Spurs Crumble Then Capitulate

April 6, 2011April 6, 2011 / Alan / 11 Comments

Not like this. Not this way. If we had to go, and we’ve had a miraculous tilt at this European lark, then go down with a passion, a flourish. With the style that swept Inter aside, or the courage and poise that created a victory against Milan in Italy, then the fortitude than saw us through at White Hart Lane. But not like that.

Reaching the Champions league quarter finals is a wonderful achievement, far beyond my wildest dreams when the campaign started. ‘Reaching the group stages and giving a good account of ourselves’ or some such, that’s what I wrote back then and I believed it. To be contenders, to be part of something, that would have been enough for me.

So here we are are, the heady intoxication of the CL quarter finals, and when the camera panned around the floodlit tiers of the Bernabeu, every Spurs fan in the world bit their lip and marvelled. What that, in my eye, just a speck of dust…. At the start of the season nobody expected this but here we were, on merit. We deserved to be there because we had taken on and beaten some top sides. We had done everything we needed to and no one could ask for more.

There’s disappointment but never despair in being beaten by a better team, and Madrid were far superior on the night.. This one wasn’t quite like that. Spurs have so much to be proud of but this meek capitulation means it will take a while for that positive memory to rise to the surface of my steaming and frazzled brain. To lose to a series of self-inflicted calamities hurts. However well Madrid played, however many shots on goal they racked up, all the goals were avoidable to a greater or lesser extent. Two at least made us look mugs, and that hurts badly. They pulled us this way and that, stretching our ten men until we snapped, but two of their goals were unchallenged headers from set pieces that came straight out of the Blue Square. Majestically taken but utterly preventable. An early corner and their main danger man is unmarked. All he had to do was to take a few steps forward and jump. No one was on him. No one.

In other circumstances, you couldn’t blame the team for using a corner to take a few seconds breather. Second half now, under intense pressure but surviving with two banks of four, working hard, thinking hard, still only one nil and thoughts of having something to aim for at the Lane. But against the cream, there’s no respite. Quick corner, Gallas clearly hampered all night by his injury although he did well to make light of it, nothing in his legs to jump, but still criminally isolated as another straightforward header from a quick corner.

I’ve left the worst until now because I don’t even want to think about it, let alone write a couple of vaguely coherent paragraphs. This blog makes a determined effort not to blame individuals but the utterly inexcusable actions of Peter Crouch delivered a body blow that left us doubled up. It was as if you were cornered by a gang of bullies in the park then one of your mates turns round and whacks you. The physical pain will pass but the sense of being let down lingers on.

In my more philosophical moments, of which there are many, secretly I like it when sportsmen at the top of their profession do something stupid under pressure, because it shows that actually they’re human, they are like you and me. This is not one of those moments. Lumbering in for challenges that he was never going to win, not once but twice, the yellow card warning totally ignored. Lanky leg off the ground, not once but twice. Them’s the rules, Peter, have been all season. To compound the madness, two completely unnecessary challenges, 70, 80 yards from our goal. No despairing last ditch heroic efforts here.

Time and again we’ve stressed the value of experience in Europe and how this team has had to learn so quickly, on the hoof. Yet this is not the case for a 30 year old veteran of World Cups and of European competition. No callow youth this, tanked up on adrenalin and speeding the night away.

This destroyed us. Bizarre though it seems in the cold light of day, Crouch was arguably the single most important player in our formation. His height has troubled other European defences and so Harry teamed him with Rafa, the latter searching for crumbs as the long far post balls not only might have created something up front, they also provided a precious lifeline to relieve pressure on the defence. He might have helped out at corners too…

His absence meant we were under pressure throughout. Rafa lost his role and was taken off as the game passed him by. Ten against eleven would bend us out of shape. No out ball meant we could not shift the ball out of our half. No one to hold it up, back it came almost before we had time to catch a lungful of air. Pressed back, time and again our midfield, harassed and harried, looked up desperately for something ahead of them. However slim a chance of getting it forward at least with Crouch there would be something, but they searched in vain.

Mouriniho needs no second bidding. He pushed his men up to hold a high line. The back four could play it out with impunity. Marcello could get forward, freed from the pressure of having to care about what he had left behind at the back. No Lennon to worry about either. Very odd that, by the way. I’ve not seen the media since the final whistle. I wonder if he complained about something before kickoff and they were forced into making a sudden ‘should he shouldn’t he’ decision. Whatever, his threat was important tactically in keeping the rading Madrid full back occupied. Madird could therefore press high up in midfield, just as Barca do. We were never going to get behind their defence and Bale and then Rafa from the cheekiest of throws, were dealt with by Carvaliho. JD coming on was pointless.

Spurs passing and movement was poor and we gave away the ball so many, many times. Luka was unexpectedly at fault. I looked to him for something different. However, Madrid gave them absolutely no room to move and any team in the world bar Barca would have struggled in those circumstances.

After the early disruption caused first by Lennon’s sudden withdrawal then Crouch’s brainstorm, we regrouped and defended well for long periods by conceding territory and crowding the space in front of our back four. Jenas and Sandro worked hard, the latter dropping back to central defence to limit the room Madrid wanted to play those little angled passes. Dawson was the pick of our defenders, determined and strong. Not sure where he was for the second goal, though, and at times Madrid pulled him out of the comfort of the middle. He seldom missed a tackle. Gomes was admirably decisive and his clean handling would have inspired an increasingly desperate rearguard effort. Then an error at the near post. Those shots are harder to save than they appear on TV. It came from behind a defender and was swerving, but he still should have got a stronger hand to it to save.

Ultimately it was too much. Ten men plus wave upon wave of eager attackers, probing away. Bale not fit enough to both attack and drop back to defend, three men on him instantly he received the ball. There was room on our right. Corluka was often left unprotected too, then injured. We’ve run out of right backs for the league now. Gallas couldn’t jump. The pressure told as we tired, giving the ball away more and more, unable to close down every forward.

Not the end of our European adventure but an ignominious night none the less. 4-0 is a sound beating. Given the nature of the defeat, it will be so hard to be inspired by adversity to league success. Self-inflicted wounds take an age to heal. Stoke will be looking to steamroller us on Saturday, knackered, injuries and depressed. Never mind the top four, the struggle to hold on to the top four will test Harry’s powers of motivation to the limit.

No Wigan report this week. New piece of software, pressed the wrong button when in the final paragraph, no time to re-write it. You were mortified, weren’t you. Regards, Al

Spurs – Just Magnificent

February 16, 2011February 16, 2011 / Alan / 26 Comments

Last night Tottenham Hotspur produced an outstanding 90 minutes of football to dominate, frustrate and then, astonishingly, defeat AC Milan. Mighty Milan, clear at the head of Serie A, bristling with world-class footballers skilled in the particular wiles of winning in Europe, we took them on and left them bewildered and whinging.

This was a remarkably mature and composed performance. Throughout we remained poised and self-assured, playing with purpose and unshakable focus. Injuries, substitutions and our opponents’ calculated determination to disrupt our concentration by fair means or foul, mostly foul, were brushed aside. The game was all there was. Such was their application, if the city had gone up in flames around the stadium, Palacios would still be tackling, Sandro tracking back, Van der Vaart and then Modric prompting, Crouch labouring heroically, Dawson and Gallas a brick wall at the back.

These and others crafted highly impressive individual displays but the victory was all about the team. From first to last they worked their socks off for and on behalf each other. Whether it was the wide men dropping back, Crouch being available up front or Rafa slipping between their back four and midfield, not once was a Spurs player in possession left isolated, nor a defender left exposed. A mate was always around to lend a hand.

Already I’m repeating myself but I can’t get over how smooth and assured we were. Over and above the individuals or tactics, of which more later, we carried ourselves with a confident collective determination that I’ve not seen from this team before. It was a self-awareness, a collective consciousness that transcended the combined talents of 11 footballers. It’s like watching your children grow up. There comes a moment when you suddenly realise that they become young adults. Gradual though it may be, there’s a point at which they appear to transform. Last night, these 11 had a sense of being, of being Spurs.

I confess: this blog is peppered with references to lack of resilience, concentration and leadership and I did not believe that we were capable of playing this way. In Europe, away, against Milan, at the San Siro. I’m struggling to recall a performance as momentous in similar circumstances. I say struggle – lying awake because the adrenalin is pumping hours after the final whistle, thinking about Spurs in Europe is hardly a struggle. However, I couldn’t come up with much. The team of the early seventies produced a draw under intense pressure, maybe also in Milan. I haven’t looked it up so I’m happy to be corrected, but it was the same thing, under pressure we stayed cool and controlled much of the game, Recognise the context: without exaggeration this one is right up there with the great away European trips of the last 50 years.

Hard to know where to begin, especially as I’m still reeling with the emotion of it all. I’m so bursting with pride over the efforts of my wonderful team, just hook me up to the National Grid and the surge will mean that global warming is a thing of the past. However, let’s start off the pitch. Redknapp set up the team perfectly. Given what has transpired, I have to pinch myself that this was a makeshift midfield that had never before played together, comprising a winger, one centre midfielder prone to errors, brainstorms and wayward passing, another who is only 21 and who has made only a handful of starts, rounded off with an arrival so recent he can barely find his way from the dressing room to the coach. Two world-class footballers were absent, although one, Modric, came on to great effect later. A matchwinner who has electrified Europe and twice destroyed the European Champions was at home, injured.

Yet we proceeded to outwit and out-battle Milan. From the outset, we pressed and harried, with a few little niggles into their heels, in safe areas far from our goal. Sandro covered and chased while Wilson pursued them like a man possessed. Seedorf, their key link between defence and attack, was pushed further back, rendered ineffective. Deprived of service, Milan’s two strikers were largely anonymous in the first half. Rafa inserted himself between their midfield and the back four, chasing again to prevent attacks developing from deep and constantly occupying the attentions of their back four and defensive midfielder. He prompted and crossed, always dangerous with his shooting, and the turn and chip was utterly exquisite.

Because Milan play with little width, Pienaar could come off his wing to make the extra man in the centre when we had the ball. He’s a skilful, shrewd addition to the team. Here, he helped us hugely with the main task, that of retaining possession. Lennon was a constant threat, upping the pace and the anticipation as he repeatedly took on and beat his full-back. Just as valuably, both men dropped back to cover when we lost the ball. Noticeably we learned the lessons from earlier this season, from the San Siro in particular, where the wide men stayed too wide. By staying tight, we restricted Milan’s space in front of our area, precisely the space that VDV was exploiting so effectively at the other end.

Another confession: loving it, I was equally waiting for it all to end. i thought we would be pegged back at the start but no, right into our stride and on top. Flowing effortless movement on and off the ball, diagonal crosses to Crouch causing problems. Only a matter of time before Milan pulled themselves together. Ok then, 30 minutes gone now, nothing from our opponents but we had gone quiet too. They decided to handle Crouch by giving him a sly nudge with the keeper coming way off his line to claim the ball. His substitution could upset that tactic but we sat back and didn’t pressure him.

Half time now, we’ve dominated. Pato on, we’re pushed back, can’t get hold of the ball. But still Milan fail to make serious inroads. Palacios and Sandro diligently track back, patiently waiting for our chance. Two men out when the Italians attack down the flank, bodies between them and the goal.

VDV brilliant but tired. Luka on, two weeks after a serious operation yet as fit as a fiddle, smoothly settling in slightly deeper but what we needed, collecting the ball, moving it on, foot in with the tackle. probably pre-planned, kudos again to Harry, knowing we needed Luka’s game at this point. It was then, as we got onto the ball once more, that I realised this wasn’t going to change. We stopped Milan from playing. Flamini would have been sent off in the Premier League, no question, but he achieved his gaol – do some damage. I feared Gallas on the flank could be a problem. he was caught out once and scampered back, no damage done, never again to venture forward. Otherwise, immaculate. Benny’s expression, unchanging mild surprise, up and down the flank, calm in defence.

Don’t want to dwell on Gattuso’s ill-advised confrontation with Joe Jordan – I know who my money was on – for fear of drawing attention from our wonderful victory. Suffice to say that needle is part of the game whether we like it or not. Gattuso tried to take us on. He says Jordan had been having a go throughout the game ‘in Scottish’ (has the joy caused me to become delirious or is the Italian married to a scot?). Whatever, Gattuso failed on and off the pitch. A sign of our superiority that that had to resort to the roughhouse to put us off but they singularly failed to knock us out of our rhythm. Spurs won that confrontation too.

Unfair though it is to single out individuals, Sandro was astonishing. As I said on Saturday, he drops back naturally into the back four when the ball is out wide or tucks in just in front of the back four when it’s in central areas. Alert always, he tirelessly tracked runners into the box then was fearlessly decisive in the challenge. This man could be the lynchpin of our team for years to come.

Plaudits to two men I have criticised in the past. Alongside Sandro, Palacios gobbled up the yards and the ball whenever it was in reach. The two of them shielded the back four so they had to do their work where they are at their best, in the area. The mighty Dawson did not let us down. Only twice was he forced out of position, such was the protection, and on both occasions he won the ball. And Crouch, dear Crouchie, Simply – on the night we could not asked for more.

Then, a moment dreams are made of, where legends are created. Humble beginnings. Sandro wins the ball for the umpteenth time and Luka touches it on. Suddenly, Lennon’s pace takes the breath away, he’s off into the wide open spaces, defenders shattered in his wake. No aimless run this, the ball is perfectly under his spell. A touch just a little touch sideways and it’s in the back of the net from Crouch.

Normally I like to hold the real-time memories of goals in my head, the blur, the thrill, the exhilaration, but this one, in the low angle replay, Crouch turns to the camera, arms outstretched, no choreographed goal celebration, just genuine joy, while in the background Lennon wheels away in the opposite direction, in his own world, arms similarly outstretched, the joy of the provider as great as that of scorer.

Let’s end it there, although I could go on for pages. Because the game is ultimately not about the formation or tactics. Rather, it’s about the blissful exhilaration from moments like these, the unconfined overwhelming joy of such a complete performance plus, lingering today, a glimpse of the future in the staggering potential revealed last night. To unashamedly borrow a well-worn phrase – this is glory, this is style. One of the best displays in the last 30 years. Magnificent.

Spurs Lose the Olympic Stadium But the Real Conflict Has Only Just Begun

February 10, 2011 / Alan / 36 Comments

Politics. All down to politics, as this blog has been saying for a while. The BBC has ‘learned’ that West Ham will win the Olympic Stadium bidding process. In the language of politics, it’s a leak from a sound source, otherwise the BBC would not have gone so big on it. It will happen. Rejoice, oh rejoice unto the heavens! Yet the abiding feeling this morning is the realisation that far from being over, the real issue for Spurs fans, the plans that will affect our development in the next hundred years, that battle has only just begun.

This decision has nothing to do with football or the clubs. It’s a political settlement based on the promises around the Olympic Stadium that date from the bid itself, the legacy and the perceived public reaction if the nod went to an organisation prepared to knock down Britain’s showpiece. The arguments advocated by Levy or for that matter the odious Sullivan in yesterday’s Standard (“the decision is about a promise made in the Queen’s name”) count for virtually nothing. Coe and the athletics lobby as 2012 approaches, Cameron and Boris with cold shudders down their spines as they imagine themselves pictured with the wrecking ball, the government being seen to renege on Olympic undertakings in the most public of ways – these are the factors.

I’ll tell you why this choice was made – my office. Two blokes in the workplace, me and one other who’s not interested in football in the slightest. The rest are women, only one of whom is keen on sport. Lovely people, and yes of course women like football, but not these. There’s not a lot of footy banter going on.

Except over the stadium move. Everyone knows about it. They have no idea who Daniel Levy is, no club allegaince or the faintest notion of a legacy. But they all know Spurs plan to demolish the stadium and they are livid. Many of them blame me personally, even when I point out my opposition. To them, it’s simple: ‘How dare they knock down our stadium?’ Our stadium. There it is. Not Spurs’ or West Ham’s. Ours.

The fans of both clubs, and Orient’s too for that matter, are so embroiled in claim and counter-claim about territory, heritage, revenue streams and sightlines that we fail to appreciate the big picture so beloved of politicians in local and national government. The public want the Olympic Stadium. They are proud of it and proud Britain is hosting the Games. Woe betide a politician who ignores the public mood, whatever they may consider in private, especially so in these straitened times when election promises are returning to haunt members of the government.

In saying that the arguments advanced by both clubs have been so much pissing in the wind, it has to be acknowledged that West Ham have caught the public mood much better than Levy and his PR department. To me, the notion of the Porn Barons and Karren Brady as champions of the people is incomprehensible and frankly nauseating. However, they have successfully presented themselves as guardians of the Games and upholders of decent, honest values, of keeping promises and keeping faith with ‘the youth of London’, whilst at the same time burying the news that theirs is the option that uses public money. Levy meanwhile has been caught on his heels, belatedly desperate to catch up as West Ham set the agenda and the pace. It helps to have a column in the Sun, mind.

Above all, the public and the media like a simple story, and West Ham have successfully cast Spurs as the baddies. This debate about the future of sport in this country has been dramatised as a battle between good and evil and we have lost. Serious damage has been done to our reputation, unwarranted in my view because this was not what it was about at all, but real in the eyes of the public nonetheless. Levy the Loser is the tag he will find hard to shake off, never mind the public, in the eyes of the media and his fellow Premier League chairman. Remember this is the guy who drives a hard bargain and as the deadlines approach, does not blink. Until now.

My opposition to Stratford has been implacable from the start. I’m pleased with this decision but this is just the beginning, because it throws the long-term problems of THFC into sharp focus. If not Stratford, then where? The club cannot challenge the top teams in the long run in a ground that holds fewer than 37,000 people. Figures published today by Deloittes show that of the top 7 clubs, only one, L’arse, made a profit. Spurs have the dubious honour of making the least loss, about £6.5m compared with Man U at nearly £80m, Chelsea at £70m and Man City £121m. The matchday revenues at Spacecity North London are 5 times greater than ours, their profit £56m last year.

I hope we can return to the NDP: I understand the costs have risen but remain wary of Levy’s sudden change of tack. Let’s leave the specifics for another day. One thing is certain, that Daniel Levy remains the key figure who holds not only the balance sheet but also our hopes and dreams. There’s no one else we can turn to: he’s the man in charge. Yet after this mauling, I wonder if he still has the stomach to fight a series of new, possibly protracted battles. We need him to be at his best but he must be feeling battered, sore and bruised. Despite his decade or so in the hotseat, he’s never given the impression of being a passionate man on a mission. Whatever you think about Stratford, it will be hard for anyone to generate the motivation for the challenges to come. It would not be a surprise if he walked away.

This to my mind is the biggest problem Spurs and Spurs fans have to face in the coming weeks and months. If there is a lesson to be learned, it is that Levy should have done so much more to take the fans with him. Most accept his arguments that the club must change in some way. The fans and board united has to be the way forward. I’ve been an opponent, at times showing a degree of bitterness that is not part of my character, but Daniel, here’s my hand. Reach out and take it.

Modric the Sublime Master But In The End, Frustration for Spurs

January 17, 2011January 18, 2011 / Alan / 11 Comments

Spurs versus Manchester United remains one of the classic encounters in any season. Lacking the blood and thunder of London derbies against L’arse or Chelsea, nevertheless the tension is palpable and the air crackles with excitement and energy in the early exchanges.

On such days, matches are won or lost in fleeting moments, where the masters remain calm amidst the bedlam of a baying crowd and flying tackles, where poise becomes a commodity temporarily more valuable than the most precious mineral, where everything that has gone before counts for nought, there is only the moment.

Yesterday, early in the first half, Luka Modric was that master. Surrounded by three players, without ever taking his eye off the ball, that ball so close to his boot as to be somehow magnetised, he shimmied and swayed, hunched low to the turf and rolled away into free air. Over in a second, it was an instant of sublime mesmeric brilliance.

Immediately the ball was on its way, thirty yards curling into Alan Hutton’s stride. He delivered a firm near post cross at ankle height. Then: the moment. At pace Crouch and the defender stretched together, the defender’s hope turned in a heartbeat to anguish as the Spurs man was ahead of him. He got there first, made firm certain contact and… another heartbeat, the ball rammed against the hoarding behind the goal. The moment was gone and so was the game.

It was not easy, hand on heart nothing is in the Prem whatever we may think from the safety of the stands, but it should have been taken or at the very least on target. A shame because it would have been such a glorious goal but the trouble was, rather than being the first of many, it was in fact one of a precious few.

United started well. Early on, they threatened to pull us out of position and eventually out of our misery with their familiar movement, power and running from deep. However, they couldn’t find a spare man in the box and Dawson in particular once again stood strong, tall and proud.

However, we gave as good as we got and gradually pushed United further and further back. We had plenty of possession, kept it too, and maintained that high tempo that suits us for the rest of the half. Rafa was alert and Bale threatening down the left but apart from one Rafa header, he found no one to get on the end of the crosses. Some could have been more accurate but there were enough to make Van der Sar work. Two in particular flew across the edge of the six yard box, where wingers have been placing the ball for the last 150 years but our men were hanging back. Someone should have been there.

Darren - Mate - You're Good But You Won't Get Near Luka Modric

United were not at their best but posed sufficient threat to prevent our midfield from getting into the box enough. Crouch was often isolated and Rafa’s link-up play not at his best. The burden of striking duties fell to Crouch and he disappointed. Never dangerous, Vidic and Ferdinand handled him easily.

I have no desire to be consistently critical of one of ours but honesty will out. Watching him yesterday was like intruding on his personal and private grief. He kept going for the whole game but to little effect, and he knows it. At times he was so uncoordinated, he looked like a puppet where half the strings had been cut. Scant consolation but he appeared to suffering at least as much as we were.

As I’ve said before, however well he performs, his style is wrong for our side. Luka and VDV want some movement up front, someone to pass to, not a stationary item perambulating around the box.

Modric was outstanding. I guess at some point he lost the ball in the tackle but I can’t recall it. Working back and hammering forward, passes long and short, he was the game’s driving force. Surrounded by world class footballers, he was head and shoulders above them all.

Is it so wrong for one man to love another? As giddy and goggled-eyed as a love-struck teenager, I worship Luka’s every movement and each precious gesture, every pass an object of desire to be cherished and immortalised in the memory. After the ball has gone, my gaze lingers for a further furtive fraction, just because I can. Gone are the days when I felt protective toward this frail figure as the premier League midfield behemoths bore down upon him with glinting studs and malice in their hearts. I have long since learned that he is more than capable of looking after himself.

Ironic then that my previous muse was also on the field. Dimi oh Dimi, how could you forsake me so? I wasn’t like the others. I saw through the pouting, the sulks, the lack of effort, even, at the end when the break-up all got a bit nasty, the tantrums and the way you behaved towards us. I prefer to recall the dazzling control and nonchalant brilliance, the effortless ease of a touched first-time pass or a volleyed goal as the ball dropped from the heavens.

Perhaps you’re the type I go for, hard-to-get, act surly and give me the run around. Worth it, worth all the pain and heartache, just for a few precious moments when you’re on fire. If we had stayed together, what could we have become? Truth be told, I’ve never really got over you, and secretly hope you’re happy with your new rich and famous partner. What you would do in this team, it doesn’t bear thinking about…but I do. How I long for your return.

A thrilling first half started to run out of steam by half-time. Far from the break being rejuvenating, the trend continued. After about 70 minutes, we were on top with much of the possession but running out of ideas. After that we rather went through the motions. The tempo dropped and even Rafael’s dismissal couldn’t revive our flagging spirits. Rafa temporarily perked up and ripped a bit deeper as finally Defoe came on but by this time the United central defence were solid and settled. Van der Sar had a relatively straightforward afternoon. VDV put the best chance an agonising fraction over but we never pierced the heart of their defence.

Much has been made in the media of United’s sterling defence but this is our 4^th clean sheet in 5 games. We can be open because of our attacking preferences so it is essential that we win the one to one clashes, or else there is often not much in the way of insurance. Yesterday all four defenders did well in this respect, coming away with the ball on the ground and not allowing United a way to progress.

I was looking in particular for Benny to have a good game in such a high profile encounter, because he’s been on the receiving end of undue and, in my view, unfair criticism. Hansen chose to have a go after the Everton game, when to be fair he did not play well. Now others are jumping on the bandwagon, Perry Groves the latest on 5Live on Friday. It’s classic punditry – largely a mess of received wisdom rather than doing what they are paid to do, watch lots of matches (oh the hardship) and make their own minds up.

Sadly he probably didn’t do enough to redress the balance. Plenty of sharp tackles and good interceptions but also a few moments where he let slip a ball that should have been dealt with, fatally over-playing and presenting United with two excellent opportunities. On the plus side he supported the attack better than in recent games, using the space that Bale creates (because he takes at least two defenders with him wherever he goes) to get wide.

In the second half, United made us play more down the right, that is, to keep the ball away from Bale. Refreshing though it was to see Hutton’s natural game at attacking full-back, the contrast was all too apparent between his hit-and-miss approach to distribution and Corluka’s recent reminder of how well he plays Lennon into the game. For his part, Lennon partly put aside an anonymous first half with some exciting forays down the wing but little came of them. VDV, as if over-compensating for the faults of others, tried too hard and wanted that extra touch or tried a wayward flick in desperation.

Palacios had a reasonable match, diligently sweeping up in the middle. The problem came when he moved forward,. United safely left him as the spare man, their attentions occupied by others, because his distribution and shooting were simply not a danger. At this level, you can’t afford a central midfielder who can’t pass, whatever his redeeming qualities.

It’s a sign of our progress that we are disappointed with only a point against an unbeaten United team but we should have made more of our periods of dominance. It’s also a sign of our stagnation that we do not have a high quality striker. I can’t fathom why Defoe, for all his faults, did not come on sooner but then again I can’t quite see why Crouch was picked to start. Maybe Harry thought that United are vulnerable on the flanks so we needed a big man to turn a plentiful supply of crosses into goals. However, leaving aside the excellence of Vidic and Ferdinand, it’s an overestimation of Crouch’s abilities to believe he was the answer.

Before the game I’d hoped to join in and report back on the ‘We Are N17’ pre-match protests but by the time your intrepid reporter reached the Bell and Hare, only the petition clipboards remained. On twitter I enjoy the morning comments – “play with the kids, breakfast then off to the Lane, few beers, meet friends” etc. For me it was walk the dog, hoover, put the washing on, load the car, down the dump, miss breakfast, tidy the garden then off.

However, I could celebrate the brave young woman who in suffragette tradition, threw herself not in front of a horse but of Andy Gray’s punditry quips. More painful, clearly, than the thundering hooves. The best half-time entertainment since Chirpy and the deckchairs.

She balanced precariously on the gantry for the sake of the N17 campaign. Did it appear on TV? Take a bow. Seen as well as heard. It took gumption to do that, go girl!