Look Out, You’ve Been Levyed!

September 2, 2010 / Alan / 23 Comments

The ‘Buy It Now’ price was reasonable but pitched too high for a tried and tested model like that one. Demand and supply fixes the value regardless of the opinions of the vendor, and these days everyone wants these new-fangled gadget phones. This one suited me, just calls and texts. He was open to offers, so I waited, that’s what I do. Tick followed tock followed tick followed tock.

As the clock ran down, I pounced. Once I made my move, he had little choice. The Nokia 3109, brand new, unwanted work upgrade, T-mobile only – he had nowhere else to go. Half his asking price, a quarter of the shop value. I had my prize and the vendor had been levyed.

Levy – verb to extract the lowest possible price, ruthlessly, from a transaction, usually by exploiting the weakness and vulnerability of others

Origin – the chairman of Tottenham Hotspur, an English football club, renowned for waiting until the last moment when purchasing players for the team.

The purchase of my phone is pretty much the same as that of Van der Vaart, bar the 6 zeros at the end of the price. In the past I’ve been bitterly critical of Levy, from the ghastly era of Pleat as the caretaker boss where we so nearly were relegated, through to Santini and Jol’s sacking. However, over the past few years my grudging acknowledgement of his undoubted business acumen has become genuine respect. The club’s long-term future appears to be far more secure than most Premier League clubs and he’s brought some fine players here in the process. Early last season I wrote a piece characterising Levy as Redknapp’s poodle. When he took the job Harry made much of the fact that he had sole control over transfers – no director of football – and Levy, a businessman out of his depth when it comes to football matters, was more than happy to roll over and have his tummy tickled. I was wrong – Levy’s biggest success has been to curb Redknapp’s spendthrift instincts whilst simultaneously enabling the team to develop.

As someone who is to bartering what Kevin Pietersen is to tweeting, I admire his chutzpah. I am the definition of the opposite of pokerface, as anyone who has ever played cards with me will gleefully confirm, yet Levy is prepared to sit it out. More than that, he coldheartedly susses the vulnerability of a prospective vendor and exploits it to the hilt. Word is that other chairmen and agents don’t like doing business with him. I wonder why.

It’s not always worked, of course, as the hapless Ramos will testify. Frazier Campbell for Berbatov, anyone? We’ve clearly been outbid in terms of both fees and salaries for top players in this window. As the tumult dies away, I am more disappointed than I anticipated by our failure to improve the striking options. A top class striker with different skills to those currently available to Redknapp would have done us the world of good. However, I remain convinced that Levy is correct in refusing to pay vastly inflated fees and especially salaries. It’s tempting as we have cash in the bank but there is no reason to upset the pecking order in the club, where good players have been rewarded with generous contracts, team spirit is cohesive and the quality is there already.

Also, and I’m sorry if regular readers have heard all this before, we have to face facts: players may not wish to come here. Fabiano for instance: I’m sure we made a good offer but settled in one of the most beautiful cities of Europe, excellent wages, good team, sun on his back, fewer language problems, swap that for a team with no recent pedigree in Europe, an area of north London containing some of the most deprived communities in the country or, worse, Chigwell, a long hard slog through the winter and a ground that holds fewer than 39,000 people. To me, WHL is a holy paradise on earth but not to everyone.

When it comes to gambling, I understand all there is to know. What happens is, you put your money down, on the card table or at the bookie’s window, wait, then never see it again. But one thing I do know is, for a successfully gambler it helps if you’re lucky. Levy has mastered the art, or likes to think he has. Van der Vaart is a superb piece of business. He’ll provide vital guile and drive in midfield, plus hopefully the intelligence that was markedly absent on Saturday. But Levy and Redknapp got lucky with this one. I suspect we had made a few enquiries, as we have for hundreds of players, but this was a late call rather than the product of a systematic pursuit. Levy had a tip-off at 4pm and the deal was wrapped up by 6, or in fact just after but who cares about that, we had (snigger) ‘a problem with our server’, apparently.

Granted you make your own luck and Levy’s contacts served him well in this case. More importantly, we had the cash to put on the table. If we had had to go through the rigmarole of loans and staggered payments this thing would not have gone ahead, and that’s good finances. But in the end it was his luck that held, not on this occasion his nerve.

Spurs v Young Boys: Dancing in the Dark

August 27, 2010 / Alan / 8 Comments

What convinced me was the steward’s hi-visibility jacket. I had been trying desperately to play it all down. We weren’t in the Champions League yet. This was just the qualifier, not yet, don’t get your hopes up, earn it first.

I didn’t notice at first. Trying to get in, yes to see the game but mainly, right now, to get out of the rain. Had to park further away than normal, mind full of traffic problems rather than navy blue and white. No glory in the Blackwall Tunnel. Me soggy and anxious, barcode is bound to go wrong, sod’s law, she’s fussing over the bags of the people in front of us. A little UEFA ribbon round the handle will save us all, never mind the petrol bombs and semtex hidden under the bloke’s coat. Nicely, mind, she’s sweet and kind, her gentle consideration out of place and time amongst the testosterone overload.

Then, the moment that Tottenham Hotspur arrived in the Champions League, for me at least. She’s wearing a Champions League official steward luminous orange waterproof jacket. The circle of stars and everything. Not just something knocked up in the printers on the industrial estate. Official. Probably flown in all the way from FIFA. Someone somewhere made it possible for her to have an official CL jacket. It mattered. We had arrived.

In the ground, cheap plastic flags, corny gesture, leave the atmosphere to us, the fans have done it for the last hundred or so years so we’ll probably be OK on our own tonight, thanks anyway. The anthem on TV sounds so ridiculously pompous, the perfect sign of the overblown self-importance of this competition.

Yet when they played it, I waved my plastic stick like my life depended on it, roared as the whistle blew, took photos, which I never do lest it detract from being part of the moment, of stands rippling with white silk and unbridled anticipation. I wanted to remember it all, a souvenir, but what’s the point – I’m never going to forget it, being there, Tottenham Hotspur in the Champions League, never until the day I die.

The passion from all parts of the ground lifted our men, Dawson I think, to reach an early cross first, but wide and wasted. It was a reminder from the first leg: never mind all the formations, the passing and the pitch, they can’t deal with high balls. That’s it, I said, to no one in particular, that’s it, just get it in, good crosses, either side, get it in. Straight away, Crouch, across the keeper. I leapt as it left his head, it was in, beautifully placed.

It was enough but we needed more. Young Boys move the ball impressively, excellent control, well-drilled, get possession and four or five drive forward as one. Tension in my head but not so much in the ground. My failings: on the death certificate, Terminal Anxiety, Shelf Side, Tottenham Hotspur. Neat and tidy doesn’t score goals and the YBs had little punch up front.

A great atmosphere most of the time, although it was quiet during periods. It never needed to reach the heights because we didn’t have to fight that hard for the win and for once scored the goals at all the right times. It’s always a good time to score, etc, but JD’s success came when the tempo had dropped and the game was becoming too even (blatant handball from my angle, didn’t really enjoy the well-taken goal as much as I should because I was waiting for the inevitable whistle), Crouch again at a flat spot (just cross it, see what I mean) and the penalty to finish it all off, still at a time when they need just two to tie it up.

YBs were not going to get into it themselves but Gomes’ injury could have been a turning point. He looks such a wuss, on the point of tears. I’m not sure what was going on. I’ve not seen any TV coverage of the game and so I don’t know what they worked out from the bench, but Harry appeared to come out and tell him to get on with it, presumably on medical advice. Get through to half time is all very well but it created uncertainly at the back where before there was none and this spread right through the team at the end of the first half. The cross that the 15 headed over left defenders and keeper staring blankly at each other. That was a bad miss and could have presented the initiative to the Swiss.

Otherwise, we were on top without romping away. The pen sealed it and oh what fun we had for the last 10 or 15 minutes. Crouch should not have taken that spot kick. Whoever was the man chosen by Redknapp, Pav I think, should have taken it regardless of a hattrick. Personal glory should be subordinated to the needs of the team. The match was not conclusively won at that point and we need to maintain the ruthless streak through the tournament. Start now.

Churlish to complain, I’m not really, but the match evidenced the oft-made point about the lack of technical ability of English players. The YBs would not survive in the Prem but their ball control was for the most part way better than ours. Once, Defoe was given the ball under pressure but in his stride. A simple trap and pass would have released Lennon but he fumbled it. Crouch, bless him, the ball sailed from ankle to above head high more than once.

Still I’m not complaining. Honest. Bale was always dangerous and Huddlestone impressively directed things from deep. A fine European performance, revelling in the extra space he had, always available even if not all his passes came off. Ledley was always there to head off the pressure and Benny had another good one. Crouch, the Prem defenders can deal with him, nudge in the back, get in first because he hangs back, but Europe may not know this. Two metre Peter our secret weapon against Europe’s finest, who would have thought it?

No comment on the draw. It’s tough but we knew that. Being there is all that matters. With a team including several players who have been with us for a few years, maturing in front of our eyes. We’ve suffered during their growing pains, winced at their naivety, grumbled about their mistakes. But under Harry’s watchful gaze, there they are, our boys, they’ve taken us to the CL. Bale, Benny, Daws, Lenny and big Tom. Although they wobbled, I never lost faith. So very proud of them.

Quiet on the way home, reflecting. It’s only when I reached my house and tried to sleep that I realised the adrenalin was still pumping through my veins in overdose proportions. What is it about this club that makes grown men dance around their living room, in the dark, at 1am, laughing silently, just laughing and laughing. It’s the Champions League and it’s real.

Spurs v Young Boys. A Morning Like Any Other But A Night To Remember

August 25, 2010August 25, 2010 / Alan / 9 Comments

A morning like any other, in fact a pleasant one. Warming sunshine, brewed the coffee just right, little traffic on the M25. A gentle welcome to a momentous day, for come nightfall, in a splash of searing incandescence in north London, thunder from the throats of thousands will roll out into the dark and tumble around this famous old ground, inspiring the righteous and striking fear into the hearts of the weak.

This is the most important match Tottenham Hotspur have played for many a long season. And haven’t some of those seasons seemed so long, individual moments of brightness snuffed out by the pervading hopelessness of mid-table mediocrity. But this one is different. This is the real thing, the game that can launch us into another world, of glory and untold riches.

Cluches abound but tonight is the genuine article. Fortunate enough to remember the real glory-glory nights of European football at the Lane, I treasure the experience. The passion and tension concentrated by the lights, the world and universe is for 90 minutes that florescent green. Nothing exists in the murk beyond the glare, there’s only Spurs and us. Anderlecht, Barcelona, Milan, Feyenoord, and I’m too young to have seen the Double and their great feats in the early and mid 60s.

With all due respect, Young Boys are hardly the opponents I would have had in mind for the return of the glory days, but this is the modern era of the Champions League, and the Champions League equals money, and money equals success. Not the way I like it, but there’s no avoiding this stark truth. The CL is a passport to other objects of desire. It safeguards the finances, enables us to pay higher salaries and transfer fees and attract better players. Better players keep us up there, and so it goes. Whatever the ITK on individual players, decisions will be made on Thursday morning that could shape the club’s future for years to come. Get it right and the success is self-perpetuating, get it wrong and the trap door to mediocrity clatters open.

Assuming Ledley is fit, the team picks itself for all but two positions. Lennon and Bale will offer the width and pace, and in Bale’s case the power, that will be crucial factors as YB settle back into their efficient, well-organised formation. Defoe should start but there’s a question over who partners him up front (and we will begin with

4-4-2). Crouch will get the nod despite Pav’s superb goal in the first leg.

The other question is centre midfield. As I envisage the game unfolding, looming out of the darkness is the vast bulk of Tom Huddlestone. I see him directing our play and controlling the tempo. Who would have thought it, not so long ago, but this team now plays with and around him. They feel comfortable with his presence, he enables them to play. Alongside him in Luka’s absence, Wilson would normally be the one to step in without a second thought. However, he’s not started the season well and I wonder if JJ’s good second half against Stoke, plus his extra mobility and willingness to get into the box, given that we can’t sit back, could see him given the chance to rescue his Spurs career.

Europe in knock-out games brings tension like no other match. However, two legs do offer a second chance. We so nearly blew it in 30 minutes in Switzerland but there’s another 105 to make up for it. We must dominate from the beginning and dictate the tempo, without taking risks at the back. Led will give us more pace there and we have enough attacking options to afford the luxury of not stretching ourselves too far. I’m nervous, but confident that we will win.

The significance of this match cannot be over-exaggerated. I’ve described it myself as a passport into riches. However, this sort of approach is an aggravating element of modern football. Notice how the importance of most matches is described in terms of something else, of what it might bring rather than what it is. Finishing in the top four is a triumph in itself, yet all the talk is of qualification into the CL. The CL qualifiers provide admission to the prestige and income associated with the group stages, but then the significance of the group stages is relegated to it merely becoming a path into the knock-outs. The play-offs are another example. It’s the way to get the Premier League cash, not an achievement in itself.

Modern football is as thrilling and exciting a spectacle as can be. Enjoy it for what it is. Win this game because we can, and take glory from that. Sure, the money is important, I can’t ignore that, but in all this talk of what might be, of what’s around the corner, there’s a danger that we might lose sight of what we have right in front of our eyes. We have a fine team playing a vital match. The triumphs and the glory are here and now, in winning that. Stop and savour the moment. Enjoy it – these moments don’t come around that often.

Stoke v Spurs: A Win Is A Win

August 23, 2010August 23, 2010 / Alan / 4 Comments

I often ponder on the psychology of footballers. Presuming they reflect on life at all, an assumption that might be stretching the reader’s credulity beyond breaking point, their state of mind appears to be the difference between success and failure. Intangible and nebulous, sometimes it over-rides fitness, tactics, even the laws of physics, as the ultimate determining factor in winning or losing.

Players and managers can convince themselves that black is white, such are their conceptual contortions in order to stay motivated. In so doing they sound so foolish in the media – Martinez, a serious, intelligent and articulate man told MOTD viewers that they will take the positives from Wigan’s 6-0 defeat against Chelsea. The point is, he meant it. Such self-delusion is a vital element of what marks out the professional sportsman from the rest of us mortals. The merest doubt in the mind and all is lost. Sometimes this comes over as sheer stupidity, or alternatively as arrogance, but to a professional it is as necessary as breathing.

So this morning, I muse on this – a shaky odd-goal victory over Stoke could have set us up for the season. More so than the excellent performance against City the previous week. This was blood and guts, controversy and good fortune, backs against the wall, where seven days previously had seen polish and poise. Yet I’ll wager that the fact that we came through it, the elbows and the power, the aerial bombardment and set pieces, the sweat and pressure, means more to the team that a point versus a top four challenger. We won and that’s all that matters.

Deprived of three quarters of our strike force, nevertheless Harry could not have been too disappointed by taking the field with 5 in midfield. Harry’s pretty quiet on the bench these days, snuggling back deep into his seat like a pensioner on a park bench with a few hours to kill before yet another evening of bad TV and nothing-to-do. Maybe he’s finally put those relaxation techniques to good use: ‘Meditation For the Stressed Sixties – Settling Into a Relaxed Retirement’. I’d make a fortune if I had the time to come up with a book like that. He’d have believed the back four could handle Fuller and Walters, rightly as it turned out, and the security of an extra midfielder may have quelled the twitching, at least for a while.

It worked well in the first half. Who needs strikers when you have two wide men like Bale and Lennon. Harry kept Lenny on the move, left then right then left again. Stoke couldn’t pick him up. Even if they knew where Bale was, they couldn’t stop him, not on this form. With their four, Delap was pulled inside: switch it with a bit of speed or a long ball and Bale was all alone.

Two long, perfectly weighted balls from Lennon, one off the nose, one the sweetest smoothest gem you could ever wish to see. There’s always something special about a volley – it’s the sudden unexpectedness of it all, the lack of predictability in an increasingly formulaic game – but this one was superlative, partly because of the height, partly because it was not just brute force that meant it flew into the opposite corner. A perfect connection, ball and boot, mind and body. True brilliance.

In between, we had let the lead slip all too quickly. The first bit of argybargy in the box and it’s in. Let’s deal with this here and now. Gomes has to expect some rough stuff in his box and needs the assistance of his defenders to clear it out. He could have done better on Saturday, no question. However, he was targeted, off the ball and illegally, at every set piece. Stoke are rightfully aggrieved at the goal that never was but just beforehand Huth had eyes only for our keeper and his little push successfully weakened Gomes’ leap. The pushing and shoving happens with every team – yes, even us – and every corner, but here was a concerted and deliberate campaign to prevent our goalkeeper from playing.

Goal-line technology gathers all the headlines but cutting out the fouling in the box would immediately and immeasurably improve the game to a far great extent.

At half-time, Pulis cancelled feeding time; his team came out hunting for red meat. Harry again – good team selection with Kaboul, alongside Dawson, the right man for this particular job. The two of them gave as good as they got, for the most part. Kaboul was turned once by Fuller in the first half and Daws launched himself once or twice, but they kept Stoke in front of them for the whole game.

Last season I wrote so many times that we have to match the strong and physical teams, rather than make Wengeresque excuses. A Stoke crowd getting worked up about our physical approach, oh the irony. Sadly however, another problem from last term did raise its ugly head – giving the ball away. Time and again we failed to hold onto possession, so back in it came. Sweat and toil is futile if we just hand it back to our opponents, and frankly against better teams it will prove fatal.

We defended well and I thought we had ridden out the storm when suddenly we rode our luck. With these things I try to back my own judgement in real time. Watching on a stream, my instinct was that he has to give it, he’s waiting for a second to be sure, now he’s glanced at the linesman but he’s right there, best view in the house, got to point to the centre, fair enough, disappointed but a point nevertheless, Stoke deserve it on the play….

And the game goes on. It was over but Gomes was fouled –see above. Also, I just do not think it was as conclusive as everyone with the benefit of 17 replays said

Huth Trains for Set Pieces

it was. I heard both a radio commentator and a Stoke fan say it was a yard over the line: it wasn’t.

Of the rest, Crouch worked hard but was often too far away from the midfield to be of much use and we could not find him in the later stages. JJ had a good match, especially in the second half. No comments about a second dawn (should that be a 37^th dawn?) because we have seen it before, but I’m pleased for him. He made a significant contribution on Saturday.

I go to Wednesday in a more positive frame of mind compared with how I felt 30 minutes into the first half against Young Boys. We have every chance and the Lane will be rocking. We must keep the ball better than we did on Saturday and in the first leg. Not jumping to conclusions, but once is an off-day, twice is not a coincidence. Have to sort this out.

Above all, the squad will be confident after this win. Overall, the quality of our football didn’t merit that confidence but the knowledge that we had the strength to battle and hang on will resonate in the dressing room for some time to come. And that’s what counts.