AVB’s Half-time Changes Wash Away The Stench

/ Alan / 20 Comments

Belated though this blog may be, the stench of Sunday’s first half is still blowing in the wind. Can’t get it out of my nostrils. Boy did we stink the place out. If the Lane provided showers, unlikely as some parts of the ground only got hot water a couple of seasons ago, but if they did, at half-time I would have washed that game right outa my hair.

Never mind all the tactical bollo. Means diddly if players can’t pass ten yards to a team-mate. Throughout the half it went on, a determination to give the ball away, that precious object so beloved of AVB, revered, the Holy Grail. Just hang on to it lads and go from there. Nope. It became so bad at the end of the half, they were pausing before precisely picking out the opponent when it was simpler to pass to a white shirt.

Maybe it’s reassuring that they are the same as us. Mere mortals who bow under pressure, tiredness perhaps after a busy week means they can’t think straight or just a bad day. But I don’t want them to be like me. It’s like politicians who want to be men and women of the people. Shaking hands uncomfortably with the plebs in a meat-packing factory. Call me Dave’s shirtsleeves for the CL Final. Our passing was the footballing equivalent of William Hague in a baseball cap.

I don’t want them to be like me. I want them to be cleverer, more decisive, energetic and not collapse in front of the Dave channel every night. Same for Spurs players. Get it right. Put everything into every game. Succeed with gravity-defying leaps and improbable shots. At least the wind changed at half-time.

Writing about the game a couple of days on lends a sense of perspective. Three points helps with some welcome balance. Villas-Boas has yet to find his best team and this was one major step forward. He discovered Bale has to start left midfield, not full-back. I hoped the team had some possibilities. Width could come from Walker and Bale, cover from the midfield freeing them to go up and it makes room for another forward in Dempsey.

That proved to be a triumph of optimism flying in the face of reality. We were totally disjointed and dire. Players looked forlornly left like a lost lamb searching for its mother. They turned back into the Rangers massed ranks and promptly lost the ball. Again and again.

Good managers not only acknowledge their mistakes but can put them right. Caulker moved in to replace the invisible Sigurdsson, enabling Vertonghen to move to full-back, Bale to move up and Spurs to win the game. Jan the Man is fast becoming a White Hart Lane legend, charging forward or popping up in defence, he made a huge difference. A top class footballer. Whoever scouted him, take a bow. You deserve a moment in the limelight. His goal-saving tackle on Hoillet, while not quite in the Ledley on Robben class, was masterful and miraculous. Typically when we were at last on top we had to make a ricket at the back. Hoillet settled comfortably on the ball, straightened his tie and made sure his hair looked good for the celebrations. No problem: he had enough time for that and a cup of bovril, then Vertonghen swooped in as if from nowhere to take the ball rom his toe.

Although the second half was much improved, a slice of good fortune turned the game our way as Caulker’s header (he wins a lot in the opposition box) clipped Faurlin’s back, who made a fatally half-hearted movement towards the ball out of character with an otherwise fine performance and it rolled in.

QPR lost focus momentarily, Vertonghen galloped forward and Defoe banged in the rebound as Bale’s shot came back off the bar. From then on, the day was ours and we should have had more. Rangers will be deeply disappointed. In the first half they were as excellent as we were lousy. Before Sunday I thought Granero was an over-priced muesli but discovered he’s cultured midfielder. Zamora dominated our defence. He linked well with players around him and scored a neat goal but we gave him far too much room that deep into our box. Never did that for us but if he performs like that he could yet do something for England.

Special praise for Friedel who played them on his own for the first half. One save, strong hands to his left at full stretch, was outstanding. Hang on Hugo, you’ll have to wait.

So remember folks, the difference between try and triumph is a bit of umph….Try that at work everyone, see how it goes down….Playing badly and winning is the usual line but underlying the winning ugly schtick is something more permanent. Often it’s strength and mental resilience, or the presence of a match-winner perhaps. Against QPR it was a manager brave enough to make decisive changes early enough to make a difference, and that’s a precious quality to have.

AVB’s Spurs. All In The Cut

/ Alan / 10 Comments

Cut to fit mohair, deep blue not black, hand-stitched. Three button, bottom one undone, buttons on the sleeve, tapered trousers. AVB fits Spurs like a made-to-measure suit and we look sharp.

Genuine silk lining, brushes against the skin as you put on the jacket. Can’t be seen but we know it’s quality. Run your fingers gently on your thighs, that brushed fabric soft and giving. Understated but oozing class and it feels so fine.

Spurs are easing into this new look with the elan of a mod in sixties Carnaby Street. Contemporary but classic – we know who we are and what we are about. A bit cocky but that never did us any harm. We sense this is right for us. Pass and move, on the floor, play from the back. Sandro imperious, dominant. Dembele the playmaker, it’s all in the touch. Details make the difference – the short pass, the ball inside the full-back, keep possession. The buttonhole stitching, silk in top pocket.

Reading on Sunday, Lazio this week. We’ve found our style and like the admiring glances. Perhaps that’s why the home draw against Lazio ended with a contented reaction at the final whistle rather than the grumbles that greeted the last two home draws. We played much better but there was more than enough to provoke disappointment – disallowed goals, the missed opportunity to secure an early home win against the best team in the group, the Italians consistent fouling in the second half. It felt as if we took the long view – at least we know what we are about now, know we can do it if need be. And what we need is three points tomorrow.

This was more like a pleasant evening stroll than a glory glory night. Spurs were on top for the majority of the match without ever threatening to cut loose, while Lazio were satisfied with containment as the game went on, settling back into a comfortable 4-5-1 and dropping deeper as time passed. By the second half, they sussed where the real dangers might come from and took it in turns to foul Bale, Lennon and Dembele, early and high up the pitch to snuff out potential breaks without placing undue pressure on their goal.

For most of the time it was all neat and tidy. Can’t mark that cloth after all. I wondered aloud at one point if this match could set a record low for shots on target. Me, I prefer something a little rougher round the edges. Smart only takes you so far. Bit ragged. Feisty, fire and spark, but this wasn’t one of those games. In the last ten minutes especially, Spurs became a little too comfortable. Lazio slowed it down and we allowed ourselves to play at their pace. Sure, we’re playing the long game – long season, long competition. Don’t want to lose the first match, I get that. But with only Klose up front, we could have pushed our spare man at the back, Vertonghen, into midfield when we had the ball, thereby allowing the others to push up still further. On several occasions in that final period we held 5 men back when we attacked. For once we had a side full of big men yet played two free kicks short rather than putting the ball in the box. Like wearing a floral tie with a mod suit, I don’t get it.

Yet by then we could have been promenading to good effect. Two perfectly good goals disallowed, the first a fine diving effort from Dempsey, who I would like to start alongside Defoe on Sunday. I confess I couldn’t judge it from my viewpoint and as I’ve said, the crowd were philosophical on the night rather than getting worked up over an injustice. Maybe other parts of the ground were. Caulker’s header looked fine to me. However, these days there’s so much fouling in the box from set pieces, I forget what the laws are. We get the benefit sometimes, as did Walker on Sunday – handball or a little push, which does the ref give? We feel good now but those referring errors could hurt come December.

Lennon as the most unlikely ace face, but credit to him for effort and encouragement. AVB set him wide to create space and we used the ball inside the full-back to good effect in the first half until Lazio shut the door. Lenny should have scored, once inexplicably opting to pass when shooting was by the far the simpler choice.

Sandro was magnificent once more. Such is his influence, it could tempt AVB to go with only one DM thus releasing more attack-minded players. Dembele oozes power and class, great left foot, lovely touch. Purring with delight over him, he’s a player and no mistake. Caulker eased himself into the team although he looked nervous. Lloris had little to do. He’s prepared to boss his box, readily coming off his line. His first such run nearly ended in disaster but fortunately Klose fluffed it (not the only time he did so) but it’s what we need. Two fine keepers is a good problem to have.

The game was soured by the racism of a few Lazio fans. I didn’t hear it or see the nazi salutes that Park Laners have reported, but action must be taken by UEFA and the club itself. Di Canio’s nazi salute (alleged nazi salute, sorry, he claims it wasn’t. Pins and needles in his arm, I’m sure), that was to Lazio fans, wasn’t it? The club must take action. It’s not just UEFA’s responsibility.

It’s also a shame because there was a poignant moment when both sets of fans chanted Paul Gascoigne’s name and applauded each other. The memory of a wonderful player endures.

One final and futile comment – Spurs are never going to have European glory nights if the opposition fans occupy most of the Park Lane. I know the safety issues but there must be a way to at least tuck them safely in the corner. No other team in the land would shift their own supporters to that extent.

What a Goal. What a Performance. What a Relief.

/ Alan / 18 Comments

Amongst all the guff that’s spouted in the media about Tottenham manager Andre Villas-Boas, the dossiers, the trenchcoats, the goalkeeper, what the hell the fact he’s foreign, Spurs fans are beginning to sort out the reality. Yesterday he demonstrated a quality that will endear him to the people that matter the most (and no, I’m not talking about tabloid sports journos) – loyalty.I wouldn’t have picked Defoe, or Lennon or Gallas for that matter. In fact I said as much in When Saturday Comes – so much for that match preview. But AVB knows his own mind. He stuck with three key men, three key elements of his formation, and it paid off handsomely. Defoe as the lone striker, never would have thought it but no complaints. He applied the finishing touches to an excellent all-round team performance against an admittedly poor Reading side, including an outstanding second goal. Picking up the ball on the halfway line, he ran with perfect balance and touch into the heart of the area before decisively side-footing it across the keeper. Bale was the decoy – he could have stayed wide left but cut across the other way, leaving JD with room to breathe.

This was one of those games that will do Spurs a power of good, with influence over and above the three vital points. It was not just the win but the manner in which it was achieved and the fact that it was on Sky for all to see. AVB can’t be as bad as the tabloids say if we can play this fluently. Trust your eyes not the papers.

It was also one of those that felt better at the final whistle. Take the overview and we dominated but there were times in the second half when we were only one up, when Defoe missed a few, when the passes were going astray, that this had all the hallmarks of a Spurs cock-up. Of the season so far, in fact, when we have been on top, admittedly not quite to this extent, only to concede late on.  Lots to be delighted about, but be honest – relief was the abiding emotion.

It’s all about the team, as AVB searches for his best side. The combination of Dembele, Sandro and Sigurdsson in the centre won the match for us and prospects look good for the future. Sandro looks fearsome again. He’s our strength, our rock. A sight to behold, breaking up Reading attacks then trotting back diligently to his defensive duties, ready for the next onslaught. Meanwhile we raced upfield in flowing moves that he began. He also popped back between the centre backs when Reading came near, ready to bolster the defence.

Nearby, Dembele is a classy midfielder, unobtrusively effective as he went about his business. His touch, movement and eye for what’s going on in front of him are sure signs that he will fit in nicely. Siggy was better in the first half when he passed the ball more readily, most notably for the through-ball that cut Reading apart in preparation for Lennon’s cross and Defoe’s finish. Come the second he tried to take players on and predictably was caught in possession.

Most significant was the way the three of them combined. Already there’s a decent understanding. If one moves up, at least one other stays back. All are aware of the space that runs create, and are eager to take advantage, or will cover if we lose the ball. It’s hard to put numbers to the midfield set-up, such was their flexibility. Reading couldn’t cope at all. This nullified their main weapon, their effort and ability to close teams down. If they weren’t sure where we would be, they couldn’t get at us easily.

Vertongen is classy, quick and alert. He had a fine game, already becoming a real favourite of mine.

I have no memory of what AVB said in his post-match interview. I just recall his smile, like a little boy who’s won first prize in a talent contest. After a few seconds it faded, to be replaced by the media-savvy pro he is, but he really wanted this one. It’s the moment when I really warmed to him. He’s one of us, and I can certainly warm to his team if he can build on this performance. Dempsey’s the next conundrum. He’s not fit, having not had a proper pre-season, but he showed his worth in the last ten minutes, moving off the centre into areas where defenders can’t easily pick him up. I’d share JD’s burden and play him – neither Lennon nor Bale are prolific scorers and he needs some help. Lazio on Thursday will present a chance to try something slightly different.

If you spotted an unusual number of references to the media in the early paragraphs, it’s because I’m bitter about the way AVB and our club are being treated. I don’t normally respond to the coverage of the club, the gossip, the ITK, it’s so tedious and there’s plenty of it elsewhere on the web. However, it’s all become a bit much during the international silly season, culminating in the Spurs goalkeeping crisis. We sign a high quality experienced international at a reasonable price because our first and second choice keepers have a combined age of nearly 80. Friedel is outstanding, Lloris can’t get in the team but we had a crisis before Lloris was actually able to play. Even for Fleet Street, this is something out of less than nothing. Even the Hadron collider couldn’t find the particle of reality in this concoction. “Spurs Buy Well in Transfer Market and Plan Ahead”. “Spurs Have Healthy Challenge for Goalkeeping Position. Anybody?  Not in the script.

Hillsborough – The Bond Between Spurs and Liverpool Fans

/ Alan / 34 Comments

5Live have just said that Hillsborough did not have a safety certificate in 1981.

On April 11th 1981 I caught the football special from London to Sheffield. The warmth of companionship between Spurs fans almost made up for the lack of heat in these ancient carriages, pulled out of mothballs just for us. This wasn’t football, it was part of history. These carriages had been pulled by a steam train. Narrow your eyes and there’s the buffet, Trevor Howard and Celia Johnson sharing a can of Special Brew at 8.30 am.

The complaints were raucous but good-natured. It wouldn’t have been tolerated in any other circumstances but this was how football fans expected to be treated in those days. Many of us traveled and anyway, who cares? This was a big game at a suitably historic ground, our first semi-final since the cup-winning year of 1967 and my first ever. After a fallow decade, Spurs were on the up.

We reached the city and were herded via the goods entrance into a long column. The police escorted us to the ground with anyone who had the nerve to break ranks and make a break for a shop selling food or drink being forced back into line. Again, par for the course and at least it was a safe route, shielded from any Wolves, United or Wednesday fans keen to get stuck into the cocky lads from the south. And no one could stop us singing. For a few minutes it felt like we were taking over the town. A short wait at the Leppings Lane turnstiles, including the usual unnecessary pushing towards the wall – why bother, we all had tickets and were early – and in.

First impressions were unfavourable. Peeling blue and white paint, shabby toilets, cracked stone steps. Normal, in other words. Although the ground was filling up I had the space to pick a spot halfway up and well to the right of the goal. The central areas were always jam-packed and the atmosphere would be electric across the entire end. It turned out to be a sound decision.

As kick-off approached a series of crowd surges forced me, disgruntled but accepting, away from my vantage point and closer to the pitch. I assumed that latecomers were carving out some room at the top of the banking and the effect had rippled through to me. I couldn’t see what was happening because I had long since lost the chance to turn round but despite being packed together, it  felt safe. There was no room to fall, after all. Lots of grumbling about why Wolves had been given the larger kop terrace opposite.

The game got under way and I was totally focused on the match, as ever. By this time, the pressure was such that I could not move my arms, which I had managed to lift in front of me to offer some protection during the last surge before movement became impossible. I spent the rest of the match less than ten yards from the front, my feet lower than pitch level because of the way the terrace was built.

Fans began streaming onto the pitch perimeter and looked back at the lads with arms raised in support. They sang a quick song before squatting on the shale. This signaled trouble and my heart sank. Looked like people had made a break for it. Bound to be bad for the club. More calls for grounds to be closed, for the hooligans to be punished. Worse was to come -the Spurs invaded the pitch when we scored.

In fact, the fans behaved very well. Five or six deep, they remained seated for most of the time. Some moved, under escort, to other parts of the stadium. Spurs everywhere!

And that was how I watched the rest of the semi-final. The biggest crush I have ever experienced, rooted to a single spot even when we scored a second. I vividly recall the tension as the match went on, 2-1 up with Wembley so close, the duel between two mighty warriors of the penalty box, Max Miller and Andy Gray, sparks flying as their heads clashed, both equally desperate to reach the crosses. The penalty that never was. Miles away at the other end or so it seemed, yet Hoddle won the ball clear as day. Hibbet tumbled and Clive Thomas pointed theatrically to the spot. How he loved the glory.

The final whistle, the march back to the station. I confess that despite the conditions, at the time I recall the thrills and passion of being part of something, the heated tension that only semi-finals can generate. Stories to tell of the day I went to the Hillsborough semi-final. I was there stories.

Plenty of time to contemplate the injustice of it all as the train took the long way home, as all football specials did.  That was my suffering and of course I would not be without it, because without the pain there cannot be joy. I didn’t see any fans with broken limbs or any who needed medical treatment, i thought had been in a scrap. That’s what it was like in those days. Oddly, although I must have gone to the game with a couple of friends, I don’t recall them at all. Intensely packed yet I felt isolated and alone.

On April 15th 1989, I played football on a sunny Saturday afternoon in southeast London. It was a friendly and shambolic 5-a-side  between my lot, a mixture of council employees from social services and housing, versus a side from the local community. Lots of kids – I brought along my two – and a lovely atmosphere, in a small but significant way the healing power of this wonderful game. For some time we had sought ways of getting closer to the community in which we worked and who were suspicious of us. Only football could bring us together.

I arrived home in the late afternoon and turned on the television. Pictures were being relayed from Hillsborough and I was initially pleased – the game must have started late so I could catch up with it. Then it dawned that there had been trouble and I switched over before the kids saw too much, although at the time the extent of the disaster was not apparent.

Now we know. Spurs fans of my generation will always have an extra bond with the Liverpool families, because it could have been us. Me. Standing near the front, feet below pitch level. Me. My heart goes out to the suffering relatives. An open gate at the back and the front. An open gate. All this talk of closure is so much hot air. The way it’s used in connection with trauma is not what it means. I’ve experienced loss of children, knowledge helps to understand but the pain doesn’t go away.

The families have been treated abominably, by the police and by the Sun who chose to sell papers regardless of the truth. I hope you find both comfort and justice.