The public are comfortable with Harry Redknapp. His rumpled, down-to-earth persona  harks back to a bygone era before football became a commercial monster, evoking soft fuzzy Sunday evening television images of a time when society was less complicated and life was better. With Harry, like him or not, you know where you are.

At Spurs, however, he’s continually surprised. In this digital age when nothing is secret and everyone with a mobile phone and a Twitter account is a reporter, nothing shocks any more. Yet Redknapp’s appointment came out of the blue. A late-night messageboard post was shared then shredded with derision. The following morning, it happened. The manner of his possible departure was similarly utterly unpredictable. The mixture of gratitude and relief amongst Tottenham fans at the announcement of his acquittal turned in a few short hours to  horror at the prospect of his leaving for the England job.

The irony is that we are contemplating his departure precisely at the moment

when he is closer to the club and the supporters than ever before. My piece on the Wigan game focussed on this new-found intimacy. Adversity softened a relationship characterised by respect mingled with slight scepticism – I know a season-ticket holder who is refusing to go while Redknapp remains manager. Back to the wall, Redknapp’s sudden vulnerability overcame suspicions that despite his achievements on the pitch, his heart lay elsewhere. He is one of us and needed some help. It was not the flowing football, the Champions League or the top three that broke the ice. The taxman played matchmaker.

For the very first time there was sustained chanting of his name. Harry has seen and done it all but he’s not been here before. I said at the time that he deeply appreciated this gesture, which he confirmed yesterday on the steps of the court. He genuinely meant it, a hard man touched to the core, although he stopped himself as he was about to say that this was the best fan gratitude he’s ever had for fear of offending his admirers in Portsmouth and West Ham.

There can be no clearer way of expressing both our gratitude for what he’s done for Tottenham Hotspur and our desires for the future. However, even though the songs will no doubt rise to a crescendo come Saturday evening, they will be drowned out by the nationwide clamour of ‘Redknapp for England’.

I heard the news yesterday evening when my wife texted as I travelled home from London on the train. When I reached the car and switched on the radio, ‘Redknapp’ was the first word that I heard and judging by the procession of pundits lined up on 5 Live, that may as well have been the only word broadcast over the next hour. Pearce and Hodgson were the only two alternatives even mentioned and that was in passing, solely for the purpose of discounting their credentials. I turn on the radio this morning, it’s not who or if but when.

Seldom has there been such unanimity in the fractured, tribal world of football. Not only an Englishman for England, he’s worshipped by the media. Harry the turnip-head? It won’t happen. For what it’s worth, I would prefer an Englishman but not at the expense of quality. There are few if any managers with the experience and proven talent to take the job and even Redknapp never managed at the highest levels until the last 18 months. Prioritising a birth certificate over ability is a recipe for disaster.

Capello was unfairly treated by many sections of the media and public just because of what he wasn’t. However, I have no respect for him over his decision to back a captain accused of racism and put his own position above the needs of the country. For once the FA acted decisively and they were right to do so. I wholeheartedly support the ban but the FA made a rod for their own back by not banning him from the squad as well.

I understand that Capello wants to be in charge – as a manager in a very different field, a charity, I do not expect my decisions to be over-ruled by our Trustees. However, I take into account the position of my seniors before I make my choices and Capello is foolish not to have done the same. Even if he weren’t consulted, he could have waited before committing himself in public. Blind to the wider context, England was set for him to take us to the Euros whether we liked him or not and pulling out now because his personal pride has been affronted discounts his responsibility to the nation. He’s put himself first.

Terry is a tarnished figure. No one cares about him aside from Chelsea fans and Capello, who should have shown better judgement in his choice of captain. Innocent until proven guilty has got nothing to do with it. There’s enough evidence even for the notoriously cautious CPS to charge him and any of us in the same boat would have been suspended from our jobs, regardless of that principle. If you’re going to choose someone with whom you wish to make a stand, have better judgement than to opt for a man who’s pursued a team-mate’s wife and stands accused of racism. Ignore it, do what your bosses say, keep quiet, support the man but don’t make him captain, an. y option would have been preferable and more obvious than the one Capello chose.

Let’s not forget who the real villains are. Chelsea’s justification for a postponement of the final hearing, that key witnesses would not be available until after the season ends, is ludicrous, motivated entirely by self-interest. The need for Chelsea Football Club to play their captain comes before all else.

Spurs should do everything to keep Redknapp at the Lane but will be under intolerable pressure to let him do his duty. The FA have to shortlist but undoubtedly they sound out potential candidates first. Surely they will speak to Harry.

For his part, Redknapp will feel as if he’s between a rock and a hard place. He’s made no secret of his pride in being able to manage England should the opportunity arise and will find it hard to resist the bandwagon. He’s been equally excited and privileged at the prospect of leading a team into the Champions League and tilting at the title. To repeat, this is new territory for him and at his age he won’t ever look after a club side as good as this one. Any lingering doubts he had about his place in the hearts as well as the minds of the fans were dispelled a week last Tuesday. Whatever his faults and dodgy ‘arry the wide boy has many, he’s a proper football man. Success on the field and a place in a club’s heritage means an awful lot.

The FA will pull out all the stops to get their man. If they don’t, their reputation in the eyes of the public will be irrevocably tainted. I feel a fudge coming on – Pearce in charge until the summer, then Harry takes over. I’m not keen – I want Harry to be totally focussed on Tottenham, and of course this means he’ll leave us in the end. Another option could be to wait. They say you get only one chance at the England job. However, history shows it often doesn’t work out and the pressure is such that I don’t blame managers if they don’t want to hang about too long. Even at his age, it could come up again in the next 3 or 4 years. A gamble but then H likes a flutter.

None of this would be possible without Daniel Levy’s permission. Once again our future lies in the hands of our inscrutable chairman. He’ll take his time – quite right. Pressure will be brought to bear but he has broad shoulders that belie his slight frame. He’s always put the interests of the club first in the past. Say no Daniel and see what happens. Who knows, maybe we’ll be singing your name sometime soon.

Being slightly fearful of numbers, I’m not sure how the old recipe for success of ‘win at home and draw away’ stands up in modern times, now we have this new-fangled three points for a win, but right now it will do for me. As against Man City, against the Pool we stood up to the considerable pressure exerted by our rivals near the top of the league, emerging with great credit and in this case a point too.

We’re in the middle of a sequence of six that will shape our season. If we do poorly, there’s plenty to play for but the top will be out of reach. Instead we’ll feel the lustful breath of our pursuers on our neck. Do well, and the very least that’s on offer is the Champions League. Beat L’ar*e and United, no, it’s no use, I can’t begin to describe the possibilities.

City is part of this even though we lost at the death. In defeat we proved that we belong near the top of this league. We came back from two down and dominated the final 30 minutes versus the champions elect. Last night we carried on where we left off with a strong performance despite being forced onto the back foot for long periods in the second half.

From late afternoon the familiar knotted stomach and fading concentration as tension began to exert its grip. To be honest, I welcome the suffering because if it disappeared before a big game, it would be a sign that this club had lost its grip on me, but it does matter, how it matters. The team news turned my stomach. If any of the subs took the field, it would be me shouting, “Whoooo?”.

Never fear. The foundation of this fine gritty performance was the central midfield duo of Livermore and Parker. Each took a half. Livermore in the first was the game’s best player, endless workrate across the pitch, breaking up attacks and looking to move it on quickly. As I’ve said before, he has several worthy qualities including strength, stamina, quick feet and an eye for a pass, but it’s his application to his duties that brings it all together and makes him stand out. He fearlessly searches either for the ball or for the space to make himself available for his team-mates. Our best passing spells came when he was at his roving peak, not doing anything spectacular but being there and moving it on.

Parker meanwhile had less of an impact, uncharacteristically missing two tackles when he had no need to dive in. Yet as we’ve seen before, he winds himself up doing a match so as time goes on and others flag, he’s getting better and better. By the time we reached the final ten minutes, when we couldn’t keep the ball and the Liverpool crosses rained in, he was playing them virtually single handed. A little ball slid into channels, he appears from nowhere to cut it out. The full-back isolated and beaten, here he is tucking in behind to offer the second line of defence. A pile of bodies deep inside the box in last-ditch defiance, he emerges, battered and bruised but the ball is gone, our goal safe. All that after being kicked in the stomach by a forward with eyes only for the man, not the ball. A heroic  display from a man who seeks little attention. I was reminded over the weekend of a comment made by the incomparable Pat Jennings, a similarly phlegmatic character. When asked the secret of his success he replied, slowly: ‘I get up. I get in my car. I drive to the ground and do the job I’m paid to do.’  That’s Scott Parker. The next England captain.

We bored the pants off the viewing public in the first half and I enjoyed every moment. Lovely and dull. Liverpool easily contained for the lost part though I was suspicious of the gaps between our back four and towards the end of the half Gerrard was allowed to do too much in the areas where he is so dangerous, between 20 and 30 yards out. However, we did not allow him to develop a head of steam and galvanise his team, who looked a little uncomfortable in their own formation. Bellamy threatened to make something of Walker’s inconsistent positioning but the full back’s pace gets him out of trouble. Bellamy, the man in red to watch, was withdrawn, beaten.

Kranjcar and Bale switched wings frequently. I thought Bale should have made more of Enrique’s absence on the Liverpool left. Instead, he produced a disciplined effort, cautious going forward so we made few chances but kept our shape and the ball. I’ve criticised Niko in the past for his low workrate and lack of fitness. Against Wigan I remarked that he had lost a few pounds. Last night he too was more disciplined and looked all the better for cutting out the flicks and mad dashing around at the start of the game to make an impression, which usually results in him running out of puff long before the end. His gorgeous pass to Bale near would have been a classic assist.

Adebayor was a disappointment, continuing his poor run of form. He lacked support: it’s not his fault if he became isolated. However, he failed to do the basics and hold the ball or move wide. This became a real problem in the second period when we could not hold on to the ball. It kept on coming back at us and even our fine defence looked at one point as if they would buckle. Bravely Bond took him off.

The duel between Carroll and Dawson was always going to be key, and Daws came out on top. Confident and daring in the tackle, unyielding in the air, Dawson never one shirked his duties. Carroll is a good player suffering a dip in form, undeserving of much of the gleeful criticism his ludicrous transfer fee has brought to his feet. However, he’s not yet sharp enough in the box to be a top striker and obligingly he fluffed the one good chance he had.

Predictably Liverpool upped the tempo as the game went on but we were the architects of our own problems as we failed to keep possession. Modric and Krancjar were less prominent, Benny wasteful, Adebayor absent. Carroll slipped across to King to profit from the crosses that Downing was brought on to provide but crucially Kelly, Spearing and Johnson did not do enough and therefore we were seldom put under sustained pressure in all areas of the pitch. King was regal.

Chances were few and far between. Bale missed them but after all the efforts he had the best of the night, a tired shot against Reina’s legs. A point at Anfield will do. We’ll see how valuable it really is in three games time.

Suarez was on, rightly and roundly barracked by the Spurs fans. I thought his sharp pace might unsettle us but we managed to get a body in the way to snuff out the half-chances. Or in Parker’s case, a stomach. I hope the Liverpool fans realise that it’s not sour grapes that makes the rest of football wonder what on earth they are thinking at the moment. I have enormous respect for their club and fans, whose noise and passion is the envy of the game around the world. Knowledgeable and loyal, theirs is true love. Growing up, Liverpool was everything I wanted Spurs to be. Good football, great players, none better than Dalglish, hard as nails and all the better for it. Now, their manager still denies the problem and their fans wear Suarez masks. I wonder what went through the mind of the fan of Japanese or Chinese origin who happily donned his mask. You aspire to be someone who racially abused a man from a different culture. Like you.

And while we’re on the subject of Things That Are Bad, not in the same league but I want Gareth Bale to stop diving. Sure he picks up more fouls than half the rest of the league put together and he needs shins made of steel, but if it’s not a foul, stay on your feet lovely boy. You’re better than that, or save it for La Liga after your £150,000,000,000 transfer. Or something like that. Said I had trouble with figures.

A couple of years ago Absolute Radio e-mailed to ask if I would appear on the first edition of their new Saturday afternoon football show. It was new, exciting and interactive. Ian Wright in the chair, he wanted a sparky show with comment and bite. Spurs were playing and they wanted to hear from the fans.

Why me? They’d read the blog and were impressed. Highly unlikely – they googled ‘Spurs blogs’ and it came up more like. But flattery works. I huddled in front of the internet stream, made pages of notes and prepared my well-chosen opening words in the sanctity of the bedroom, far away from ringing phones and a dog that barks when a fly scratches its nose 150 yards away, let alone anyone who might appear at the front door.

They didn’t call of course. There was plenty of discussion about the match and Wrighty was perfectly happy to chat with the commentator and summariser, both of whom had done a decent job but naturally just reprised the same analysis that we had heard already in the preceding 90 minutes.

My number has remained in the Absolute contact book, which seems to have been passed down through several pairs of hands like a religious relic. Sometimes they call, often they don’t. You may have spotted the conceptual flaw here. Fans are supposed to phone in to the station (the clue is in the title), not the other way around. Far be it from me to suggest they don’t have much interest, but bet you didn’t know Absolute had live Saturday football commentaries, did you?

I’m delighted to take any opportunity to talk about Spurs. Friends and acquaintances are well aware of this, to the point where they go to enormous lengths to avoid the topic for fear that I will never stop. I understand now that the producers set up the programme to make it work and I have no problem with that. It’s a pain if they take the time and trouble to call me on Friday, ask me to stay by the phone for two hours on a Saturday evening, then don’t bother, but I don’t have to agree. What I can’t fathom is why they call me, put me on air then don’t want to chat.

Perish the thought it’s the quality of my contributions. It may well be but they do the same to  the other contributors. They want the views of the fans but prefer to banter with Wrighty’s  mates in football. It shows what they think of us. Pay lipservice to fan involvement, as they did in their opening programme, then stick to the professionals because they know best or fellow presenters on the programme, presumably for the same reason.

I enjoy listening to the fans’ perspectives, even though some are certifiable, because often they are closer to the day to day reality of their teams than pundits, who tend to repeat the accepted wisdom that holds for any particular team at any given time. If they aren’t that keen on the fans, don’t have a phone-in. As it stands, it represents the way supporters do not have much of a say in the game.

I was on yesterday about 6.50. I know, it took your breath away. The producer wanted me to say something about the Liverpool game. I was upbeat – if listeners have to hear a Spurs fan, he should be a cheerful and bright one. I said we aren’t afraid of them, they should be worried about us. Or something like that. Wrighty (we’ve never met but I feel contractually obliged to call him Wrighty) asked me for a prediction, which I don’t really do but you have to play the game.

Then I took the initiative and asked Wrighty a question. The last time I did this was chastening experience. They had me on, I said two opening sentences then the studio came straight in before I could add anything. I waited until a break in the flow – when you phone in, you hear the programme over your phone – then made some succinct, pertinent points. I was happily burbling on with this incisive analysis when I realised that although I could hear the studio, they could not hear me. They had cut me off. 

Undeterred I asked Wrighty how he from the viewpoint of an ex-professional thought the Spurs dressing room was reacting to Redknapp’s court case. Would it affect them? I don’t want to jump to conclusions but since the case began, Spurs have played two matches and been poor in three of those four halves, the exception being the first period versus Wigan. I’m also fascinated by the reaction of professional footballers to circumstances that would be hard for us mere mortals to overcome, specifically, how their psyches can exclude the rest of the world sometimes. Liverpool and Suarez, Chelsea and Terry or how our own Adebayor plays wholeheartedly for a team whose fans abused him so much over the last couple of seasons.

Ian (that’s his name) immediately sounded deflated. Without enthusiasm he said it wouldn’t affect them at all and quickly moved on. The producer thanked me before hanging up which was kind of him. I thought it was reasonable, given that this is the big current issue for Spurs, but no interactivity here. Wright was not keen. I wonder if it’s a difficult area for him outside his comfort zone or he knows something that he’s not prepared to share. We will never know.

Harry’s defence, a combination of righteous indignation and stand-up comedy, seems to be playing well with the public and certainly with Spurs fans, as I commented at the beginning of my last article. With a sequence of four season-defining matches coming up, my attention is on the pitch not the court, and I hope Harry feels the same although I fear the pressure he is undoubtedly experiencing must take its toll. I probably won’t call 606 to talk about it.

When one of your own is in trouble, you reach out a helping hand. Despite his achievements, Harry Redknapp has never found a place in the hearts of the Spurs faithful. Last night it was more than an outstretched arm for support. No, he was firmly clasped to our bosom to feel safe and warm. We stroked his hair and soothed, “There, there.”

It’s taken this little misunderstanding with the revenue for him to become one of us. For the very first time the prolonged chanting of his name echoed loud and long round the whole ground. Last week I wondered in these pages how his risky defence of being a loveable cockney scallywag would play with the court. There’s no doubt about the verdict of the White Hart Lane jurors. ‘One Harry Redknapp’. ‘Harry Redknapp’s blue and white army’, ‘Harry Redknapp, he pays what he wants’.Listening to the people around me, views ranged from the apathetic (Tax? So what?) – to the downright supportive. ‘Just like me’ chuckled one regular. I don’t know what he does for a living but I strongly suspect he’s not in high finance, yet there was identification and common ground. Backs to the wall, we’re there. He’s done so much for us, 2 points from 8 games then 3rd in the table, now it’s our turn.

And how Harry loved it, at one point in the second half leaping from the bench barely a moment after the Park Lane’s opening syllable. Bit too quick off the mark there, H. Successfully combining the personas of streetwise East End geezer made good and yer loveable uncle who slips the kids a fiver on his way home from a family Sunday lunch, Redknapp is in reality hard as nails. That’s not a criticism – I don’t want a shrinking violet running my club. Rather, it’s a major element of what makes him a good manager. Yet there’s always been a kernel of truth in Harry the football man. He wants his team to play football, proper football as Spurs do, and he relishes the aesthetics of the art. Sure he wants success but not at any cost. Clubs across the Premier League do all they can to alienate supporters, yet we are integral to the game and Harry knows this. Being a football man, he understands that to be truly a part of a club, to have really made it, you have to have the warmth and support of the fans. That’s why last night, a routine win not without its problems, meant something special to him.

So to the game, which was by turns business as usual and one of the most unreal that I have ever seen. Notice how cunningly I’ve avoided the cliché ‘game of two halves’ there, but it was. The first was bursting full of inventive movement, crowned by two top class goals that thrilled us on a chilly night without ever quite reaching the heights of a few of the pre-Christmas performances.

The second was decidedly odd, the closest you will ever see a professional team doing the stroll. Spurs were unable to increase the tempo or establish any rhythm, even after Bale’s goal, mooching around at the edge of their box then a single touch to shift the ball into place and the shot sliding across the keeper from an angle, fast becoming his trademark. For a time, we did nothing. Kranjcar was hopelessly ineffective, Adebayor loitering without intent, the crowd murmuring in polite conversation like the interval at a West End play until the Park Lane broke the tedium with songs for each player (two for Scott Parker, who’s worth it), just like the old days.

Wigan eventually sussed that they might be able to do something here. It took them a while. We were going through the motions and created little but the disruptions due to Walker’s and Rafa’s injuries meant that although there were good players on the field, there was some uncertainty about their positioning that even a side as poor as Wigan got round to exploiting. Hence the air of unreality. It felt as if our opponents could have played for a week without scoring. Yet my brain was trying desperately to tell me that after their deflected goal, any of those crosses whizzing across the box could have easily gone in. ‘Worry damn you worry, like you have done for the last 40 years!!’ but no, we sailed serenely on. Never going to score… Back to reality – a comfortable win but we should never have let them have a sniff of so much as a shot let alone the goal.

We opened brightly, our movement, passing and interplay made much easier by Wigan’s mistaken set-up. Five at the back meant they sat back and waited for us to come on to them rather than scrapping it out in midfield where a five could have restricted the space. Their only tactical success was keeping Moses wide left where he prevented a less energetic than usual Walker from going forward too much. Walker had several intense conversations with the bench about his approach, so staying back was probably on advice from the coaches.

Without Lennon it was down to Benny to provide width. Many of our attacks came down the left with Bale and Kranjcar roaming free as birds to and fro. Despite their back five, it was straightforward to get the ball into the box but we could not quite find our man with a series of crosses. Modric and Kranjcar were prominent. This game suited Niko because he didn’t have to concern himself too much with defensive duties and he duly delivered in this 45, always a threat although as ever there were a few too many flicks.

Just when it seemed Wigan had weathered the worst, Modric conjured a wonderful goal. His curling ball to the far post was a pass, not a cross but a precisely judged arc of beauty and danger, precisely finding its target in a packed penalty area. Bale off the ground and the ball on his chest, one touch in mid-air past the keeper. No wonder Luka looked so pleased with himself as he trotted back. Bale scores great goals, but let’s never, ever take this thing for granted. Instead, marvel in awestruck stupefaction, then leap about with joy unconfined. Breathtaking.

Luka’s goal was not so bad itself. Marvellous too, one touch, swivel then bang into the corner, a foot above the ground all the way and seemingly defying the laws of physics by gaining speed as it flew. Kaboul had a couple of headers from corners, one saved, one off the line. Adebayor headed over, others lined up to take a turn at shooting just over. At the other end, Friedel tried to keep warm. Kudos to the loyal hundred or so Wigan fans who travelled. True fans who ironically started the ‘ole’ when their team put four passes together. Their team were hopelessly demoralised and will have to transform themselves if they are to stand any chance of survival. Some comfort therefore in the distinction of bringing on a second half sub who was smaller than their mascot, surely the first time this has ever happened in the Premier League and I was there.

Kaboul dominated at the back. Ledley looked slightly off the pace in the first half but reminded us of his brilliance with a superb saving tackle/lunge in the second to prevent a gilt-edged chance. Cameron Lancaster came on for his debut, bouncy without touching the ball much. Good luck to him in the future.

Parker was busy and solid. If anyone needed reminding of his understated leadership and influence, in the middle of the second half Walker was hurt. Parker alerted the bench then whilst play had stopped for a Wigan man to have treatment, he told Walker that if he was injured, he should go off. Walker wasn’t keen – he’s so motivated, that lad – so as play restarted Parker told Livermore to tuck in right side to protect him. A few minutes later, Walker saw sense and saved himself from further injury. Parker sorted that, a on the field leader.

I can’t say that I’m overwhelmed as the transfer window closes. Saha and Nelsen both bring short-term experience to the run-in. I had hoped for more but no one was selling. For us it’s top class or nothing and none of the top teams have done any serious business, surely indicative of a stagnant market. Redknapp will get the best from Saha, who will be able to play in sharp bursts and have good service rather than being flogged to death as the sole recognised striker. Pav had to go – he was as disenchanted with the club as I am with him and we’ve obtained a decent price. Although he’s not playing well at the moment, I worry if Adebayor has a bad injury.

Nelsen was a real surprise. He brings experience, not a commodity to be sniffed at, but no pace and he will be well down the pecking order if King stays at least half fit.