Aaron Lennon

What A Waste

/ Alan / 12 Comments

Not That Frustration. Although the Popamatic Dice Shaker Brings Back Memories

Against Birmingham, a decent performance for the most part that ended in frustration, at least in my back room where I was hiding from the builders. Peace and quiet, you understand, total focus. They weren’t after me for money. Yet.

Harry seemed to share my exasperation. Post match, he waxed philosophical about being on top for so long, moving the ball well, holding possession and making chances, only for the game to turn on the introduction of Zigic.

Two points dropped for me, this one. Birmingham are a hard nut to crack. They have an enviable home record with one loss in over 30 games, I think. Much of this is built upon their famed powers of organisation and resistance, which can be of a ferocious intensity as they demonstrated in the derby against Villa in midweek. I thought they missed a trick in starting 4-5-1: these days we can deal better with this than when teams are able to put pressure on our defence. That’s what holds us back, the need to think about the possible repercussions of coming too far forward too often.

As it was, we passed the ball smoothly with the excellent Modric once more on top in midfield, energetically supported by Palacios and with Lennon and Bale as willing accomplices out wide. Loads of room despite the 5 midfielders. Anyway two of them were treading on Bale’s laces for most of the time in order to protect Steve Carr. Bale can play his part these days just by standing still.

Carr was a terrific player, flying down the wing and alert in the tackle, better coming forward than at the back, a mop of wavy black hair. He was never the same once injury blunted his pace. Although he became a better player technically on his return, making up in some part for the deficiencies imposed on him, he was encouraged to bulk up but athleticism not muscle was his game. Carefree expression gave way to surly shaven-headed dissatisfaction. I’m glad he’s still in the game after his career was threatened. I just hope it’s not a portent of things to come for another, much better, carefree flying wide man. One of the many tackles Bale rides each week finds its mark and the head clippers come out.

I admire the way Birmingham defend. Pinned back in their box, as they were for long periods on Saturday, they respond like wild cats backed into a corner. Bodies pile into the box to form a barrier packed tighter than bricks in the wall of a Mayan temple. Despite this, and here’s the source of that frustration, we were able to stretch them out of shape and out of their comfort zone.

Usually we had an extra man, not something that has always been the case this season. Defoe’s movement around Crouch, centrally stationed, was effective, Lennon and Bale were available as I’ve already mentioned and Crouch himself pulled wide to the far post usefully. He had a good first half, coming a little deeper so he could link up better with his team mates and encouragingly he had a couple of runners coming past him as targets for a lay-off or flick, another quality often absent in our play.

This Frustration

Chances fell to Defoe and Crouch and were missed but the advantage of 60% first half possession was not converted into scoring opportunities because of a problem with the final ball. JD, Crouch, Lennon, even Modric made poor choices when the moment came. Too often the wide option was taken: it’s safer but easier to defend if it ends up with a slow high cross and could have been balanced with incisive central thrusts into the channels. The goal when it came was from a loose ball after a set-piece, rather like Liverpool’s last weekend.

We began the second half well enough but soon the Spurs fans’ songs, loud and clear on my stream, sounded gradually more anxious, a sure sign that our opponents were creeping back into the match. I thought we had worked through a troublesome 20 minutes or so as we regained both our composure and possession.

However, Zigic meant a 4-4-2 with a focal point that hitherto Birmingham had lacked. The signs were there: Crouch becoming increasingly isolated and our midfield dropping deeper. Lennon and Bale out wide had worked back admirably well thus far but they stood off now. It’s not as if we don’t know what was happening – we get Crouch wide onto the full back often enough – but it’s hard to defend. Our back four missed Dawson and Kaboul all of a sudden. We should take our opponent’s example and have big men hammering through the middle to pick up the headers across the box. Gomes and Gallas scrambled one way from Ridgewell but Gardner did enough.

By the end, Lennon seemed reluctant to take on his man when given the chance in the last 5 minutes. I’m sure he was tired after a hard afternoon’s work but I hope they weren’t settling for the point.

Wilson worked so hard, again tiring towards the end – perhaps he felt safer away from the crazy booing last week. Gallas had another solid match and Bassong is back to good form but they weren’t quite strong enough in the end. Hutton’s passing was off and he was lucky not to be dismissed. The problem with these incidents Is not what happens on the day, it’s the mental note made by the rest of the League as they watch MOTD that Hutton can be wound up.

Harry was on about taking a point at Birmingham before the match but as I’ve said before, the problem with this ‘settling’ business is that it denies the potential, what might be. On the day, we should have converted our first half superiority into goals, so two points dropped for me, although to be fair, a year or two we may well have lost 2-1.

No sackcloth and ashes, mind. Progress can be judged over sequences of matches, beat Chelsea on Sunday and that’s 10 from 12 including victories over 3 of last season’s top four. I remain a little disappointed, however. I don’t obsess over the table but the fact is, this is the most open league for years. We’re opening a gap between us and 7th, thinking of Europe next season, but we should be looking up not down. A win would have left us only 4 off the top, 1 off the top four. We’ve let slip a few too many points already and can’t afford to waste many more.

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Spurs v Liverpool

/ Alan / 11 Comments

 

Aaron Lennon’s injury time winner provided a welcome and unexpected burst of adrenalin at the end of a match defined by errors. It had no place in a stuttering second half Spurs display, but the exhilaration of his mad dash and fine finish was entirely in keeping with an astonishing week at the Lane. Beating L’arse, 5th in the league, in the knock-out stages of the Champions League. With a game to spare. It’s all downhill from here.

 

I say ‘downhill’ in order to get a cheap ironic snigger. It’s not worth even that, I’ll settle for a stifled chortle. But the reality is, and I’m already digressing, second paragraph in, so stay with me, in reality we’ve accomplished all this without coming close to our best team. Yesterday our 5th choice centre-half, stood next to our 4th, was replaced by the 6th choice. Two in-form central midfielders were both out, our right winger’s been off the pace lately while our centre forwards have both been criticised for their lack of ability, never mind lack of league goals. If we had accomplished what has been straightforward for most of their opponents this season and beaten the hammeroids and Wigan, we’d be second, level on points with Man U. The truly astonishing thought is not where we are but what this team is capable of.

 

As so often this season, Spurs did their utmost at times to keep that potential hidden. A bright opening gave way to a series of increasingly frustrating periods when we almost put it all together, but not quite. Chances were few and far between once VDV went off (give him a rest and let him fully recover) and we continually gave the ball away. Once again an opposing team comes to the Lane, not in the best of form, and finds that all they have to do is sit back and wait, because sooner or later, usually sooner, we’ll just give it to them.

 

Poor Palacios was the main but not the only culprit. He bears the whole world on his shoulders, judging by his demeanour. We’ll never know how much the sickening death of his brother has taken from him but at times it is as if it’s ripped out his soul. He looks a long way from home. His heart, however, remains intact, bless him. Throughout a poor 90 minutes, with missed passes and tackles galore, to his eternal credit he kept coming back for more. Never giving up is as much as we could expect yesterday, more than many players in his circumstances would have offered and frankly more than the fans in the East Stand who jeered him deserved.

 

Losing possession kept Liverpool in the game. Chances for VDV and then Defoe were blocked – for once a mindless JD blast would have done the trick but he kept it down and unerringly found the defender. Defoe looked sharp at this point, moving well across the line and unafraid to take the ball early, a volley didn’t come off but it was on target and showed a confidence that will bring goals in the future. JD does well when he comes back from injury – unfortunately we’ve had plenty of chances to evidence this. Not the greatest student of the game, a period of enforced reflection improves his movement and team-play. He’s not a thinker so needs his instincts to be sharp but that’s not quite enough in the Premier League.

 

As it was, our early promise faded and by half time it was a relief that we were down by a single goal only. Although Liverpool will be kicking themselves, especially given the denouement, Spurs defence deserves some credit. Bassong’s superb tackle to dispossess Torres in the act of shooting was matched only by a similar effort early in the second half. The Torres of last season would have surely scored or at the very least got his shot away, but he’s a pale shadow of the classiest striker in Europe that we took such pleasure in enjoying last season. I’m glad he did nothing yesterday but there’s no joy in seeing such a fine footballer in the doldrums.

 

Maxi had the best opportunity but again Gomes didn’t commit himself too early and made it as difficult as possible. Not that difficult, though. The goal when it came was scrappy, a ball that perhaps we should have cleared but it fell to Skirtel. For the rest of the game, we defended well. Gallas was excellent again, snuffing out attacks with well-timed excursions from the safety of the back four. His body and mind are fully functioning now and he’s on top form. Bassong did well too, given his lack of recent first team experience. His tackling was extremely poised, considering that he clearly wasn’t ready to come on, let alone warmed up. That lack of readiness could have cost us, it’s inexcusable. Kaboul had been down for a while and straight away the players signalled for a sub. Kaboul once again demonstrated his talent and I hope this latest in a series of pulls and strains does not indicate that his giant body and athleticism are not at odds with each other.

 

For the second week in succession we get a penalty from a handball in the wall. I’ve not seen any replays of the match but Liverpool were incandescent. They were similarly furious when BAE pulled down a player, looked a pen to me. Defoe has missed 5 out of the last 6 penalties he’s taken. This one went unerringly and firmly past the post.

 

We were on top at this point: Liverpool played some neat football and worked hard but never closed us down so we were always in with a chance. Nevertheless we were intent on throwing this all away when at last Modric, who had a good game but tired (injured? He was limping) in the last 15 minutes, picked up the ball and ran at a defence hamstrung by several bookings. A brilliant piece of opportunism, we should have done more of this. It forced the own goal but surprisingly did not turn the game. We steadfastly refused to take full advantage of opponents who were clearly rocking at that moment.

 

After a good first half, Lennon had seen so little of the ball in the second period, he must have been particularly glad of his woolly gloves. Again we should have made more of his ability to run at defenders softened up by bookings for fouls on Luka and Bale but he relies on people giving him the ball if he’s out wide. Under Jol he used to come inside to great effect. He should go and get it more when our game is in need of a boost. Then suddenly it’s a long ball, down the middle, Liverpool are thinking of the lovely warm bath, Radox perhaps, ummmm Mountain Stream or Woodland Glade, either would be nice – oh. Great to see those little legs twinkling again, just a blur, arms outstretched, and a fine finish.

 

Bale came out on top of his fascinating battle with Johnson. Against one of the quickest full backs around, Bale created a number of opportunities. Again we saw the danger when he came inside. I’m sure opposing teams believe that most of their work is done when he comes off his wing into the crowded midfield but he can get through anything, it seems, one particularly thrilling run in the first half.

 

I hope he has a good make of shinguards because he must be the most fouled player in the league. Superboy needs shins of steel. It’s not so long ago when players did not have to wear shinpads at all. When I was 10 or 11, full-back in the mighty Oaklands Road Primary School XI, I picked up a canny tip from ex-pros. The Charlie Buchan Football Monthly revealed that paperback books provided protection that was as good as pads, and no expenditure, just a quick trip to the bookshelf.

 

I had the perfect solution. My dad in the loving pursuit of a good education for his only boy had subscribed to one of these monthly part by part works, the Countries of the World. The books were A5, not too thick, so ideal for my purpose. In the dressing room I quietly, without fanfare but nevertheless with the assurance of a gnarled old pro, produced the books, no doubt to the hushed admiration of my team-mates and took the field against St Josephs with Albania down my left leg and Australia down the right. We lost 8-0, my winger got a hat-trick.

 

Whilst it’s tiresome conceding so often, it’s been a great week so excuse me if for once I impart a positive spin on the stats. Spurs have won twice as many points from games when we conceded first than when we opened the scoring and we have now recouped 16 points from losing positions. Thanks to that nice OptaJoe on twitter for the figures but the commentary is the most significant point. The latter is more than our total in the whole of last season, a season when I bemoaned our lack of resilience. Things are different now. We’re learning how to fight, to play to the last whistle, to chase lost causes . Just think of how good we could be if we didn’t need a comeback every game. Astonishing.

TOMM supports the We Are N17 campaign group to keep Spurs in Tottenham. Here’s their site, I’ll keep you up to date with the campaign and update with my own thoughts later this week.

 

 

 

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Life Is Sweet

/ Alan / 12 Comments

Late into the evening I was still spinning and swooning. Head in a whirl, words jumbling, much to the annoyance of nearest and dearest. My heart and head were in a better place.

Kaboul’s twisted gymnastic header was a loop tape in my brain. This gawky young buck produced a sublime moment of contorted grace that’s running still. Always a fine prospect, I’ve praised his determination this season to take the opportunity bestowed upon him by our casualty list but when I talked about taking chances, this wasn’t quite what I had in mind.

The camera was right in line but so outrageous was this comeback, even Fabianski’s despairing dive (oh that phrase feels so damn good, ‘Fabianski’s despairing dive’) and the bulging of the net was not enough, for a second or two at least. Disbelieving, I rose slowly, then the dancing began. Stupid drunk uncle at a wedding dancing, round the living room, into the garden and back again.

Over the years friends and acquaintances have wondered what I see in football, or what anyone sees in it for that matter. For some reason I give the impression of retiring home each night to sip a vintage merlot whilst reading Proust and listening to classical music. Conversations take different forms but usually begin with something about ‘you don’t seem like that type’ and will invariably take in ’11 men kicking a ball’ along the way. Lately Wayne Rooney’s IQ being in inverse proportion to his bank balance has been cropping up too.

My answer, however, is always roughly the same. I try to describe moments like Kaboul’s header or the final whistle on Saturday. That 90 minutes of total commitment culminating in an explosion of joyous abandon that is unparalleled in any sphere of life. Really: what else is there that is not chemically manufactured and leaves you floating carefree and with enough energy to power the National Grid for hours on end? Maybe seeing a band, although the personal involvement is probably not quite the same. The conversation finishes in a well-practiced manner. I fix them straight in the eye and say, ‘I feel sorry for people who don’t get football, because you’ll never experience this’.

There are other great emotions to savour too. The feeling when one of the players is burdened with the pressure of playing poorly yet at the very moment when he could sink without trace, rises to the challenge, when truly he becomes one of us. William Gallas’s magnificent defensive performance was unquestionably one such example. Early on he came from right to left with a perfectly timed tackle and one on one he had a good first half. In the second, however, our opponents discovered that they simply could not get past him. In the box and outside, time and again, impeccable timing rather than power meant he came away with the ball. His presence inspired Kaboul, who had another decent match as well as staking a small claim to history. Gallas’s legacy as a leader of a fine central defensive partnership could be more valuable than breaking the ‘top four away’ hoodoo.

The most astounding, mind-warping element was the absolute chutzpah of a win after playing like a team of Mr Blobbys for the first half. There was I at half-time, my sole ambition to keep it to four or five and feeling that this may be beyond us. The back four were all over the place. The Man in a Raincoat used to rope his back four together and make them play like that in training to drill into them the importance of staying close and working as unit. Our lot acted as if they had never met before and the Woolwich boys strolled through deserted open spaces as peacefully undisturbed as a lone trekker in the Gobi desert.

Nobody had much of a clue as to what they should be doing. Jenas, who had another good game, urged his team-mates upfield in the early minutes to press the opposition high up the pitch, but then a few of them thought, well, they weren’t up for that. Lennon and Bale again, too wide and not coming back to help.

Second half, do what we do best, attack. Bale has been accused in some quarters of being a one-trick pony but here’s evidence of his football nouse, coming off his wing with a diagonal run to slot home with the aplomb of a Chivers or a Greaves. And that one trick – it’s a damn good one. Repeatedly he was fouled, players taking it in turns so they did not get booked. Memo to Stoke, Blackburn and others – when Wenger goes on about kicking, wheel out this DVD, but they were not dirty (no irony there) – Bale was just too good.

Defoe didn’t do much in truth, but that header that began the move will do. The pundits were sputtering about how he could win that header but in fact it was a clever little ball, played in front of Defoe so the centre half could not reach it. Any higher and it would have been lost.

With Defoe spinning wide, their back four was suddenly stretched  and Modric, Bale and VDV piled into the gaps. Meanwhile, JJ showed admirable restraint and covered the back four. We dropped back to concede a few yards in the middle but crammed the space from 40 yards out. Bale and VDV tucked in when not in possession. Now our opponents were hesitant – we exposed their lack of resilience, as demonstrated by the best player on the pitch, Fabregas, acting like a little boy at nursery school with his silly handball. Talking of nursery tantrums, there’s so much fun to be had when Wenger lets that water bottle go. I can almost hear him saying ‘Ooohh Betty’ at the same time.

Astounding, audacious…enough now. A superb game culminating in the finest of victories. Unable to find the time over the weekend to write, I thought this would be out of date but in fact it’s the best time, because 48 hours on, I’m still grinning uncontrollably. It’s good to be a Spurs fan. It’s good to feel truly alive.

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Not So Much a Match Report, More a Celebration

/ Alan / 23 Comments

Last night Spurs produced a fearless, compelling and utterly irresistible display of bravura football, the like of which I have seldom seen in my 40 plus seasons of watching my beloved team. Inter Milan, proud champions of Europe, a defence the envy of the competition, were repeatedly torn to shreds. One of the greatest nights in our modern history, but with football like this, there’s scant need to be parochial – this morning the eyes of Europe are upon us.

At the end of the night, a shy, modest young Welshman was anointed as a world-class talent. Gareth Bale shattered Inter with an unstoppable combination of muscular direct running and devastatingly accurate crossing. Top class players with every trick in the book,  pace, hard tackling, positioning plus the arcane dark arts of international defenders, they’ve seen it all before but on the night all they saw was his backside as he powered past them. As they thrash around in the middle of the night in storm-tossed demented half-sleep, the number three will float into their consciousness and torment them for evermore.

I’ve seen a game or two in my time but I’ve never seen anything quite like Bale. In full flight this big man is a fearsome sight. he needs a stride or two to get moving but once he gains momentum he’s away. Yet despite this, the most remarkable aspect of his play is the final ball.  Viciously swerving crosses that are nigh on impossible to handle or the far post ball on the ground, they are dispatched with great accuracy whilst he’s stampeding through at full tilt. The touch to the byline, the amount of times the ball does not cross the line but is pulled back as his instep curls around it and into the box. This is not a reflex reaction. Rather, he’s learned to pick his passes much better, witness the second and third goals last night. As the blood pumps furiously and every sinew strains, his mind remains focussed and calm. He is twenty-one years old.

It’s not as if Inter were unprepared. Not only was there plenty of first hand evidence from the first leg, Benitez knows the English game intimately, yet his team offered too much space. Even if they had closed him down, Bale would have escaped their clutches. This signals a new strand of defensive tactics. Against Bale, formations are no longer described with players spread across the pitch horizontally. Goal-line to goal-line, 5-3-2. It’s the only way.

This was no one man band. Modric was outstanding in the centre. Low to the ground, seeking space and then filling it with an angled ball or a short stabbing run to collect the pass and move on. Always active, he provided both an outlet for team-mates and a steady supply of creativity. Little arms outstretched, give it to me, give it here, I want it give it to me. The opening goal was exquisite, a simple natural beauty rather than the glamour of those that followed but nonetheless it took the breath away. The touch and turn, head up, how can a football rolling 6 yards be so sumptuous? Van der Vaart, on the same wavelength, as one and in. Stunning.

VDV roamed wild and free in the first half. Not everything came off but Inter could never rest. Hud was solid in the centre, spraying the ball wide and undertaking defensive duties diligently. Gallas had a decent match. He bounces around like tigger, hopping up, down and sideways, alert and balanced, barking out instructions. No thought of bygone days, only Spurs on his mind and new challenges ahead. Lennon occupied Inter’s attention, if only the final ball were better but he made his fair share of opportunities. Another word of praise for Kaboul. He should be way over his head in this company but he’s not having any of that. He wants it, wants it bad, and he had another good game. For our third, the little Inter forward had possession, edge of the box, back to goal, and Kaboul stayed patiently on his feet rather than diving in. Result? We gained possession and Bale disappeared into the wide blue yonder.

Yet the really wondrous aspect of this match was the team itself. No hint of the disjointed, aimless play we’ve seen so often with this squad. They produced a sustained display of attacking endeavour, moving as a single organism with one intent, victory. The movement was excellent throughout with barely a moment to catch their breath. They supported each other magnificently and played from the off with sustained purpose and high tempo. From the kick off Bale took a waist-high pass under pressure and first time knocked it back, to Benny I think. A footnote on a wonderful night but it was a sign of confidence. Spurs imposed themselves on their illustrious opponents from the beginning and never let up. My head was spinning as we tried to break down the Italian barrier – both wings, running, passing, onetwos, the entire gamut of creative football.

I suspect Benitez had no sense that Spurs would dare to attack so consistently. It’s the Champions League, a group match, you want to win but are cautious because losing is a crime. Everyone knows that. Kudos to Redknapp and the coaches for setting up the team in this way and for instilling the will to win. The fluency up front was a joy to behold. Not just VDV and Luka, but Bale making diagonal runs off the ball into the middle and pushing JJ forward when Rafa went off. Inter had barely a moment’s respite from this unceasing assault.

So Bale, this giant of the game, runs amok then amidst the tumult of celebration absent-mindedly checks his hair. In the post match interview, he looks at the floor, says he’s still learning. Last week he had a few days off. Went to stay with his mum. Just a kid of twenty-one. Me, I’ve seen it all before, but I’ve not seen anything like this. Past 1 am, can’t sleep, watch the recording and waves of goosebumps flow down my body from head to toe. After all this time, I should not surprised by what Spurs does to the emotions, but once again they’ve floored me. A head-spinningly joyous night of wild passion and wonder.

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