Redknapp

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

/ 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.

What Do Gomes, Dawson and Bale Have In Common?

/ Alan / 7 Comments

I’ve been reflecting on this tumultuous week past for Tottenham Hotspur. I say reflecting: what I really mean is, I’ve been thinking of little else. Work has suffered, naturally. Days like today, when I have been office and computer based, have passed in a giddy and unproductive haze, just remembering. From my office window I’ve not been dissuaded by the slice of daylight above the large breezeblock wall, even though it frames the twin chimneys of the cement factory, and still I gaze dreamily into space.

Talking with people, the other major component of my role, has however been a belter. I’ve been on scintillating form, even if I say so myself. On the ball, sharp as a pin, empathetic and witty, where logic has failed to win the day, sheer charm has taken over. Perhaps work would fund a portion of my season ticket, if not in gratitude then as an investment in my future performance levels. I’ll run it past the chief exec and let you know what he says.

I can’t recall a week quite like it since I’ve been a fan, which is 1967 onwards. Not one with both the sheer joy of the victories against Arsenal and Chelsea but also containing such extremes of despair and elation. All suggestions welcome. One that comes to mind is the ’81 cup final, when the replay was on the Thursday following the first drawn match. The anticipation of what was my first final gave way to the realisation at some point in the second half that actually we were going to lose, then the ecstasy and overwhelming relief of our fortunate equaliser. Then that goal at 2-2 in the replay, the absolute pinnacle of being a Spurs supporter.

But of the all the things from this remarkable special history-making sodding brilliant week, one provides a glow so warm you could toast your marshmallows on it – the performance of players who in many quarters had been written off. Not good enough for Spurs, won’t take us to the next level, total waste of money. Get rid. At one time or another, these and other charges were levelled at the three supernovas in a galaxy of stellar performers, Gomes, Dawson and Bale.

Less than three weeks ago the mighty brains of the Sky pundit panel solemnly identified Gomes as Tottenham’s weak link. We who knew differently had faith, but the image lingered of the kindly face of this gentle and loving family man contorted into a rictus grin of terror every time he emerged from the safety of his line to deal with a cross. It was not so much the fumbles,  although they were agony enough, it was the look of sheer bewilderment that followed that truly worried us.

So we roared our approval at his gravity-defying leaps into the top corner, gasped as his reactions palmed away goal-bound shots, cheered with gratitude as, one on one, in the tangle of long limbs the ball bounced to safety. Above all, in all this was the element of delight and pleasure that he had become one of ours, his struggle to demonstrate his skill and determination complete, and all this on our behalf. Show them, son, you show them all, every last one who sniggered as we suffered, you’ve shown them.

Dawson’s mask of devoted concentration broke towards the end of the Chelsea game. Ever alert and steely-eyed, he bent to pull up his socks, necessary as his mental exercise to gather himself and stay focussed, and he grinned. He finally took pleasure in his own performance as well as that of the team, as his name was belted out from all four stands. From a gawky clumsy and ungainly oaf to John Terry’s replacement. The Park Lane spotted it first, then the football media have followed this week.

We can only imagine how hard he has worked this season. Recovering from injury is difficult enough, but then he found himself out in the cold and watching from the sidelines as without him we secured a low goals against tally. He waited, and when his chance came, he made damn sure that he took it. Nothing was going to be left in the dressing room. In the past he’s held something back for fear of making a mistake, but his wholehearted approach is precisely his biggest strength. He let rip in a series of fearless performances, the background to which must have been not only the need to avoid jeopardising the team’s success but also the worry that this could be his final opportunity, with five centre halves in the squad and a manager impatient for progress. He is nothing short of outstanding.

And Bale, the terrified hesitant youngster or scourge of the best defences in the league, a rabbit stuck in the headlights or the most dynamic full back around? This force of nature was comparatively recently in danger of being consigned to the dustbin of Spurs history, the overflowing section labelled ‘Promising youngster – Failed’.

I’ve mentioned before a 5 Live commentary of a cup match when he came on as sub. The commentators could hear the bench screaming at him to get forward, in a game that carried little pressure, but he was immobile, unsure about how to react. Again he has suffered the pain of serious injury that for young players can leave emotional scars more lasting than the physical damage, but given the chance presented by BAE’s injury, he was determined to take it.

One of the things about writing on the net is that your opinions hang around in the ether for eternity and come the day of reckoning, all will be taken into account. A couple of years ago on MEHSTG I described Bale as a world class prospect, but I never realised that he was this good, and frankly, neither did he. We’ll gloss over the ‘this is JJ’s year’…for two years running…

Three magnificent footballers, who I dearly love and cherish, who should never leave us. They’re ours – we’ve watched them grow and mature, now as part of our family we can marvel at their talents.

In closing, a reappraisal. We were awful against Portsmouth but perhaps in the light of subsequent events my verdict that they lacked the resilience to perform at the top was harsh. They could have done more, should have taken hold of that game without playing well. However, in hindsight many of them were not fully fit yet they gave everything in terms of energy and commitment. Corluka was obviously totally gone but he kept moving and tried his all. I don’t believe that the Arsenal and Chelsea performances emerged solely from the motivation of defeat at Wembley. Deep down, it came from a commitment to doing their very best for Tottenham Hotspur, and you can’t ask for anything more.

Spurs v Chelsea

/ Alan / 16 Comments

Not again not twice not both of them not in the same week. You hardly dare think about the possibility. On Sunday they were out on their feet after 70 minutes, after 120 they were the living dead. It’s OK, they did enough on Wednesday. You always want more, in that delicious five minutes before kick-off, when all that has gone before is forgotten and time begins, always hope for more. For so long we couldn’t beat them at all. Yet twice in one week.

The surprise of spring sunshine in the afternoon is pleasant on your back but it’s not right for a derby. The journey is too easy, park up with no problem, it’s all just too – nice. Early evening football is wrong somehow. The teams emerge and there’s a phone call.My boy, a man now, tall and strong, is cut down. As passionate and silly and consumed and soppy about the club as you were at his age, he lives for each match. The news is delayed by the discordant and irrelevant Premier League anthem.No music fires us like the sight of white shirts and navy blue shorts. The call confirms the worst. His friend, the same tender age, has hours, his insides eaten away by cancer ravaging his organs and his spirit. My boy leaves to be with him for the last  moments, we blink away tears and scream louder than ever at the kick off. From inside, let it out, screaming and shouting to get it out somehow.

And we play. Oh how we play. Ball to feet, one touch and pass, then move on. The others are moving too. Ball to feet, they want the ball, no one hides, they pass and move. It flows upfield and endangers their goal. Modric leads. Luka little Luka ball to feet moves it with a touch to me to me, in comes the tackle  but he moves it on with sway and swivel, in his stride, theopponent thinks he has a chance but Luka is away, the defender left spurned and forlorn by the object of his desire, wondering where it all went wrong. But Luka, lovely little Luka, is already looking fo rmore, to me to me, head up gliding into space, balanced and poised amidst the turmoil, who wants it who needs it. The pass is angled and perectly weighted, he moves on I’m here to me to me. It is a masterclass in creativity and he runs the midfield. It is beautiful.

Huddlestone too, cumbersome and unfit perhaps this past few days. How could a man of his bulk disappear on Sunday? Yet he’s put that behind him because time begins at kick off. He moves, he’s available to me to me, pass it on, long and short to me to me. Pav wanders when on Wednesday he stood still, Bentley wide, Bale running, running. To me to me. Pav shoots, Bentley messes up, Defoe’s power blocked.

After ten minutes you draw breath. This is happening.You thought it could not get any better after Wednesday night but this is happening. Deco, Lampard, Mikel, Cole, they are all there but look at the space in midfield. Arsenal did not let us rest for a second, they tackled and nicked and nipped and smothered, but Chelsea watch us play. This is a training match. Ancellotti is the tactical master at every level but hasn’t he watched the DVDs. What about all those blokes with clipboards and notepads who sit behind him, or Arnesen who left us behind because we were not good enough for him? Just Watch the DVDs for five minutes,or ring Mick McCarthy, Tony Pulis orPhil Brown (he’s  got time on his hands), this isn’t the way to play against Spurs. Later, Mikel injured and you make Deco the defensive midfielder. Idiot. Ta.

Bale stampeding forward is stopped only by an outstretched leg but nothing. Then handball. Not him,someone else give the ball  to someone else anyone else not the shimmy please not the shimmy just plant it please not the shimmy. Bang! That’s what you do best bang it, one up and fully deserved. Chelsea top of the league and outplayed by the living dead.

Bale is unstoppable, a force of nature rampaging down the left. He is a sprinter with the build of a middleweight and the touch of an angel. He rips huge gaping holes in the defence from first to last. Again he’s on the ball, off then slowed, almost stumbled, they close in but he is away, all is well we’ve shifted him to his right foot and Cech has the angles covered, then low and firm, near post, as Cech dives he thinks he has it, my near post that’s mine but it’s gone before your hand is fully outstretched grasping only thin air. This is happening.

Space in midifled means they have more men up front. We  organised superbly against the Arsenal but this lot have Lampard, Ballack and Drogba, they have bodies waiting as it comes forward. But we have Gomes. Ridiculed by pundits and fans throughout the land, the icy fear in his bulging eyes when he came for crosses sent shivers down the spine. Past tense. Lampard lightening volley and Gomes leaps to his right, all arms and legs but look at those hands, together and strong, just as they were for an earlier stinging long shot. We have Gomes and wouldn’t have anyone else. We have Gomes.

Corners and pressure, just keep them out,hang on until halftime, the better team, well on top, don’t let yourselves down, hold onto halftime. You won’t let me down, you’ve done enough to prove yourselves this week, the living dead, don’t let yourselves down.

Half time.Time to catch your breath, slap a few backs, shaking heads. Can’t last. Not Wednesday and tonight. Is this really us? Can’t last.The whistle blows, they attack, balls into the channels, Drogba absent in the first period, moaning now  and a better player for it. Balls into channels, where’s Ledley? They were saving him for tonight, for Drogba, pace over ten yards, strength to hold him off, intelligence and anticipation to get there first. Where’s Ledley, I wish Ledley were here, wish Capello could see Ledley.

But we have Dawson,strong and tall. We have Gomes, sweeping up the loose. We have Bassong, inspired and surprisingly strong. They have too many men forward, if only we could set Pav and and JD free, just keep them out. JD on the break, one on one, game over – he’s missed it! Bale unstoppable, missed it! Pav moving well, drops back working so hard.This is what English football is all about, hear the noise, work back, sprint forward,work back.It’s worth it, enjoy it, you understand now what it’s all about, you are working so hard and enjoying it. Here’s the chance you’ve worked so hard for- missed it! How many more, how many more….

Terry unblinking as the abuse washes around him. Looking tough but inside it’s getting to him. Wayne, Vanessa, we don’t care, your mother or your father, couldn’t give a flying one. Just now, just this moment. It’s not pleasant but it is all we have. The Land Rover with the tinted windows, the PR machine, your media mates, the electric gates at the house, cut off from the real world, cut off from us, all that money, no protection now.  It’s all we have and it’s getting through. Two fouls and gone. You have a word with Bale, somehow his fault that he was too fast for you, old man. The kids smiles and answers you back, didn’t expect that did you?

The abuse, the songs, the chants, the noise. Great slabs of noise rise from the stands of this old ground, high and close to you, feel the noise, closing in. No escape. Chelsea fans sing about the library. Meanwhile the Lane is rocking and rolling, shaking to the foundations, ten on the richter scale. A roar from deep down, all those defeats, those years of pain, now we have a team. Down and out on Sunday evening, they have dragged themselves up somehow, some way, and we are beating the top of the league easily. Easily the better team. They are giving everything and so shall we. From the Park Lane, the Paxton, East Upper, new songs roll around, picked up on all sides. Chelsea surrounded, no escape. This is as good as it has ever been. Steep stands and devoted fans. A proper football ground.

Keep the ball, keep it. They always come back, can’t if we have the ball. Stay on your feet, don’t dive in. Keep it Bentley you greasy haired poser, stay on your feet that’s it nice and easy keep it. Working hard, never stop, no one stops, every last one of them. Just keep it.

Dawson, our mighty leader, we’ve got Dawson at the back. First to every ball, blocking with every fibre of his body, get in the way. Drogba dozing no more, through, shoots, far corner but there! Dawson from nowhere and blocks. The crowd rise and roar, the mask of fierce concentration slips for a moment and he grins to himself. One of us, a remarkable performance, leading from the front.

As Luka moves towards the ball already in the background Bale is off. Lung-busting surges from deep, unstoppable endless energy, how many times in the last week, how many? Ferreira, international,broken and substituted at half time, as before him Salgado then Kelly. Magnificent physicality and atheticism.They can’t stop him,but the ball slides tantalisingly past the post. Pav clear, hit it turns, hit it! Flickity flick fuckety fuck wide. Just hit it!

And they score, same goal as the Arsenal, same time, same anxiety in the noise. Then it’s over, sweet relief then overwhelming joy. Both of them vanquished. Tears for the team, for my boy, for his friend, his family. A wild and crazy week,contrasting emotions but those emotions, wretched and ecstatic both,were profound and lasting. This is our team, our wonderful wonderful team. This why we do it. Our wonderful team.

Monday Monday, Can’t Trust That Day…

/ 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.