Monday Monday, Can’t Trust That Day…

April 12, 2010April 12, 2010 / Alan / 15 Comments

It’s hard to get past that moment, round and round, an endless loop tape in my head. Looking down from behind the goal, the scene populated by characters who hit their marks, a denouement scripted by fate and played out in slow motion. Dawson slips and the net is open. In reality it passed in less than a second but time enough elapsed, from the losing of grip to opponent’s roar, for the entire story to play out in my mind. Plucky underdogs had come this far through a combination of disciplined effort and an off-colour Spurs performance, our endeavours blunted by a lack of full fitness and a stodgy surface. Pompey had more of the ball than we would wish but apart from a few scares, nothing that Gomes, Bassong and Dawson couldn’t handle. Then our brave indomitable captain, as ever taking responsibility in the danger area, alert to the danger, moved to snuff it out and secure safety. He took an age to slip, limbs splayed like a steeplechaser falling after Beecher’s, eyes on the ball and still in his determination trying, desperately, hopelessly, trying to stop the ball rolling onwards.

Someone was due a major embarrassment over the weekend because of that pitch, but of all the people I wish it were not Michael Dawson. Destined to be shown endlessly on TV and Road to Wembley DVD’s, maybe even the ultimate indignity of What Happened Next? on a Question of Sport, no one is less deserving of being immortalised so. They all have a place in my hearts, but our captain epitomizes the spirit and commitment that Tottenham need. He’s an example for the whole side, with a single-minded focus on denying the opposition in the box, fierce concentration and above all he makes the most of his talent. Not the most gifted, he nevertheless plays to his strengths and I would rather have all of Daws than most of more naturally gifted footballers.

In my last piece I spoke of the Semi-final Moment, the time when in every semi-final, the tide of optimism turns to be replaced by a realisation that defeat is possible. Not likely necessarily, just an option. For me it came around the usual time, 15 or 20 minutes in, when Gomes easily saved a deflected shot. Remember this is about emotion not sober analysis. It was a reminder that although we had the better side and were on top at the time, all it took was one deflection, slice of good fortune or slight error in an otherwise strong position. But it was another, later incident, that a sent a cold shiver down my spine. It was around 70 minutes or so, we had a spell of superiority that resulted in a few near misses and several corners. Pompey moved up field but Gomes saved, as he did so often and with such authority all match. Swiftly he moved to distribute the ball from hand to launch a counter attack.

Nothing. No one wanted the ball. Trotting slowly upfield with backs turned towards their keeper, the message could not have been more clear. We were knackered. More than that, nobody wished to take on the responsibility of overcoming the dual effects of weary legs and formidably organised opponents, who spread out across the pitch and not only pressed and harried but also tellingly did not allow our wide men to reach the byline. I felt physically sick for the rest to the match.

To be debilitated by injury is a fact, not an excuse, so there will always be the what-ifs of our potential of the fully fit squad. However, although the cloying surface didn’t help, we made it look like quicksand. There was so much more that we could have done. Defoe never looked sharp whereas Pav was much brighter as soon as he came on and should have started. Corluka had gone well before extra time, while the match passed Hud by almost completely. Injuries obviously reduce pace and stamina but they also sow seeds of doubt in the minds of the suffering players. A half yard slower here, a fraction of second’s delay with a decision there, and your man is off form. For example, well before the end, Corluka, whose legs move anyway as if stuck in quick drying cement, hung back a couple of yards in the defensive line so by compensating for his lack of speed he gave Pompey’s forwards more room.

Huddlestone suffered the most. Apart from his near match-winning first half left footer, he was hugely disappointing yesterday. Just as he has reached the point where his value to the side is universally appreciated, he disappears. We want him to be available, to move it on, to sweep the passes and sometimes to lumber forward into the danger areas at the edge of the box. All this was missing. The fact is, whether it is the conditions on the pitch or in the mind, players have to adjust. There was enough time out there. Hud did not have to launch himself into tackles – if you know your footing is bad then stay upright and don’t slide in. More harmful for our hopes was that the surface took all the pace from the pass, yet Hud, master passer, could have taken this into account.

Modric played in fits and starts. His movement was better but finishing poor. He did well enough but only in short spells, then faded as he presumably took a breather. He did OK but we needed better. Moreover, he did not link well with Gareth Bale. This left side is of course our most potent attacking weapon, yet Bale cannot do it all on his own, although goodness he tried hard enough towards the end when his effort and desire could not be faulted. Most of our effective attacking came from him and though not at his best he deserves praise, but he needs some help. He needs options as he goes forward, targets in the box and someone to play one-twos with. Luka didn’t offer that frequently enough. To compound the problem, the same thing happened on the other wing where Bentley and Corluka behaved as if they had never been introduced. No combination play considerably reduced Bentley’s effectiveness because he can’t beat a man.

This was the decisive tactical element of the game. We seldom reached the byline and therefore delivered a series of innocuous crosses from deep, further and further out as the game progressed. Bentley also failed to put over a decent corner. Pompey stayed wide in midfield and made it more difficult. It was decisive because Harry had placed his faith in Peter Crouch. You could see why, towering as he did several inches above their tallest defender, but with lousy service for most of the afternoon, he, and we, got nowhere. Rocha was in his element. Not the greatest, he’s nevertheless a shrewd operator. He does not give ground in the box when challenged, so with his good upper body strength he did just enough to put Crouchie off. And let’s be honest, it doesn’t take a lot to put him off. Despite all of this, he had the chances to win this game and blew it. I’ve remarked before that what frustrates me most about him is that even when he rises high to win the ball he doesn’t do enough with it, but Wembley was not the time to provide further evidence for my theory. On my predictive text, ‘Crouch’ comes up as ‘crotch’. That says it all for me.

Another word of praise for Gomes – did everything that was asked of him and saved us on the few occasions that Pompey broke through.

At the finish the players sought the sanctuary of the dressing room with indecent haste but I was still there, as were others. They could have, should have come a little closer. We win and lose together, and a moment’s acknowledgement would have been kind. On the tube home, one of their fans, after starting to tease my daughter, derisively asked me how money I had wasted. ‘Nothing’, I replied, ‘Being there is what matters.’ This seemed to satisfy him so he and his mates resumed their verbal fisticuffs with a couple of other Spurs fans that we had inadvertently interrupted. I wish Pompey fans well, genuinely so and despite this brutish, racist quartet, they are pleasant, loyal and have had their club destroyed by the worst kind of owners. Their injury list was far worse than ours, but with admittedly limited ambitions, they performed admirably and their supporters will be justifiably proud of them this morning. Their club will survive because of the passion of their fans, who made so much noise yesterday, and I hope they do.

With a rested Arsenal on Wednesday and Man City rampant, suddenly this momentous week is in danger of turning rapidly into one of doom. Maybe that’s a reflection of my gloomy frame of mind this morning. We were poor but had more than enough chances to win. But nagging away is a word that I threatened readers with on a regular basis earlier in the season,one which has disappeared from TOMM of late: resilience. Injuries, poor tactics, mistaken team selection, all are factors, but ultimately I fear that we were done for by the absence of mental strength in the biggest match this team has so far faced. With Arsenal, Chelsea, Man Utd and the fight for Europe head, a bad Monday does not not auger well for the next 7 days.

Spurs v Fulham. Can’t Sleep, But There’s Plenty To Dream About

March 25, 2010June 6, 2010 / Alan / 15 Comments

No column planned for today, not time…but have to write. Something has to be said about our team, our infuriating magnificent frustrating spellbinding team. Something must be said.

Battle of the English managers. Honours even, one half each. My goodness, they know this game. The difference in the first half – movement. Fulham pass and move, short passes mostly, nothing ambitious, get it, keep it, allow men to move forward in support. With five in midfield and mobile, there’s an advantage in beginning the movements from a deeper position because you can see the space in front of you, and the Fulham players moved unerringly into the gaps.We are still, expectant, strikers looking on from the area’s edge.

Kranjcar coming inside, good idea, overload them in and around the box. But he’s not effective and leaves a gap out wide behind him. Konchesky and Davies into that gap, help each other out. No worries, Sgt Wilson is patrolling, he cuts them off. But if he moves right, then there’s no one in the middle, so that’s where Fulham moves end up. So clever.

Benny has one of his vague games where the effort is there but the concentration absent. Not so much away with the fairies but under the headphones. Bale’s not sure where to be, Luka should come back more quickly, and it’s the old failing of Spurs leaving too much room in front of the back four. Bassong is drawn out because there’s no one to protect him, not really his fault but he’s late, betwixt and between, Fulham not closed down and there’s a gap….Zamora sees it, a fraction later, a perfect interval, a plain simple perfect pass is inserted into that gap and beautifully taken. All that work for a single moment. Worth it.

Yes, Crouch is playing well with the long ball, staying near his team mates and finding them well. That’s what he needs, don’t drift too far away, keep it simple. Not his fault, but the long ball is not our game. Pass it and move. Only one side doing that, so frustrating, maddening. We can do better, we know better, nothing learned over the season, nothing, all thrown out of the window…

Two eager young men dance enthusiastically on the touchline. Optimism and anticipation mask the knowledge that neither is famed for their ability to seize the day. Modric told in yesterday’s Times of Harry’s fearsome half-time team talks. The paint must be blistering on the walls. The act of a brave man, substitutes this early, carrying injuries and callow youth on the bench. Or desperate.

First touch, first touch you cocky little sod, you cocky little loveable sod, believe your own hype for a while, I’ll let you. Charlie offside, Fulham fans, the ones watching on TV at any rate, must be bitter. Bentley right, Modric left, Hud passes, Wilson covers. Suddenly there’s balance and shape, comfort in this warm familiarity. Gudjohnson is right at home, welcome and step right in, it’s nice here, you’re one of us. Shrewd, canny, pass and move, look for those little chinks in the massed ranks, get behind them, they can’t see you until it’s too late. Crouchie’s working, one of us, part of the team. That’s the way.

Bale, rampaging from deep, he slots into the role like a veteran but with the enthusiasm of a puppy. Coming from there, he can’t be picked up so easily, two men on him now, one, Duff, can’t get forward any more, out of the equation so their attack is blunted and the ball doesn’t get in our half for 30 minutes. Another young full back, Kelly, shows that he did not fulfil his early promise also as an attacking defender, nervous, broken, booked then substituted.

An injury threatens to disrupt the momentum, and the shape. Pav on, where is everyone supposed to be, no defenders…sod it, attack, it’s what we do. Daws looked nervous but if the ball stays in their half, he’s OK. Pav, not fit, runs around like a pit pony released from the depths. You weren’t really that hurt on the weekend, were you? Far post volley, ridiculous from there, from nowhere. Brilliant, just brilliant.

Beautiful slaughter. Fulham picked apart. Eidur completes a breathtaking team move. The TV shows only the coup de grace, obscuring the best and most fulfilling elements, of how this goal was created from way back.

There could have been more but lest we forget, Fulham are back in it, makeshift defence, tired legs, not fully fit many of them, we’ve played our hand. One goal, perhaps that Duff shot a yard to the left, Fulham may not realise but we’ve crumbled before. But Gomes sound, finely timed interventions from Daws and Seb, and so to Wembley.

Got to give it to you, Harry, and Hud in the middle, unspectacular but you did all that was asked of you, pass it and move, the others worked around you. Running out of defenders but leave that one for another day. For now, enjoy. City lost, Wembley, and a game of two halves. Enjoy the morning after a special night. If you ever wonder why we do it, pay the money and take the grief, that’s why.

Fulham v Spurs. Shuffle the Pack

March 5, 2010March 6, 2010 / Alan / 4 Comments

My last post has been so well received, I’ve finally found the level of my audience – urine and toilets. So that’s the future for TOMM…

Back to football and our vital cup quarter final away to Fulham. Something new to preview this week, an injury crisis. One day you’re knee deep in midfielders (oh dear, straying too close to yesterday’s toilet gags), next you can’t find one for looking. This weekend we may be able to judge the degree of success achieved by the policy of farming out youngsters to the lower leagues, rather than nurturing them in the reserves, now non-existent. Jake Livermore has some experience and is muscular, eager and athletic enough to warrant serious consideration for the centre midfield berth left vacant as Hud rests and JJ recovers from his groin operation.

But it is a risk, away from home against a redoubtable Fulham team who have overcome a recent blip and won their last four matches, including a fine two leg victory over the Europa Cup holders, no mean achievement. Yet the alternatives carry some risk too. Modric and Kranjcar have both played in the middle. Modric looks most comfortable there; he likes to be involved and the team plays better when he’s on form and on the ball. However, his presence could leave us weak defensively. He showed last Sunday that he’s not afraid of hard work and can put his foot in when it matters but he could be over-run by Fulham’s industrious and canny midfield.

Everything revolves around this selection. Livermore could mean the Croatian duo can maintain their balance on the right and left and give Modric a fraction more room on the left. Disruption is minimal. Modric will mean experience and greater creativity. And that’s what I would go for. Luka can handle himself and WP must hang back to shield the back four. Just don’t move, Wilson.

Next problem: up front. Defoe is ‘doubtful’. By the strict meaning of the word, he’s unlikely to play but I suspect that in football speak it translates as – he has a bit of a knock but Harry thinks he’s fit enough. Or maybe it means nobody knows until tomorrow teatime. I think he’ll start, a feeling with no basis in evidence whatsoever. If he’s not fit, it’s tempting to consider Gudjohnsen. His game is to drop deeper and link the midfield and the frontmen, handy if we need some help further back. But he’s not on his game. At all. The ‘game’ passed him by completely on Sunday.

Meanwhile, just when I turned my back for a split second, Crouch has become a nailed on world cup certainty and in the top twenty all-time England scorers. I had to work late on Wednesday and now look what has happened. Never again. There must be a better big striker in England. What’s that? Oh, well, apparently there isn’t. So that’s that then. Pav obviously, and if no Defoe it’s Crouch for me. Pav’s renaissance began when he played off PC at Bolton. On condition that we don’t wang the ball forward. Deal?

Finally, that leaves left midfield. Bale is also doubtful, whatever it means, but if fit he could fill on the left with BAE behind him. This is what our big squad is for and we should be able to cope, but if Wilson gets booked, the resulting suspension could cost us dear next week. Worry about that after Saturday, because this match demands our full and complete attention. Fulham will be hard to beat but here is a golden chance to progress towards a cup final. We must be positive and take the game to our opponents. Whatever the personnel it’s what we do best. Spurs after a replay.

Spurs v Everton. A Game to Savour, At the Final Whistle That Is…

March 1, 2010March 1, 2010 / Alan / 9 Comments

If only home life and work did not get in the way of blogging, the world would be a better place….

So having entertained a group of fellow professionals from the Czech Republic today, which in the process developed my skill of looking really quite absorbed as someone gabbles away at you for five minutes in a foreign language, (‘look, I’ll make a cup of coffee and pop back when it’s the interpreter’s turn. OK?’) it’s only now that there is time for a few thoughts on the match yesterday, less match report and more postscript.

It’s over now and I just want to say – what a fabulous game. On the way home, the 5Live reporter at the Sunderland – Fulham match was less than enthralled with the spectacle in front of him and commented disparagingly about the Premier League being the so-called best in the world. All I can say is that he would have taken a different view if he had been at the Lane. Spurs divine first half performance was in danger of being wasted as Everton came back into things, usually courtesy of a Spurs error, but at times it was frenetic end to end play with that classic British mixture of endeavour and skill. Heart in the mouth stuff at both ends, with great goals, unbelievably crass misses, fizzing shots, passes that were beautifully crafted and vulgar fouls. The end product for the fan was complete involvement, total and utter. After all these years. there is simply nothing like that feeling of playing every ball, shouting gibberish instructions to players 70 yards away who cannot possibly hear you and all parts of the ground leaping up to dispute refereeing decisions in their area of the pitch.

The greatest feeling of all is emerging into Worcester Avenue, with its penetrating drizzle and carpet of horse-dung, and going home a winner. And it’s only then when reflections on the game itself are possible because Spurs, being Spurs, had both won and then almost lost the same match. At times we were hanging on by our fingernails, or more accurately on at least one occasion, by Gomes’ fingernails. No enjoyment there, when the next mistake was possibly seconds away, when Palacios passes unaccountably straight to Pienaar or the admirable Dawson allows his anxiety at his lack of pace to cloud his judgement and trick him into a doomed attempt at an interception. The neutral may have thoroughly enjoyed the second half but we fans most certainly did not. Good football? Enjoy? No, no idea what you mean.

If we had lost or even drawn, it would have been a bitter blow not so much because of the points dropped in the struggle for fourth but because it would have tarnished the memory of that sumptuous first half display. Rich in inventiveness and sublime in execution, our movement and passing was breathtaking. Huddlestone’s 50 yard pass perfectly into Defoe’s stride, taken down with the precision of a diamond cutter and then the beautiful effortless ball rolled across the box. It was done with both swiftness and great care. Pav’s movement was a threat while he was on the pitch but Tom’s pass deserves repeated viewing.

And then we topped it. Modric, lovely Luca, on the ball and pass, move and pick it again, pass it on, there for more, into space and the ball at feet again, one side to the other, dictating the shape and pace of the game and everyone around him, defenders in thrall to the simplicity of it all, pass and move, pass and move. Then the thrust, the time right, clean, quick and deadly. A genuinely stunning moment.

A brilliant goal from an outstanding footballer. Not a perfect game yesterday but a dazzling performance, full of purposeful movement, astute passing and total involvement. His effort could not be faulted and he made his fair share of tackles. Harry allowed him to come inside in search of the ball. He can overload their midfield and with Bale rampaging down the wing there’s no need to worry about a lack of width. Soon after the start Everton shifted Osman over to mark him but that was frankly a waste of time. You can’t mark a man of his quality out of the match.

It was as good a first half as I can recall. No need to state the obvious once again, that the team look so much more comfortable with the passing game that Pav’s presence encourages. Crouch is ungainly at the best of times but when he came on, in contrast he looked as gawky as a newborn foal. And that’s not even mentioning the Russian’s goals. Defoe held the ball up well, which is unusual for him, and Hudd had a good game. In addition to That Pass, he trundled around to good effect in front of the back four, sweeping up as he went. You don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone, and how we missed him as he went off injured, a huge man almost too big for the stretcher. Kaboul did surprisingly well in his defensive role – he’s certainly very mobile and his postioning was good, given the role is unfamiliar. However, he could not support the strikers, witness that ball that ran invitingly along the edge of the Everton box shortly after he came on, one for Hud’s shot but Kaboul looked on from 20 yards away. Nor could he find them with passes. A deputy for WP in the future, though.

Everton’s tactical change made by pushing Hietinga forward allowed them more attackers and gave Arteta room to start all their movements. They played to their strengths: Yakubu has lost his pace but not his strength. He’s a brute of a man to handle with his back to goal and ball played to feet. We could have screened the back four better by cutting off his supply from the ever able Arteta but Daws was strong and tall. For the most part we coped well with their efforts but the self-inflicted pain casued by the mistakes mentioned above could have hurt us even more by the end: Donovan’s obliging and glaring miss helped us out. Watching the highlights, no one seems to have mentioned that Gomes was fouled on the line by Anechebe (I think) as the ball came over for their goal. He moved Gomes out of the way without going for the ball at all. Dawson and Bassong won many headers and once again Daws’ enthusiastic blocks are almost as inspiring as a goal.

Bale was once more superb. Those runs are fast becoming impossible to stop and have done much on their own to lift us from the doldrums of the beginning of the year. He remains one of the best prospects in the league. I’m so impressed with the way he has learned as he has come back into the team. His concentration is much better now. Defensively he still has work to do, but he is just so exciting to watch right now.