There were many things wrong with Spurs’ desultory performance against Liverpool yesterday but the worst thing was, it was entirely predictable. Tottenham collapsed to type, a feeble effort on the part of players and management alike without even a whimper of resistance.

Spurs were completely outclassed. Liverpool weren’t so much on another planet, they came from another universe. They were totally committed to their cause, approaching the afternoon as if they were on a last-man standing survival exercise, whereas Spurs were out for a pleasant Sunday stroll.

We began with the same formation as last week, one that Sherwood has plumped for after weeks of unsettling experimentation, but with Sandro replaced by Sigurdsson in the centre of midfield. Bentaleb was asked to stay deeper with the whole line hanging back until we had the ball. Eriksen began on the left with licence to cut inside and Chadli further forward to support the lonely Soldado.

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Managers face a genuine dilemma against the rampant free movement of this thrilling Liverpool team. Defend too much and you play into their hands, too open and they will tear you apart. Tempted by their defence, which is less than rock solid, Sherwood went for a balance. A throwaway comment at the end of his pre-match interview may have given a clue to his intentions. He said something about perhaps getting at them later on when they tired.

In theory this team was set up to do that. The full-backs stayed at home, the midfield were energetic enough to press while in Lennon and Chadli we had players to hit on the break. Only problem – we didn’t do any of that. We never looked like a team and frankly many looked as if they just wanted to get it over with.

It was reported that Sherwood claimed not to have watched Liverpool in preparation for this match. I can’t believe that to be true, although these days at Spurs I can believe anything however absurd. What I do know is that Rodgers most certainly had watched us. If Eriksen drifts in from the left, it gives us an extra man in the middle and he’s more difficult to pick up, as well as that being his best position. It also leaves a gap on our left. Rodgers played three up front with Sterling placed to exploit that weakness. From the kick-off he and Johnson piled into that gap. Eriksen got back but too slowly.

Our centrebacks dealt with the first cross like novice skaters on the ice for the first time. Vertonghen’s marginal deflection was enough to unbalance Kaboul who could only touch the ball into his own net after 1:41. I’ve seen more deflating beginnings to a match but just now I’m struggling to recall them.

Spurs managed to repel the series of attacks that followed. To his credit, the outnumbered Bentaleb was alert to the problem and slid across to cover as best he could. However, he got precious little support from his team-mates. Siggy was energetic but we provided no cover for the back-four who were exposed to the dazzling interplay and individual alchemy of Suarez, Sterling, Sturridge and Coutinho.

I suspect Sherwood reminded the team about this collective failure in what I assume was an extended post-match inquest behind the locked doors of the dressing room. If so, he would be right. The lack of application was a pitiful, aimless response to going a goal down so early, to the point where we never looked like getting back in the game. Jumping ahead in the story for a moment, my memory of this debacle, assuming that I can’t forcibly erase every minute recollection from the deep recesses of the fibres of my brain, came with the replay of Liverpool’s third from behind the goal. Coutinho broke through the wide open fields of Anfield to shoot unchallenged from range. Behind him, our entire midfield bar the dutiful Bentaleb are strolling back, apparently without a care in the world.

However, there is a another element to this truth. In hindsight Sherwood may wish to consider his choice and tactics, especially leaving only Bentaleb as a defensive midfielder and Sandro on the bench. Throughout, Liverpool could take our entire midfield out of the game with a single incisive pass.

Right, let’s get this over with. Two more goals before the Acme Memory Eraser takes full effect. If not, old age will do the trick, usually does these days. Ironically, for all Liverpool’s outstanding dazzle and swagger (they are so good I almost forgot myself and managed to stop applauding at times), all their goals came from the now familiar self-inflicted wounds.

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After escaping several near misses, Spurs played like a unit for five or ten minutes, the only time when we had anything approaching an equal share of this match. We couldn’t cope so to redress the balance, Dawson, on as sub for the injured Vertonghen, with his first touch passed inside without looking. Suarez pounced and scored across Lloris from a tricky angle. The pain of his error was evident in every desperate, hopeless stride of his despairing recovery run. It was as close as any player got to the feeling of the supporters.

Coutinho’s next in the second half, then a free kick with everyone back but somehow Daws ended up one on three at the near post. One of the red shirts got the final touch.

Little to say about individuals. Lennon has put considerable effort into his sculpted facial hair but the Azzatollah made not a single run of any significance with the ball at his feet. This bearing in mind that even Liverpool can’t cover every area of the field. No really, they can’t and they leave space out wide, preferring to fall back and defend in depth centrally. It never occurred to us to exploit that.

Soldado was totally isolated throughout. Chadli had a couple of half-chances without making any impact. Siggy bounced around, Kaboul kept going but that’s about all that can be said. Bentaleb tried to play the role he had been given, at least trying to stem the tide. Only Eriksen showed glimpes of form and purpose but they were rare. Wasted on the left. Lloris couldn’t be faulted.

Sherwood spent the whole game in the director’s box, adopting a stern expression, contorting his body and compressing his head towards his knees, half-turned away from the action. He refused to budge throughout. He faced to his right, when the ball was in the left-hand goal he twizzled his neck at a crazy angle rather than move.

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He’s traded his gilet for a club blazer but he’s now trying on different roles for size. Furious touchline agitation has been replaced by a distant, considered stare from above punctuated by the occasional furtive whisper into a mobile, like a bookie’ runner passing on a tip. I guess he thought he looked hard but if he had folded in on himself any further he would have become positively foetal.

Whatever his failings, Sherwood is clearly passionate about the game and about the club. I’m no lover of fist-pumping technical area hysterics but as his team struggled, he appeared aloof and uninvolved. I simply do not understand why Sherwood feels he has to put on a performance, whether he chucks his coat into the dugout or his toys out of the pram. It’s not about him, it’s about the team. My team. It smacks of uncertainty and insecurity. Whatever he’s doing, it’s not getting through to the players and that’s his job.

What a pleasure it is to see Liverpool play football. It’s been a while since I felt the anticipation of a televised match but when they are on, I look forward to seeing the only team in the Premier League that opponents truly fear. You just want to see them play. Just a shame we had to be their latest victim. They discovered that they could score goals but they were giving them away too. Any other Prem side would have counselled caution and strengthened at the back but it was as if they took a deep breath and said, what the hell.

Hard to believe that not so long ago, their youngish manager was the one getting the ridicule for his management-speak platitudes and adherence to a passing game that worked only sporadically. But they stuck with Rodgers whereas we got rid of ours as soon as the going got tough. He turned us down by all accounts because he felt he couldn’t work with the chairman. Sound choice. Good luck to their fans as they relish in this unexpected, unbelievable success, gained through attacking improvisation that’s impossible to resist, coupled with hard work and a team approach that I envy so much.

 

“Stirring comeback” – most of today’s media. “Two nil and you f**ked it up” – The Park Lane, yesterday, approx. 3.10pm.

Spurs did well to drag themselves back into a game they appear not so much to have lost but to have chucked out the window well before half time, only to take it at the last with a lovely long-range winner from Sigurdsson in injury time. In truth, much of the performance was a mish-mash of the good, the bad, and the hideous that has typified much of our season.

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There was one difference though – the good gives hope for a future that otherwise looks uncertain and dark. Christian Eriksen’s outstanding performance lifted the side and ultimately proved to be the difference between the two sides. Scored two, made the third but his major contribution was his link-up play, especially with Soldado, that provided almost all of our creative moments and as such frankly stood out from an otherwise ordinary display.

Talking of the future, there’s hope for poor Bobby Soldado. His most consistent offering yet, his movement in a lone striker role due to Adebayor’s injury was the fulcrum around which our best attacks and movement hung. Twice I’ve typed his name so far, both times the pre-spellcheck result was ‘Booby’. I know my typing is primeval but Freudian slip or what? He did well today when the ball was kept on the ground, setting up the second goal and celebrating the winner as enthusiastically as any fan in the stands. Unfortunately he didn’t get the ball put in front of him in the box, otherwise surely a goal would come. He flicked a perfect ball to Chadli early in the game but the Belgian could not reciprocate, placing the cross behind him when time and space compelled him to do better.

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Sherwood has handled him poorly since he scored the winner verses Cardiff but the Spaniard is admirably resilient and was well supported by the fans. Trouble is, for periods we were bogged down in the malaise that has undermined much of our recent football, no one available and tight pressing/marking by our opponents so resorting to the long high ball.

It’s an indictment of our development as a team that after almost a full season we know so little about the true abilities of most of our summer signings. Injuries have played a part in that – they’ve all had extended periods on the sidelines bar Soldado – but it’s an indication of the disruption that has undermined our efforts that we have seen only Paulinho and Soldado have extended runs in the side.

At last we have a sense of what Eriksen can really achieve. He’s taken time to settle into the pace of the league despite being endorsed by his previous manager as being able to adapt to anything. Now we know. He has been touted as the number 10 but to me, play him in the heart of the midfield where he can be more involved and have a greater share of the ball. He’s the guy who holds it all together. Players can work off him and he makes them better because he can deliver the type of pass they want – slide it through, curl in a cross and his speciality yesterday, the neat little touch, subtle, instant, perfectly weighted.

His combination play with Soldado appeared instinctive but was carefully thought out. Bearing in mind he was nominally left midfield, he popped up, right place right time, far too often for it to be coincidence. He knows what Bobby S. needs and is the only one who comes remotely close to giving it to him. One sublime move in the first half showed speed of foot and thought that I thought had deserted us several long months ago. Shame it could not quite be converted into a goal.

Look – I may be a simple man but if Eriksen is dynamic in the centre, play him there. Chadli started there again in a forward position, despite his game-changing performance on Thursday when he moved out left. So why not start him left, coming inside on his right foot as he tends to do. Eriksen coming in gives us an extra man and it’s hard to mark him, I get that. I can see what Sherwood is trying. Redknapp did he same with Modric, but look at Luka now, flourishing in a central role for Real Madrid. Eriksen is the only man at Tottenham around whom a team can be built. Play him in the centre now, for the sake of this season and those to come. He is our future.

The first half began with optimism then swiftly degenerated into a familiar story of disorganisation and disenchantment.  Southampton are keen on pushing men into the spaces between our back four, as they did in the match at St Mary’s. We responded by keeping those gaps as wide as humanly possible, doing nothing to prevent he flow of passes from midfield or to track willing runners. Saints have no shortage of men more than happy to take advantage of an invitation and it was open house for much of the opening period.

Five goals in a free scoring Premier League weekend, four of which came from crass defensive errors. Spurs first with the cock-ups. Naughton totally misjudged an innocuous long ball from the Southampton keeper – really, nowhere near it – and Rodriguez took the chance extremely well as crowd and team united in stunned bewilderment. Then Naughton did it again. Last man, he knocked the ball sideways instead of clearing, Lallana the grateful beneficiary this time.

Saints looked like a team, we a collection of individuals introduced to each other for the first time in the dressing room before kick-off. Chadli looked eager but lost, Lennon did not manage a run with the ball for 40-odd minutes. He and Dembele were invisible. Cue some hoofing upfield. At the other end we were vulnerable to any bobbly ball through the middle.

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This had all the hallmarks of disaster, a meek capitulation would surely follow. But now it was Southampton’s turn to make a hash of it. A cross to the far post just eluded Soldado but the full-back (Clyne?) mis-cued his clearance. Eriksen, lurking hopefully at the far post, suddenly found the ball right in his stride and he slotted home. That cross came from Naughton: it says a lot about his determination that he was there. Despite making two horrific mistakes he didn’t hide.

The second half turned on another error, this time from lumbering centre half Loveren. He could have easily cleared an aimless ball into the corner but instead allowed Soldado to nip in and pinch it. A perfect cross found Eriksen dashing in on the far post to equalise. Spurs were the better side from then on, keeping Saints penned in without making too many chances. By now Eriksen had the freedom to be permanently stationed in the centre.

Sherwood timed his substitutions well. Last week they took the sting from our revival, this week Townsend and Siggy’s energy kept the pressure up. The game was meandering to a draw when Saints failed to clear. Siggy ran on to Eriksen’s weighted touch to slam it low and hard into the bottom left hand corner for a win that on the half-hour seemed highly improbable.

One other player to mention: in the second half Kaboul took his role as captain seriously, to the point where he was driving the team on from the back in a display of infectious determination.

Was that the smoke from flares drifting across Benfica’s Estadio da Luz or incense accompanying the incantation of the last rites of Tottenham Hotspur’s Europa League campaign? 3,000 Spurs fans turned up for the wake but in truth this was a passing that was little lamented. The EL has a remarkable ability to suck the joy out of the game of football for both fans and players. Like poor Walter Williams in downhome Mississippi, the 2013-14 campaign was pronounced dead and safely zipped up in a body bag when astonishingly signs of life were detected.

Two late goals from nowhere and a penalty denied could, should have seen us into extra time in a tie where until then we had been second best. It was a pleasure to feel disappointed. It proved that the anomie and apathy created over the last few months or so was merely superficial. Back in the game and suddenly the heart beat fast again.

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This makeshift team had toddled along nicely enough, plenty of energy and application without ever looking like making a breakthrough, save for one chance badly fluffed by Soldado. A goal and Spurs were transformed. We scored two, could have had two more plus that penalty. A rousing final fifteen minutes showed fans and players alike that we could go for it. Delight in that disappointment. Maybe these days being grateful for small mercies is more the size of it. Whatever, it was fun while it lasted and we could do with some fun.

Let’s stick with the fun part. Chadli had played down the middle. At least he had run around a bit. With Kane on to replace a toiling Soldado, the Belgian was set free! Free to be the man he has always wanted to be!! Yeh, he moved to the left, where he looks much more comfortable. First effort was the right footer into the opposite top corner, which after his belter in the dying moments of the Newcastle game he is now contractually obliged to attempt. It dribbled ineffectually into the keeper’s arms.

Next one was very different. He drove towards the box and this right footer, low this time, curled away from the keeper into the side of the net.

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A few minutes later, Lennon stood up a lovely far post ball for Kane to head back. Chadli pounced, ungainly contact but obeyed the basic law of a striker, get it on target. Benfica fell apart. They weren’t used to this from a Spurs side they thought they had caged in docile captivity. Lennon should have found his man when deep in the box, this from a stunning weighted ball inside the full-back from the excellent Bentaleb. Kane was pushed over from behind in the box, surely, certainly a penalty to everyone save the three officials in close proximity. Siggy heading a far-post cross too softly – great chance! Never thought I’d be writing about any might-have-beens in this article.

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I had anticipated most of the action being at the other end but in fact after carelessly running out of centre halves and finding the shops were closed, our makeshift back-four did very well. Fryers responded to the pressure but credit to the full-backs Naughton and Rose for cutting out the supply of crosses. Benfica were restricted to only a single on-target goal attempt, their goal where the lack of cohesion at centreback showed. Garay got between the two of them to power a header past Friedel.

However, Spurs did not cave in and applied themselves throughout. Benteleb responded positively to being a deeper lying midfielder with the dual responsibility of breaking up the Benfica attacks and starting our own. Given a fraction more room than our players had in the first leg, he made good use of it, starring in that final frantic last 15 minutes with three stunning passes. A prospect indeed.

Siggy did his Tigger thing in the middle (Tiggy?), bouncing around energetically. Two wide men, Lennon and Townsend, but we could have made more of the width. Soldado on his own up front, hacked a great first half opportunity into the ground and over. He could have shot, he could have rolled it across the goal, he certainly and inexplicably had the time to make up his mind, but instead another bad miss. No chance of his confidence rising. Poor man-management to leave him stranded after scoring versus Cardiff.

Sherwood chose to spend the entire game in the Director’s Box. I understand this was his choice – he wasn’t banned – following his spat with Jesus at WHL. Odd – what exactly was he afraid of? That he couldn’t keep his temper under wraps? That he would look weak if he went in for more gilet-throwing? It drew attention to himself. His team needed him and he was a long way away from them. He didn’t sit next to Levy either. Correct me if I am wrong, but I thought I saw him smile and wave on the way out just before the match ended. On the way to a defeat – not the way to go. He made sure he was seen, though.

Tim made his way down to the Spurs fans after the game and fair play to him. His side showed spirit and focus in defeat. The last-kick-of-the-game penalty conceded by a tired Sandro made it a draw on the night. ITV anchor Matt Smith described it as “a moral victory of sorts”. Not even a moral victory then, talk about faint praise. For us, it was a relief and pleasure to see the players work hard for each other and for the team. That they so nearly pulled off an improbable comeback is a bonus.

An age ago, or so it seems, Spurs beat Ars***L at the White Hart Lane with a scintillating performance of power, commitment and creativity. It feels so distant and far away, so much time has passed, so much has changed, that dinosaurs must have walked the earth but chipping away at layers of sediment to reveal the fossilised remains of what’s left of this victory, I found the true date. March 3rd last year.

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I had to check. I actually searched Tottenham On My Mind to confirm that we did indeed beat them 2-1 under Villas-Boas. Towards the end of this defeat, some of our football had been dug up from another era, aimless long-balls forward. Worst thing about it, many were grateful that at least we showed some spirit and desire. Meanwhile, Tim looks like he came out without a hankie.

This was our best effort for a while, a dubious accolade. We were well on top in the second half and had the chances to at least get a point. The crowd were right behind the team and the atmosphere was something like a proper NLD. Ars***l created little during this period but scrape away the surface of the hope and excitement, they were more comfortable than the possession and territory stats suggest. We simply did not stretch them enough or pose enough problems, especially through the middle where Eriksen should have been given a greater central role.

One factor of consistency is our unerring ability for self-inflicted pain. At kick-off we pressed forward eagerly. Too much so. Sandro’s cross-field ball was blocked. Caught high unfield instead of hanging back to ensure nothing went wrong early, he couldn’t even bring Rosicky down. The Gunners counterattacked ruthlessly. The back four’s high line was shot to pieces. Rosicky’s match-winning shot was unstoppable but he should never have been allowed anywhere near the goal. The game lost after 70 seconds. From then on in, it was all uphill.

It could have been worse. The Ox as I am now contractually obliged to call him had better get some shooting practice in before he goes to the World Cup although I was grateful that he was high and wide on two or three occasions.

More changes in formation and personnel for a Spurs team crying out for some stability. I don’t like Townsend on the right but he did well, giving us width and pace that our opponents found hard to handle. On the other flank, Eriksen came inside leaving Rose to do well one on one with Sagna. We should have used that more. Sandro hung back in centre midfield, Bentaleb tried to keep the ball moving with Chadli in an indeterminate central role further forward.

The fact that many on twitter say this was his best game for us says more about the rest than it does about his quality in this one. He neither got close enough to the excellent Adebayor or offered any threat of his own in the first half, while tracking back is clearly beneath a man of his showpony status. Oxlade Chamberlain’s break and missed chance led to a furious exchange between Spurs players with even Bentaleb having a go at the Belgian, still strolling back in the sunshine. I may be becoming obsessed. This morning in an e-mail, instead of writing ‘child’ I wrote ‘chadli’. Twice.

For a time we struggled to play it forward. More arguments as the receiving player complained about the pass under pressure. Vertonghen was nearly caught a few times. One was instructive, though – with 10 Spurs players ahead of him, he did not have a single pass available. No wonder he shrugged as if to say, ‘what am I supposed to do?’

To their great credit, the Spurs players came out with fire in their bellies for the second half and in taking the game to the gunners found some weaknesses. Ars***l were pushed further and further back towards their own goal and their counter-attacks became sporadic. Adebayor did an outstanding job of taking on their defence single-handedly, dashing from side to side, rushing back to pick the ball up and trying to link with team-mates but he still did not receive enough support in close order to take full advantage of the crosses that were raining in. Most came from the right where Townsend had a good game despite having to use his right foot more than he or I would have preferred.

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Naughton did well in support, maintaining a decent accuracy rate with a series of balls into the box but his impact on the game and on our season could have been so much greater. Szczensy fluffed one but Chadli wasn’t strong enough to capitalise. Moments later, however, another error left the Belgian with an open goal and the ball at his feet but Chadli’s uncertainty eventually meant a poorly judged shot straight at a covering defender. The crowd bellowed their derision. A golden chance not just to equalise but to galvanise a Tottenham team that so desperately needs something, anything, to be proud of, but the moment was gone and with it the chance of winning the game.

Despite the set-back, Spurs kept pressing. We dominated possession and territory but this was always a game where chances would be hard to come by and had to be taken. Adebayor, falling sideways, just missed with a header and Chadli, again, failed to get much of a touch on a cracking low near-post cross.

Siggy and Paulinho came on to boost the midfield for the final 20 minutes. In fact, the move served only to dissipate our momentum and the Gunners dealt easily enough with the rest. The crosses were plentiful but now coming not from the byline but from deep – heading practice for their centre-backs. This was a throwback to the 90s, all long ball, craning of necks and straining muscles and sinews in the box. Even that we didn’t do properly. Manu took them on alone. Chasing the game, Soldado did not appear until the 82nd minute, Lennon not at all when it was clear our opponents were weakest on the flanks. If the long-ball and crosses are a plan, so be it but at least commit fully.

To be fair, going with a midfield four is fatal versus Ars***l, hence some justified caution, but a goal down with 15 munutes to go, we were narrow and needing a goal when our best opportunities were created from wide positions.

Kaboul and Sandro finally looked as if they had shaken the stiffness caused by many months on the treatment table. I have been planning to pay off my mortgage by betting on Sandro being booked in each game but he let me down by finally in the second half having the pace and therefore the confidence to stay on his feet to resist a challenge.

Lloris had little to do but made one lightening-fast stop low to his right from a header at a corner. Naughton had a good game all round. In addition to his crossing and support for Townsend he defended well.

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I doubt this pre-match protest meant much. In Saturday’s piece in the aftermath of the Benfica defeat, I expressed my continued strong misgivings about the way Sherwood is managing the team. He’s forgotten that his early success came about because he kept things relatively familiar and reassuringly brought out the strengths of his men. Since then, he chops and changes formations and personnel every game. He seems bewildered and frustrated that his message is not getting through when in fact it merely shows his immaturity as a leader, blaming his players and simply failing to grasp the fact that what looks good on the tactics board is hard for players to adjust to.

Last week in one of his now daily communications in the media, he was proud that he speaks without thinking. In no other profession would that be seen as anything other than a fatal weakness for a leader. For those of you keen to have a manager that shows his emotions, I hope Tim proves to you that you need more than histrionics to manage a Premier League team.

A public service announcement: on Saturday I made a disparaging remark about The Bloke Behind Me at the Benfica game (it was actually very restrained – he was a complete embarrassment to his whole family). I have been asked to point out by The Bloke Who Usually Sits Behind Me that he missed this game and so the piece does not refer to him. At least he reads this…