Bale

A Defining Week For Spurs and AVB

/ Alan / 18 Comments

The value of some performances transcends the goals, the points or the league table. Spurs victory at Old Trafford yesterday evening was infused with meaning that runs deep and will resonate long after the celebrations die down, although I suspect those who were fortunate enough to be there floated home rather than requiring any form of transport.

Not just the years since we last won there. I can’t remember how long it is even though the commentator appeared to be contractually obliged to repeat it every 5 minutes. Perhaps the fear and nausea in the pit of my stomach as the ball pinged around our box in the second half dulled my other senses.

Not even the manner of the win, magnificent though that was. Delightful flowing football in the first half as we took the game to United and were by far the better side, followed by desperate dogged defence in the second as we were remorselessly pushed deeper and deeper by United at their best.

Not even showing a skeptical footballing public and a rabid media that we can play. This was the moment when the new Tottenham Hotspur believed it could play. As the self-confidence spreads, the fall-out from this game could be picked up in years to come, like faint radio static from the far reaches of the cosmos.

This is that rare sort of win, one that creates an unshakable resilience that Spurs are doing the right thing, and if the players keep on doing it, they will succeed in the end, whatever the odds. Faith in your own ability, that of your team-mates and your manager, to overcome and prevail. Something we’ve seen in others but has always been beyond our grasp in modern times, almost real but eluding our grasp like a vivid dream fading as we wake and open our eyes.

More about yesterday in a moment, but if we are looking for the signs in the runes, the portents have been excellent all week. It’s not all about 3-2 in Manchester. A goal down and stinking the place out like a parcel of rotting fish nailed under the floorboards, at half-time just 7 days ago the world was a different, bleaker place. Then AVB looked his players in the eye and said, “I’ve made a mistake but together we will put it right.” Superman goes left, Bale pushed forward, 2 goals and 3 points.

A tricky midweek tie in the far flooded north, Carlisle were summarily dispatched. The young men came in without, as I understand it, there being much of a problem, because they play the Tottenham way. In the past, this game could have posed a threat to the well-being of the team. These are ties that expose weakness, as in the hapless away game at Stevenage as recently as last season. Yet this was a comfortable win.

Back to yesterday, and we took the game to United in the first half, boosted by Jan the Man’s second goal in a week, a great run into the heart of the defence and huge deflection. Bale set up this one then scored our second himself with the type of run that makes him unique in the Premier League. Over 6 foot and filled out from boy to man over the summer, there is simply nothing like this fearsome combination of power and pace, physical presence and touch on the ball.

We fully deserved the 2 goal lead at half-time. Sandro was a powerhouse throughout, Dembele dominant in front of him. How I’ve quickly grown to relish his arthritic shuffle on the ball, stiff, head bowed and so effective. A real gem.

One of the issues I’ve identified this season is that Spurs must find the right set-up to get the best from Dempsey, a goalscorer who is not a classic striker. Last week he was wasted stuck out on the left. Now AVB moved him to a more central starting position. He should be able to get on the ball more here. All this stems from the influence exerted by the mighty Sandro, who is playing so well that we can manage with only one defensive midfielder not two, thus freeing options further forward.

He popped up with the third, pouncing on a loose ball to restore our two goal advantage  That was swiftly reduced to one, then it was backs to wall for a sickeningly tense last 30 minutes.

We dropped ever more deep as wave after wave of United attacks swept down on our goal. Partly this was due to an inability to hold onto the ball on the precious few occasions we got hold of it, partly due to the debilitating effects of illness – a couple had suffered a bug during the week. Mainly it was down to the excellence of our opponents, who played the ball into the channels between our back four on endless occasions. It’s hard to believe England never built their team around Paul Scholes.

We defended well but like any team that beats them, we relied on United missing their chances, which obligingly they did.  Ultimately those same cosmic forces tend to balance themselves out. The ball banged against post and bar, skimmed just wide or sunk into Friedel’s all-enveloping grasp. And Chris Foy, always said he knew what he was about when it comes to penalty decisions. After yesterday I like to think that the universe is a more stable place as equilibrium is restored.

Walker’s poor positioning led to problems and sometimes both full-backs were exposed by a lack of cover. However, the grim determination of Vertonghen, Caulker and the steely eyed Gallas epitomised the spirit in the squad. You have to hand to Willy – after a long career and dodgy ankles, he is a winner and you can see why AVB has persisted with him. Caulker will learn so much from him, but did his bit by winning a series of headers.

A word of praise for Defoe, who has not always shown the selfless running and intelligence that helped make a couple of goals yesterday. This is the best form of his career. I’m not this biggest fan but all credit to him.

The unity between team and manager has paid rich dividends on the field this week. The Mirror and Sun are hell-bent on ruining him and our achievements, but the lies of their weaselly snout in the camp were disproved for all to see.

A single win does not mean everything is done and dusted. There will be good times and bad, struggles and wasted energy, but AVB’s Spurs is a team with a future and whatever happens I’m glad I’m coming along for the ride.

Spurs Are A’Coming! Circle The Wagons!

/ Alan / 29 Comments

Tottenham Hotspur’s spring tour of the lower regions of the Premier League finished in the Midlands on a frustrating note as we hammered away at Villa’s massed ranks for 90 minutes without scoring from open play. Going down to ten men early in the second made only a momentary difference to the pattern of a game where we had all the ball, plenty of shots, countless corners but were unable to find that single moment of finesse to create a golden chance. As it was, we bludgeoned away at the one place where our opponents were strong, the centre of their defence, with a predictable lack of success.

It’s set up a cataclysmic final day at the Lane this coming Sunday that epitomises the contradictory nature of being a fan: we could well do without it but are desperately compelled to be there. Last August, the promise of the chance to take third place would have been enticing. Now, it’s laced with fear and dread, a threatening reminder of the devastating emptiness of failure rather than the prospect of joyous glory just 6 days away.

This of all seasons, where we have at times played the best football in a Spurs generation, will generate more debate than any other. Look back for a turning point and there’s something in most of the last twenty-odd games, ranging from the whole tactical and motivational approach at the club through the capitulation at the Emirates, refereeing decisions at Stoke, the January window and the width of the lace of Defoe’s boot away at City.

Yesterday was no exception. This tour has not shown the best side of scenic England. At least Bolton were brave enough to play some football and take the game to us. If you want another turning point to add to the lengthy list, Boyata’s miss just before half-time tipped the balance of that match at least. Blackburn and Villa were both awful but whereas the former lacked motivation and resolve, Villa seemed hamstrung with nerves and fearful of their own lack of ability to create any sort of attack. By the finish, their manager was slumped in his seat sharing dark jokes with a coach, the result in the hands of fate. There was nothing more he could do as his eleven were swamped by our ten.

Yet by then they had managed to score from open play, something we conspicuously failed to do. Granted it was courtesy of a giant deflection – I don’t see how Friedel could have reached it – but it was another crucial moment. We should have closed down the scorer but by then had already established the pattern, pushing forward from all sides and angles. We should and could have more alert to the basics at the back.

You want turning points? As if that wasn’t enough for one match, how about an inexperienced full-back charging in for a loose ball in a relatively safe area with his foot off the ground? Rose was a little unfortunate – the ball was off the turf but he caught Hutton with his follow through. However, he had to go. Whilst I admire his commitment to go wholeheartedly for that ball, a calmer head would have shown the discretion that was required at that point. As it was, chasing the game and down to ten men.

Our panic was comical. Having totally dominated, we then madly kicked the ball backwards high towards the goal, fell over and generally went barmy. Soon it became apparent that it really didn’t make much difference. Villa had no idea what to do with the ball so allowed us to re-establish control. For the rest of the match we huffed and puffed, forcing our opponents back into their box as they threw the wagons into a circle for a last ditch rearguard action.

In the end, it was an old failing that did for us. Despite being gifted an opening when the otherwise inspiring Dunne fouled Sandro in the box, we failed to capitalise. Early in the season we could break down defences through movement, pace and patience. Somewhere along the way we’ve lost that ability. Once again we could not find a way through the massed ranks. Bolton win friends because they want to play but we ruthlessly exploited the gaps that they left behind. When Villa had no inclination or apparent understanding of how to keep the ball in our half of the field even though they had an extra man, it’s a very different matter.

I’m not inclined to be too harsh. If you had joined the game for the last 25 minutes, there was no way to tell we were a man down. However, although we kept plugging away, we could never produce the width or the extra man to make the breakthrough. In the first half, our moves broke down late on as we got near their box through lack of a decent final ball. Modric disappointingly never found his range, while Bale and Lennon came inside too frequently where the ponderous but stout Villa back four were ready for them. Not a great one for stats, nevertheless at half time my stream showed that only 6% of our attacks came down the left. With Bale and Rose, we needed more but the latter’s dismissal scuppered the half-time tactics talk to give us more width.

As it was, we repeated past patterns of failure. A stream of crosses into the box that the Villa centrebacks headed away. They did it extremely well, all credit to them, but as I’ve said before in these cyberpages, I’ve spotted that we only have one big striker, Spurs still haven’t picked that up. Villa wouldn’t budge and we did not demonstrate the patience or wit to hold onto the ball and try to shift them from their entrenched positions. Back to the ten men again, back to the might have beens.

Nobody played particularly badly. Rose’s positional play was dodgy again and Luka’s passing was way off. No one had an especially good game. Kaboul made some fine tackles but at other times was wayward and impetuous. Sandro was strong and mobile, Lennon was bright and Manu’s movement was decent. Redknapp dithered over substitutions but I’m feeling unduly sympathetic. I would have brought on Defoe and gone for the win – even allowing for the remote possibility of Villa scoring, a draw doesn’t do us much good. Parker on earlier and three at the back could have calmed us down but to be fair we were well on top and I can see the argument not to change anything. I did enjoy the moment when JD nearly came on. HR gave him an unusually long set of instructions whilst Defoe took not a blind bit of notice.

Win against Fulham, that’s fourth and then see what happens at the Hawthorns. Rest well this week then give it everything. If we do, we will win. The stomach-churning, gut-wrenching nausea is already making me giddy and weak. Yesterday I made the mistake of eating lunch at half-time. I nearly threw up later as the tension cranked up to ridiculous levels. Goodness what Sunday will be like but the prospect of redemption will lift me to the heights. I trust the team feel similarly inspired.

 

Sad Spurs Are The Ghosts Of Their Former Selves

/ Alan / 38 Comments

Plenty of Spurs places on the web where you can find anger as we slip down the table. I’m fond of describing the significance not of individual matches but sequences that crop up as the season plays out. A combination of computer predetermination and evolving circumstances throws up intriguing little sets of fixtures. Take our last segment of the year and it’s relegation form. Don’t forget, after the big sides, this is our winnable run-in.

Tottenham On My Mind, however, is a site of sadness. Flashes of fury quickly passed. The team deserve it for a pallid impression of their real selves on Saturday evening. It looked the same. Same characters, same passing, same runs down either wing, the midfield dominance. But there was nothing really there. Lifeless apparitions going through the motions. I bet if you put out your hand to touch the chest of any of them, it would have gone clean through.

Sad now, because of all recent Tottenham teams, I feel so close to this one. I’ve agonised over their growing pains as they made mistakes, so many mistakes. I’ve stood up for Modric as his apparently frail frame became the target for lesser men. I knew he was tough, and so it proved. I’ve worried for Bale, youthful and timid on the wing, until suddenly he had a growing spurt and put it all together. Ledley I’ve nurtured through each  sinew sapping sprint, looked anxiously to see how he recovers following every crunching tackle, marvelled at a calm diligence and dignity that I could never have come close to in my wildest dreams.

These and others I’ve watched, wondering if they can find the answers to maturity through experience. No good telling them, they have to live it and find out for themselves. Then suddenly they were pinging the ball all over the place, pass and move, push and run. The game is easy, it’s just the players that make it difficult goes the saying and this lot made it simple. Made it heaven. Beautiful, beautiful football I’d waited a lifetime to see. Gone, all gone. So sad.

Sad that against inferior but well-drilled opponents, once again we did not have the nouse to find a way through. They did try, for the most part, they just didn’t think. Modric did many of our good things but that’s not saying much. He could and should have done more to take the midfield by the scruff of the neck and dominate. Not for 90 minutes, 20 would have done, 10 or 15 even. In that short burst we could have turned the game because Rangers had little interest in even holding the ball up front when they cleared it, preferring to sit back and wait. That would have been enough, but nothing. Parker too: plenty of effort and he does the same things as he did before Christmas. Except he does it all half a yard slower. He’s a fraction late into tackles, just one the tail of the runner into the box, a touch off-balance when he passes or shoots. So sad.

It’s wrong to invoke the spirit of Barcelona when comparing football tactics but I’ve seen them recently try to over come a packed defence. Inter did it last season at the San Siro and went four up.  They hold the ball in the middle while two, usually three forwards push up onto the opposition back four. Then either a ball is played to feet, back to goal and they look for a one two or more usually one or possibly two of them come a few yards off their marker. The defender then has an invidious choice, If he goes, then he leaves a gap. If he stays, the player is on his own in the danger area between midfield and the back four. Barca vary it by having their attacking full back join in, moving into the space that’s vacated out wide.We could have done that. Not as well as them but we could move like that. Broken things up. Shifted their centre backs out the way. Instead we aimlessly buzzed around the back four like a wasp in the autumn trying to get through a pane of glass. Sad that we bring on a winger, Lennon, who is playing well admittedly, just send over a series of crosses for defenders to head away because our forwards aren’t very big. I’m sad no one noticed that they weren’t very big because it’s clear to me.

Sad that we never learn our lessons. Once again, we begin by not playing well but managing to muddle through. For the first 20 minutes, our defence played as if they had never met before and were terrified by the presence of these strangers. Wild lunges, crazy mix-ups, yawning gaps ripe for exploitation. Yet we muddled through, until once again conceding an avoidable goal. From then on, as against Norwich, Everton, Chelsea, Stoke, it’s an uphill struggle. Once again, we were unlucky with a referee’s decision – Sandro made a brave legal tackle – but Friedel had so much time to see that leisurely freekick loop towards his goal. He seemed transfixed by its progress and his geriatric topple in the general direction of the ball was far too late. He’s been the unobtrusive foundation of our success this year. We should allow him an error becasue he’s made so few, but this one hurts.

Sad that if a side takes its lead from their manager, they are as bewildered and powerless as he is. “I’m not worried about the way we are playing,” says Harry. I don’t get angry with him when he talks like this. Genuinely I don’t believe he thinks through what he’s saying so it has little meaning. The media never challenge their darling so he just caries on. I think I should be angry. Anyone might think his complacency insulting to the loyal fans who can see all to clearly that we have real problems. We lack that edge, making and taking chances, being dangerous for extended periods, breaking down teams, that’s what makes the difference, that’s what he’s not giving us. Contrast the attitude of the QPR players. The manager has given them a shape, they sick to it, it works. That’s the way it should be.

Sad that this, the team that was to take us to glory in style, is falling apart as fast as my dreams. It will further disintegrate come this summer if we fail to reach the Champions League, with no prospect of decent replacements. This wasn’t the fate of this wonderful side. Sad that we’ve conformed to type and can’t hack the pressure. Sad that amongst other fans in London, we’re a laughing stock.

True story. At half-time for the first time in a while I lit our woodburning stove. Open the box with the pile of newspapers and there on the top is the Evening Standard on the day Harry was found not guilty. I screwed up the cover and it went up in smoke. You want symbolism? I’ve got it. Sad that an ordinary side could beat us to easily. Sad that we’re going down without a fight.

To cheer you up, scroll down to the bottom of my last post and you can win an exclusive Spurs T-shirt courtesy of clothes 2 order

Good luck!

Spurs and Wembley. Nice Day, Shame About The Football

/ Alan / 22 Comments

I’ve known worse times as a Spurs fan. Forgive me if for the moment I can’t quite name them. An afternoon so utterly dispiriting, the fans, the decisions, the outcome, that heart and soul are thoroughly drained. Not anger, though there’s just cause – the referee, the way we just slipped away without enough of a fight. Instead, a cloud of gloom and doom that like a moorland mist seeps through the layers and into the marrow, leaving aching bones and weary muscle.

A feeble attempt at coherence in this particular post. I hope the points make sense even if they don’t exactly fit together. It’s not a good morning, and anyway I still have a headache from the man behind me banging his crutch on the metal roof of the stand.

As ever the comedown is worse when the expectations are raised. Not so much a heightened anticipation that we would win, I hoped we would and believed we certainly could, but any day at Wembley starts off being a good day. Never take for granted the walk up Wembley Way, the childlike thrill as you exit the station. I used to watch the Cup Final as a kid and dream of being able to make that walk, to be part of it, part of history, and despite the dampening effect of this ludicrous kick-off time, as soon as the stadium came into view I was grinning absurdly. We took the photos, even though we’ve taken them before. I saw Jackie who sits in front of us and her brother and wanted to say hallo but lost them in the crowd, wanted to share my joy at just being there.

As the players gathered in the centre circle, people around me were still singing. I and many others asked for quiet, and quiet we had. Many of us remember the Leppings Lane crush at the 1981 semi-final when better crowd control and allowing people onto the pitch prevented a tragedy. In the event, it was only postponed and Liverpool fans lost their lives, not us. By the end of that semi, I had been pushed down to below pitch level. If the police had dealt with this as they did for Liverpool fans, there’s a high probability that I would have been killed.

So when a substantial group of Ch****a fans sing through a commemorative silence, deliberately provocatively sing, it’s deeply personal. It’s beyond me. It’s not the majority of their fans, who are decent people. Rather, it’s a group who feel that because their club buys success, because the club defends its captain’s actions regardless, because their club’s preferred option when confronting alleged racism is to delay the judicial process so he may fulfil fixtures, they themselves are not bound by the unspoken but powerful values of other fans. Shameful.

The expectations of a good day out were further dulled by a stilted opening from both sides. Each made and missed chances, each had their fair share of possession without being able to take control. We were a side searching for shape and pattern and never established that natural rhythm and tempo that has characterised much of our season. For every good move. Luka’s pass inside the full-back to a rampaging Bale, Lennon underused but bright, there was an untidy unnecessary loss of possession. Bale on Bosingwa could have swung the match our way but there weren’t enough bodies in the box to get on the end of the crosses. Adebayor couldn’t hold it and Walker’s error nearly let in Mata. He lost the ball but Cudicini, who had a good game, did well to stand up rather than commit as many keepers would have done.

It’s difficult to have a balanced view of a performance in such a highly charged atmosphere. What I’m really saying is that my emotions were all over the place. Anyway, knowing we now know, there’s nothing but doom but actually, that’s not accurate. Although we never played to our potential, we had two cracking chances. I’ve not seen any replays, but the slightest touch from Manu could have converted Rafa’s ball that hit the post, then Rafa’s header that was cleared off the line. John Terry’s knee has a lot to answer for this season. It saved a certain goal both here and in the league fixture at the Lane.

Then goals that were and goals that weren’t. Credit where it’s due – Gallas may have been able to do more before Drogba’s shot but in truth I’m not sure what. Sometimes you have to say that the forward is better than the defender. A fine goal, damn him. Gallas should not have been left isolated, however.

And then the goal that wasn’t. Again I’ve not seen a replay but have seen a photo. At the time, and I’m right up the other end of course, it looked implausible as there was a scrum of bodies, so why should they be behind the line. I saw the ref pointing and said out loud, “Our free-kick.”

A Blues fan from another office just happened to be in reception this morning. Coincidence, it works in strange ways… I made him a cup of tea and placed it 2 foot away from him. “There you are, mate, it’s in your hand. Looks that way…”

Then Manu is through, a rare moment when he looked threatening. A clear foul in my eyes (I’m happy to be corrected). The keeper should have gone despite Bale being on hand to touch it in. The keeper prevented a goal-scoring opportunity. the fact that the ball rolled loose is immaterial. Anyway, even so Cech should have been booked.

Look – I’m under no illusions. We never imposed ourselves on this match and after a brief period of hope we melted away, tired and listless. Neither is this blog in the habit of banging on about poor refereeing. However, these were two crucial match-turning moments.

I’d say this took the stuffing from us but twenty minutes from the end we looked dog tired. It’s been a long season. Key men have been out of shape since around the Stevenage game and even the incentive of a cup final couldn’t enliven them. Parker was late for 4 tackles before being booked and substituted. Rafa never got on the ball often enough. Usually he rises to the pressure, yesterday he disappointed. As I commented for the Norwich game, Modric looked decent on the ball but didn’t work to get on it as often as he should.

In my preview for When Saturday Comes  I felt certain that we would revert to 4-2-3-1 after the Norwich debacle. Redknapp himself acknowledged it was wrong. Yesterday was 4-4-1-1 but the significant problems caused by that midfield four remained. We were too open. Bale and Lennon did not work back enough to cover and when they did, they did not pick up the opponents. On two occasions Bale stood 2 yards from an unmarked Lampard, loitering at the edge of our box, but did not move to mark him. Parker and Modric had to both defend and attack.

As a result our creaking back four was unprotected. As the game went on, our opponents took grateful advantage. Gallas had his worst match for us, left cruelly exposed with no cover and nothing in his locker. King was pulled out of defence because there was no one in front of him and the ball was popped into the resulting gap for at least one goal and there could have been more.

Both Gallas and King made goal-saving challenges but they are not fully fit and Redknapp knows that. He should have nurtured them and allowed them to  defend where they do their best work, in the box itself rather than being stranded.

Similar comments for the midfield. He asked too much of Parker and Modric, knowing that neither is as bouncy as earlier in the season. Livermore or Sandro’s legs could have helped out. As it was, as mind and legs went, we were cut to shreds. As Lampard shaped to take his free kick, the 5 year old boy near me covered his eyes with his hands, hardly daring to peek. That sums it up, from those of us who were left by then. It was a defeat that’s hard to take but the swathes of empty seats with ten minutes left paints a picture of Spurs fans to the watching TV audience that is at odds with our loyalty. I understand the emotions but it looked bad.

Redknapp’s a vastly experienced manager but this is virgin territory for him. He’s never before been challenging at the top of the league and for a cup. He’s not managing this well. More on this for another day, but he’s placed too much faith in certain players who are crucial to the side but have not been looked after properly. Parker, Walker, Modric, Bale, the season’s caught up with them. Redknapp doesn’t know about how to save players as does Ferguson the master. His famed powers of motivation will be needed more than ever as the season slips away, but they weren’t in evidence yesterday evening. He’s made some poor choices lately.

On the train home we got seats. Chels still in the ground celebrating, most Spurs had gone already. The modern marvel of twitter brought up a photo of the goal that never was. I showed it around the carriage, incredulity all round. Nearly home and we consoled ourselves with other tales of semi-final gloom. Everton, Newcastle. The 22 hour round trip to Old Trafford, outclassed by Arse**l, the last coach in the car park after two people didn’t come back after the match. I knew there were worst times. Were there?