Luka Modric – Virtuoso of the Spurs Midfield

December 29, 2010December 31, 2010 / Alan / 11 Comments

In the coffee bar of St Paul’s Church in the Park Lane, the benign Martin Luther King gazes down at the queue for tea and bacon rolls. The children have been remarkably inventive with their colouring project, considering that all they had to work with is the outline of a black man in a suit.

The ladies in the kitchen bustle at their task. Each treats the cramped servery as their own. At home the kitchen is their domain yet here they must share, so the fussing and unwanted advice means the service is slow. Even the vicar tuts with impatience as he takes the money. It’s value at £1.50.

Vaguely Gratuitous Use of A Great Man in Spurs Blog.

Looking around, there’s spiritual inspiration to be had from a few religious images, or perhaps the giant stuffed Speedy Gonzales, lying in the corner with a fixed grin.

This peaceful setting, with its attentive service (‘how would you like your egg cooked?’), youth club chairs and shiny toilets is tranquil yet vaguely unsettling. Football’s not about this. It’s about the grease of burgers, watered down sauce trickling down the wrist and hurried gulps of indigestion before the expectant rush to get into the ground. Too nice, it’s just not right.

The contrast with what was to follow could not have been more marked. Twenty minutes later, we were plunged into the midst of a physical battle that became increasingly intense as the match wore on, a seething froth of steaming tackles, gross duplicity and red cards. Newcastle’s defensive tactics gradually descended into systematic intimidation, encouraged by lenient refereeing.

That Spurs did not buckle under such pressure is a measure of our resilience, both mental to overcome the threats and our ingenuity in playing our way out of trouble. Yesterday, Bale and Lennon made and took two superb goals with a precious combination of breathtaking pace and slide rule finishing, but we were led all the way by a virtuoso performance from Luka Modric.

From first whistle to last, he scurried and scampered through the markers and tackles, untouched by the mayhem all around. When we had the ball he dictated the pace of the entire game, pass and move, a touch on or 50 yards cross field all the same to a player at the peak of his powers. He ran and ran and ran, constantly available to ease the pain of teammates under pressure. As the infidels thundered down upon him, he swayed and swivelled, a drop of the shoulder and he’s gone, no discernable change of pace but look, there he is, he’s away. No space in the crowded midfield throbbing with opponents intent on destruction, but there, look, in daylight, crouched over the ball then head up, a seemingly idle flick of the outside of the boot or a firm instep. Frail legs hide a frame of tensile steel, clip his ankles but he’s still upright, protecting the ball as if it were precious treasure, shielding and caressing it to safety. One moment, under pressure in our left full back position, the pass down the line to Rafa defied the laws of geometry and physics. A masterpiece from a truly wonderful footballer: one of the most complete individual performances I’ve seen for years.

From such rarefied heights, back to the blood and thunder. Early on, the air of expectation was palpable as Carroll took on our centre halves, for the game would surely turn on how we coped with their dangerman. Very well as it turned out. Daws was not prepared to give an inch. He’d spent days focussed solely on winning that first high ball and he was on top from the start. Such is our confidence that we let Kaboul take him on when the ball was on the left – whoever was closest. The Frenchman bolstered his growing reputation by not flinching either.

Defensively our task was made easier by Newcastle’s reluctance to support their centre forward. Later in the half Carroll won a few balls, headed perfectly into space but the nearest teammate. Barton usually, was 15 yards away. A total waste of their greatest asset.

However, the Geordies’ defensive outlook stifled our attacking efforts. Rafa struggled to find room, Pav’s control let him down at crucial moments and the wide outlets were blocked. Newcastle’s high line begged for a ball to be slipped in behind them but we didn’t make those runs, then they dropped back behind the midfield shield and that route to goal was blocked.

We found it hard to make any chances but could have scored just before half time when first Rafa missed a good headed chance then Pav’s downward header tantalisingly hit both posts before rolling clear. A fine save from Krul. We needed to up the tempo in the second half, We play better at the level of quick bordering on frantic.

Alongside Luka, Palacios was back to his bouncy best, covering diligently and snapping in with the tackles. He was a yard faster around the pitch, add something for his sharpened sense of anticipation and for 45 minutes it was as effective a piece of defensive midfield play as you could wish to see. Well, for almost 45 minutes. Twice he gave the ball away, leading to chances that Newcastle would not have otherwise made. The second time, the lunge and booking on Carroll was as predictable as England’s Ashes win.

The guy in the Newcastle midfield looked vaguely familiar. It took me a moment to realise this was Alan Smith. Once a highly gifted and mobile young striker at Leeds, Fergie paid a fortune to convert him into a decidedly average, albeit committed, midfielder. Injuries haven’t helped. I know he’s been away a long time because of injury but someone should have let him know that in the meantime they’ve changed the way you can tackle from behind these days. Trouble is, the ref seemed to be back in the nineties too.

Now I have some sympathy for refs these days. No really – the game is so fast in reality and so damn easy with the benefit of 37 slow motion replays that they have a nigh on impossible task. However, here was an instance where by not setting the standard early on, the referee allowed players to take too much freedom. Time and again Smith, Barton and Tiote chomped in. They should have been punished more severely, if not for individual fouls then for repetition.

Newcastle's View of the Build Up to the First Spurs Goal

If the eye was drawn throughout the game to Carroll, it was also impossible to avoid paying attention to Joey Barton, however hard I tried, and believe me I did try, so hard. I admit prejudice: surely no professional deserves the 50k a week less, given his history. But I am a warm and generous man, willing to embrace efforts at rehabilitation. Newcastle fans have been saying it’s ‘Joey for England, and certainly his effort can’t be faulted, trying to hold down a midfield berth whilst pushing forward to support Carroll and, later, dropping deep to try and start something, in the face of utter indifference from the anonymous Routledge and Gutierrez

But of course he started. On Rafa first, who is becoming a target now that the league has spotted his short fuse. Leaving his foot in on Kaboul, then twice digging Modric in the ribs as the ball was dead, actively looking for trouble. Luka just looked at him. Barton sees a frail victim, we see a battle hardened child of a war zone.

Then the free kick. We have the ball, about to launch from deep. Carroll goes down holding his head, ref stops the game. Carroll gets up, he’s hurt his leg. Barton takes the free drop, looks at Gutierrez, they point, Barton drops it the corner as Gutierrez follows up. If they had scored from that free kick… Naked opportunism, carefully thought through, that no one else would do. This loathsome objectionable individual is the Newcastle captain.

Still it got the game going. The atmosphere was boiling over once Kaboul stupidly fell for the provocation and saw red. This foolishness could have lost us the game – as it is, he’s out for three games just when we need him. Need him because this adolescent indiscretion aside he’s fast maturing into a high quality centre half. I believe he’ll become a top class player.

By this time, we were a goal up. Speedy Gonzales came to life with a lightening dash and rifled finish. Earlier we had struggled to raise our game and raise the tempo – we did everything too slowly but gradually cranked it up, inspiring this terrific little goal from an impossibly wide angle. Anderle anderle indeed.

A man down and we took over until the final whistle. Quality shone through the whole team. Luka shrugged, picked up the pace and the ball, dominated. Jenas had another good match, excepting his loss of the ball in front of goal. Harry could have withdrawn Wilson because the booking rendered him impotent but it was perhaps more positive than that. JJ can take the game to opponents who are retreating and he did so effectively, but perhaps his best moment was the great last man tackle at the edge of the box. Too many false dawns in the past to signal a JJ comeback but in this form he’s a cracking player.

Lennon and Bale pinned back the defenders, while Bassong showed the same fearless attitude towards Carroll as he did to Drogba recently. Against a bigger man he refused to give ground. Daws was there to sort him out too.

Another day, another ten men, another 80 yard move. Bale was off before you realise how much room he has, then it’s the familiar hold your breath surely he can’t get through no shooting from there never, it’s in, it’s in in, it’s in… you beauty.

A moment of breathtaking skill that was as incongruous in this match as the pre-match tranquillity of St Pauls Church. There’s a lesson there somewhere, that stick to your principles, play it right and you shall be rewarded. Vicar, there’s your sermon for next Sunday, Harry and the Parable of the Two Wingers. And if you could get some mustard in next time, that will be perfect.

Always On My Mind: The Members Club

December 10, 2010 / Alan / 2 Comments

I’m stewing in the velvet lobby so I call Adriana. Businesslike, she marches down the corridor. Out of my earshot, the doorman remains unconvinced, then she looks him in the eye and imperceptibly cocks her head to one side. A squeeze of his arm and I’m in.

From the corner of his eye he watches her sway down the hall. His grin fades only when she turns the corner into the bar.

‘This is nice’, I say as she folds into the deep sofa cushions.

‘Lola’s a member. We were going over the layout for the book. The salmon was superb and it was too cold to move. You don’t mind, do you?’

‘Guess I’ll have to get used to it’. She furrows her brow. ‘It’s great, really.’ I forget, Adriana doesn’t do irony.

She smiles uncertainly but, reassured, kicks off her shoes and pulls up her feet under her. ‘Sit down darling, it’s so cold.’

‘Chequers in Sutton,’ I go on. ‘Trainers.’ She looks unsure again. I push my Sainsbury’s carrier bag under the table and out of sight. ‘In the end, my mates went in ahead, then this girl brought out a pair of their shoes in her bag in return for us taking her friend in. Think she was only 16. I changed back into my trainers once I was inside. Don’t know what the fuss was about in the first place.’
She looks at me intently for a moment, her eyes wide in the gloom of the bar. ‘I never have any problem getting into clubs.’

It takes a while to be served at the bar, although it doesn’t seem very busy. A couple of advertising types are momentarily distracted from their tipsy creativity by the sound of Adriana’s laugh from across the room. When I finally bring the drinks she has company.

I beam with recognition and let out a choked gasp. Eventually, words. ‘I used to watch you every week. Fantastic!’ ‘I haven’t said ‘fantastic’ since I was 14. He smiles confidently, but not at me. ‘From the Shelf. Season ticket holder.’

‘At the Lane. 40 years.’

Finally he turns away and fixes me in the eye. For perhaps 10 seconds he looks, says nothing. Then he turns back to Adriana. ‘You’re so right,’ he says, ‘Morocco in October is perfect. Not too hot. Are you sure you’re not from that part of the world? It’s just your accent….’
I’m still standing, holding the drinks. I shift from one foot to the other. Eventually, I put them down and pretend to need something from my coat. The man smoothes out the sofa cushions and eases across.
‘Just off to the toilet’. ‘OK’, she says, without breaking the flow of the conversation.

When I return, the man has rejoined his friends on the other side of the room. Adriana plumps up the cushions. ‘Come, sit.’ She looks at me and laughs, suddenly hesitant. She says something and laughs again but I’m looking at the lock of hair that’s fallen over her eye.

‘Feel my hand, I’m cold.’ Her fingers edge out in that familiar way and touch mine. ‘You know him?’ she asks.

She purses her lips. ‘Don’t know why you like people that that. Thinks he’s got something, all talk. All he thinks about is himself.

‘You’re a good judge,’ I reply, ‘Overrated. Selfish’. A pause. ‘Cracking right foot, mind’

‘Sorry darling?’

‘I said I never really liked him.’

‘Neither did I. What is it about me, I always seem to attract these sort of men. Come closer, you’re all warm, warm me up.’

What A Waste

December 6, 2010December 6, 2010 / Alan / 12 Comments

Not That Frustration. Although the Popamatic Dice Shaker Brings Back Memories

Against Birmingham, a decent performance for the most part that ended in frustration, at least in my back room where I was hiding from the builders. Peace and quiet, you understand, total focus. They weren’t after me for money. Yet.

Harry seemed to share my exasperation. Post match, he waxed philosophical about being on top for so long, moving the ball well, holding possession and making chances, only for the game to turn on the introduction of Zigic.

Two points dropped for me, this one. Birmingham are a hard nut to crack. They have an enviable home record with one loss in over 30 games, I think. Much of this is built upon their famed powers of organisation and resistance, which can be of a ferocious intensity as they demonstrated in the derby against Villa in midweek. I thought they missed a trick in starting 4-5-1: these days we can deal better with this than when teams are able to put pressure on our defence. That’s what holds us back, the need to think about the possible repercussions of coming too far forward too often.

As it was, we passed the ball smoothly with the excellent Modric once more on top in midfield, energetically supported by Palacios and with Lennon and Bale as willing accomplices out wide. Loads of room despite the 5 midfielders. Anyway two of them were treading on Bale’s laces for most of the time in order to protect Steve Carr. Bale can play his part these days just by standing still.

Carr was a terrific player, flying down the wing and alert in the tackle, better coming forward than at the back, a mop of wavy black hair. He was never the same once injury blunted his pace. Although he became a better player technically on his return, making up in some part for the deficiencies imposed on him, he was encouraged to bulk up but athleticism not muscle was his game. Carefree expression gave way to surly shaven-headed dissatisfaction. I’m glad he’s still in the game after his career was threatened. I just hope it’s not a portent of things to come for another, much better, carefree flying wide man. One of the many tackles Bale rides each week finds its mark and the head clippers come out.

I admire the way Birmingham defend. Pinned back in their box, as they were for long periods on Saturday, they respond like wild cats backed into a corner. Bodies pile into the box to form a barrier packed tighter than bricks in the wall of a Mayan temple. Despite this, and here’s the source of that frustration, we were able to stretch them out of shape and out of their comfort zone.

Usually we had an extra man, not something that has always been the case this season. Defoe’s movement around Crouch, centrally stationed, was effective, Lennon and Bale were available as I’ve already mentioned and Crouch himself pulled wide to the far post usefully. He had a good first half, coming a little deeper so he could link up better with his team mates and encouragingly he had a couple of runners coming past him as targets for a lay-off or flick, another quality often absent in our play.

This Frustration

Chances fell to Defoe and Crouch and were missed but the advantage of 60% first half possession was not converted into scoring opportunities because of a problem with the final ball. JD, Crouch, Lennon, even Modric made poor choices when the moment came. Too often the wide option was taken: it’s safer but easier to defend if it ends up with a slow high cross and could have been balanced with incisive central thrusts into the channels. The goal when it came was from a loose ball after a set-piece, rather like Liverpool’s last weekend.

We began the second half well enough but soon the Spurs fans’ songs, loud and clear on my stream, sounded gradually more anxious, a sure sign that our opponents were creeping back into the match. I thought we had worked through a troublesome 20 minutes or so as we regained both our composure and possession.

However, Zigic meant a 4-4-2 with a focal point that hitherto Birmingham had lacked. The signs were there: Crouch becoming increasingly isolated and our midfield dropping deeper. Lennon and Bale out wide had worked back admirably well thus far but they stood off now. It’s not as if we don’t know what was happening – we get Crouch wide onto the full back often enough – but it’s hard to defend. Our back four missed Dawson and Kaboul all of a sudden. We should take our opponent’s example and have big men hammering through the middle to pick up the headers across the box. Gomes and Gallas scrambled one way from Ridgewell but Gardner did enough.

By the end, Lennon seemed reluctant to take on his man when given the chance in the last 5 minutes. I’m sure he was tired after a hard afternoon’s work but I hope they weren’t settling for the point.

Wilson worked so hard, again tiring towards the end – perhaps he felt safer away from the crazy booing last week. Gallas had another solid match and Bassong is back to good form but they weren’t quite strong enough in the end. Hutton’s passing was off and he was lucky not to be dismissed. The problem with these incidents Is not what happens on the day, it’s the mental note made by the rest of the League as they watch MOTD that Hutton can be wound up.

Harry was on about taking a point at Birmingham before the match but as I’ve said before, the problem with this ‘settling’ business is that it denies the potential, what might be. On the day, we should have converted our first half superiority into goals, so two points dropped for me, although to be fair, a year or two we may well have lost 2-1.

No sackcloth and ashes, mind. Progress can be judged over sequences of matches, beat Chelsea on Sunday and that’s 10 from 12 including victories over 3 of last season’s top four. I remain a little disappointed, however. I don’t obsess over the table but the fact is, this is the most open league for years. We’re opening a gap between us and 7^th, thinking of Europe next season, but we should be looking up not down. A win would have left us only 4 off the top, 1 off the top four. We’ve let slip a few too many points already and can’t afford to waste many more.

Culture, Spurs and the Community. And Manboobs. An Interview With Mark Perryman

December 2, 2010December 2, 2010 / Alan / 4 Comments

I grew up in an era when the t-shirt was a powerful means of individual cultural expression. The iconic image of Brando or Dean in a plain white tee gave way to the sixties counter-culture and revolution, at least at weekends, and the message shirts of the late seventies and eighties.

These days they are mostly mobile advertising for companies who convince punters to actually pay for the privilege of parading the latest brand name down your local high street. Recently two symbols of my glory days, Che and the Ramones, appear on mass-produced shirts available in Peacocks and Madhouse and thence to the chests of young people who may dimly who they are but certainly have no sense of what they stand for. The perfect sign of the times, perhaps, a post-modern appropriation of counter culture symbolic of our politically neutered society. Or mindless cheap tat.

However, some time ago I slipped back into t-shirts after finding one that expressed exactly how I feel. On the front, ‘The game is about glory, doing things in style’, on the back, ‘Blanchflower 4’. It’s torn and faded now but I can’t bear to part with it. Blanchflower’s quote has become a classic to the point of being over-used but I make no apologies: this is the absolute essence of being a Spurs fan and the first time I ever saw it was on this shirt, made by Philosophy Football. Not surprisingly the co-founder, Mark Perryman, is a Spurs fan.

“Blanchflower was the second or third shirt we ever did,” he told me. “He had sadly passed away and that great fanzine the Spur ran a feature that included

Philosophy Football's strictly unofficial T-shirt from http://www.philosophyfootball.com

that extraordinary quote.”

These days Philosophy Football has over 40 designs but the company came from humble origins. Like many of us, Mark and couple of friends came up with a fanciful idea after a match. The difference is, he did something about it.

“In October ’94 after a particularly dull home nil nil draw with QPR, we invited a Rangers friend of ours to White Hart Lane and took him out for something to eat afterwards. After the game we had 10 or 20 minutes to kill. I’d videoed a programme about the philosophy of goalkeeping – Eric Thorsvedt was on it and quoted Camus: ‘All that I know most surely about morality and obligations I owe to football.”

He continues, “Somewhere over Stamford Hill a blinding flash of inspiration found its way into our back bedroom. Someone said to turn it into a t-shirt, my instant response was, it’s got to be a goalkeepers jersey.”

A few shirts for friends became 150 that sold out by Christmas by word of mouth only. Other designs gradually followed but it remained a hobby. I imagined I was dealing with a professional concern, then I spotted the address was a residential street that I cut through on my route to the Lane. Mark chuckled at the memory: ‘It paid for my season ticket and away trips. Friends were coming round and packing them in the back garden on a Saturday morning. We stored them in the bath! At Christmas we would nick a Tescos trolley and make 20 trips a day to Stamford Hill post office. We gave the staff a shirt each by way of thanks.”

These days their annual sales run to 5 figures but Mark stays close to his roots. “It earns us a living but we do it because we love it. If Philosophy Football wasn’t selling me shirts, I’d have to go and find a company where I could buy shirts like this. Go into the Spurs Shop, they have hundreds of products and nothing I would ever want to buy. It’s commercialised and tacky, I’m not walking around advertising a company I’ve never heard of where the logo takes up more space than the club badge.”

Remaining playful rather than po-faced, many of the shirts show the significance of football in society, and do so with a concise wit and intelligence.

Class consciousness (“Emancipation of their class appears to them a foolish dream. It is football which moves them and to which their material means are devoted.”) sits alongside a diverse group of philosophers, footballers, Monty Python and Bob Marley: “Football is a part of I. When I play the world wakes up around me.” Cricket has recently taken its place alongside a number of contemporary political causes, plus shirts that just look tasteful.

The latest offering, from Bobby Smith, is timely not only because it ties in with the 50th anniversary of the Double but also as it addresses the concerns many of us have about the modern game. Under the Double team line up runs the quote: ““Today they play for the money. We played for the glory.”

There’s no doubt these shirts do make connections. People have a story that goes with them. Mine is when I was in London about 15 years ago, when football apparel was not the huge industry it is now. A woman asked why I was wearing a Brazil-style shirt with Pele on the back and the slogan on the front: ‘Football – it’s the beautiful game’. I replied that in Britain we loved Pele and Brazilian football. The woman was close to tears, ‘I am from Brazil I travel all this way, you know my country and my country’s football.’

Mark added that a recent shirt celebrating the role of Polish airmen in the Battle of Britain brought similarly tearful contact from a young Polish woman, amazed and grateful that her countrymen were remembered. Their most high profile affiliation is with the Hope Not Hate campaign against the BNP. “If we lose a few racist customers for our football shirts, then I’m not particularly bothered to be honest,” Mark firmly concludes.

Like many of the sources of his quotes,Mark is himself a deep thinker about the game and its place in contemporary society. He’s a West Stand season ticket holder and also represents England supporters abroad. I wondered if the Philosophy Football approach led to charges of over-intellectualising the game. The image comes to mind of the Fast Show character, sitting delightfully in Highbury, where else, with his hamper and wine. Mark shrugs this off and quotes Cryuff that ‘football is a game you play with your brain’ (available on a t-shirt, naturally), citing Van der Vaart, Klinsmann, Modric and Ardilles as examples of the benefits of a cosmopolitan approach to your football.

He warms to his theme. “I resolutely reject the whole idea of the bourgeoisification of football. If you go to any away game, Spurs or England, it’s resolutely a working class culture. That’s not to say tickets aren’t more expensive than they deserve to be. Much more serious is the corporatisation of football. I sit in the West Stand listening to the accents, the people spending 1k plus on their season ticket are from an upper working or lower middle class background. It’s obvious people are making sacrifices.”

He’s right. As prices rise, I cut back on other things because the club is so much a part of my life. Football accounts for over 90% of my expenditure on leisure – I just don’t do other things in order to get to Spurs. Exorbitant prices contribute to the rise in the average age of fans. Young fans attend a few games a season, watching the rest on Sky. Mark does not fully agree. “The problem of who does and does not go to football is not so much the price, although that is an issue, it’s access to tickets. New fans can’t get one for the big games that everyone wants to go to.”

The increased capacity of the new stadium would help in this respect but, speaking before the Stratford bid, Mark presciently identified the worrying issue of how the club is drifting away from its roots and its locality.

“I’ve lived in Tottenham since 86. I cycle to the ground and I’m home in 15 minutes but the club doesn’t address the fact that it’s no longer a north London

If you are feeling militant...

club. There’s no real obvious presence there from people from the locality. In fact when I hear people chatting about Tottenham where I sit it’s pretty obvious most people don’t particularly like the area. They’ve moved away to Herts or Essex or Kent or Sussex, moved away and moved up in the world, in life.”

This phenomenon isn’t unique to Spurs, rather, it’s the case throughout London. “West Ham as an east end family club, bollocks, it’s a club of south Essex”.

I mention Spurs interest in the community – they do a lot of work in my field, social care- but Mark remains unconvinced: “I like to see Spurs take more seriously work in the community but most is selling half term coaching courses to middle class children in Essex. They don’t actually do anything in the borough of any significance. I fear that if they get the new ground that connection with the locality will become even more distant.” He cites our Islington neighbours as an example, where more people than ever before come from outside the locality and which he describes as ‘becoming a destination rather than a team.”

From a tasteful way to cover up your manboobs to the sharpest critique of a club’s place in its community that I have heard this year, the last word firmly takes us back to our roots. Mark needs the help of TOMM readers. “We would love to do a Dave Mackay shirt to tie in with the Double. Years ago I read a quote, maybe about the football being a diamond, but I can’t find it anywhere.” Over to you.

For more about Philosophy Football click here