Villa v Spurs Preview. And I Love You All

November 27, 2009 / Alan / 11 Comments

Same again. Steady as she goes. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Blimey this blogging lark is too easy.

I’ve spent this week glowing mostly. I like to think that my fellow human beings have been enriched by the experience as I spread warmth and happiness amongst them. If only they had let me have a crack at those nuclear negotiations Iran or that climate change stuff, the world would have been a better place.

I’ve not really had the inclination to write. Happy happy joy joy. Hello clouds, hello sky. Everything in the world is lovely and it would spoil it if I picked up the laptop. It is such a wonderful feeling, I just want to extract every ounce of pleasure and delight, savour every last moment. Sunday was a great day: I left the ground grinning like an idiot and am grinning still.

Maybe we Spurs fans only get worked up about the bad stuff. In my job I tend to come across many problems – the good stuff goes on but the few complaints and wrongs end up on my desk. I encourage colleagues to take a positive approach, to dwell on strengths and success rather than be problem-oriented, but here’s me feeling a little odd. All is well and nothing to say.

In the end, this feeling is unusual because this is a very special week. When you witness a piece of history, it’s hard to put it into context, but nine goals, eight in one half, one player scores five, almost the biggest ever margin of victory – this club has been going for over 125 years, I’ve been part of 40 or so of them, and this is history right here right now.

On Saturday I would not make any changes but Harry may be tempted because of course Villa will present a totally different challenge. Martin O’Neill will have looked at Sunday’s game with the gimlet eye of a true predator. Not for him the beauteous wonder of Kranjcar’s touch: he has eyes only for the gaps left behind as Niko trundles unwillingly back to defend. Milner is the ideal man to both protect the Villa defence and then dash forward into the space. Defence-splitting through-balls will not be admired either, as O’Neill will instruct his back four to hold back and stay close to cut down the space behind and in between them.

O’Neill is one of my favourite managers. If consistently getting the best out of players is the key to being a fine manager, then he qualifies every time. Normally I’m sceptical about the bosses who cavort hysterically on the touchline but his appears to be genuine enthusiasm and involvement. And behind sits John Robertson, a dour faced perfect foil apparently thinking only about when he can pop out for a quick drag. The straight man for the star but without each other, neither would be so famous.

Rumour has it that O’Neill had dinner with Levy when we had a vacancy but it did not come of anything. The Irishman asked for a big salary, maybe £2m, and would not accept a director of football. Levy should have shaken hands on that one. I hope O’Neill does the World Cup again for the BBC. He’s fantastic because he’s happy to talk about football but can’t stand all the hype and dumb questions – and he’s not afraid of showing that on screen. I bet Lineker and Chiles are really scared of him.

Back to Saturday. Harry might be tempted to replace Crouch with Keane to work on Villa’s back four but I’d keep it the same, telling Crouch to come off his markers into the space in front of them, thus shifting the centre halves from their defensive line. His height will be valuable in defending set pieces: Villa have scored a high proportion of their goals in this fashion.

Whatever plan Villa concoct to stifle Lennon, it either won’t work because he is just so hot right now, or it will commit so many players as to leave space elsewhere. We must be ready to slot Defoe and maybe Hud into channels on the right, and/or shift the ball quickly across field. There will be gaps if we do it right.

Bassong is fit, I’m not sure about Ledley. Dawson has done well but may step down if more pace in the box is required.

I’d also keep attacking, not recklessly and with the safety net of Wilson permanently stationed in front of our back four, but to maintain pressure on Villa and score one more than them.

Spurs v Wigan. Joy and Pain. Without the Pain.

November 23, 2009November 23, 2009 / Alan / 13 Comments

Just a fantastic day, one for celebration and delight rather than analysis. I cannot recall a 45 minutes of sustained joyous brilliance like it, a whirlwind of marvellous passing, electric shooting and outstanding athleticism.

Less a football match, more an exercise in physical and psychological destruction, imagine what the total might have been if we had actually played for the last 30 minutes of the first half, instead of sitting back and allowing Wigan to ease back into the match. Come on, be honest: at half time how many of you said this was typical Tottenham, letting our advantage go to waste? The Bloke Behind Me confidently predicted one-one.

Remember the way the old teleprinter on Grandstand would chatter the big scores, giving the figure and then the word in brackets, lest anyone think an error had been made. Tottenham Hotspur 9 (nine) Wigan 1 is how I shall hold this victory in my memory.

I saw the 9-0 against Bristol Rovers but as I’ve said elsewhere, I don’t recall that as being an exceptionally good Spurs performance. What was different about yesterday was that every goal was fabulous. Not a deflection or scramble amongst them.

It was as if the forces that hold the cosmos in equilibrium decided that the Tottenham Yin and Yang needed squaring up, but rather than do so over the course of a season or two, they squeezed the reckoning-up into 45 minutes. To make up for all those moments of hand-wringing, hands clasped to face in horror or utter derision, everything worked. The mental aberrations and Laurel and Hardy pratfalls, the late comebacks and underserved breakaway deflections, balanced out in one fell swoop on a chilly November afternoon. The earth is spinning more smoothly on its axis, don’t you agree? Although it might have been nice if Bentley could have saved the one decent free kick since goodness knows when for the winner against Chelsea or United.

The fact that Defoe scores five and I’m not sure if he was Spurs’ best player says something about the quality of the second half onslaught. Earlier in the season in a match report I remarked on JD’s progress. He has bags of natural talent but not the football nouse that delineates the good finishers from the great. Or so it used to be. Against Hull he moved better, one touch for control and the second for the strike, and yesterday showed how far that development can take him. His running and positioning was canny (granted Wigan gave him enough space but he took full advantage) and his finishing was deadly. Twice he took the ball too wide, or so I thought, twice he found the net, unerringly into the corners, keeper a tangle of limbs.

Through-balls and crosses, they were all the same in this display of the art of finishing. This is what he can do if given the service – all afternoon he was able to run onto the ball rather than have his back to the goal. Credit to Crouch, who bewildered his markers by coming off the back four into no man’s land where he was not picked up. Mind you, it did not take much to befuddle Titus Bramble, bless him. Plaudits also to Harry, who insisted in the second half that our runs started higher up the pitch, thus exploiting Wigan’s lack of pace in defence, just as we did against Burnley.

Our 4-4-2 looked right, a brave decision to leave Keane on the bench but absolutely the correct one. However, who needs tactics when all you have to do is give the ball to Lennon. It still took us 45 minutes to work that out but poor Wigan never quite sussed it. Even right at the end of the game, we were still passing the ball wide right to Lennon or Defoe and they were still leaving them all alone. They were great passes, though.

Eric 'the Invisible Man' Edman pictured yesterday

Lennon produced a scintillating performance of classic wing-play, harking back to the golden years of Jones and Robertson, although neither were as quick as he is. In the first half he loitered on the wing, feeding on sweeping cross-field passes from Huddlestone and Kranjcar, whose abilities mean we can change the point of attack quickly and opposition defences can never therefore be at rest. After the break his diet was supplemented by telling through balls, but these days it is all meat and drink to him. No longer does he dwell on the ball, twisting hither and thither because he can’t make up his mind, nor do crosses sail aimlessly into Row Z. He can pick out a man, cut to the by-line or switch inside. A remarkable achievement for one who is still comparatively young, and an absolute credit to the coaching staff.

But what is most memorable is just how thrilling this was. When he came onto the ball, I held my breath and rose from the seat in genuine expectation and excitement. Something would happen but you didn’t know exactly what, and there’s the beauty.

Wilson stayed back and Tom went forward, that’s the natural order of things. The stand-out for me was Kranjcar’s superb midfield creativity. He displayed the complete array of skills: impeccable first touch, the vision to see the ball early and inch-perfect weight of pass to deliver. Deft flicks, through-balls or 50 yarders across the pitch, they were all the same, all performed with the nonchalance brilliance of the top class thoroughbred. I adored that cross from the left in the second half, caressed early with the outside of his right foot, or the flick over the hapless opponent’s head late on, followed by a run into the heart of the box.

I’m enjoying this so much, I’ll leave to another day the debate about how we shoehorn all this talent into the team, but suffice to say that Woodgate had to have a strong word with him about his failure to pick up Scharner’s runs into the box, one of which led to the handball, sorry, goal, a defensive shortcoming which better teams would have punished more severely.

I ended the game with a sneaking admiration for Scharner. He kept going for the whole match as his team-mates disintegrated around him, still making runs, still trying to get something out of the game. He had the front to look the Shelf right in the eye when given the bird towards the end of the match (you can’t put your heart and soul into abusing a bloke who was seven goals behind at the time, even if he is a cheat) and straight-faced hold up his right hand. I’d invest in that bloodyminded attitude for our midfield – shame about the talent.

A few minutes from the end, I managed to draw breath and it started to sink in. That bloke in Worcester Avenue, laughing uncontrollably, that was me and I’m chuckling still. It’s a feeling that won’t go away for a good while yet and I hope you had as much fun as me.

Irish Indignation – Society Is To Blame

November 21, 2009 / Alan / 8 Comments

By now everyone who has any connection to Ireland has had their say about the handball. Prime Ministers, footballers including our own human wind turbine, and, on the Today programme yesterday morning, A Rich Irish Bloke Who No One has Heard Of. My neighbour’s Irish setter is in mourning. That must be why he was howling all night, and if I was kept awake, then it’s a worthy sacrifice in the face of such a craven injustice. I like to be seen to do my bit for the downtrodden and exploited.

But one voice rang loud and true. Roy Keane never struck me as big on regret or hand-wringing, and his advice to the Irish F.A. to get over it and move on may have ruffled a few feathers, just as his tackles did on the pitch, but never was he more effective. Opinions are divided on his status as a manager but this interview uncovered his attitude and methods. Imagine the defenders’ reaction if he were in charge, entering the dressing room full of injustice only to choke on their protests as Keane reminds them just how bad they were. You would have to be a strong character to emerge from a battering like that. No wonder the players don’t always respond as he would wish.

Mind you, this was nothing compared with his dressing down of the unwary journalist whose mobile rang not once but twice during the press conference. The hapless hack wilted under the twin-pronged assault of the burning heat of Keane’s stare and his sarcastic silences. I shuddered, and I was only listening on Five Live.

The question at hand is not so much whether or not the game will be played again – that was never going to happen – but why the demand for a replay is so great. The Irish have been badly treated, their most justified complaint being not so much the handball but a play-off seeding system that allows FIFA to confer a huge advantage on their favoured teams. However, the fact is that matches are simply not replayed in these circumstances. Ever. Bad luck and move on. This has always been an element of a game where the unpredictable provides much of its enduring fascination.

It’s always tempting to divorce sport from the society of which it is a part. Cricket has been the most illuminating example in recent years, with tours to Zimbabwe threatened and/or cancelled as debate rages over whether the game should be independent of the politics of the countries England play. Sport not politics was infamously used as the justification of the English cricketers in the seventies who took the South African cash in the face of iniquitous apartheid and world condemnation.

Closer to home, we all use football as a means of getting away from it all for a couple of hours. Enter the ground and we work to a different set of customs, morals and rules. As someone who is so mild I make Clark Kent look like Gengis Khan in comparison, I would not only not say boo to a goose, I would give the goose a very wide berth in the first place. Yet I am more than happy to sputter and rage at Spurs’ opponents, and from my vantage point fairly close to the pitch, I glory in their fear and trepidation.

But football is an integral element of our culture and the two are inextricably linked. The roots of the barrage of Irish indignation lie within the growing trend in our society not just to find someone to blame when things go wrong but to seek redress from the institutions that govern us. On one level, we have the compensation culture where accidents seldom happen or individuals are never at fault. We no longer trip over cracked paving stones, we are instead victims of a council deficient in their road repair duties. Schoolchildren cannot play ball or make ice-slides in winter because the school could be seen as culpable if injuries follow. An institution is faulty in some way.

It’s the same on a broader scale. News items, some covering undeniable human tragedy, so often conclude with a demand that ‘the government should take action’ or ‘the government should compensate us’. A car company goes under, there’s a terrible accident or people lose money when investments fail, in all of this and more the government may have some sort of role but primarily that’s the way the system is. I truly feel for the individuals involved – I have lost children in tragic circumstances and there is nothing worse. However, that’s not the point: the clamour for the government or a governing body to ride over the hill top and save us all is so much hot air.

This is my only way of understanding the source of these increasing demands for redress and replays after the event. It’s definitely on the increase and never used to be part of the game. We grumbled and moaned, shouted abuse from the stands or indulged in murky conspiracy theories in dark corners of smoky pubs. Society is changing and so is football. Improve refereeing, put the onus back to players regarding their conduct and get the governing bodies closer to the fans, but resist these attempts to rewrite history. In the face of the forces of these social trends, that may not be so easy, but if the game’s ruling bodies cave in at some future point, football will be changed forever and not for the better.

Jenas and Huddlestone – Spurs and England

November 18, 2009November 18, 2009 / Alan / 5 Comments

The slight air of unreality surrounding our season so far was further compounded by the sight of Jermaine Jenas and Tom Huddlestone in an England midfield, baking under a Middle Eastern sun as the whiplash gales destroyed my garden fence. Congratulations to all our internationals, especially to Tom on his debut. Four Spurs players in the same team: if this carries on and Lennon returns, then perhaps in the years to come Tottenham can take the credit for victory in the 2010 World Cup in 2010, just as the Hammers lay claim to the 1966 triumph.

Now we really are slipping into the realms of the unreal. Not even the most nightmarish of LSD trips could conjure such a surreal vision. Nevertheless, there they were, the two players who most clearly divide opinion amongst the Spurs faithful. Even those who praise their efforts, as I do, would not have selected them.

JJ’s performance has been criticised in the media, or more accurately, it has been passed over. He worked very hard but did little to attract the interest or attention of a media eager for portents for the summer. But it was precisely this quality that for me made his performance interesting, because he worked with a diligence that is often missing when he plays for us.

His stamina and appetite for the ball is beyond doubt. Even during a bad game, to his credit he keeps running and makes himself available for the ball, a sign of his growing maturity as a couple of years ago he would have hidden from view once the crowd began to moan at a few misplaced passes.

His workrate is phenomenal, a quality that is not usually given sufficient recognition by Spurs fans. A few years ago I saw him as the senior player in a pre-season Spurs XI friendly against the now defunct Fisher Athletic. Under little pressure, he covered the whole pitch, running for the sake of it like a toddler dashing up the street, just because they can. On Saturday, he added more of a sense of discipline and purpose, tracking back and picking

Big Tom is happy. And Lenny takes the chance to practice speed skating.

up runners and at least on one occasion making a tackle that could well have prevented a second goal. When not in possession, he dropped back into the midfield shield and remained alert to danger, closing down opponents swiftly. On the ball, he found space and moved it on after a touch or two.

JJ’s problem is that he looks better than he is. In the paddock, so to speak, he is for all the world a thoroughbred, but on the track he will be in contention until falling away in the final furlong. Sometimes he looks so good, striding across the White Hart Lane turf, the ruler of all he sees. Athletic and poised, his long stride gobbles up the yards, setting up attacks, running past the strikers to pick up a knock on or through ball with perfect timing. He can be a danger at the edge of the box with his shooting, and once his free kick against Manchester Untied flew in unerringly.

Bursting with potential, I start each year believing that this finally will be his breakthrough, when he puts it all together. Except that day is never going to come. He will remain frustratingly inconsistent because ultimately his touch on the ball and judgement of weight on the pass is not quite good enough. The less said about his free kicks since Old Trafford, or indeed his credentials as captain, the better.

Coming back to the England experience, the future lies in a genuine response to lower expectations by restricting his role. If that’s how he is, then play to his strengths. We need more in defence, especially away from home, so let’s remind him about his workrate and discipline when wearing the Three Lions, restrict his forward movement until all danger has passed and use his stamina to pick up the runs of opponents or to press and harass in the centre. Here’s our box to box midfielder – I hope he finds his vocation.

As for Big Tom, there’s little to be learned from his brief appearance. The Big Boned One (is it me or have his bones become larger lately…?) also creates huge irritation for similar reasons. His passing is wonderful, seeing the long ball early and picking out his man. I will refrain from making comparison with the incomparable Hoddle, but on his day his touch bears comparison with anyone in the Premier League. He’s young and still learning – despite the number of appearances totting up, this season is the first when he has had an extended run in the team.

However, his inconsistency is again enormously frustrating. There is a top class player in there somewhere but the problem lies not in his feet but in his mind. There’s truth in the old adage that the first yard is in the head, and in Tom’s case it stays there. His lack of awareness when he does not have the ball will hold him back, especially as he lacks the pace to get himself out of any difficultly. Still, this is something that he can learn, but at the moment it’s slow progress. I confess I thought he would be further on in his development by now.

Again, a positional change will do him good. Hud is not a defensive midfielder, just because he’s a Big Bloke. He’s better further forward where his passing can set up Defoe and Keane with early balls to feet or chest and his shooting can be truly dangerous. He’s fine when looking in one direction, i.e. when the play is set out in front of him.

When he moved onto the ball before scoring against Sunderland, he was a man transformed. Gone was the gawky, clumsy, almost adolescent figure, a kid in a man’s body. Suddenly he was perfectly balanced, athletic and powerful in his concentration. The classic footballer pose, in fact. His cap should boost his confidence – he’s not the most extrovert player and his head drops after a few bad passes. Not much on the day but hopefully the springboard to the next stage in his development. But the real lesson to be gleaned from the weekend is a re-think over positions. Maybe JJ should stick to being our midfield dynamo with Hud the playmaker, setting up and scoring. It’s worth a try.