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.

Always On My Mind. Spurs Stories: In Hospital

August 5, 2010 / Alan / 3 Comments

There’s always a stir when the ward has a new arrival. Disparate individuals thrown together forge temporary bonds in adversity as a lifetime of carefully tended privacy is at a stroke upended by the indignity of pain and bed-pans, honed by a nurse’s scolding when powers fail.

A fragile culture is shaken whenever a newcomer appears, the tension is palpable if it’s a man. The last man was oblivious to his surroundings, baring the West Ham tattoos on both thighs and when he wasn’t snoring bellowed his suffering down his phone louder than a Tunbridge Wells stockbroker on his mobile in a rush hour train.

We, the regulars, practised in the fine art of hospital visiting, we who long ago said everything that there is to say but still talk, feign indifference but are alert to the swish of the plastic curtains being pulled back.

‘Leave me alone, woman. Leave me alone.’ He’s a shouter.

She sits, she stands, she sits again. ‘Have a wine gum, go on, they’re nice’

‘I’ve told you, I don’t want a wine gum.’

‘Go on, have one. They’re nice’

‘I don’t want a wine gum!’ The whole ward knows he doesn’t want a wine gum.

‘Go on, do you good, you need the energy. How are your pillows? You’re not comfy.’ She’s up again. ‘Let me do them for you.’ She glances around without making eye contact with anyone.

‘Leave me alone woman!’

In hospital nothing happens. The slightest provocation is acted upon, if not created, in minute detail, then discussed with a similar nuanced attention. All undertaken in the name of the patient but in reality it fills the time and provides the visitor with a reason for being there.

She looks around again with a nervous grin. ‘All right if I have one?’

The young man, quiet until now, has had enough. ‘Spurs are playing tonight, granddad. Go and get a coffee, mum. Cup game!’

‘Up the Spurs!’ Animated now, alert and bright. ‘They’re doing all right this year, eh? Told you Harry would sort them out. Told you.’

‘Win this one and they’re at Wembley, granddad.’

‘Ahh, Wembley. Did I ever tell you about when I was there in ’61?’ The boy settles back with the air of someone who has heard this one before, several times, but he’s happy to listen once more. ‘Never be bettered, son, not the same these days.’

‘I couldn’t get coffee. Bloody cafeteria’s closed. Coke from the machine all right? He’s not going on about bloody Spurs again, is he, the old sod?’

‘Mum,’ says the boy, ‘Just shut up.’ He settles down again for the rest of the well-worn saga. His mother stands. Moves the pillows a fraction. Smith scores. Sits. Tucks in the blankets. Blanchflower lifts the cup and he’s lost his hat, tossed high in the air. Stands. Sits.

A few days later, when we are all familiar with tales of Tottenham heroes, of Smith, Greaves, Blanchflower and especially White, glorious, silky, best ever White, I pass the bed on my way out. ‘Good to meet another Spurs fan.’

He stirs and sits bolt upright. ‘Two sugars please!’

He dozes again, as suddenly as he woke. I walk on, past the laminated pledge on the wall that guarantees same sex wards from 2007.

Next day I stop again. ‘Bought you a programme’. I’m not a good visitor, despite the practice over the last two years. I’ve deserted my duties. Even now, under these circumstances, the game and being there is on my mind.

The boy thanks me, ‘Look granddad, a programme. 3-1 today’. The woman, more agitated than normal, thanks me repeatedly, and no, for the tenth time, I really don’t want the money. The boy shows him the pictures, as you would a toddler.

He barely stirs, a flicker maybe of an eyelid buried deep now in hollow sockets surrounded by grey drawn skin. His lips move, ‘What’s that granddad?’, says the boy, ‘3-1 today, Defoe again!’ Faint and barely audible, he summons the strength from somewhere to respond. I swear I heard, ‘Up the Spurs’ but I couldn’t be sure.

Sunday afternoon and I pass the woman in the corridor, on the phone telling someone that she has the money but will be late because she’s at the hospital. The boy brushes past, carrying a small bag with the programme in his hand. ‘Thanks for this,’ he looks at his shoes and doesn’t stop. Turn the corner and the curtains are pulled, the bed empty. It will be occupied by the evening.

Spurs v Bolton. That Will Do

May 2, 2010 / Alan / 9 Comments

Job done: one down, two to go. On the morning after the afternoon before, the prevailing emotion is one of raw anticipation for the City clash but at the final whistle sheer relief was the only feeling on my mind.

This is Tottenham – we never make it easy for ourselves. I never for a moment believed that this would be the lull before Wednesday’s storm and sure enough Bolton proved to be well-organised and motivated opponents. However, we had enough space to do what we do best yet seldom passed the ball through midfield. Movement was stilted and we gave the ball away needlessly, time and again.

I didn’t gain the impression that the team were stage struck, immobilised by nerves. Our play was not so much hurried, rather it broke down through basic failings around poor control, especially from the strikers, and a lack of purposeful mobility, which meant that without a passing opportunity, we were often caught in possession.

If ever there was a match when Luka needed to buzz then this was it but he suffered the most. He worked hard but had little impact overall. In my preview I noted concerns at the form of our strikers and take no pleasure in having those confirmed. Pav was awful, consistently out-muscled by Cahill (if we need another centre half in the summer then we could do a lot worse than look at him) and his woeful control meant that we could never hold on to the ball whenever it was played forward.

Not Pav

When the chances did come, one early on and then later as Bolton were stretched, he either fluffed his lines or was in the wrong place, hanging back when he should have been hammering towards the edge of the 6 yard box. In the second half he applauded the Park Lane as they lifted his flagging spirits with the chant of ‘Super, super….’. No one had the heart to tell him that it was directed towards Gary Mabbutt who had been spotted in the crowd.

Defoe looked brighter in the second half and should not have been taken off. That shot that went just wide resulted from one of the very few passes ahead of him into a channel that he has received in the last three or four matches, but again he looked lethargic, the tell-tale sign of his anxiety being the unwelcome return of his old fault, drifting offside.

The game began in an atmosphere more like that of a derby than a home encounter with Bolton. Not since the cup and league encounters in the same season in the 70s, when we were both vying for the top spot in the second division, has this fixture produced such a noise. They must have been shocked, they can’t be used to this.

Buoyed by the waves of support, we started well but it soon became apparent that we needed something out of the ordinary to break through. Which

The Statue Formerly Known as Kaboul

Huddlestone duly provided, a sumptuous first time clean strike rising all the way into the very top corner. At such moments, this big ungainly man is transformed into the epitome of athleticism, body and mind in complete harmony. A electrifying experience, worthy of winning a match.

He was our best player because throughout the match he sought to be available for teammates and remained inventive, probing and passing short and long. One deft run from defence carried him past several tackles and set up the forwards, who once more let him down. Under pressure, Tom did not shirk his defensive responsibilities either and when he did make an error tried to rectify it as soon as possible. My main criticism of him in the past has been his lack of awareness and anticipation. He doesn’t read the game well. If the first yard is in the head, the message takes a while to reach his feet. Yet yesterday his positional play was sound and one occasion in the second half he set off to cover a potential gap before his stray pass had even reached the opponent. He’s not played well recently and in the past has hidden in the big games, so all the more reason to praise him now.

In the man of the match stakes, his goal would give him an edge, such was its thrilling brilliance, but close behind were several defenders. King was unobtrusively dominant. There’s an economy of effort about his play these days. He sort of slides over the ground, a series of rapid short strides transporting him to wherever danger lies, then snuffing it out. This belies his strength: one consequence of his injury is that presumably he has plenty of time to work on his upper body. Davies tried to make him give ground, to be met each time with steadfast refusal. When players make the game look straightforward and effortless, it’s a sign of greatness.

Dawson again performed with admirable solidity, coming into his own in the second half when first Bolton pushed us back and then drove a series of crosses into the box. But the big surprise, and very welcome it was too, was Kaboul. Formerly known primarily for his statuesque performances, in comparison making Hud look as agile as Beth Tweddle, he repeatedly stampeded down the right, showing pace, awareness and considerable skill. Towards the end he remained calm as the tension cranked up, timing tackles impeccably and using the ball with care. He and Lennon linked well in the short time they were together.

Last but not least, Gomes was decisive coming off his line and sprightly on it, on the few occasions that he was called upon to make a save. He makes better choices now between catching and punching, the majority of the latter achieving decent and safe distance as he emerges fearlessly into the ruck of bodies in front of him to clear the danger. His absence on Wednesday just does not bear thinking about, especially as he seemed to injure himself in a moment of needless effort. Let’s be honest, he can be a bit of softie, asking for the physio to come and tend to a speck of dirt on his gloves. I hope it’s not too bad – it was a good time to break up the play (added time had begun) and if he had been badly hurt, surely he would not have joined the lap of honour, although probably that would have disappointed his young daughter who he carried in his arms and who clearly enjoyed it far more than most of the squad.

If this central defence stays tight and taut, and does not get moved around by City’s pace up front, it provides our best chance of a point or three on Wednesday. They work tremendously well together as a unit and also enable the ball to come smoothly from the back.

We never do it the easy way. Bale and Lennon provided a taste of what we might look like with them both in the team as Bolton came forward and the space opened up, but a succession of good chances were squandered. In the end it did not matter but would have eased the suffering in the stands. The moment when the ball was swung wide to Bale who hit it first time across the box was breathtaking. Clearly a training ground manoeuvre.

Afterwards Dawson took the plaudits for Player of the Year. Waiting in the tunnel, he could not resist nipping out to get a better view of his highlights on the big screen. He’s terrific.

The lap of honour was a desultory affair, the player hidden under rainwear and apparently keen to get into the warm and dry again. No left-over goodies from the Spurs shop tossed into the crowd. No footballs booted into the stands. I’ve come to expect such corny theatrics at the end of the home season. No one was bothered – perhaps like us they had thoughts only for City.

Disappointed, But It’s All Down To Us Now.

April 26, 2010 / Alan / 15 Comments

In a few words, disappointed but philosophical. Hopes were high at Old Trafford but ultimately the forces of history – make that 67 away matches against the top four without a win – were too powerful to overcome, despite our recent progress. And you know what I’m going say – 6 out of 9 points from the last three fixtures will do. And it is progress.

My rosy glow from That Week still lingers but it’s a touch brown and crinkly round the edges, because we did not give of our best on Saturday. Logically it’s over-ambitious to believe that we could have taken United, but we’ve never had a better opportunity. I’m always uncomfortable with the familiar phrase, ‘I’d have settled for that before ….’. Whilst it contains the worthy truth of pragmatism, it also smacks of a lack of ambition, a denial of what it is possible. So I suppose two weeks ago I would have ‘settled’ for 2 wins from the last three games, but having seen two of them, I now know more about what is possible, and that is the phenomenal potential of our team.

On the field the game was won and lost down the flanks. It was inevitable that with so much attention and praise lavished on Bale from all quarters, ranging from this humble blog to the national media, he was due a poor performance. For once, Superboy was brought down to the level of the rest of us mere mortals. A reminder both to him and to his adoring Spurs public that he is young and inexperienced will do no harm in the long run but it was painful to watch. I suspect Rafael had a dose of kryptonite down his shorts.

On a few occasions he stood idly as the game passed him by, his lackadasical approach at odds with the fierce concentration of recent weeks. He was at his most culpable for Nani’s goal when he not only failed to track back but could also see his man ahead of him yet still failed to move. His failings were compounded by Assou Ekotto on the opposite side, where he was repeatedly caught out of position and whose decision-making was dire at times, leading to the vital penalty that broke the stalemate. United may have made their pressure tell as the game went on but that ill-judged and desperate tackle was the outcome of the pressure that Benny had been under since kick-off. It eroded his sense of sound judgement to breaking point.

However, it was more complex than both full-backs having bad games simultaneously. United played five across the middle. This meant that we were usually outnumbered 3 to 2 in the centre of the pitch and were also stretched by their two wingers, ultimately to breaking point. This latter led to Bale and Benny staying wide too.Whether this was their inexperience, made worse by Benny being out of his usual position, or from the manager’s tactical advice we will never know. It meant two things. One,without sufficient protection from Modric and Bentley, both were exposed one on one too frequently. Two, there was a gap between them and the centre backs. Time and again, United slid the ball into these channels for Berba or their ever-willing attacking midfielders. King and Dawson had to come across to cover, thus leaving space behind them in dangerous central areas. Wilson and Hud failed to slot into those gaps.

As a result, United had more room than they should have, and the fact is, it was no score at half time primarily because of their profligacy in front of goal. We have to defend as a team, and this was not the case on many occasions.

Fergie also became the first manager since Bale returned to the team to combat his attacking prowess. Valencia is hardly known for his defending but he can at least stay out wide and get in the way, and also he kept Bale occupied with his forward play. Then, with three in the middle Fletcher could ease across to provide the next barrier, and should we get through, the 12 year old full back is nimble and fast. Our lot didn’t help out much and seldom gave him a decent ball or an inside pass.

Fergie and Harry, the two wily, shrewd and battle-hardened campaigners up against each other, and Fergie outsmarted and outmanoeuvred Redknapp. There’s also an argument to say that we were hamstrung even before the kick-off. Redknapp took the risk of changing a winning team by bringing back Palacios and shifting Luka to the left. It did not pay off but frankly I would have done the same. The defensive cover Wilson offers would have been perfect, in theory, for Old Trafford where we would have less of the ball and hit more on the break compared with previous games. We should be comfortable with that formation.

As it turned out, Palacios was rusty after two games out and did not get going until the second half, whereupon he was moved to right back. There is less reason for this other change to the winning team. The reasons looked good on paper – BAE is fast, Kaboul isn’t, Nani likes to come inside onto Benny’s good foot. In practice, Benny played like a man in unfamiliar surroundings, which he was. With the lack of cover I have already mentioned, it fatally weakened the team. It’s been said that Harry rates Kaboul at right back. Kaboul himself this week says that’s not his position. This all smacks of serious confusion, and once again it is my solemn duty to point out that we have a quick international right back out on loan, a decision that to my mind is a massively wasteful use of our squad.

With Bale out the picture, it highlighted the paucity of our attacking options. It was wonderful to see Lennon again and he looked bright enough in short bursts but once on the field we did not give him the ball. Ridiculous. Defoe has not looked at all sharp since his injury, although the contrast between those United passes into channels and our failure to deliver anything much for JD to feed upon over the last few games could indicate a problem for us in the next few, vital matches. The joy of the derby victories has obscured this to a large extent, but it’s worrying.

King was again excellent, still a master of the penalty box but my man of the match was Gomes, not his busiest afternoon but he was impeccable. Otherwise, Hud was invisible and Modric poor.

One bright note was the way in which we responded when Luka switched to the middle and Wilson went to full back. The team immediately looked more comfortable and started to move the ball around with pace and confidence. United’s tactics were better than ours but they can’t be everywhere and we began to suddenly realise that we had space if we chose to use it. Nani’s great goal and Wilson’s foolishness put paid to that, but it shows that we do have a plan B if things aren’t working, something that could not be said with confidence at the start of the season.

And that attacking balance should be just right for Saturday. It’s in our hands, and I could not ask for more at this stage.