sports

Too Late, Too Far Gone

/ Alan / 48 Comments

Dear Ashley,

Wise words, my friend. You’re right, so right, I shouldn’t get worked up.

I paid proper attention to that comment in my last piece, because it was all getting out of hand, what with the tension of the last day of the season. I ate lunch during half-time of the Villa game and as the minutes passed, I felt like I’d be physically sick, such was my frustration at not scoring and fear that we would come away with nothing. Ridiculous. I’m a grown man, with hair- and waist-line settling into middle-age even if my enthusiasm for the good things in life lags two or three decades behind. Enjoy the game, the passion, the excitement and the downside that inevitably comes with it, but don’t allow it to take over.

Never have I needed such wise counsel as this week. I couldn’t shift the Doomsday Scenario from my mind. It had been coming for weeks and now it was almost here. Ar****l were ahead, Chels could just turn up, open up the deckchairs in the centre circle  and still come away with a win. Abramovich could persuade fate to his way of thinking. RVP, the semi-final, Barca, all down to this; the gunners take third not on points, not on goal difference but on the odd goal scored. Chels then usurp our Champions League place as well as ram the trophy down our throats for evermore. In the 45 plus years I’ve been an active Spurs fan, this wasn’t just the ultimate indignity, this was the end of days.

These days I just roll with it. Thought it would diminish with age, fade away like the careers of so many fine players I’ve seen come and go at the Lane. Not a question of too late to stop, it’s a force beyond my control. I think it, dream it, talk about it, but it’s the feeling most of all. Visceral, all-encompassing, a physical and emotion reaction in time with the ebb and flow of our fortunes.

I missed half a season in each of several years in the nineties when the kids were young. That’s OK, priorities right and all, but the thing is, I still felt it. Felt guilty that I wasn’t there – hah! As if the club cared. Felt better when I was there. Can’t deny it. Still, on matchdays, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. Trips to the park glued to the radio. Alone in my flat on a bank holiday weekend, kicking every ball as we fought relegation at Wimbledon.

Took my children as soon as they were old enough, whether they wanted to go or not. Oldest on my shoulders when we won the League Cup but he still kept his Liverpool shirt. Other son when he was 5 or 6. He told me later that because of his eye condition, he couldn’t see the game at all. Thought he spent a lot of time playing with the cord on his anorak. Daughter came along just so she wouldn’t be left out. Now my oldest has sadly gone but we three sit together. I apologised at full-time yesterday.

Kick-off was a relief. At least we were nearer to knowing. Sunny day, players with new hairstyles, committed, focussed, up for it. Noise rolling around the grand old ground, back in time to these seething crowds of 56,00o that had me under their spell. Never found the antidote, but then again I haven’t looked very hard.

On the old BBC radio commentaries, Peter Jones used to cut in halfway through the second half to “welcome listeners on the BBC World Service, wherever you may be”. That really made an impression as a child. Football brings people together the world over like nothing else. And so it is with Spurs. Me, I’m grateful and mildly surprised that anyone reads this blog. Tottenham On My Mind because it is. Helps with the obsession. The obsession of a non-obsessive, non-addictive personality? Sounds damaging, that’s just occurred to me. It will always be niche but the new wordpress stats tell me not only how many people read it but where they live. People all round the world check in. People from countries I have never heard of. Wherever in the world they may have been, at 3pm their hearts were in N17. Their  hearts were beating fast.

Kaboul ventures forward. Too early, a contender for player of the season but he remains impetuous at times. Or clever tactics maybe – push the spare centre half forward if Fulham only have one up front. No time to think about it. Ade to Rafa and back, perfect side foot, I’m right in line and leap to the skies before it hits the back of net. Beautiful football, the perfect start. If I’m a nervous wreck, the players must be calm. They were overjoyed – it meant something special.

The Lane is rocking, don’t bother knocking. Well on top and a rumour that WBA were 3-1 up kept us bouncing, but downhill from then on. We made and missed a few chances, Bale and Rafa but were performing well enough. Fulham, limited ambitions but we let them back into the game and twice Friedel saved us, the second a fine, fine save low to his right. If the game was a trial for Dembele, as far as I’m concerned he passed and we should bid.

Defoe put us out of our misery, picking up a loose ball to settle if not totally quell the nerves. Before that, a polite version is that we played possession football, same after. Less generous assessment is that it was the dullest game of the season. A couple of beachballs in the Paxton but it felt like Margate on a rainy autumn day.

Plenty of time to ponder on what might have been. The January window, not who we didn’t buy but the lack of cover by letting Pienaar and Corluka leave. Injuries, to Daws and King in particualr unsettling a jittery backline, to Sandro, mighty alongside the excellent Livermore today and how we could have done with his drive and tackling. Stoke, points dropped at home, offside goals away. Chels at Wembley, goals and sendings off that never were, Norwich, rubbish (us not them), Villa rubbish (us and them), even after all the ups and downs just one more win, two draws even. Fourth is a good season, but  the might-have-beens are an itch I can’t scratch.

I guess the blog is a form of therapy, Ashley. I can’t believe people take the time and trouble to join in. They read it it and actually bother to comment. I’m touched by it, each and every one, genuinely. Very emotional, see. Wept when we played gorgeous thrilling football earlier in the year, wept as we shouted, screamed for Muamba to live. Guess in reality the blog is all about one thing, why this wretched beloved team holds its grip after all these years. Some of the stories get the closest. Adriana tolerates but doesn’t understand, why it’s always on my mind.

Too late to change, so roll with it. Regards to everyone who reads Tottenham On My Mind and sincere thanks for the many kind comments I’ve received this year. I’m profoundly grateful, it’s kept me going.  A busy week for me but a season’s round-up in the next week or so, a few more pieces over the summer, change of design but it’s all about the words so it will be, basically, exactly the same.

Time for a dip in the pool, Ashley, then a stroll on the strip with the models, poseurs and queens. Me, I’ll look forward to my next trip to Tottenham High Road. It’s where I belong. You’re a good man, have a cold one for me.

Kind regards,

Al

Spurs Are A’Coming! Circle The Wagons!

/ Alan / 29 Comments

Tottenham Hotspur’s spring tour of the lower regions of the Premier League finished in the Midlands on a frustrating note as we hammered away at Villa’s massed ranks for 90 minutes without scoring from open play. Going down to ten men early in the second made only a momentary difference to the pattern of a game where we had all the ball, plenty of shots, countless corners but were unable to find that single moment of finesse to create a golden chance. As it was, we bludgeoned away at the one place where our opponents were strong, the centre of their defence, with a predictable lack of success.

It’s set up a cataclysmic final day at the Lane this coming Sunday that epitomises the contradictory nature of being a fan: we could well do without it but are desperately compelled to be there. Last August, the promise of the chance to take third place would have been enticing. Now, it’s laced with fear and dread, a threatening reminder of the devastating emptiness of failure rather than the prospect of joyous glory just 6 days away.

This of all seasons, where we have at times played the best football in a Spurs generation, will generate more debate than any other. Look back for a turning point and there’s something in most of the last twenty-odd games, ranging from the whole tactical and motivational approach at the club through the capitulation at the Emirates, refereeing decisions at Stoke, the January window and the width of the lace of Defoe’s boot away at City.

Yesterday was no exception. This tour has not shown the best side of scenic England. At least Bolton were brave enough to play some football and take the game to us. If you want another turning point to add to the lengthy list, Boyata’s miss just before half-time tipped the balance of that match at least. Blackburn and Villa were both awful but whereas the former lacked motivation and resolve, Villa seemed hamstrung with nerves and fearful of their own lack of ability to create any sort of attack. By the finish, their manager was slumped in his seat sharing dark jokes with a coach, the result in the hands of fate. There was nothing more he could do as his eleven were swamped by our ten.

Yet by then they had managed to score from open play, something we conspicuously failed to do. Granted it was courtesy of a giant deflection – I don’t see how Friedel could have reached it – but it was another crucial moment. We should have closed down the scorer but by then had already established the pattern, pushing forward from all sides and angles. We should and could have more alert to the basics at the back.

You want turning points? As if that wasn’t enough for one match, how about an inexperienced full-back charging in for a loose ball in a relatively safe area with his foot off the ground? Rose was a little unfortunate – the ball was off the turf but he caught Hutton with his follow through. However, he had to go. Whilst I admire his commitment to go wholeheartedly for that ball, a calmer head would have shown the discretion that was required at that point. As it was, chasing the game and down to ten men.

Our panic was comical. Having totally dominated, we then madly kicked the ball backwards high towards the goal, fell over and generally went barmy. Soon it became apparent that it really didn’t make much difference. Villa had no idea what to do with the ball so allowed us to re-establish control. For the rest of the match we huffed and puffed, forcing our opponents back into their box as they threw the wagons into a circle for a last ditch rearguard action.

In the end, it was an old failing that did for us. Despite being gifted an opening when the otherwise inspiring Dunne fouled Sandro in the box, we failed to capitalise. Early in the season we could break down defences through movement, pace and patience. Somewhere along the way we’ve lost that ability. Once again we could not find a way through the massed ranks. Bolton win friends because they want to play but we ruthlessly exploited the gaps that they left behind. When Villa had no inclination or apparent understanding of how to keep the ball in our half of the field even though they had an extra man, it’s a very different matter.

I’m not inclined to be too harsh. If you had joined the game for the last 25 minutes, there was no way to tell we were a man down. However, although we kept plugging away, we could never produce the width or the extra man to make the breakthrough. In the first half, our moves broke down late on as we got near their box through lack of a decent final ball. Modric disappointingly never found his range, while Bale and Lennon came inside too frequently where the ponderous but stout Villa back four were ready for them. Not a great one for stats, nevertheless at half time my stream showed that only 6% of our attacks came down the left. With Bale and Rose, we needed more but the latter’s dismissal scuppered the half-time tactics talk to give us more width.

As it was, we repeated past patterns of failure. A stream of crosses into the box that the Villa centrebacks headed away. They did it extremely well, all credit to them, but as I’ve said before in these cyberpages, I’ve spotted that we only have one big striker, Spurs still haven’t picked that up. Villa wouldn’t budge and we did not demonstrate the patience or wit to hold onto the ball and try to shift them from their entrenched positions. Back to the ten men again, back to the might have beens.

Nobody played particularly badly. Rose’s positional play was dodgy again and Luka’s passing was way off. No one had an especially good game. Kaboul made some fine tackles but at other times was wayward and impetuous. Sandro was strong and mobile, Lennon was bright and Manu’s movement was decent. Redknapp dithered over substitutions but I’m feeling unduly sympathetic. I would have brought on Defoe and gone for the win – even allowing for the remote possibility of Villa scoring, a draw doesn’t do us much good. Parker on earlier and three at the back could have calmed us down but to be fair we were well on top and I can see the argument not to change anything. I did enjoy the moment when JD nearly came on. HR gave him an unusually long set of instructions whilst Defoe took not a blind bit of notice.

Win against Fulham, that’s fourth and then see what happens at the Hawthorns. Rest well this week then give it everything. If we do, we will win. The stomach-churning, gut-wrenching nausea is already making me giddy and weak. Yesterday I made the mistake of eating lunch at half-time. I nearly threw up later as the tension cranked up to ridiculous levels. Goodness what Sunday will be like but the prospect of redemption will lift me to the heights. I trust the team feel similarly inspired.

 

Sad Spurs Are The Ghosts Of Their Former Selves

/ Alan / 38 Comments

Plenty of Spurs places on the web where you can find anger as we slip down the table. I’m fond of describing the significance not of individual matches but sequences that crop up as the season plays out. A combination of computer predetermination and evolving circumstances throws up intriguing little sets of fixtures. Take our last segment of the year and it’s relegation form. Don’t forget, after the big sides, this is our winnable run-in.

Tottenham On My Mind, however, is a site of sadness. Flashes of fury quickly passed. The team deserve it for a pallid impression of their real selves on Saturday evening. It looked the same. Same characters, same passing, same runs down either wing, the midfield dominance. But there was nothing really there. Lifeless apparitions going through the motions. I bet if you put out your hand to touch the chest of any of them, it would have gone clean through.

Sad now, because of all recent Tottenham teams, I feel so close to this one. I’ve agonised over their growing pains as they made mistakes, so many mistakes. I’ve stood up for Modric as his apparently frail frame became the target for lesser men. I knew he was tough, and so it proved. I’ve worried for Bale, youthful and timid on the wing, until suddenly he had a growing spurt and put it all together. Ledley I’ve nurtured through each  sinew sapping sprint, looked anxiously to see how he recovers following every crunching tackle, marvelled at a calm diligence and dignity that I could never have come close to in my wildest dreams.

These and others I’ve watched, wondering if they can find the answers to maturity through experience. No good telling them, they have to live it and find out for themselves. Then suddenly they were pinging the ball all over the place, pass and move, push and run. The game is easy, it’s just the players that make it difficult goes the saying and this lot made it simple. Made it heaven. Beautiful, beautiful football I’d waited a lifetime to see. Gone, all gone. So sad.

Sad that against inferior but well-drilled opponents, once again we did not have the nouse to find a way through. They did try, for the most part, they just didn’t think. Modric did many of our good things but that’s not saying much. He could and should have done more to take the midfield by the scruff of the neck and dominate. Not for 90 minutes, 20 would have done, 10 or 15 even. In that short burst we could have turned the game because Rangers had little interest in even holding the ball up front when they cleared it, preferring to sit back and wait. That would have been enough, but nothing. Parker too: plenty of effort and he does the same things as he did before Christmas. Except he does it all half a yard slower. He’s a fraction late into tackles, just one the tail of the runner into the box, a touch off-balance when he passes or shoots. So sad.

It’s wrong to invoke the spirit of Barcelona when comparing football tactics but I’ve seen them recently try to over come a packed defence. Inter did it last season at the San Siro and went four up.  They hold the ball in the middle while two, usually three forwards push up onto the opposition back four. Then either a ball is played to feet, back to goal and they look for a one two or more usually one or possibly two of them come a few yards off their marker. The defender then has an invidious choice, If he goes, then he leaves a gap. If he stays, the player is on his own in the danger area between midfield and the back four. Barca vary it by having their attacking full back join in, moving into the space that’s vacated out wide.We could have done that. Not as well as them but we could move like that. Broken things up. Shifted their centre backs out the way. Instead we aimlessly buzzed around the back four like a wasp in the autumn trying to get through a pane of glass. Sad that we bring on a winger, Lennon, who is playing well admittedly, just send over a series of crosses for defenders to head away because our forwards aren’t very big. I’m sad no one noticed that they weren’t very big because it’s clear to me.

Sad that we never learn our lessons. Once again, we begin by not playing well but managing to muddle through. For the first 20 minutes, our defence played as if they had never met before and were terrified by the presence of these strangers. Wild lunges, crazy mix-ups, yawning gaps ripe for exploitation. Yet we muddled through, until once again conceding an avoidable goal. From then on, as against Norwich, Everton, Chelsea, Stoke, it’s an uphill struggle. Once again, we were unlucky with a referee’s decision – Sandro made a brave legal tackle – but Friedel had so much time to see that leisurely freekick loop towards his goal. He seemed transfixed by its progress and his geriatric topple in the general direction of the ball was far too late. He’s been the unobtrusive foundation of our success this year. We should allow him an error becasue he’s made so few, but this one hurts.

Sad that if a side takes its lead from their manager, they are as bewildered and powerless as he is. “I’m not worried about the way we are playing,” says Harry. I don’t get angry with him when he talks like this. Genuinely I don’t believe he thinks through what he’s saying so it has little meaning. The media never challenge their darling so he just caries on. I think I should be angry. Anyone might think his complacency insulting to the loyal fans who can see all to clearly that we have real problems. We lack that edge, making and taking chances, being dangerous for extended periods, breaking down teams, that’s what makes the difference, that’s what he’s not giving us. Contrast the attitude of the QPR players. The manager has given them a shape, they sick to it, it works. That’s the way it should be.

Sad that this, the team that was to take us to glory in style, is falling apart as fast as my dreams. It will further disintegrate come this summer if we fail to reach the Champions League, with no prospect of decent replacements. This wasn’t the fate of this wonderful side. Sad that we’ve conformed to type and can’t hack the pressure. Sad that amongst other fans in London, we’re a laughing stock.

True story. At half-time for the first time in a while I lit our woodburning stove. Open the box with the pile of newspapers and there on the top is the Evening Standard on the day Harry was found not guilty. I screwed up the cover and it went up in smoke. You want symbolism? I’ve got it. Sad that an ordinary side could beat us to easily. Sad that we’re going down without a fight.

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Rookie Redknapp Wilts. Plus Win Exclusive T-shirt!

/ Alan / 5 Comments

Unlike other games where the implications take time to sink in, losing at Wembley has its particular horrors. As the infernal shuffle towards Wembley Park tube grinds on, there’s nowhere to go. Nothing to do except look at the back of the head of the person who will be in front of you for the next half an hour (if you’re lucky) and absorb the burden of defeat. The manner and margin of Sunday’s beating only made things worse.

The wait was enlivened by cries of defiant loyalty from a few brave souls. I joined in, once. I really am  in that number but it didn’t make me feel any better. The group then struck up a chorus of ‘Thursday night, Channel 5’. I think it was directed towards a small group of Ch****a fans, so delighted with their team’s triumph that they couldn’t be bothered to hang around in the stadium to celebrate so they had become mixed up with us, those Spurs who had not fled the scene before the final whistle. Equally, it could have been a bitterly self-deprecating comment about our own season where hopes that so recently had been bright and buoyant were sinking before our very eyes. The way things are going, come mid-May we might be grateful for a place in the Europa League.

Things aren’t that bad – the 5 games remaining are an opportunity for redemption and we have the ability to get enough points to hold on to 4th at least. However, it’s not just the lingering Wembley blues that cast a gloomy shadow over our prospects. Make no mistake, despite the brave media statements this week about squad unity and determination, beatings like this affect players at the best of times, on top of which key men are off form and recent tactics have left us vulnerable. The side look knackered, overplayed, physically and mentally weary. It’s hardly the best way to approach the season’s climax but you can at least understand why the legs are aching.  Our biggest problem is why this description also applies to our manager.

Just when we need firm, decisive leadership, Harry Redknapp is left to rue the consequences of poor decision-taking in the recent past that you might expect from a rookie not a veteran. He revels in the role of wily old fox, seen it all, takes it in is stride. In reality, he’s never been in this position before. The years of experience have prepared him for most things in the game but not this. Being near the top of the league and in a cup semi-final is virgin territory for him and much of what he’s learned in the past is no preparation for the long season’s crescendo.

Like Harry, I’m not a big fan of squad rotation. However, it’s essential in today’s athletic, physically unforgiving game. I’ve been converted partly by the example of other teams – look at how Fergie makes changes for no apparent reason, until that is United come with a flourish this time every year – and partly by watching Walker and Bale at close quarters from my seat on the Shelf. Both are highly motivated and superbly fit. I can assure readers that it isn’t a question of not trying as both have played on through injuries on several occasions this year. Both would run themselves into the ground for the team, I’m convinced of that, and frequently do. Those punishing runs up and down the line are a regime that would deter the hardest 400m runner in training.  Both are exhausted.

The same goes for Scott Parker. If determination alone were sufficient, he’d run all day but he’s weak through over-work and has never been the same since his seemingly innocuous leg injury earlier this year. Redknapp has put his faith in these key men, turning to them repeatedly as every game becomes vital, but faith isn’t enough. Other teams use sophisticated technology to measure fitness levels and I assume Spurs can too, but Redknapp’s response is as about as modern as the magic sponge.

Granted he’s been unlucky with injuries. Huddlestone has become the forgotten man while Sandro, a man to offer defensive cover and midfield momentum, has never regained match fitness. His loss has been a huge blow because then Parker and Modric could have rested. After it happened, I wrote that Dawson’s injury could be a season’s turning point. Instead of a tough leader, an international, as centreback cover, we were forced to give Gallas and Nelsen too much responsibility. With Ledley’s legs finally giving up, we looked so vulnerable. I’m afraid I was right.

What concerns me more are the problems that we created. Corluka’s move left us with no alternative for Walker. Walker is now knackered. Pienaar’s versatility and experience made him a far better option than Krancjar whose play when we don’t have the ball is shoddy. I reluctantly accepted than no one of the required standard was available to buy in January but these unnecessary departures have made the combination of squad rotation and winning impossible.

When it comes to analysing a season, it’s tempting to seek turning points. For me the best of our play, though not the best game, was encapsulated in the second half away to Manchester City where we pulled back a two goal deficit then denied them any sort of an opportunity for 15 minutes before Defoe’s boot was a millimetre away from a famous day. However, if you want a defining moment, try the announcement of the sheet for the cup-tie at Stevenage.

Three at the back to combat a Division One side. That not only sent a negative message to our players, it was also a case of over-thinking the game. Although we never repeated that formation, it was the first in a series of tinkering alterations to our set-up designed to outwit our opponents but in fact succeeded only in unsettling our own players. Comfortable with one up front, a man (usually Rafa) linking midfield with the striker and another 4 in midfield itself, it didn’t matter so much if we went for the 4-2-3-1 that I think suits us best or two wide players. The players knew what to expect and it brought the best from them. That’s Harry’s great skill. The fullbacks offered width, the front players had room to move, the tempo was bright and we passed the ball brilliantly. The man on the ball always had support, always had an option.

Yet Redknapp changed it. Two up front and taking the game to the Ars***l was a disaster for us and transformed the season of our biggest rival for third place. Modric spent time on the left when he had done so well in the centre. By Norwich at home, HR still hadn’t learned his lesson and publicly focused on his weakness in saying he knew the set-up wasn’t right but he went ahead because others said it was best for us. A slight change on Sunday with Rafa dropping deeper but we were still too open.

If it were any other manager I’d talk about naivety but this is Redknapp. Ironically our best performance lately was probably away at Ch****a, where we kept it boring but tight, and could have won on the break. That’s what you do, make sure you don’t lose ground to your close rivals. Same at Liverpool away – boring but a point.  But at Wembley that was ignored in favour of another shape.

This guff about Redknapp not being tactically astute is all part of the Uncle ‘arry myth that I have never had time for, way before he was even a gleam in Levy’s eye. His Tottenham team has evolved, perhaps not as quickly as I would have liked but he’s stabilised us then dumped the big man up front approach in favour of the pass and move sensations that we enjoyed for so many months. His team, his tactics. I’m not up for this Redknapp is rubbish business that’s going around. This blog has unfailingly but constructively pointed out his failings but  he got us to where we are and we should not forget that.  Redknapp made all that happen and he deserves full credit, the best side since the Double it was said, but recent changes have undermined all that. Forgive me if I remain bewildered as to why he made them.

Twelve points from 15 may be a realistic target. Of the remaining games, Saturday’s is the most tricky. Rangers have some decent players, a reason to play and a manager who will tell his men to knock us about just like his  Blackburn used to. There may be no way back, however, because the players have picked up their manager’s lack of resolution and confidence is draining.

I doubt that the England business has affected Redknapp as much as the aftermath of the court case. Although he won, we can barely imagine the strain. After the case, I wrote about how people under great stress use it to keep to themselves going but when it goes, they find it much harder to stay focussed. Relief is a less powerful motivating force than the determination to prevail.

I hope Harry rediscovers his mojo. The signs are not good. Today he’s said something about hoping Chels get through because it means another game for them. Doesn’t he know that if they win the Champions League, 4th place does not qualify us. These 5 games are amongst the biggest challenges of his career.

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Who is this former Spur? His job before he joined Spurs gave a big clue to his playing style – what was it?