defender to be physical without conceding a free-kick.

After the second goal, the old place was bouncing, not capacity but you wouldn’t notice from the noise. Even after they scored, Bolton didn’t seem unduly bothered with a winner. Saha’s curler was icing on the cake, although even he wasn’t sure it had been given. The ref blew for full-time straight away without kicking off – I’ve never seen that before, so Louis celebrated only after he’d jogged over to shake Webb’s hand and check.

Much to savour. A goal from a corner, the first in about 140 attempts. We still haven’t scored from a direct free kick in the league since January 1st 2011 and not from a direct effort since 26th January 2010 (thank you Optajoe) but we’re getting close. Last night was momentous in another way – Benny acknowledged the crowd during play. A little wave of the hand as he took a drink. Didn’t look at us mind, but it was enough. What a night!!!

My daughter graduated as a teacher on Saturday afternoon so instead of watching the game I was being an intensely proud father. It was a low-key affair, held in a university hall rather than the Cathedral where she solemnly processed to receive her undergraduate degree. At least we could see this time. We were stuck behind a pillar last year so I had plenty of time to scrutinise the skill of medieval stonemasons. Even so, it was still more exciting than the Whammers v Boro game that I saw in the week.

Two potential approaches if you’re not able to see the game. Go for constant updates, either via text from a willing accomplice or latterly use the iphone. Advantages include, obviously, the up to date score. On the other hand there’s the tension of knowing something might be happening but not what. This approach has led in the past to a slow, reasonable start followed by a frantic pounding of the refresh button, oblivious to my surroundings. The least said about Spurs conceding two late goals a couple of years ago whilst I was in the Bluewater branch of H&M, the better.

I opted for the alternative – the final score text, in this case from my son who went to the Bridge. It’s clean and predictable. Enter this mindset and the afternoon is shrunk to a single moment. Get on with life, there’s nothing you can do, in my case enjoy a wonderful moment in my daughter’s life and just wait for the score to come in.

During a bright and busy day in a lovely city, there was plenty to distract me and the warmth of the occasion is touchingly genuine, fuelled by the graduates’ overwhelming sense of pride and achievement that puts the sneering bile directed towards university students into its rightful place. Yet in the long wait for my daughter’s fleeting turn at the lectern, the mind began to wander. It’s times like this when I cannot escape the self-loathing of a true football obsessive. Her grand day but I must  know the score. For a few short minutes, I want, I force something else to be on my mind but too late, it’s taken hold. Technology means  I can furtively switch on the iphone. Like an addict with his fix, I press the on button.

I’m not offending any of my nearest and dearest. My daughter sits beside me at the Lane and the first thing she asked me, (well, the second, the first was, ‘where’s the wine and food, I’m starving?), was the score and after all, she’s teaching at Scott Parker’s old school in southeast London. I have the old class photo to prove it and can report that Scotty’s hairstyle has changed little in 20 years. Their mum was reassured to know my son would be reasonably happy. So why am I restless, sick and short of breath as, knowing it was nil-nil at around 65 minutes, full time approached.

I believe the stuff I write. That our fate will be decided not on this game but in the sequence of tough but winnable matches that take us to the end of the season. Yet the thought of an impending catastrophe at the Bridge was gnawing away. Restless and fidgety, the logic that this was no turning point was meaningless. Another insipid effort from tired, listless footballers was too much to bear. On a day like today. Twisted priorities, warped values. I really hate myself sometimes.

You will be relieved to know that I managed to not punch the air when my son’s text came through. Didn’t want to let my daughter down. Can you punch the air internally? If so, I did. He said we should have won but a point was good enough for me. Might have a slug of that wine, all things considered, it’s free after all. Rude to say no. Time to celebrate.

Watching the re-run, we’ve got our Tottenham back, almost. After a shaky opening, the side bedded down and produced a composed, considered performance where teamwork was refreshingly the key. Although much has been made in the media and elsewhere in the past week about the adverse effect of Lennon’s absence, in fact we managed perfectly well without him earlier this season. Mercifully dumping the two up front, Redknapp focussed on the crucial duo, two in front of the back four, and everything flowed from there. Parker and Sandro protected a defence that could otherwise have been vulnerable – Gallas coming back from injury and an unfamiliar pairing – and provided the platform for Modric, Van der Vaart and Bale to move well further forward, plus enabling Walker’s well-timed forays upfield. He’s becoming quite a danger, arriving late at the far post. Add Adebayor’s rangy movement and intelligent link-up play and we were back on form, if not at our very best.

There was shape and purpose at both ends of the pitch. The players looked comfortable and focussed, playing with a real intensity. If Bale wandered in, Modric dropped left to cover. Bale returned the compliment, working hard without the ball and allowing VDV or Luka to get closer to Manu or take up space. The tiredness in the legs and desperation on their faces that were the abiding memory of Stoke at home were gone.

At the back, Gallas was excellent. I feared he would break down again as his ankle is weak but he was having none of that. In these big games he plays with the enthusiasm of a twenty year old trying to impress and break into the team, coupled with the nouse of an old stager. He and Kaboul formed a strong partnership. They could do good work in the box because Sandro and Parker protected them so well. Opponents near the goal were faced with a cluster of defenders, compared with recent matches when all they took on was thin air. One example – Chelsea break from a corner, Walker sprints back to delay the counter-attack, Parker heads clear at the back post, Sandro cleans up the loose ball.

We kept possession well, especially in the second half, and should have won it with some glorious chances. But I’m content with the end result rather than fret about the might-have-beens. The experience of the spine of the team – Friedel, Gallas, Parker, Modric and Adebayor – reasserted itself.  They knew what was wrong and did their utmost to put it right, the mark of true dedication. Despite the tired legs, they will have to bring that focus to every game from now on.