sports

Spurs v Liverpool

/ Alan / 11 Comments

 

Aaron Lennon’s injury time winner provided a welcome and unexpected burst of adrenalin at the end of a match defined by errors. It had no place in a stuttering second half Spurs display, but the exhilaration of his mad dash and fine finish was entirely in keeping with an astonishing week at the Lane. Beating L’arse, 5th in the league, in the knock-out stages of the Champions League. With a game to spare. It’s all downhill from here.

 

I say ‘downhill’ in order to get a cheap ironic snigger. It’s not worth even that, I’ll settle for a stifled chortle. But the reality is, and I’m already digressing, second paragraph in, so stay with me, in reality we’ve accomplished all this without coming close to our best team. Yesterday our 5th choice centre-half, stood next to our 4th, was replaced by the 6th choice. Two in-form central midfielders were both out, our right winger’s been off the pace lately while our centre forwards have both been criticised for their lack of ability, never mind lack of league goals. If we had accomplished what has been straightforward for most of their opponents this season and beaten the hammeroids and Wigan, we’d be second, level on points with Man U. The truly astonishing thought is not where we are but what this team is capable of.

 

As so often this season, Spurs did their utmost at times to keep that potential hidden. A bright opening gave way to a series of increasingly frustrating periods when we almost put it all together, but not quite. Chances were few and far between once VDV went off (give him a rest and let him fully recover) and we continually gave the ball away. Once again an opposing team comes to the Lane, not in the best of form, and finds that all they have to do is sit back and wait, because sooner or later, usually sooner, we’ll just give it to them.

 

Poor Palacios was the main but not the only culprit. He bears the whole world on his shoulders, judging by his demeanour. We’ll never know how much the sickening death of his brother has taken from him but at times it is as if it’s ripped out his soul. He looks a long way from home. His heart, however, remains intact, bless him. Throughout a poor 90 minutes, with missed passes and tackles galore, to his eternal credit he kept coming back for more. Never giving up is as much as we could expect yesterday, more than many players in his circumstances would have offered and frankly more than the fans in the East Stand who jeered him deserved.

 

Losing possession kept Liverpool in the game. Chances for VDV and then Defoe were blocked – for once a mindless JD blast would have done the trick but he kept it down and unerringly found the defender. Defoe looked sharp at this point, moving well across the line and unafraid to take the ball early, a volley didn’t come off but it was on target and showed a confidence that will bring goals in the future. JD does well when he comes back from injury – unfortunately we’ve had plenty of chances to evidence this. Not the greatest student of the game, a period of enforced reflection improves his movement and team-play. He’s not a thinker so needs his instincts to be sharp but that’s not quite enough in the Premier League.

 

As it was, our early promise faded and by half time it was a relief that we were down by a single goal only. Although Liverpool will be kicking themselves, especially given the denouement, Spurs defence deserves some credit. Bassong’s superb tackle to dispossess Torres in the act of shooting was matched only by a similar effort early in the second half. The Torres of last season would have surely scored or at the very least got his shot away, but he’s a pale shadow of the classiest striker in Europe that we took such pleasure in enjoying last season. I’m glad he did nothing yesterday but there’s no joy in seeing such a fine footballer in the doldrums.

 

Maxi had the best opportunity but again Gomes didn’t commit himself too early and made it as difficult as possible. Not that difficult, though. The goal when it came was scrappy, a ball that perhaps we should have cleared but it fell to Skirtel. For the rest of the game, we defended well. Gallas was excellent again, snuffing out attacks with well-timed excursions from the safety of the back four. His body and mind are fully functioning now and he’s on top form. Bassong did well too, given his lack of recent first team experience. His tackling was extremely poised, considering that he clearly wasn’t ready to come on, let alone warmed up. That lack of readiness could have cost us, it’s inexcusable. Kaboul had been down for a while and straight away the players signalled for a sub. Kaboul once again demonstrated his talent and I hope this latest in a series of pulls and strains does not indicate that his giant body and athleticism are not at odds with each other.

 

For the second week in succession we get a penalty from a handball in the wall. I’ve not seen any replays of the match but Liverpool were incandescent. They were similarly furious when BAE pulled down a player, looked a pen to me. Defoe has missed 5 out of the last 6 penalties he’s taken. This one went unerringly and firmly past the post.

 

We were on top at this point: Liverpool played some neat football and worked hard but never closed us down so we were always in with a chance. Nevertheless we were intent on throwing this all away when at last Modric, who had a good game but tired (injured? He was limping) in the last 15 minutes, picked up the ball and ran at a defence hamstrung by several bookings. A brilliant piece of opportunism, we should have done more of this. It forced the own goal but surprisingly did not turn the game. We steadfastly refused to take full advantage of opponents who were clearly rocking at that moment.

 

After a good first half, Lennon had seen so little of the ball in the second period, he must have been particularly glad of his woolly gloves. Again we should have made more of his ability to run at defenders softened up by bookings for fouls on Luka and Bale but he relies on people giving him the ball if he’s out wide. Under Jol he used to come inside to great effect. He should go and get it more when our game is in need of a boost. Then suddenly it’s a long ball, down the middle, Liverpool are thinking of the lovely warm bath, Radox perhaps, ummmm Mountain Stream or Woodland Glade, either would be nice – oh. Great to see those little legs twinkling again, just a blur, arms outstretched, and a fine finish.

 

Bale came out on top of his fascinating battle with Johnson. Against one of the quickest full backs around, Bale created a number of opportunities. Again we saw the danger when he came inside. I’m sure opposing teams believe that most of their work is done when he comes off his wing into the crowded midfield but he can get through anything, it seems, one particularly thrilling run in the first half.

 

I hope he has a good make of shinguards because he must be the most fouled player in the league. Superboy needs shins of steel. It’s not so long ago when players did not have to wear shinpads at all. When I was 10 or 11, full-back in the mighty Oaklands Road Primary School XI, I picked up a canny tip from ex-pros. The Charlie Buchan Football Monthly revealed that paperback books provided protection that was as good as pads, and no expenditure, just a quick trip to the bookshelf.

 

I had the perfect solution. My dad in the loving pursuit of a good education for his only boy had subscribed to one of these monthly part by part works, the Countries of the World. The books were A5, not too thick, so ideal for my purpose. In the dressing room I quietly, without fanfare but nevertheless with the assurance of a gnarled old pro, produced the books, no doubt to the hushed admiration of my team-mates and took the field against St Josephs with Albania down my left leg and Australia down the right. We lost 8-0, my winger got a hat-trick.

 

Whilst it’s tiresome conceding so often, it’s been a great week so excuse me if for once I impart a positive spin on the stats. Spurs have won twice as many points from games when we conceded first than when we opened the scoring and we have now recouped 16 points from losing positions. Thanks to that nice OptaJoe on twitter for the figures but the commentary is the most significant point. The latter is more than our total in the whole of last season, a season when I bemoaned our lack of resilience. Things are different now. We’re learning how to fight, to play to the last whistle, to chase lost causes . Just think of how good we could be if we didn’t need a comeback every game. Astonishing.

TOMM supports the We Are N17 campaign group to keep Spurs in Tottenham. Here’s their site, I’ll keep you up to date with the campaign and update with my own thoughts later this week.

 

 

 

Add to FacebookAdd to DiggAdd to Del.icio.usAdd to StumbleuponAdd to RedditAdd to BlinklistAdd to TwitterAdd to TechnoratiAdd to FurlAdd to Newsvine

Life Is Sweet

/ Alan / 12 Comments

Late into the evening I was still spinning and swooning. Head in a whirl, words jumbling, much to the annoyance of nearest and dearest. My heart and head were in a better place.

Kaboul’s twisted gymnastic header was a loop tape in my brain. This gawky young buck produced a sublime moment of contorted grace that’s running still. Always a fine prospect, I’ve praised his determination this season to take the opportunity bestowed upon him by our casualty list but when I talked about taking chances, this wasn’t quite what I had in mind.

The camera was right in line but so outrageous was this comeback, even Fabianski’s despairing dive (oh that phrase feels so damn good, ‘Fabianski’s despairing dive’) and the bulging of the net was not enough, for a second or two at least. Disbelieving, I rose slowly, then the dancing began. Stupid drunk uncle at a wedding dancing, round the living room, into the garden and back again.

Over the years friends and acquaintances have wondered what I see in football, or what anyone sees in it for that matter. For some reason I give the impression of retiring home each night to sip a vintage merlot whilst reading Proust and listening to classical music. Conversations take different forms but usually begin with something about ‘you don’t seem like that type’ and will invariably take in ’11 men kicking a ball’ along the way. Lately Wayne Rooney’s IQ being in inverse proportion to his bank balance has been cropping up too.

My answer, however, is always roughly the same. I try to describe moments like Kaboul’s header or the final whistle on Saturday. That 90 minutes of total commitment culminating in an explosion of joyous abandon that is unparalleled in any sphere of life. Really: what else is there that is not chemically manufactured and leaves you floating carefree and with enough energy to power the National Grid for hours on end? Maybe seeing a band, although the personal involvement is probably not quite the same. The conversation finishes in a well-practiced manner. I fix them straight in the eye and say, ‘I feel sorry for people who don’t get football, because you’ll never experience this’.

There are other great emotions to savour too. The feeling when one of the players is burdened with the pressure of playing poorly yet at the very moment when he could sink without trace, rises to the challenge, when truly he becomes one of us. William Gallas’s magnificent defensive performance was unquestionably one such example. Early on he came from right to left with a perfectly timed tackle and one on one he had a good first half. In the second, however, our opponents discovered that they simply could not get past him. In the box and outside, time and again, impeccable timing rather than power meant he came away with the ball. His presence inspired Kaboul, who had another decent match as well as staking a small claim to history. Gallas’s legacy as a leader of a fine central defensive partnership could be more valuable than breaking the ‘top four away’ hoodoo.

The most astounding, mind-warping element was the absolute chutzpah of a win after playing like a team of Mr Blobbys for the first half. There was I at half-time, my sole ambition to keep it to four or five and feeling that this may be beyond us. The back four were all over the place. The Man in a Raincoat used to rope his back four together and make them play like that in training to drill into them the importance of staying close and working as unit. Our lot acted as if they had never met before and the Woolwich boys strolled through deserted open spaces as peacefully undisturbed as a lone trekker in the Gobi desert.

Nobody had much of a clue as to what they should be doing. Jenas, who had another good game, urged his team-mates upfield in the early minutes to press the opposition high up the pitch, but then a few of them thought, well, they weren’t up for that. Lennon and Bale again, too wide and not coming back to help.

Second half, do what we do best, attack. Bale has been accused in some quarters of being a one-trick pony but here’s evidence of his football nouse, coming off his wing with a diagonal run to slot home with the aplomb of a Chivers or a Greaves. And that one trick – it’s a damn good one. Repeatedly he was fouled, players taking it in turns so they did not get booked. Memo to Stoke, Blackburn and others – when Wenger goes on about kicking, wheel out this DVD, but they were not dirty (no irony there) – Bale was just too good.

Defoe didn’t do much in truth, but that header that began the move will do. The pundits were sputtering about how he could win that header but in fact it was a clever little ball, played in front of Defoe so the centre half could not reach it. Any higher and it would have been lost.

With Defoe spinning wide, their back four was suddenly stretched  and Modric, Bale and VDV piled into the gaps. Meanwhile, JJ showed admirable restraint and covered the back four. We dropped back to concede a few yards in the middle but crammed the space from 40 yards out. Bale and VDV tucked in when not in possession. Now our opponents were hesitant – we exposed their lack of resilience, as demonstrated by the best player on the pitch, Fabregas, acting like a little boy at nursery school with his silly handball. Talking of nursery tantrums, there’s so much fun to be had when Wenger lets that water bottle go. I can almost hear him saying ‘Ooohh Betty’ at the same time.

Astounding, audacious…enough now. A superb game culminating in the finest of victories. Unable to find the time over the weekend to write, I thought this would be out of date but in fact it’s the best time, because 48 hours on, I’m still grinning uncontrollably. It’s good to be a Spurs fan. It’s good to feel truly alive.

Add to FacebookAdd to DiggAdd to Del.icio.usAdd to StumbleuponAdd to RedditAdd to BlinklistAdd to TwitterAdd to TechnoratiAdd to FurlAdd to Newsvine

Got The Love

/ Alan / 7 Comments

Feel the love. Lot of it about at the Lane on Saturday. Not what I expected, to be honest, given the edginess that crept in on Tuesday night and its aftermath, but all the more welcome for that. Hallo clouds, hallo sky, hallo floodlights. Goodnight, and I love you all.

It all started with Robbo’s annual pilgrimage to the Park Lane. All good fun as he milks it dry but I wonder what the Blackburn fans think. He doesn’t seem to share as much affection for them. The warmth and generosity is real but it’s odd that he should be the one, considering that he wasn’t a home-grown player and the number of errors he made during his sad decline towards the end of his time with us. During which period, it should be noted, that he took some massive stick from people around me and no doubt in other parts of the ground. Other players such as Carrick or Berbatov, shone more brightly in navy blue and white and certainly have a place in my heart but receive a very different reception.

The interaction between fans and players is a profoundly complex dynamic. Spurs fans have always been appreciative of most returning former players, with the announcer’s comments of ‘and a warm welcome back to…’ reciprocated in kind applause. I’ve never bought the ‘fickle Spurs fans’ argument that is still trotted out today by lazy hacks as soon as the grumbles become audible. Fans of other teams are exactly the same, getting on top of teams or players when they do not perform to expected levels, and our crowds have remained high through thick and thin.

There are many factors in play, including the ability of players, how long they’ve been with us and great moments in their careers, but in the end fans come to an unspoken consensus about two related elements, namely their honestly on the pitch and their feeling for the club. Deficiencies are usually forgiven with the passing of time if we know, or think we know, that our man has given everything in the cause and that he cares about us. With Robbo, we helped him through his bad patch, muting the vocal criticism as he suffered, especially for England after the Croatia goal, which wasn’t this fault. Carrick and Berba were superb for us but indifferent, part of Barba’s charm for me. Carrick might have got away with it but both committed the ultimate sin that overrides any of these considerations – they wanted to get away, and the Bulgarian’s behaviour was awful.

Lots of love for Pav. Glad it was there, we nurtured him over his terrible miss and the penalty, and he responded, finally, with a thrilling header from Bale’s juicy cross. It works, but Crouch would not have been treated so kindly. As I’ve said many a time, I would play Pav in preference to Crouch but I’m not convinced by him. For every glorious volley against Fulham last season or Bolton, there are many clumsy failures. There’s a third factor here, one that Spurs fans have held dear in the forty years that I’ve been watching us. We know what good football is and how good footballers go about things. We know what it looks like, smells and tastes like, because it’s the fabric of our heritage. Crouch doesn’t match up, I’m afraid.

No love from or to another old boy, Chimbonda. His extended, earnest discussion with Pav before the penalty presumably wasn’t about catching up with old friends. It worked, alongside Blackburn’s blatant delaying tactics, and Chimbo reminded him of that fact with a few well-chosen words as the ball smacked into the hoardings. I’m still not sure which foul the penalty was given for. At the time I thought it was Robbo on JJ but I think I fell asleep during MOTD. Maybe my mind switches off automatically when Lineker and Lawro start droning on. That’s evolution, that is.

Not to worry, we felt it in our fingers and our toes. It was all around us, as the Park Lane sang, ‘Harry, Harry give us a wave’. All that bother was behind us, and we like mensches made the first move. Harry’s reaction was way over the top – it never occurred to me leaving the ground on Tuesday that there was a problem – but hey, forgeddaboutit. See, we’re warm and caring, we understand if the pressure gets too much. Just make sure you deserve us, H.

The football helped. Lovely, flowing play, moving the ball purposefully and easing through and around Blackburn’s massed ranks of defenders. Five at the back, haven’t seen that for a while. It seemed to confuse them and certainly didn’t stifle us. Modric and VDV, good interchanges, VDV coming in off the wing to make an extra man in the centre and leaving space for Hutton to overlap, which he should have done more. Two up front and after my complaints about Tuesday’s tactics, fair play to Redknapp for picking this attacking formation.

Even if others demur, I’ve still got the hots for JJ. At least, if he plays like this. His drive and stamina provided an extra dimension, even if not all the passes came off. We came at Blackburn from a variety of angles, rather than just down the flanks, and JJ filled the space on the left created by the two defenders who take on Bale. An excellent all round game and his chance of a richly deserved goal was denied by a good tackle from Jones, who despite the backpass error in the first half, is destined for big things.

It helps if we’re playing well and go a goal up. Ironically it came from a corner, ironic in the sense that Blackburn’s cast of extras from Land of the Giants were set up to repel precisely all such set-pieces and our inglorious failure on Tuesday night to provide anything other than defensive heading practice. A precise ball and a near-post header worthy of Alan Gilzean. There is no higher praise.

Nothing can stop Superboy. His early crosses were beaten away by the second man, one in for the tackle, the other just behind to cut out any stray balls. But Bale learned from Tuesday and put the ball in the air. The cross for Pav’s goal took the breath away, pulled back at full stretch, instep curled around the ball. Pav looked so happy as he was engulfed in the crowd. Relief, sure, but joy and gratitude too.

Bale’s surges are a wonder to behold. I take in every step, each touch, every moment where suddenly he has the ball and does the unexpected, he can’t get through, surely, but he does. Enjoy every moment – this is brilliance of the highest order and he’s nowhere near the finished product. We love him and he loves us, he must do with his endearingly silly heart gesture. That’s what I really love about him. He’s just a kid. Hope he never grows up, that the innocent, fearless ebullience of youth remains everlasting.

Halftime and there’s more love than San Francisco ’68. Hopefully fewer drugs. Ricky Villa had more average games than good, let me tell you, but not only did he provide the moment of my footballing lifetime, his affection for the club is genuinely touching. He means it when he says he can’t quite fathom how he can come from his ranch to be adored by each and every Spurs fan, even after all these years and a World Cup winners’ medal in his home country.

Second half and more cracking football, hugely enjoyable, although both our goals came from Blackburn errors. It will give Crouch some confidence. I hope he’s getting plenty of TLC from Abby because it’s in short supply at the Lane. The game was won by the time they came back into it. If Sam had only rung me, I could have told him that we’re more vulnerable if you attack us, rather than massing the ranks of defenders, but hey ho, the phone never rang. He could have picked it up from Tuesday night but by the time they played some decent stuff, and they did look good, they were four down and Sam spent most of the second half as if stretched out in a Blackpool beach deckchair.

We defended well as the crosses swung towards their big guys, Gallas in particular made two fine headers, against bigger men, plus one off the line in the space of a few minutes, but we were less strong with the second ball at the edge of our box. I think he’s been injured but I’m pleased Dunn stayed on the bench for so long.

Time and love to spare for Gomes, patting his badge and his heart but with this pleasant, modest man, it’s real. We’ve looked after him through his bad times and he’s grateful. Not the cocky know-all celeb reaction from him, for him we are important and he wants to give something back.

Let’s stay buoyant in this sea of love but keep an eye out for the sharks – two late goals plus two off the line, that equals four… but an enjoyable, open game and plenty of the good stuff from Spurs.

Add to FacebookAdd to DiggAdd to Del.icio.usAdd to StumbleuponAdd to RedditAdd to BlinklistAdd to TwitterAdd to TechnoratiAdd to FurlAdd to Newsvine

The Meek Shall Inherit Tenth Place

/ Alan / 24 Comments

Now I’m angry. I had no issue in being generous after the let-down against Bolton. Not going to read too much into a single game and anyway I was clutching on to Inter glory for as long as is humanly possible. Not so this wretched, feeble effort versus a decidedly average Sunderland team. We’ve played a lot worse in the past, the recent past for that matter. The matter at hand is that faced with a great opportunity to win two home games against teams we should not fear, we capitulated as meekly as a kitten facing a rotweiler.  These opportunities are fast running out.

Same old classic signs of my utter exasperation. Drab resignation at the final whistle gathering momentum as I trudge back to the car. Nearly there and I’m spluttering incoherently to my son who, bless him, has heard it all before. Open the door and it’s transformed into a few moments of bitter complaints plus a few slaps of the innocent dashboard. It’s a sure sign things have not gone well when I start shouting at the radio. Last night I turned on 5Live to hear Steve Claridge ajudge Sunderland as worthy of a point. Now this blog has a history of kind comments from opposition fans who pick this up on newsnow and I don’t mean to offend the loyal band who midweek fill their allocation of seats, but our rivals did nothing. They didn’t have to, and that’s why I’m furious. This was a game where Spurs failed rather than where the opposition succeeded.

Over the last couple of years many teams have closed us down with ruthless efficiency. Hull, Stoke, Wolves, hard work and well-drilled 11 man defence for which we had no answer. Last night Sunderland worked hard and their back four were strong but at no point did they stop us from playing football. Time and again, especially in the first half, we created space with ease, passing the ball around or through their midfield, good interchange between Modric, Huddlestone and VDV plus plenty of support from Hutton, Bale and Bentley on the flanks. Even when we were off colour in the second period, there was room to move. At the back we were sound throughout, bar two moments, and I honestly cannot recall a game when I felt less threatened. Sunderland showed not a flicker of creativity and at times we pushed them back so far, they joined the queue for the Colonel’s burgers in the Paxton Road.

Back to the radio and a shouty man in the backstreets of N17. Claridge then solemnly opines that in the second half, when we attacked down our left, Sunderland let Benny have the ball and dropped two men on Bale, thus nullifying his efforts. Yes, but that didn’t stop him. Repeatedly he bore down on the defence, what went wrong was his use of the ball. He crossed too early too often but he had loads of room. For some reason he didn’t cut into the box, a potent weapon as our opponents tired, they couldn’t risk tackles for fear of a penalty but he never took them on in the danger areas.

Same on the other flank, where we were victims of our own weak-minded failings. Bentley’s Hollywood flicks and long range shooting is evidence of a man keen to impress as an individual, at the expense of team play. He never learns. However his real problem was his robotic preprogrammed compulsion to overlap when he and Hutton advanced. Acres of room inside but every time he goes wide. Just where Sunderland want him and the ball. The full-backs’ thighs were red-raw by the end where all his attempted crosses thwacked into their flesh, and they loved every second of the pain, because he was in their pocket.

Crosses. Teams score lots of goals from crosses. We got one. But they are easier to defend for English teams. Some of the most talented midfielders in the league stood and watched as the ball sailed over, or not as in many cases. Time and again. What is the point of having Luka, Tom, VDV if all we do is cross the ball? We may or may not score a few goals in this way, but that’s where teams want us to be, they’ll take their chances with the cross, thank you very much. To repeat, we had plenty of space in the middle because we were seldom closed down effectively. A mindless waste.

Titus Bramble. Let’s fathom a cunning plan to get at him. Lithe, mobile, lightening quick in the tackle, sees the first yard in his head and anticipates uncannily well. Oh hang on, that’s Bobby Moore, I got a bit mixed up. With Bramble, let’s bring on a big bloke and wang the ball aimlessly into the box for 45 minutes. Crouch comes on, first ball into the box is a good one but he decides that the best approach is a Pythonesque goose-step. That comedy walk gets them every time, eh Pete? I wasn’t laughing.

The crosses, the Crouch, it’s tactics and they are Redknapp’s responsibility. On the evidence of his movement, dropping deep and linking front and back in the first half, Redknapp decides to push VDV to the edge of the box in the second half, where he waits for the good ball that never came and Bramble and Turner can head them away all night. At half-time, we had played well without having much of a cutting edge. Gallas and Kaboul were untroubled at the back and Hud was supreme in midfield, the pick of the players. Luka was busy and creative, whilst Pav’s movement and committment was good. We were comfortable and on top with the 4-4-1-1. Some tweaking was required and the goals would surely come. Cut down on the crosses and we’d get one or two. Crouch’s arrival ended all that. Whilst Sunderland’s two up front pressured Hud, it left others with room to move, yet we criminally failed to exploit it. If there are two on Bale, there’s room somewhere else. VDV couldn’t fill it, he was told to stick to the edge of the box. Luka can’t do it on his own. Anyway, the ball’s in the air, and Turner and Bramble are heading it away….

We get one, no danger from them, we should be fine. Then a moment when…I’ve not seen a replay so I can only go on the night – how on earth did that happen? Our fault again, letting a team back into a game under no pressure. We nearly did the same at the end when Gomes fouled at the edge of the box.

That wise sage jimmyG2 summed it up perfectly in the comments section of Bolton – ‘I give Harry credit when it’s due and the blame when its not’. I’m conscious that I’ve been banging on about this problem for a bit. I genuinely have no axe to grind but this is plain wrong. Granted we have scored three goals from a far post crosses, Crouch knockdown and VDV a yard out. This is but one tactic, not the only one. This is about potential – we have the players to do so much more. If this is how we’re going to play, buy Kenwynne Jones or any bruiser and go the whole hog. This about the best team we’ve seen at the Lane for ages, and what they could do. This is about finishing in the top four. The other top contenders don’t play like this, because it doesn’t work.  Brainless.