soccer

We’ve Got Sandro At The Back (And Harry On The Bench)

/ Alan / 19 Comments

The Sunderland fan on the train has low expectations but he’s loyal and a long way from home on a cold Sunday afternoon. Spurs have more points, better players and better prospects but he has his devotion to his club, a precious commodity these days for any fan as far as I’m concerned, so he expresses this in the time-honoured fashion: ‘Where were you when you were s**t?’

I guess this is what success means. Regular readers will know that whilst I’m unreservedly extracting every last Higgs boson of pleasure from the current run and this terrific team, I’m still pondering on what being successful feels like. It’s just that it’s been so long. 44 years on from my first match, I’m being accused of being a gloryhunter. The price of fame.

It’s odd. Spurs fans are often told they are fickle. We’ve had a reputation in the past of getting on the team’s back very early if things are not going well. This goes back to when I was a teenager. I don’t think we are any worse than the other Premier league teams who have been in the top division for a while and we’re a lot better than many, but even our detractors would have to acknowledge that we have stuck around. My kids are in their mid twenties now. They’ve been coming since they were little and they’ve not been there for the glory.

A ‘before and after’ victory. The ‘before’ was a first half reminiscent of so many sticky and listless afternoons during the dark days of old. Struggling to get going, no tempo, an absence of pace or inventiveness. Good players passing to shadows.And the surest sign of the old days – dull. Spurs and dull. These days it goes together like Ant and Ball or Cannon and Dec. How far have we come when we’re concerned about 45 minutes where we are superior and make a few chances, yet we know it’s not us because it’s not flowing?

Then ‘after’. A change of emphasis in the formation, add the commitment and determination of every last one of them, the talent’s already there and we are transformed. A shame there was only a single goal to show for our dominance but don’t let those late wobbles fool you: this was a decent victory and there were real and lasting positives in the manner in which we overcame adversity.

In these pages I’ve debated the pros and cons of our midfield set-up ever since TOMM began. Whatever the merits of playing two wide men, that’s what the whole team are used to. In the first half, it took us a while to escape the clutches of Sunderland’s packed and hardworking midfield but when we did knock a few short balls, they looked up to stretch the play and saw only empty grass. When we tried something, the ball was overhit – Modric to Lennon, Lennon to Walker, it looked the same but it wasn’t quite working.

When Lennon departed, we looked forlorn and bedraggled. Luka wasted on the left, Rafa couldn’t get on the ball, Parker deep. Pav on and had a good chance that he didn’t commit to, Manu good touches but nothing in the box. Crosses sailing over the far post. Sunderland had the best chance, a low cross that flashed across the box, but they had no ambition and Gallas had young Wickham in his pocket.  Following the evidence from the Stoke match last week I predicted that the high balls would rain down. Gallas gave away a stone and 4 or 5 inches but showed that a clever old ‘un has the drop on a good young ‘un. Apart from one free-kick conceded, he was the master. This season as last, it takes Gallas five or six matches to become match fit. He’s ready – a fine game.

The 4-4-1-1 with Bale and Lennon as attacking wide men has worked well. In the long run, I’ve discussed and advocated the merits of trying Parker and Sandro as two defensive midfielders with Modric central in front of them, Bale and Rafa and leaving out Lennon, despite his strong performances this year. Harry demonstrated the value of this set-up, at least as an alternative, in the second, tactical changes that brought us the three points and he deserves the credit. Although Parker did plenty of the fetching and carrying from deep, Sandro stayed back, Rafa and Luka could play in a more central position, leaving space out wide for Walker and BAE to provide width. Parker went further forward predominantly while Manu had a more roving commission up front. I understand why Pav came on, 2 up front because Sunderland were so cautious, but paradoxically it made us less incisive because we’re not used to playing that way.

Sandro had a good first half an hour – he saw this as an opportunity and was determined to make the most of it. Like the others, he tailed away as the half concluded. He then produced a storming second half until he went off near the end, exhausted after several lung-busting runs and feeling the effects of Thursday. This rock allowed the others freedom to get forward. When he lost the ball, he had but one thing on his mind, to get it back. He’s top class, born to that position.

Now we were cooking. These changes ignited the tempo. Rafa hit left foot pingers all over the place, Luka and Parker kept the ball moving and the full-backs were more than willing to help. We would have had more if Benny had been a fraction more accurate but Sunderland made it hard to penetrate their massed ranks.

The goal when it came was a sweet effort from Pav. I was in line, such a lovely feeling to turn away in celebration before it hit the net, knowing it was in. Otherwise, he didn’t do a lot, one decent shot. We should have had more – on twitter the match announcer Paul Coyte said Luka was kicking himself for the miss long after the final whistle. Rafa was well set at the edge of the box for a couple of his specials but he didn’t connect cleanly, and Manu was close twice. I’ve not checked the stats but we didn’t really make the keeper work too hard. That said, there was only one team in it.

Sitting on the Shelf means I’m close to our full-backs and wingers. We know how good Walker is but I want to tell you how focussed he is. There’s a look in eyes that would scare me if I played opposite him because of its intensity. Like Sandro, losing it means an opportunity to get stuck in. Nothing but getting it back. Brilliant.

Finally, a word of praise for Friedel. His calm understated excellence spreads to the rest of the team. A couple of good saves but his true value is in his safety. He catches where possible and when it is his, he makes it. His low save from a shot come cross late on was competent and expected but it meant so much, and if we do well this year we owe him a vast debt of gratitude.

So we’ve learned to overcome setbacks and we have a plan B. No wingers but we won, and won well. 606 on the way home, an Ar****l fan bristles at an earlier call from a triumphant Spur. He was wrong to write them off but she really got the hump. Showing that they don’t know the game, she wrongly said we haven’t won anything since their last trophy. She sounded as though she was a lot younger than me so she knows nothing but success. She needs some perspective. She was really edgy – I reckon that’s a sure sign of what success feels like.

I Couldn’t Handle It. We Were Winning

/ Alan / 6 Comments

‘Oh, is there a match on darling?’ It’s sweet of Adriana to sound even vaguely excited on my behalf.

It’s the first time today that I’ve thought about football. I’ve known for a while that I would be working late so I put it to one side, and anyway sitting next to Adriana for the afternoon’s meeting is distraction enough.

‘No it’s fine, just fine’.

‘Are you sure? I don’t mind, really I don’t.’ She looks me full in the eyes and I almost believe her.

‘No honestly. We deserve a drink after that rubbish.’

Still holding my gaze, she strokes my cheek with her fingertip then makes her way to the bar. It’s packed but a group of city suits part to let her through.

Actually, that’s not strictly accurate, not thinking about the game. More self-deception, part of the practised art of being a fan. It’s just not been on my mind as much as a Spurs match usually would, but as kick-off time came near my concentration fell away as part of me was over the water. No one noticed. It was social care after all – talking all afternoon with no decisions, then someone looks at the clock and earnestly declares we had worked hard enough for today, let’s take it away and re-convene in the New Year. I wondered if we might pull a few strands together but blank looks sent me scurrying to the pub. No wonder my career is going nowhere. I just don’t fit in.

Adriana is still at the bar and surrounded. She says something I can’t catch and the group erupts into laughter, which one red-faced guy takes as a signal to squeeze her leather skirt.

I screw my eyes up at the screen in the corner. Two up, must be near the end of the first half. Not bad, give it a go anyway, something about a lovely strike from Townsend but we lost this one in a single home game against PAOK. Played it tidily until then, win that one and through, but not now.

I turn away to rescue Adriana but she’s more than a match for the lustful yuppies. She hands me a beer and rolls her eyes in mock dismay. ‘Cheers!’

I glance at the TV, in slow motion Defoe is rolling the ball into the net via the defender’s back. The commentator brays, ‘Now it’s on!!!’ and I have to steady myself against the table. I hold my palm to my forehead and continue to stare.

‘Bad news darling? I thought your lot were doing well’.

‘It’s terrible. We’re winning.’

‘I saw on the news last Saturday. Very good! But your manager looks ill, darling, he should give up, have a rest.’

‘Couple of setbacks lately’.

‘What’s this match?’

‘Europe,’ I reply.

‘That’s good, isn’t it?’ she asks. Soothed by her interest, I can’t fight against the weight of 40 years. Against my better judgement, I embark on a brief discussion of the merits of the Europa League.

It’s a mistake. I struggle on with diminishing enthusiasm in every passing moment. Rather like the Europa League itself, in fact.  Her furrowed brow is a signal I cannot miss so I pause. ‘So this match doesn’t mean anything?’ she asks. I hastily gulp a mouthful of beer and nod at the same time with the inevitable consequences. ‘So why are you worked up then?’ she adds as I try to brush away the beer that has already soaked into my shirt.

‘Because it’s on again. The score is good for us in the other game, if we score two more and it stays the same, we’re through. Oh no.’

I just wanted a peaceful time until Sunderland and then Chelsea. Respite. Clear the head. But the pressure was on. I was unhappy about throwing away our decent chances in the Europa League. Ridiculous to be pleased to be out of a competition, even though I seem to be in the minority of Spurs fans in thinking that way. Win something shiny rather than come 4th, although I don’t see why we can’t do both. But I had reached an accommodation. Dealt with it, it was over, move on. Knew where I stood. But now, now we’re winning. That’s thrown everything up in the air. It could be so simple but now this. I steadied myself against the table again and prepared for the second half, tense, agitated, hopping from one foot to another. For football, I was back to normal.

Adriana’s bright blue eyes searched for something arcane and buried. ‘So you’re like this because they’re winning?’

I pause. She’s not heard the cliché before so it’s fresh for her. ‘In football it’s not the despair that gets you, it’s the hope’. She continued to stare for a few more seconds, her tooth dimpling her bottom lip. Then she patted me on the shoulder. ‘Watch the game darling, watch the game.’

She likes the stories. Of Dos Santos, a talent misunderstood by his manager who wants to party. To me, ineffective in a match where he should shine, she saw a young boy a long way from home. Or Kane, struggling against criticism unfair for one so young. She didn’t see the clever quick feet in his run or the instant turn for his goal but was delighted when he scored. She’s right, I’m sure his mum will be pleased. And no, I didn’t see the first half but they must have played a lot better, and no, I don’t know why they were so limited now. Or why they kept shooting from way out. It is easier for the goalkeeper to stop it, you’re right.

Near the end, the barman brings over a drink. Her sudden warm smile of surprise catches the young man unawares and he rushes away quickly to hide his blushing cheeks, in the process almost bumping into a man carrying a full tray of drinks. He swears unnecessarily loudly. The poor boy’s total salary will go in the dry cleaning bill for that suit, at least that’s what the man threatens.

The wine is from the suits. She holds it up to them, mouths a thank you across the crowded room and then turns her back on them.

‘Nearly over’ I say, visibly relaxing in defeat.

She smiles again. ‘Let’s stay to the end. I know you want to.’ She squeezes my arm. ‘Onwards and upwards. There’s always next week’. I squeeze her hand in return. Adriana understands more about being a fan than I give her credit for.

Mesmerising Spurs Swamp Bolton

/ Alan / 13 Comments

I may have a few crumbs of comfort for the Bolton fan who rang 606 last night to bemoan his side’s lack of application and effort. The same thing happens after every game these days, the fans of the opposing side making a similar complaint, and the common denominator is Spurs. Rather than your team not trying, it’s because they couldn’t get near us.

If it’s any consolation, this has come as a bit of a surprise for us too. The movement, the pace, consistency and teamwork – not words that trip off the keyboard when writing about the Tottenham of recent years. But hey, this is us, this is the real deal and its mesmerising allure has both our hapless opponents and the worshipping fans under its spell.

My only worry is how I’ll feel when this ends, the comedown during the long morning after the night before when my drug of choice fails to deliver the high that transports me onto a higher mental state.Still, that’s a while away, judging by this performance, and until then I’ll take my fill of this compelling delirium.

Another staggering, scintillating performance. Never mind the league position, on days like this, we are watching a side play football just for the sheer pleasure of being able to express themselves. Like a child who after toil and tears suddenly jumps on their bike and peddles off down the path, they’ve discovered the secret without quite knowing when or how. Once there, all they want to do is try it out.

So much to choose from the riches on display, where to begin? Luka Modric was the brightest star in the firmament. Scott Parker gives him the foundation and confidence. Freed from the anxieties of having to carry the whole midfield on his shoulders, he has that extra split-second in which to act and that’s all he needs. The ball to Parker that sliced open the Bolton defence would be a highlight of this and any other game if it weren’t for the earlier moment of sublime artistry when he arced a pass 40 yards into Benny’s stride. In the first half, two or three shorter and quicker efforts were no less excellent because they demonstrated the skill to deliver the ball to a particular blade of grass but also the vision to see where a team-mate’s run will be completed and an awareness of the defender’s position.

Bale, exuberant and unfettered on the left. How can a cross that was missed by not one but two players, Adebayor and Defoe, remain so memorable? When Bale delivers, that’s when. His diagonal runs inside caused problems throughout and he would have scored again if he had stayed calmer with his shooting. Bolton don’t do corners but those near-post runs if properly timed are hard to pick up. Scored one made one. The boot to the crowd looked bizarre from the Shelf but I get it now, a nice gesture.

Lennon capped a fine match with a well-taken goal that came at the right time, banishing any niggling doubts that we would be unable to convert our massive superiority into goals. He took it with the composure of a class striker, waiting for his moment amidst the bustle of the box, sensing that he had time and space then placing the ball into the corner. You couldn’t always describe his football in this way, and whilst I’m on the subject of changes, his ball control has been top quality lately.

And what are opponents supposed to do when you have both Lennon and Walker on the same flank? When the full-back is as strong as a centre-half and as quick as the fastest winger in the Premier League? When this same player made 44 passes and every single one of them went to a team-mate? He showed his defensive naivety when he committed to an interception that he missed and let in Eagles. However, he has the pace to get out of trouble and the capacity to learn. For the second goal, his header clipped away a corner then while the rest of the defence is ambling upfield he dashes twenty yards to pick up a pass, moves it on and sets up the move that resulted in yet another Spurs end to end goal.

Before this turns into a list, I must mention Defoe who was particularly good in the first half. He’s worked on his all round game and looks better now he’s coming from deeper rather than hanging around in the box.

We’d established our dominance before Cahill was unfairly sent off. Normally red cards are followed by delighted roars of derision from the crowd. This one was accompanied by an embarrassed murmur. With Spurs in this mood and form, Bolton stood no chance. However, credit Parker with the timing if this and other sorties forward. Throughout he picked his moment, ten yards acceleration to exert even more pressure.

The coaching staff at Spurs have been much maligned, although no one’s complaining at the moment. Before we scored, Kevin Bond was shouting and gesticulating at the strikers and midfield to pressure Bolton’s back four. They had obviously sussed this as a weakness. Result – we gain possession for the passage of play that led to the corner and first goal, then to the sending off incident. Also, if the skills coach is working on ball control, he has succeeded when other have failed. Anyone know his name? And banish any complaints about the players’ fitness – they look like they can run forever, but if you played the game like we are right now, you’d want to play all night.

Brilliant teamwork, breathtaking movement, we should have won by six. Their keeper was in fine form, although Manu does have a tendency to find the keeper. Rather than get over-excited, let’s just….hang on, for now, I’m going to leave it there. Actually, let’s get over-excited. Enjoy every moment. Rave on dementedly about how good this is and worry about the future another day. It’s not often you see Spurs play football this good. It’s a wonderful feeling to be a Tottenham fan.

Football fans have shown their true colours in the wave of empathy afforded to Gary Speed. My sympathy and good wishes to his family. The minute’s applause began yesterday before the referee’s signal, such was the desire to show our feelings.

Except that is by a few people in the executive boxes who felt that because they are privileged and behind glass, they are presumably different to the rest of us and therefore did not have to stand and applaud. They could not be bothered to lift their snouts out of the corporate trough to pay a moment’s tribute. Top tier boxes in the centre, above the tunnel and the bench. I can see you, and you should be ashamed of yourselves.

One Touch Too Many

/ Alan / 14 Comments

One touch too many, a phrase that sums up Spurs’ performance last night. A radically altered team seldom captured the flowing passing style that’s been a feature of our season and we couldn’t score against 10 men despite having all the possession and territory in the second half.

This was like a trip back in time, all the way back to, oh, last spring at least. Players wanting three or four touches on the ball when one or two would do. Turning back into their man when a simple lay-off would keep the ball moving and stretch our already beleaguered opponents. Haven’t they learned anything from playing alongside Parker the master?

As a result we were continually caught in possession and allowed PAOK time to regroup after half a break had been made. Their massed ranks meant our one-twos in and around the box bounced off knees and ankles as well as feet but they didn’t mind as long as it stayed far from their goal. Many like Defoe and Pienaar tried too hard, setting the ball up for the perfect effort rather than catching them unawares with the early shot. Pienaar in particular failed to exert any authority – let’s be kind, he was finding his way back to match fitness and leave it at that.

The fact that it looked so dire is a tribute to how far we have come since last season. We play at pace, in set patterns that rely on Walker and Bale as well as Lennon to be quick and direct out wide and for Modric and Parker to shift it swiftly and accurately in the middle. On three occasions in the second half, we played a ball wide right from about 30 yards out and there was no one running on to it. Not making excuses for shoddy passing (there was plenty of that), but this sort of move is rehearsed in training and encouraged on the night, barely look up because that’s what has been coached. Yet Walker wasn’t there, not until later. We’ve grown into comfortable patterns and couldn’t readjust in time.

It’s not so much the individual, it’s the blend. Quality players in an unfamiliar line-up are just that, individuals and by the time the worst of the shambles was over, we were two down and beaten, despite the penalty and sending off that brought us unexpectedly back into things. We couldn’t finish them off, that old familiar Tottenham. Balls into the box, no one to finish it off. Their keeper was excellent but seldom tested. Ah, the good old days.

I say it’s not so much the individual, that doesn’t excuse some of the desultory efforts on show. Rose showed why he has so much to learn about the art of the full-back, especially positional play. Corluka, a defender I have a lot of time for, was appalling. Looking to him for basics of good positioning and solidity, he failed with the basics of passing and covering all night. I realise he wants out but we looked to him for leadership by example and there was none. However, twice it was the defensive line up that left acres of space between the four of them, twice the Greeks scored. The guy with the first goal seemed almost apologetic that such a gentle header should count. Where was Livermore and the midfield cover? Where was the tracking back?

Sadly I wasn’t at the Lane last night. I say sadly – this is my foolishness, I would rather have been there to witness a defeat than stuck on my sofa. Anyway, Graham Taylor rightly picked out the ‘one touch too many’ refrain several times. He wasn’t so sure about what to do about it. When asked he chortled, ‘That’s up to Harry!” It’s a cracking gig, being a pundit. They get £2 or £3k a match, I think. I’m available. It’s true that I haven’t actually been England manager or played football at a level higher than the Oaklands Road Primary 1st XI but at least I have an opinion.

I would have played an almost full-strength team from the start. I’m old-fashioned enough to think that a European competition is worth winning and that winning something is better than coming 4th in something else. I’m also calculating enough to say that on the balance of probability, it was worth the risk, despite Liverpool’s example from earlier this week where Lucus was crocked for 6 months. I’ve praised Harry for easing us on to the outside with the minimum of effort, two furlongs to go and a clear run ahead without breaking sweat. Win this one, effectively play one match at anywhere near full tilt, and we were through to the stage where over 2 legs we could beat anyone. Get there, then take a view depending on how we doing in the league and the FA Cup. Stamina is not a problem for this team and we could have coped with this game.

Credit to PAOK. Unlike the away match, they were organised and determined, refusing to be shifted from their Alamo positions behind the barricades.

So I’m disappointed today, but onwards and upwards. Harry’s heart was never in it and in the end that was the attitude of several players. If we had been 5th or 6th in the league, maybe he would have taken a different view, but we’re third and deserve to be so Bolton it is and three points.

Finally, I’m also disappointed with how many people on the boards and on twitter have written off a few of our young players. I know we all get grumpy after a result like this but to dismiss Harry Kane’s chances totally as many have done, or Livermore’s for that matter, is ridiculous. Kane is just 18 years old, our central striker in a key European game, he worked hard and could have scored on two occasions, would have if it were not for a handball on the line.  It’s hard enough as it is for young players to make it, never mind a reaction like this.