Is That A Tornado? No, Just Our Gareth.

October 21, 2010 / Alan / 11 Comments

A deep trough of despair. Darker than the furthest reaches of an undersea abyss. Despondency worse than watching ‘The Deep’ on BBC recently. Believe me, that is touching bottom.

Soaring skyward, floating high on wings of joy. The freedom born of pure elation. In between, flatline mediocrity. A footballing lifetime in 90 minutes. Euphoria terror disbelief exhaustion. Spurs in the Champions League.

We’re off! Spurs. In the Champions league. In the San Siro. Never thought I would see the day. But Adrian Chiles is on the pitch so it must be important.

Hang on. I saw him coming, why didn’t you? You saw him, Lenny, Zanetti I mean, but you stood still. No one else picked him up. Gomes, arms and legs. No good explaining it to your Brazilian mate, you’ve got to go. The rest, funny lines across the screen. Trouble with the signal, or hands over my eyes.

Graph of My Emotions After 15 Minutes

We’re all in this together. Sounds vaguely familiar. Reality is, some groups suffer more than others, and in our case, it was the fans. Spurs defensive formation was totally overwhelmed by a team playing the highest quality football. There were individual errors but I’m inclined against vulgar finger-pointing. Collective failure requires collective responsibility. We had little idea how to cope until the second half when we slowly sorted out the basics, not a lot to ask, and Milan slowed to walking pace. Even then they made inroads on a regular basis.

Given that we were a goal down after less than two minutes, it’s stretching things to say the writing was already on the wall, but in virtually the first movement of the game, Bassong advanced 35 yards from his goal to confront an opponent. Our goose was cooked. The midfield offered no protection so the back four had to come out. With Lennon looking on, neither back nor forward, Hutton advanced. Zanetti into the space left behind, gratefully, the pass a cutting thrust to our heart. In creation and execution it was beautiful simplicity, but there was so much room.

Inter, all poise and movement, lulling us into a false sense of security as they idled on the ball. In reality they moved in synchronicity, a many-headed single organism. Patience, then the gap and they pounced. Two and three, different players but the same move. Behind the defensive midfield and into the space, Bale and Lennon redundant as they should have come in much tighter to form a barrier at the edge of the box. Inter nonchalantly toyed with us like a cat pawing a half-dead sparrow.

Whilst I admire Redknapp’s attacking instincts, he mis-read this one. With Lennon, attack is the best form of defence: I get it, Harry. Defenders outside the Premier League have found Crouch surprisingly hard to handle. However, he misjudged his opponents. Lennon was the wrong choice, at the start and then when we had to make the substitution. We were too open when we did not have the ball. Modric should have stayed on. We could have remained creative, agile on the break and held possession better, a major fault as JJ was particularly wasteful, his anger at his own failings shown in his pace as he dashed back, sadly, too often too late.

Crouch meanwhile was crazily distant, 10 or 15 yards too far up the field. He could have been an effective outlet for the ten men but failed until the second half when clearly he had been given instructions to fall deeper. Surely that message could have been conveyed to him earlier. Compared with Inter’s superb football, our few hopeful crosses towards him in the box looked utterly pathetic. The one decent ball to the far post, he failed to even hit the target. This is the Champions League, we have to do better.

Late in the first half, Bassong was caught fully 65 yards from his own goal, still trying to get to his man. One on one he’s fine, good pace and timing, but we had learned nothing. If Gallas is supposed to be the wise old head at the back, then I’m not sure what exactly he’s up to. Benny was caught on one move but that was a breathtakingly accurate pass. One of many. Hud and JJ were bewildered, naïve innocents amongst masters.

If you’re four down at half time, the first word that comes to mind is unlikely to be ‘relief’ but be honest, you felt the same. Those fans who had confidently stated before the game how wonderful it was to be there, don’t really care about the score, didn’t consider the possibility of this impending catastrophe. Half-time was both respite and the source of further terror at what was to come.

Or so we thought. Inter strolled around but for the most part we were more resilient, tighter and narrow when they had the ball, set up for damage limitation.

Then came a force of nature, magnificent in all its fearsome glory. Bale could have fulfilled his defensive duties better but in full flight he is one of the great sights of European football. With ruddy cheeks, wide eyes and floppy hair, he looks like a kid in an adult’s body, but he is an awesome, inspiring figure who terrified the defence of the holders of the European Cup.

Television doesn’t truly show how big he is, unstoppable on the go and with the stamina to make lung-busting runs. Close control at full tilt, direct to the heart and one, two, three into the same corner.

Gareth Bale at the San Siro

How can defeat taste so sweet? When Bale is in your team. Scintillating, superlative. I’ll stop now.

We were beaten by a much better team, whose quality will be seldom matched in Europe, and 1-0 in the San Siro is OK. Today it’s the exhilaration of Bale’s hat-trick that remains, although I suspect that’s the mind doing good deeds in covering up some horrible memories from earlier in the evening.

There is genuine reason for optimism, though. They are strong defensively although we never seriously pressured them for any period. With ten men that’s understandable, up to a point, and when they come to the Lane in a couple of weeks they’ll have on their minds a vision of Lennon and Bale running at them, never mind VDV. Whatever, it will be fun finding out.

Perhaps the most significant move of the game was not one of Bale’s storming goals. After about 70 minutes, we pushed the ball around for 30 odd passes before suddenly upping the tempo for Hutton to advance towards their box. He wasted the chance, shooting over with his left foot when others were well-placed, but that’s not the point. In the move, we looked like Inter and that’s a real compliment. Steady, one and two touch, ball and players on the move, then the move on goal. Granted Inter were strolling at the time, but we were transformed from the gauche, naïve waifs of the first half. I think we learned something after all.

In Search of Alan Gilzean

October 20, 2010July 14, 2011 / Alan / 12 Comments

Looking back, Gilly almost ruined things, just as it all began. The impeccable touch, leaping headers and sharp finishing – even as a teenager I knew this was class. Trouble was, unconsciously I compared everything that followed with this benchmark, little realising that what I took as a wide-eyed youth to be the norm was in reality the gold standard, never to be surpassed. It took many years and a great deal of heartache before the penny dropped.

Even in his prime, Alan Gilzean did not look like a professional athlete, let alone one of the finest strikers the club has ever seen. Thinning hair slicked back and a shambling, slightly stooping gait made him look older than he was. He didn’t so much run as ambled, for all the world suffering from the hangover that surely must follow his legendary appetite for alcohol. Yet appearances can be deceptive because Gilzean is the very epitome of the modern centre forward, a man who scored goals and made them too.

In Search of Alan Gilzean

He had no pace to speak of but the mind was keen and clear. In the hurly burly of a frantic penalty area, the greatest remain calm and still. Let the others move, then the space is revealed. Gilly would be there, pouncing on a loose ball or touching home a cross.

Sometimes he would wait, then move a fraction ahead of the rest. Possibly others had tried the near post glancing header before but if so I don’t remember and anyway, Gilzean perfected the art. Other more orthodox crosses, he leapt, soaring from a standing start, so sure and certain was the contact that I swear I heard the smack of leather on bald pate above the celebrations of the crowd.

All truly great players possess a distinctive move, unique and unforgettable that marks them out as extraordinary. For Gilly it was the glancing header. Long ball or cross, he would step in front of the defender then rise to meet the ball, sometimes body tall and taut, at others contorted in effort but with the sole aim of head to ball for the perfect touch. If Chivers was stampeding through or Greaves loitering with intent, it arced precisely into their grateful stride. The accuracy was astonishing and there is nothing like it in contemporary football. If as an admirer states he was “Nijinsky in studs”, then Crouch is a three legged carthorse on his way to the glue factory.

On the cover is an iconic image. Gilly leans laconically against a post, legs crossed, maybe a slight smile playing on his lips. The area must be bulging with bodies but he’s alone, a master of his own time and space. Don’t be fooled – in the mud on shorts and legs lies evidence of sweat and labour. My own favourite photo came from an early 70s programme. Jennings saves his second penalty in the game at Anfield. As Beal and Knowles rush in to congratulate him, Gilly is already wheeling away with not a flicker of emotion on his face. It happened, now let’s get on with it.

He was an easy man to underestimate, but try telling that to the defenders who faced him. Many give testimony to his prowess in the book. He seldom blew his own trumpet, preferring to slide away after training, usually to the pub. Hunter Davies in the Glory Game concluded that he saw football as a job and that he didn’t like the game, but that was mistaken. He loved playing but could leave it behind at the club gates.

Part biography, part detective story, James Morgan’s excellent book is propelled by his quest to solve the mystery of why so little is known or remembered about a footballer who was prodigiously successful on both sides of the border. A lifelong Spurs fan, he involves the reader not only in his search for the great man, rumoured to be a destitute recluse, but also in his dogged pursuit to right a profound wrong and secure a place for Gilzean in the Scottish Hall of Fame.

Gilzean was born and brought up in Coupar Angus, a small Scottish town. A natural sportsman, he played with distinction for Dundee, for whom he totalled 113 goals in 134 appearances. When the time came to leave, Bill Nicholson’s Tottenham was always his preferred destination and he turned down several more lucrative offers, including one from Italy. Much was made at the time of his disloyalty in letting Dundee down. However, he made his move only after careful deliberation and at the age of 26, hardly a money grabbing tyro.

A great favourite of Billy Nick’s, he completed 10 years with Spurs, during which time he adapted his game to create two superlative partnerships with Greaves and then Chivers, no mean achievement as their styles could not have been more different. In the process, he selflessly put aside his own glory for the sake of the team, converting from an out and out striker into the perfect partner.

Gilzean’s apparent indifference on the field hid a fierce competitor who worked hard at his game. What emerges most from the many entertaining stories told by those who knew him and played alongside him was how well he was both liked and respected. His taciturn appearance belied a man with a playful sense of humour. His team mates revered his awareness and touch: he brought out the best in them, and they are grateful. When I interviewed Greaves recently, without hesitation he named Gilly as the greatest he played with.

Morgan is a fine storyteller, weaving his tale with the same dexterity as his subject demonstrated on the pitch. With thorough research and the copious use of anecdotes, he allows the reader to build up a detailed insight into the character of a man who hid from the limelight. Like any good mystery writer, he maintains the air of anticipation to the end and I found myself rapidly turning pages as the denouement of a possible face to face meeting approaches.

Along the way, there’s plenty of entertainment as he reels out stories from a bygone age of football. Gilly was a fearsome drinker with an eye for the ladies, and used to frequent the Bell and Hare with Mackay, Jones and others, chatting to the fans while Bill Nick turned a blind eye. It’s a different world, with home being an average semi in Enfield, outrage from Dundee when in the mid sixties he demanded an increase on his weekly wage of £25 (John White was on £85, after all…), reporters nicknamed ‘Scoop’ and, most tellingly in this age of the celebrity footballer, a move to London would mean greater anonymity, compared with small town life.

A passionate fan, Morgan need agonise no more that his subject has not received due credit for his achievements as his highly readable account has set the record straight. Not only an antidote to every ghostwritten, mind-numbing footballer biography that you have ever read, it’s a fitting tribute to a truly wonderful Tottenham Hotspur player.

As a kid, I didn’t know much about football and even less about life but I knew one thing about Gilly, the King of White Hart Lane: he had style, and when I watch our team, I search for it still and let me tell you, it’s hard to find. The very best thing about this book is that if you never had the privilege of watching him play, you’ll understand.

In Search of Alan Gilzean by James Morgan Back Page Press

See links for website or click here: http://www.backpagepress.co.uk

N17 Has Never Looked So Sweet

October 6, 2010 / Alan / 9 Comments

For any club, moving to a new stadium is fraught with peril. It takes time, energy, a steely determination to win over all the interested parties, money, then more time. Some clubs ruin themselves in the process. Spurs, under the cautious stewardship of Daniel Levy, have spent years laying the groundwork, then the ultimate irony. On the day planning permission is granted by the council and the new ground is closer than ever before, comes the news that we may be off to east London.

Levy is known for his love of last-minute business, so here’s a window and he just couldn’t help himself. Last Thursday was deadline day for ‘expressions of interest’ in moving to the new Olympic Stadium and our name’s on the list.

Spot The Difference

Later that same evening, Haringey Council approved the revised planning application for the new ground right next to the Lane. This has been in the pipeline for several years now. The club have gradually bought up all the land in the vicinity and have overcome objections from a number of groups, including English Heritage. Now without any intended disrespect to the hardy residents of N17 0AP, there’s not a lot that could be done to make it worse, now could there? But we’re there now, admittedly with a reduced number of dwellings to be built on club land, the proceeds of which will go some way to cover the £400m cost of the project. Boris has to give his seal of approval, then we’re away.

It took a few days and some predictably inflamed comments from the Porn Twins (Sullivan: “If it happens, there will be real problems that could easily lead to civil unrest. I think there could be riots”) before the full implications sunk in. Although the papers cranked up the story, most of us accepted that Spurs were just covering themselves in case of a last minute slip-up. ‘Expression of interest’ isn’t saying very much. Then, the management of our ‘partners’, American company AEG, were bullishly quoted in the press. The Guardian was unequivocal, in the headline at least: ‘Olympic Stadium Now First Choice for Tottenham.’

I find a move to the Olympic Stadium hard to accept, in terms both of the evidence before us and the effect it will have on Spurs fans throughout the world. Spurs have poured years into the project, the development costs of which have been variously estimated at between £30m to £50m already. It finally has the backing of the Council. Finance is being put in place. The costs are not out of the question given turnover and demand. 56k+ is a lot of cash at Spurs’ CL prices. It will be hard to turn back now.

However, for the fans, this is about the heart not the head. The plans are a remarkable achievement, provided that we really have the money, but let’s leave that one for now. I desperately envied the Arsenal, not for their sterile ultra-modern stadium but for the fact that they built it so close to where they belong (OK OK insert your own gag here, you know what I mean). These things are important to fans and we have that in common with them. With space in London being at such a premium, it was a feat that surely could not be repeated by any other top club in the capital but I underestimated Levy, not for the first time.

Moreover, it’s a proper football ground. The club have apparently responded to fans’ feedback with stands close to the pitch and steeply tiered so there are good viewing angles all round and no one is too far away. The roof will hold in the atmosphere plus there is an ‘end’ to focus the support. Recently I’ve heard several pundits compliment White Hart Lane on the atmosphere. The numbers may be low but, enclosed and intimate, we can make some noise and it will echo and inspire, just like the old days. This won’t change.

Contrast this with the wide open spaces of the Olympic Stadium. We can wave to the players over the running track. I love athletics but not even Chirpy kills a football atmosphere more than those 8 lanes.

The problem is, this counts for little when it comes to planning. We the fans probably have a greater attachment to this most deprived of areas than many of the residents, but we don’t vote. That’s what counts for councillors already thinking of the next elections. Granted we bring much needed income to the place on matchdays but much of that ends up outside the borough. The cleaning and catering staff, the stallholder, the foodsellers all take their cash away.

Talking of cash, east London could save up to £200m, a not inconsiderable figure, especially on the day Liverpool are trying to implode.

Is It Better Like This? Or Like This?

Also, getting away from the Lane is bad enough as it is, but with another 18,000 I’m thinking that a helicopter is the only way to go. Anyone who has tried to escape from the Emirates will know what I mean, and they have 3 tube stations within 5 minutes walk. Tempted by the purpose-built stations, the wide plazas and relaxed setting of the Olympic park?

Me neither. The answer is ‘no’ and Levy needs to hear that loud and clear. If one good thing has emerged from this, it’s that I’ve realised how attached I am already to the new ground. It’s out of the question. Totally. Good news WHammers, it’s all yours. Get up a petition in support of your application and bring it to the Lane next home match. With all the signatures you’ll run out of paper. We’ll welcome you with open arms, cuddle and lace daisies in each other’s hair.

I suspect Levy thinks the same. He’s covered his bets, as a responsible chairman should, and at the same time nudged both Haringey and Boris in the right direction. I can’t vouch for the exact sequence, but I’m sure Haringey Council knew about our Olympic interest when the time came to take the decision. There’s some hard negotiating still to be done, especially regarding the redevelopment of Tottenham Hale station, but Levy’s not bad at the negotiating lark, as we’ve seen before.

Not least, West Ham’s bid is probably better. They have the local connections, although large sections of their support are not keen, and theirs is a joint bid with Newham Council. This will play very well with decision-takers tied into some concept of leaving something behind for the community once those two weeks in 2012 are over.

I drive past the Olympic Park on my way to and from the Lane. It’s odd to think that the eyes of the world will marvel at the design – it will look fabulous – yet all I see are the crabby dilapidated buildings adjoining the A102. Even odder, however, to conjure up a vision of this as the New Lane.

It won’t happen. AEG for reasons of their own image have gone overboard and this afternoon the club have issued a downbeat statement on the official site. http://www.tottenhamhotspur.com/news/articles/stadium-plans-update-061010.html Levy comes over as a cautious, taciturn figure but the new ground, our new ground, is his legacy. He’ll do the math but he’ll feel it in his heart too. He won’t turn away from that.

There’s a good business take on this by Martin Cloake, author of several Spurs books: http://www.dailyfinance.co.uk/2010/10/01/spurs-400m-stadium-plans-boosted/

True Love Blossoms Against the Villa

October 3, 2010 / Alan / 17 Comments

I demand my rights as a taxpayer and citizen of our great country. A public inquiry, nothing less. Maybe a Royal Commission, I’d accept that if pushed. Never mind Chilcot and Iraq, the might of the nation’s investigative forces should be re-focussed on a single key question: who told Daniel Levy that Rafael van der Vaart was available for transfer from Real Madrid?

The story goes that in mid-afternoon on deadline day, Levy rang Harry Redknapp to say he’d heard the player was available at an acceptable price. Might H be interested? No doubt you’ve heard this one, a moment in our modern history that is fast becoming part of the club’s folklore. What I want to know is, how? How did Levy know? Who called him? Why Levy and not some other chairman?

The reason is, find that person and I will give them everything. The house, the car, new flat-screen TV, that nice art-deco lamp from my wife’s family. Take it, anything you want, I’ll get down on my knees in gratitude because you deserve it, my friend, you deserve it.

Well, actually, you know, it’s a lease car so that’s not really on. And the house, nice little end of terrace but mortgaged to the hilt, so you might have to wait 20 years. OK then, all my worldly goods and chattels. That’s it, I’ll collect all my chattels for you. There’s the watch – no, that stopped 9 months ago and I haven’t got round to fixing it. The laptop! No, from work. This second hand thinkpad notebook that I’m typing on now…. Look, Ok, it turns out that I own nothing of any value whatsoever, but have it. What are chattels anyway?

You all adore him already. Bet I love him more than you. The control, vision, the quickness of thought matched only by the pace at which he moves the ball on. Athletic, squat and bullish. The confidence and swagger. Pointing, the ball here, give it here, now. Let him roam, wander wherever you wish. Where you end up, it’s the right place to be.

More than this, he makes everyone else play better too. They scurry around where before they would be still, waiting for something to happen. Now, now they want a piece of this. So Pav comes off the front man, Crouch peals away in expectation, JJ pushes forward with determination, head up, looking for the channels, Bale and Lennon on the charge out wide, Hutton comes from deep and Luka, lovely Luka, has a partner at last, someone on the same wavelength. Push and probe, up the pace of the attack suddenly at the edge of the box. VDV, just by being himself, opens up space. Defenders are uncertain, on the back foot, anxious. Notice how we had room for one-twos around their box. Not all worked but there was room for willing runners.

Dream away, there are goals too. The first, prosaic. A far post cross (the sight of one striker crossing to his partner, rare with Spurs these days but so welcome) and he with predatory instincts makes a run that Pav, Keane and JD should be able to do with their eyes shut, but don’t. And he’s in there, muscles needed now, no danger that anyone else will beat him to it, the power to force it home, the will to be first.

The second, breathtaking. Another header across the box, this time he’s in the thick of it. He hears Dunne’s heavy tread thundering down upon him, the brave defender launches what he believes, certain, would be another block like that which thwarted VDV earlier…and Rafa shimmys, a flicker of movement enough to take the ball under control…it’s like he has the power to manipulate the laws of physics, such is his ability to create space. Elemental particles bend under his thrall. So there, as the ball bounces to knee height, there is clean air where before there was none. Then the hammered volley. A moment of shimmering brilliance that will live long in the memory.

Before I go on, one more thing: what a fan-bloody-tastic game of football. The second half in particular pulsated with excitement, end to end, thrilling football, high drama, top quality skill from both teams at breakneck pace, near misses galore, heroic individual performances, old-fashioned physical challenges, frustrating mistakes. We are lauding a fine victory in what has been a great week for the club, while any Villa fans glancing at this will be aggrieved at not picking up a point to reward their excellent counter-attacking, but in the end we all love this game of ours. Here was a reminder of why football so captivated us as kids and weaves its magic spell to this day.

One reason for such an open game was that neither defence was able to get on top. Villa brought 10 or 11 men back without hesitation and for once Spurs deserve great credit for consistently finding a way through rather than floundering on the massed ranks at the edge of the box as happens so often. Movement, purpose and the ability to come down the flanks as well as through the centre created several chances, Pav, Hutton and Pav again failing to hit the target in the first half when well placed.

At the other end, our 8th choice centre half was targeted by Villa as our weak link. First Heskey then Carew was pushed up against Big Tom to exploit his inexperience in the role. Heskey destroyed Huddlestone. He had no idea whether to come tight or to drop off, and Villa wreaked havoc in the opening exchanges. Young was excellent throughout: I had long since dismissed his potential but in a freer role he will prosper. Always a danger yesterday. Albrighton looks a real prospect too.

Heskey it was who bullied the hapless Bassong into conceding the ball, then a bulish run into the box led to the goal. Coincidentally, he was a celebrity audience member in last night’s Comedy Roadshow. Michael McIntyre duly took the piss re the World Cup. Nothing like a bit of topical humour. Heskey smiled sweetly throughout his humiliation as the crowd roared their derision, but his wife’s fixed grin was truly terrifying. Astonished that this could happen, she then gazed at the stage with a rictus grin, eyes burning laser beams of hate straight into McIntyre’s heart. His performance today was a reminder that with all his faults, and there are many, he could have been so effective a player. His injury was a turning point – it relieved the pressure on our ailing defence and allowed us to move forward with less risk.

After the break, Harry allowed VDV more freedom in the middle and Lennon out wide kept Villa’s left side occupied. Most significantly, Jenas was stronger in the centre, offering more defensively and coming forward into the gaps ahead of him. Another fine performance.

However, there were still wide open spaces at the back that became a series of heroic individual contests, Benny and Seb one on one with their attackers, deep in the box. Great stuff, and they both did so well. Bassong is much better alongside some experience, playing off another centre half, but he had a good second half. Benny had a stormer, hurling himself into challenges and barely putting a foot wrong. Positioning not so hot for either of them but one on one they won their battles.

I would have liked Hutton to have tucked in more to assist Huddlestone but Harry was urging him forward. On the other flank, Bale as ever a danger.

In the first half, Villa counter-attacked at pace, effective indeed but we gave them the ball all the time. back it came, pinging off Pav and Crouch’s feet. This was another thing we handled better in the second period, keeping the ball.

Luka played in fits and starts, good combination play with VDV in particular but he does not look match sharp as yet. Together as regulars in midfield – dare we dream?

So a marvellous game and a deserved win, just about. Villa obligingly refused to spoil our week when two players missed the same cross and whilst they were always threatening, Gomes did not have to make a difficult save.

Rather than losing momentum in the international break, it will provide precious healing time for our injured centre backs. Without wishing to sour the mood, we won’t get anywhere without at least a couple coming back to full fitness. Then watch us go.