Spurs v Chelsea. Share My Pain

September 19, 2009February 9, 2010 / Alan / 9 Comments

Whatever the result, past glories mean that matches against Manchester United are amongst the most eagerly anticipated of any season. And so, a week later, to the one I most dread, Chelsea away.

My abiding abhorrence of Chelsea dates back to my childhood in west London. In 1967 Chelsea’s’ resurgence took them to the Cup Final and as the bandwagon passed through my primary school playground, it was standing room only. In those days the staple method of showing allegiance or just gathering numbers for a quick kick-about was to place your arms across a mate’s shoulders and march around, chanting the name of the chosen activity. As others joined each end, the line grew longer. Movement was sideways, rather than a prepubescent conga line, so usually some altercations ensued as innocents got in the way. Many kids joined these lines purely for the purpose of inflicting pain on their fellow school mates. Football, country dancing or maypole frolics, who cares when the opportunity to whack a classmate presented itself.

On the Thursday lunchtime before the Cup Final, two lines started, one Chelsea and one Spurs. The Chelsea line gradually became more visible as the chanting increased in volume and attracted more attention. Then the herd effect came into play as the sheep and the psychos linked up with the vocal minority. I guess Goebbels considered similar tactics in the 30s. Within a few short moments, the playground was empty save for one extended line of over a hundred interlocked kids. And five Spurs fans, including me. The phalanx turned by the shelters, with surprising dexterity manoeuvred round the drinking fountains and came towards us, as solid as a Roman legion, a hundred pairs of eyes intent on their prey and the scent of blood in their nostrils.

What happened next was not pleasant, and suffice to say Mr Watson and the school caretaker will forever have my gratitude for stubbing out their sly fags and rushing from the back of the kitchens to rescue us. However, come Monday morning, I would have my revenge. I planned the moment carefully, from about 5pm on the Saturday in fact , I thought about little else, apart that is from when I was endlessly recreating Frank Saul’s winner in the back yard. In the end, I decided against glorious triumphalism, accompanied by loud chanting, flags and finger pointing, not really me. No, I went for smug, profound satisfaction. Eye contact yes, the knowing smile, merely a questioning raised eyebrow. ‘Was there a game on Saturday?’ Secure in the knowledge that as just about the only Spurs fan to openly come out of closet, all eyes would be me, I strolled into the playground on Monday morning, my scarf discreetly visible over the collar of my green blazer, a bright and breezy air with all the joys of spring.

Nothing. Not a thing. Every scenario that the mind of an impressionable 11 year old could conceive had been meticulously rehearsed. Each jibe would be parried by a devastatingly witty riposte followed swiftly by a telling stabbing thrust of my own, right into the heart. ‘All right Fish?’ was the closest I got to any football related conversation. Never mind; for the rest of the week, in the playground games I was Jimmy Robertson, little did they know.

Of course they had all melted away, to next year become QPR fans, as our other local team reached Wembley. Amidst the scuffed leather and dust of playground concrete, I learned a lasting lesson about football. Mine was a true, everlasting passion.

I suspect that the modern crop (or should that be plague?) of Chelsea will be as loyal as my schoolmates, their bonds to the club as temporary as the lunchbreak line. When the Russian gets bored or ends up on a gulag, or this aging team breaks up, as the Park Lane taunted a couple of years ago: ‘Next year, you’ll support Man U”.

Not entirely fair. There are two distinct types of Chelsea fan, pre and post Abramovich, whose attitudes are so disparate, it often sounds as if they support different teams. Most BA fans (Before Abramovich) enjoy their success, justifiably so, sometimes with a little guilt and always grateful for the good times. Because they have been through the rough as well as the smooth, they have a sense of perspective. They are easy to identify because you can have a conversation about football with them.

Some have become disillusioned and alienated as the character of their club has changed beyond recognition. One long-standing Chelsea mate of mine is always up for a bit of banter but at the same time he feels more cut off from his club than ever before. Once a regular visitor to the bridge, he now takes his kids a few times a year, preferring to have a season ticket at his local non-league team, Welling United, where he is welcomed and is part of things.

On the other hand, Chelsea AD fans (Abramovich the Deity) are the most loathsome, arrogant bunch I have ever come across in the 40 years that I have watched football on a regular basis. The divine right of 18^th century French kings to rule as the instrument of God on earth has nothing in comparison with the hubris of these people. Utter superiority is their birthright. Success is a given. History starts in the early 21^st century. Before then, the football world was a primordial soup.

Callers to 606 are perhaps not the most accurate cross-section of the fans of any club, and goodness knows some Spurs idiots have rung up over the years, but the righteous indignation of 2 Chelsea AD fans who rang last season stays with me. One from the Chelsea AD heartlands (Bournemouth) was troubled by his team’s performance. They had only won 5-0. The ‘only’ was his word, not mine. The other lambasted his manager and his squad, rubbish. They were only third. Their manager, 10 games into his job, was not worthy of the post. He had only won the World Cup. The ‘only’ was his word, not mine. Both meant it wholeheartedly, because they really do not know any different.

This supercilious superiority, reflected also in the behaviour of several of their players, creates the most unpleasant atmosphere of the season. I have no intention of going anywhere near the Bridge, and significantly neither does my son who travels all over the country, yet after a couple of years of insults and goading is going to give this one a miss. Chelsea have banned us from bringing flags with the word ‘yid’ but they will not take action when their ghastly fans make with the anti-semitism and the gas noises. Maybe they wish to gas their owner, who knows. Whatever we think about them, you don’t get that with the Arse.

And so to the match itself. We cannot afford the luxury of an attacking formation, like the one against United, and Keane cannot play in midfield. On the other hand, we must not sit back and let them come to us. In other circumstances, Crouch would be a useful target man to hold the ball up as we move from predominantly defensive posture into attack, but with Defoe, who must start, this would mean two up front with potential weakness in the centre of the pitch.

Therefore, I reckon Keane will start with Defoe and drop back into midfield when we lose possession. Jenas must be given a run in midfield alongside Wilson, and Wilson must stay on his feet more. Chelsea’s diamond means we must carefully cover the space in front of our back four. Equally, they are vulnerable to width – please welcome Aaron Lennon! He must stay wide and attack on the flanks but track back on Cole. He’s in for a tough afternoon and that’s where the game could be won or lost.

On the left, Niko looks the most likely but he is seriously unfit. I wonder if Harry is considering a tactical masterstroke by playing someone out of position to cover over there. Will Bentley appear to seek salvation?

Spurs v Manchester United

September 13, 2009 / Alan / 10 Comments

A Spurs fan e-mailed Friday evening’s 5Live football programme to say how much he enjoyed games against Manchester United, especially for the first twenty minutes when we play well then United score. Defoe’s brilliant bicycle kick looked like the pattern that was all too familiar to my eyes had been broken, but sure enough, 20 minutes later United were on top and by and large, that’s the way it stayed.

There was plenty of time to think during the last ten or fifteen minutes. Those periods are excruciating torture, where the side is beaten but hope flickers occasionally as we string a few passes together or a long ball into the box produces half a chance. Logic dictates that it’s time to start the car but I have never been able to bring myself to leave before the final whistle, and never will. Further self-flagellation: to stay and suffer leads to more hard time in the traffic jams afterwards. Sentences to run concurrently.

The punishment fits the crime, in my case of approaching the match with a degree of optimism. Mitigating circumstances, m’lud – only slight optimism, none of this ‘we’re going to win the league’ baloney perpetrated by certain other defendants. As we muddled through the last few minutes, I was still thinking about what might have been. Crouch’s header from 6 yards and Defoe’s uncoordinated miss in front of goal, both in the first half, if Wilson had stayed on his feet and not let them back into things, or some excellent flowing passing early on.

However, with each step away from the ground and closer to the car, as the adrenalin subsided I could not hide the reality of a sound beating by a better team. We were still on our feet in wonder and awe at Defoe’s scything feat when United sliced through an absent midfield. They repeated the trick a couple of minutes later and although on these occasions nothing came of it, in hindsight the tide turned just at our moment of triumph. Face facts: but for Cudicini’s excellent goalkeeping we could have been thrashed.

Harry Redknapp has been a bloomin’ marvel cor blimey etc. Yesterday, playing Keane at left midfield was a mistake. When United had possession, Keane drifted wide to cover his opposite number. This took him out of the equation and left plenty of space for the opposition, and as the game went on they took full advantage by outnumbering us in midfield. I thought Kranjcar would start, but as soon as he came on it was evident that he is seriously overweight and not fit for 90 minutes. Also, he tried too hard: by being involved in everything he came inside at a point where staying wide on the left would have given us room to exploit our man advantage.

Wilson has been remarkable for us and I hugely admire him. For this, I will forgive his trespasses or whatever it is the goyim do. So I say this because I care. He has to learn when to fly in and when to remain on his feet. He’s quick and alert so he should be able to jostle and niggle at the opposition when they make their runs on goal, rather than see the big tackle as the only option. The free kick brought them back into the game. They probably would have scored at some point anyway but that’s not the point. The booking weakened his effectiveness. There have been clear signs of this impetuosity in the past, and now is the time to take action. It’s Ok – we forget he’s still quite young and is learning his trade. Harry will help.

Finally, we fell into the Ten Man trap. We began well enough, with Lennon staying wide, JJ being always available, pass and move, stretching the play, being patient, the openings will come. Then, we pushed men further forward. Falling into such temptation is seductive but fatal. Too many players ahead of the ball makes it easier for the opposition to pick them up – our men are largely static and their players are in defensive positions anyway – and also removes our man advantage in midfield, where all the creative action takes place. If our men are ahead of the ball the options we have available are curtailed – passes must mostly go forward to men who will have defenders in close attention, rather than enabling the option to move from side to side, then strike when a weakness has opened up.

It has to be said: United were outstanding. In other circumstances I would have said it was a pleasure to watch Rooney. In the flesh, his purposeful intelligent running and great skill is so obvious. I would not blame Hutton too much for the third goal. He saw the problem and came across to deal with it, but the pass was perfect and Rooney unstoppable. Evra’s bursts from deep, perefectly timed and at such pace, should be the benchmark for us to aim for. And the United fan who rang 606 to wonder why Giggs was still being selected should be barred for life from watching football – sir, this fine game is far too precious for the likes of you.

In many ways, this match told us nothing new. We’ve done extremely well to have 12 points out of 15 at this stage of the season. Our players, for the most part, are on form and very fit, and Redknapp has enabled them to work as a team, the outcome being some quality football, some of which we were able to produce against one of the best teams in Europe. However, we have a long way to go before we achieve the combined resilience that enables us to complete at the highest level over a period of team. That’s something we can learn over the course of this season.

In Praise of Aaron Lennon

September 10, 2009September 10, 2009 / Alan / 4 Comments

A short celebration of Aaron Lennon’s England performance against Croatia last night. His toes have never twinkled more brightly.

After last time’s disparaging comments on the international scene, I ended up thoroughly enjoying the match, glowing with pride as Lennon justified Capello’s faith in him. The England manager is a stern judge, yet his choice over Lennon over the much more experienced Wright Phillips or indeed over another tactical option involving Beckham, says so much about the winger’s growing maturity this season. I noted in Sunday’s piece that despite the attention drawn towards him by his goal, Defoe was perhaps making less progress than Lenny, and I was especially pleased last night with the mental strength that underlies his (Lennon’s) development. He is clearly thinking harder about his game and in particualr about his role as a team player.

The Monument to Our Lenny

The Gerrard header displayed this new found maturity more so than his more eye-catching runs. Lennon did not overplay the position. Instead of setting off on a run, potentially dazzling but liable to end in a cul de sac, as we have seen so often at the Lane, these days he has another option. Running at a defender can obviously pay dividends, but also it cuts down any space that the player in possession has, and space is such a precious commodity in modern football. This is a huge problem in David Bentley’s game, by the way. Before he was ejected from the team, he would gather the ball in space and run straight towards a defender like a moth to a flame.

Aaron used to do the same, but no longer. Instead, he picked out Gerard and delivered a perfect ball onto his head. Simple in one sense, but it was the choice that was the clever part. It also demonstrates his confidence in his final ball. I admit to despairing last season that he would never be able to cross or pass accurately, and his therefore his promise would be wasted. Now, not everything works but he’s so much better. His play has variation; we have seen him come inside to score for Spurs this season and last night he tucked in to offer a perfect through-ball for Heskey. Again, it’s the apparently simple things, allied to his pace and ability to beat a full back, that is so impressive.

Capello was brave to pick him but Redknapp and his many coaches deserve the credit for his progress. Much was made in the commentary of the lack of a proper Croatian left back (would Corluka have been detailed to mark him?!), but Lennon made room by clinging to the touchline, just as Harry encourages him to do. With good passers in the team, like Gerrard and Barry for England or Huddlestone for us, he’s not isolated. In turn, this creates more space for the rest of team and dilemmas for the opposition back four. If they spread out to mark him, there’s room for other players infield. If they leave him, havoc ensues down the right.

It was such a pleasure to see one of ours play so well. Aaron Lennon is becoming a real force in English football. One man didn’t enjoy watching the game: even as I write, Fergie is worrying about what to do on Saturday. I can’t wait.

Success for Defoe – This Time

September 6, 2009 / Alan / 1 Comment

Yes, there’s nothing like an England friendly to soothe the nerves. Time to doze contentedly. An oasis of calm in an overwhelmingly frenzied world. Just a few moments contemplating the utter pointlessness of it all and I’m away. Peter Drury helps enormously: as he drones on, I drift off.

My heavy eyelids flickered open just in time to see Our Brave Boys combine for England’s second goal. It must be a reflex after all these years. My subconscious filters out all the dross but instinctively sends a swift burst of energy through the cortex as soon as there is a mention of anything Tottenham.

Even when the fixtures are suspended for the international break, everything still goes right for Spurs. I am genuinely pleased for JD, especially as I have already nominated him as my key man if success at White Hart Lane is to be achieved this season. He looks very good. A confidence player, he’s playing regularly and his self-belief is sky high. For me, the best element of his demeanour is that he looks well-balanced on the ball and when on the move, created by improved upper body strength that centres his core muscles.

Churlish though it may be to criticise such a fine goal, it may not be as indicative of his progress as the pundits appear to believe. He had a fraction of space at the edge of the box and with two defenders in front of him chose to shoot. It worked, this time. The problem is, we Spurs fans are the ones who know, because we have seen him do exactly the same thing many, many times, and the ball hits the opponent and bounces away. If we are honest, too often Defoe tries angles, whether for shots or passes, that do not exist.

All strikers are arrogant. That in this context is a compliment. When the pressure is at its most severe, they have the task of focussing totally on one single movement, that of putting the ball in the back of the net. To do so consistently there is no room for even a scintilla of doubt. You have to be one hell of a cocky so and so, and JD is that, to be sure. In the long run, however, JD has to have more than one trick at his disposal. Against Birmingham he missed a couple of passes that could have set others up. Later in yesterday’s game, through on goal he hesitated in two minds and was too easily ushered to the safety of the corner of the box. Don’t keep blasting away, JD, there’s more than one way to be a hero.

Meanwhile, the provider of the goal is making excellent progress on the faults in his game. Aaron Lennon had a quiet match but was effective in everything that he did. He had plenty of space, more so than in the Premier League, but for Rooney’s chance he burst into the gap decisively and with the ball under control found his man, qualities similar to those he is displaying each week for Spurs.

He works back well too. No matter that he tackles with the force of Kate Moss applying blusher, he’s in the right place and opponents have to work to get past. If a player is good enough to beat him for skill or pace, fine, but I guarantee 99% of left midfielders won’t.

That was more than enough excitement for one day. My last glance at the screen before settling back into the comfort blanket of sofa and pint of Pedigree revealed Stuart Pearce earnestly giving instructions to Carlton Cole with the aid of big pictures in his loose leaf folder. I guess the players have trouble with words.