Give Us a Smile, Benny

/ Alan / Leave a comment

Benoit Assou-Ekotto scored his first ever goal for Spurs against Liverpool on Sunday, and it was a beauty.

In the London Paper, he described it as an odd feeling, strange at first then he got to like it. Same as the first time for all of us, Benny.

MOTD followed him off the pitch and he could not resist the attention, suddenly turning to the camera with a big grin and making a V-sign. In a good way. Actually, it was a touch disconcerting, more grimace than grin with a presumably unintentional touch of the Shining.

Perhaps that was me, because I’m not used to seeing Bennyboy smile, or for that matter, any expression cross his face to shatter his impassive mask of concentration. At White Hart Lane I sit near the halfway line, close enough to the pitch to look into the whites of the players’ eyes. BAE’s expression seldom changes during a match. A winger flying by might be signalled by a Gallic raise of the eyebrows, but other than mild surprise that’s all you get.

I never felt this blankness indicated total focus on his performance, rather, a slight indifference to everything. This fed into the rumours that he wanted to return to France. However, one change is apparent: he no longer shows fear. I always rated him as an extremely talented player with good control and passing skills, and credit to the much maligned Comolli for spotting that, but he never seemed suited to the pressure of the Prem. Now, that focus is there, born of the confidence of a series of excellent displays last season and of the confidence of his manager.

I detest the comedy mugging towards the camera now de rigueur for goalscorers, and don’t get me started on those choreographed goal celebrations (I said, don’t get me started…). But for once, I was glad to see Benny’s grinning mug. He enjoyed that goal and he enjoys our Spurs. If he’s happy, I’m happy.

Luka, It Must Be Love

/ Alan / 2 Comments

Even though this blog is still wet behind the ears, I cannot believe that I have not yet raved about the boy genius that is Luka Modric. Maybe I have, so let’s do it again.

His leap of annoyance as Keane’s lame shot was pushed over by Reina could well be the most significant moment of Spurs’ season. Keano as usual tried to be too clever. The ball demanded to be clipped across the keeper with the instep. He should have taken his cue from the guy who set it up. A straightforward pass slotted into the space, precise and perfectly weighted, beguiling in its simplicity and one of many similarly composed and assured touches on Sunday afternoon.

The position from which it was delivered proved how involved he will be this season. Coming off the left wing, not drifting aimlessly but with purpose, he is less easy to mark, possessed of freedom born of the certainty that the unselfish Palacios will cover.

That gesture: if he’s involved then he wants his teammates to respond in kind. The fact that it was a public display means that he is no longer overawed by more senior colleagues. Finally, it proved it matters. Tottenham Hotspur matter.

If Modric plays, really plays, then we play. Last year comparisons with the incomparable Ardilles seemed fanciful and overblown, but nevertheless I went right ahead and made them, Now we’ll see it. The short rapid strides, pass and move, shaping the pace of play, charming the game as it falls under his spell.

This precious talent is overawed by the Premier League no longer. I still have a paternal eye on his frail frame but he’s big enough to look after himself. The TV experts often airily dismissed him last season solely due to his stature. One immutable law in Punditland is ‘small plus foreign equals inadequate’. But Luka was brought up in the battleground of the Croatian leagues where as a young man he was an easy target. He’s stronger than he looks and he problems, such as they were, were the usual requirements of a young man settling in a new country with a new team with a manager who did not buy him.

And let’s not forget Harry Redknapp, who has spotted the potential of this shining diamond (but not geezer) and is building the midfield around him. This is the sort of tactic that I referred to last week around the importance of Redknapp’s nouse in our campaign this season. Now just hold onto him in the window, for goodness sake. We love you Luka, I do….

Spurs’ Premier League Season Begins

/ Alan / 4 Comments

Today is the start of the Premier League season. The real start, I mean, when Tottenham Hotspur kick off at 4pm. Don’t what yesterday was about. That Arsenal thing, that didn’t really happen, did it. Why was MOTD on last night when the league begins this afternoon?

Although I look forward to every new season with the anticipation of a 7 year old at bedtime on Christmas Eve, it usually takes a few weeks for me to build up a head of steam that will then last me right through until next May. This year will be the one where we do well but primarily I’ll enjoy the football, whatever happens. Just a privilege to be there and support the team. Don’t really care who wins the league. Europe – OK, a bonus.

That’s all bollo of course. Same every year, the identical exercise in self-deception. Something turns it. With Spurs it’s usually a couple of pathetic defeats against rubbish, occasionally the bright sparks of a fine win ignites the flames of this one true love.

This year, however, is different. Dear friends, I have made a cataclysmic error. 9 on the Richter Scale of cock-ups. The end of the world is nigh. Life will never be the same again. I have arranged to attend a family lunch. This afternoon. Chamberlain returning from Berlin with a piece of paper. Decca passing on signing the Beatles. Nothing in comparison with this unprecedented disaster.

I was consulted. This is what truly rankles. None of this family calendar clash, mainly because we don’t have one. The trip to my wife’s brother will be fun, he and his kids are good people. But I check everything, double and triple check. A cautious nature, each trip out of the house involves a ritual of rifling through pockets and mental checklists – keys money handkerchief glasses. Lately it’s got worse if anything, ever since 10 years ago I parked the car and left the handbrake off. Nothing happened – the car moved 3 inches – but that’s not the point.

But this time, this god forsaken moment frozen forever in eternity, I did not look in the diary. Convinced that we were kicking off early on Saturday, arrangements were made. Did I mention he doesn’t have Sky Sports?

Of course there will be other games but surely this is the top of the slippery slope as I begin the inexorable decent towards degeneration and senility. You have to understand that I have never done anything remotely similar in 40 years of watching Spurs regularly. I’ve annoyed friends, infuriated girlfriends and stretched relationships to breaking point and beyond, all because I must get to the match.

Soon I’ll be popping out of the house and not knowing why, repeating comments endlessly and leaving the gas on when I go out, which even for me in my geriatric state will be some achievement as we are all-electric.

So enjoy the game, you bastards. Have bloody fun why don’t you. We’re in the deepest country somewhere in Essex, so in case the texts and radio fail I’ve lined up a carrier pigeon as back-up. You can’t be too careful.

Jermain Defoe – Spurs Key Man

/ Alan / 1 Comment

Jermain Defoe is the key man for Tottenham Hotspur in the Premier League this season.

I’d written a piece on the reasons why and what he had to accomplish. Then he scores against Holland and I’ve pressed delete. That.

His first was a beautiful goal. The timing of the run, the ball control, the balance whilst running at pace, the touch to the left to make an angle and finally the neat tuck inside the keeper’s near post. Perfect.

JD lacks nothing in terms of ability. His problem is his brain. He can’t fathom this offside thing, can he. He moves too early and even then does not fill the space in front of him; notice how close he stays to defenders, rather than instinctively moving to the space in between the full back and centre half or between the two central defenders.

This is as much a confidence problem as one of technique. Brash and vulgar, nevertheless on the pitch he moves early because in the back of his mind he wants that extra split second advantage. I’m sure he’s not aware enough to recognise this attitude problem, so Harry needs to work on his technique. I’d suggest he is locked in a darkened room for 48 hours with just a bunch of Michael Owen DVDs. Of his contemporaries, Owen is the most expert at sitting on the defender’s shoulder, there but just out of sight. He gets in front of opponents and times those runs along the back four to perfection. If Defoe gets it right, he has pace in abundance to extract maximum advantage.

Two other things, JD. First, change your default position from ‘blast it’ to ‘think about it’. Take that fraction of moment, set yourself and then push it, side foot, hammer it sometimes, but don’t just whack it.

Second, football is a team game. These people in the admittedly foul white/yellow/grey squiggly-bit-at-the-top shirts are on your side and you are allowed to pass. Unbelievably, some of them are as good as you.

Defoe has been a good prospect for too long. It’s time to step into the spotlight, which after all he adores. Harry will look after him and he looks fighting fit. This is his moment.