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Wigan v Spurs. Modric and Pav Rise Above the Morass

/ Alan / 7 Comments

I thought better of writing a preview for the Wigan match. There was nothing new to be said – keep it on the floor, don’t whack it up to Crouch, in fact just keep it. I trust you did not feel let down, dear reader, but you’ve heard it all before. In fact, I did you a favour and let you have more time in bed on a Sunday morning.

Meanwhile, I knocked out something on the problems facing young players at the club, which has done the rounds of the messageboards, interesting feedback, thank you all.

But my non-preview didn’t take account of the infamous Wigan pitch. The long ball would have been a more valid tactic yesterday. Pass and move is all very well when neither is easy in the peat bog of a midfield. Think of it more as a history lesson. Hey kids!!! That’s what the Lane was like in the good old days! I narrowed my eyes and could almost see Steve Perryman and John Pratt ploughing through the mud, sleeves rolled up, shoulders hunched not so much to protect the ball but more to summon up the strength to run another few yards. It looked so odd. Watching the game with a couple of teenagers, it struck me that they had never seen a Premier League match in conditions that were commonplace 15 years ago.

Problem was, neither had most of our players. It takes long enough for instructions to flow from Big Tom’s brain to his feet under normal circumstances but when the feet aren’t moving it adds a whole other dimension. ‘A bit late’ sums up his afternoon and that of a few others. The verdant pastures of the wings, green, firm and welcoming, were there to be used but Bentley and Corluka seemed more stuck than most, Kranjcar had a quiet afternoon and he drifts in anyway, so it was left once more to Gareth Bale to seize the opportunity to inject much needed pace into our attacks. His was the decisive intervention of the first half, cutting in to provide Defoe with a well-taken touch for our first.

He was way offside and knew it, his guilty glance at the linesman before beginning a muted celebration betraying this poor decision. Goals are always important but this came at a crucial juncture as the match was settling down without either side achieving dominance. After this Wigan were always chasing the game and their weaknesses were cruelly exposed. In seeking to stifle us in midfield with a five and two men wide, they blunted their own already limited attacking options. Later, they pushed two and three forward but left themselves open at the back.

As usual we responded by giving away the ball and a series of unnecessary fouls. It was a day for firm passing to feet or maybe ahead of the forwards – Wigan left space for us to do so, unlike recent opponents – but in the first half we were able to do neither. Crocuh could not make it stick, again he really could have done more to hold the ball up but equally we could have maintained a presence closer to him rather than leave him on his own.

Referee Wiley had as much trouble coming to terms with the conditions as many of players. Having missed Defoe’s early foul, he booked Bentley for an innocuous challenge well inside the Wigan half. Consistency is the key for refereeing but this set an unfortunately low benchmark as players slipped and stumbled. A foul is a foul whatever the conditions but he booked players too early, and then pulled back from the consequences, of sending players off for two relatively minor offences. Hud could easily have gone before the end.

The second half began in similarly stuttering fashion, then gradually we got on top and remained there until the end. Wigan seldom threatened but we pressured ourselves with those early and wasteful bookings for Bentley, Defoe and Dawson creating an unnecessary edge. I held my breath as they pondered challenges    and worried when King was replaced by Bassong. He’s looked out of sorts lately – his expression recalls Darren Bent’s taut drawn face – and he and Gomes almost conspired to cock up a long ball. Then it clicked, and for the rest of the match he hoofed the ball forward, high, off, up with a glorious absence of dexterity that was absolutely right for the conditions.

Harry has been roundly criticised of late, although not here, for his conservative policy on the use of substitutes. Yesterday he secured the game by bringing on Modric relatively early. In difficult conditions, Modric proved that class will always tell. Where lesser players toiled, he skipped over the surface, passing with firm certainty and running steadily into the heart of the Wigan defence. He was our best performer, a wonderful cameo and he was unlucky not to score with a first time touch that struck the post and rebounded in to the arms of a grateful keeper, rooted to the spot by the speed of the strike rather than the cloying mud.

And so to Pavlychencko. TOMM has never cast him as Our Saviour but has wanted him to play because his talents will suit our style, and so it was. Defoe may have been the choice to come off not because of Harry’s tactical genius but because of the striker’s stupidity – the next foul or whinge and he could have been off- but it proved a masterstroke. Freed from the responsibility of being the striker furthest forward, Pav could move onto the ball rather than have his back to the opponent’s goal half the time. His movement was instinctive and natural – this is what he is used to, this is his game, and how he revelled in his freedom. Brilliantly done and he will play a vital part in our run in.

Not before time…Harry’s face was a picture. He looked so miserable…but to be fair, he always looks like that. More to the point, Pav’s fellow players appeared genuinely delighted for him at the end, Defoe making a beeline for him at the whistle and others joining in the celebrations. He’s part of the team whatever Harry thinks.

Wigan on this performance are as poor a side as I have seen this season but all our players were pleased on emerging from this hard slog with the points, and so they should be.

Spurs Youngsters in England Squad – Next Stop League 2?

/ Alan / 11 Comments

Away from the travails of the first team, some good news this week. Spurs have four players in the England under 19 squad, John Bostock, Steven Caulker, Ryan Mason and Dean Parret. Congratulations to them all, and for many of us this may be as close as we ever come to seeing them.

Spurs have a poor record in bringing young players through into the first team. There’s the mighty Ledley of course, probably worth the total cost of the Spurs youth set up over the last 15 years just by himself, and Jamie O’Hara finally became a member of the first team squad before his successful loan at Portsmouth. Otherwise, if your son was talented, even as a Spurs fan, would you recommend that he came to our club? They bubble to the surface in a froth of expectation, maybe flatter at a few pre-season friendlies then sink through the divisions, although often they end up doing a decent job lower down the leagues.

The new training centre in Enfield could assist development but given that we are able to attract presumably some of the most skilful youngsters, we’ve done badly, or to put it another way have screwed up many promising careers. I seldom get to see the young players these days, but if you’re interested there are weekly reports on youth team matches here: http://www.spursodyssey.com. Of the above, Bostock came on as sub in a European game I think amid a buzz of expectation. Standing tall, he showed the poise and demeanour of quality and was apparently uncowed by his surroundings. At 15 he was coveted by all and sundry – there’s a Telegraph article from 2007 entitled ‘Meet John Bostock, aged 15 the Boy Barcelona Can’t Buy’. Now, he can’t get into the Brentford team and has returned from his loan spell amidst recriminations and a little spat between Redknapp and his dad. Word is that John was never quite as good as Palace made out and that he was pushed into their first team ahead of schedule in order to swell his value. Whatever, he’s not making progress with us.

Unfortunately, this is a familiar picture at Spurs, with fans bemoaning our inability to bring young players through. A quick glance at the team sheets of the mid 90s throws up the names of several young hopefuls, all of whom had a chance or two, admittedly during one of our many ‘transtional phases’ (allright, crap phases) but never made it. Caskey, Houghton, Mc Mahon, Turner, Butters,  Hill, Allen – they all looked good for their 15 minutes of fame (yes, even Butters) but are now curiosities in the ‘where are they now?’ file. There was a time where the guy at the front of the Paxton was so certain of his ability to pick a future star that he invested in a Spurs shirt with the name of John Piercy on his back.

It’s hard to know if there is a problem at Spurs. Although it is tempting to point the finger at the youth set-up, the reality is that the main problem lies outside the training ground. The demands of the Premier League for instant success are such that it is much more difficult than ever before for young players at any club to break into the first team. There is so little time for boys to grow into men by making mistakes and learning as they go. I’ve written before about the time it has taken for players with experience at previous clubs, like  BAE and Huddlestone, to develop into fully fledged first teamers, let alone the young men graduating from the youth team.

This is not unique to Spurs. Few other teams in the Premier League have a large proportion of home grown players in their first team. ‘Home grown’ – what a lovely phrase, redolent of stern bustling landladies with hearts of gold keeping an eye on their boys when they return from training. They feed them up, polish their shoes and are a shoulder to cry on for young men far from home and missing their mothers. These days, the term is meaningless. Spurs and other teams buy youngsters at 16 (Parrett joined us in this way from QPR Bostock from Palace)  and we purchase the best of the rest from Europe and beyond, Blondel and Jonsson coming to mind. Why should Spurs invest that much in a youth set up when we can let others do the work, or of course lose our best prospects to the bigger predators.

I have a soft spot for a ‘mum and dad’ story in football. There was a piece in the Guardian recently where Tom Huddlestone, this giant of a man, paid tribute to his mother who had dedicated her life to her then teenage son and his football. The highlight of the otherwise frankly lacklustre White Lane Tour for me (‘and here’s the stall where the boxholders can exclusively place a bet…’) was knowing that Jermaine Defoe bought his mum a West Stand box and she watches every game. Quite why this touches me so I’m not sure. JD is brash and cocksure but I have a vision of his mum grabbing him after the game and telling him not to whine so much and while she was about it, use a tissue to blow his nose instead of, well, the behaviour of street ruffians.

Bostock’s dad stepped in to defend his boy when times were hard for him. John is probably not used to setbacks in his football career so far, so I’m pleased dad was on hand. It’s a reminder that these boys are just that, kids. We demand that they cope with pressure whilst still in their teens that the rest of us could not possibly dream of. When I was 18, I was mootching about worried about greasy hair and acne, girls, exam results and girls, and all I had to deal with was being in the protected micro-society that was university in the seventies. To get where we are, we made endless mistakes and expected a little latitude while we sorted out our emotional growing pains, whereas as fans we impose a totally different, perhaps unrealistically high, set of expectations.

Let’s nurture our young talent. Push them to achieve their potential but remember that some also thrive with a protective arm round their shoulder. As fans we have to be patient and tone down our aspirations. We’re too quick to write them off. The idea of players out on loan, learning their trade in the lower leagues makes a lot of sense. But also let then know that the club is watching them and looking after them from afar. I wish them all good luck. I hear Ryan Mason is highly rated, and if anyone is going to Charlton today, let us know how he and the other loanees do, and try not to compare him with Johnny Jackson, a new arrival at the Addicks, with such a sweet left foot and a career at Colchester and Notts County….I’m sorry I can’t come and see you play more often- maybe we’ll meet at the Lane some day.

The Four Phases of Harry – Can He Keep Spurs Going?

/ Alan / 16 Comments

The frustration of the downturn in our form in the New Year should not obscure the progress Spurs have made this year and indeed since Harry Redknapp became our manager. However, we have entered another phase of his regime, one where his leadership skills will be tested severely.

Redknapp deserves full and unreserved praise for extracting us from the apparently bottomless trough of steaming putrid filth that was the Tottenham team in October 2008.  As he never stops reminding us, ‘Two points from 8 games’. The team set to and upped both their work ethic and ability to score. Then we entered 2009 and phase two, where just as the new manager bounce lost its elasticity, his heavy investment in new players gave the crazily unbalanced squad he inherited some much-needed equilibrium. In particular, the purchase of Wilson Palacios provided a midfield foundation upon which a team geared to the demands of Premier League football could be built, whilst the return of Keane and Defoe offered striking power and experience.

The dawn of phase three could be the beginning of this season but I would put it a little later. After a month or so, we were right up there, which I suspect surprised both the fans and Redknapp. We played good-looking attacking football and the rise of Aaron Lennon as a major force, much of which is down to coaching, ran parallel with our rise up the table. However, as the pressure of raised expectations increases, Harry needs to act to maintain this momentum and halt our gradual slide down the table. Phase four begins, and Harry’s acumen will be tested to the full.

A graphic of Spurs’ development under Redknapp would take the form of a steady upward curve but Harry has had to build three teams in his comparatively short time with us, not one. The first got us out of the relegation zone, the second targeted the top eight and the third is or will be to challenge for the top four. Those are three connected but separate tasks. Obviously there’s an overlap of players and some qualities in common but we had to build up from the bottom. Phase three demonstrated a potent attack, creative midfield and a mean defence. Unfortunately they’ve seldom been on display at the same time. We rejoiced as the goals flew in and the passes pinged around with pace and certainty, then were quietly satisfied in the midst of one of the longest periods of not conceding in the club’s entire history. But now we have a few problems. We’re stuttering rather than coming to a grinding halt so that in itself holds some grounds for continued optimism, implying that some running repairs are required rather than scrapping the whole model and starting afresh. It also gives Redknapp an asset more precious than a bulging transfer budget or supportive chairman – time. Not a massive amount but some. We’re doing OK but the remedial work needs to begin now.

The biggest issue is that basically we have been sussed. Work hard, close us down and we don’t know quite what to do. That can be worked on, but the most concerning aspect of the last two games, both away admittedly, is the players’ response, or more accurately the lack of it. Against Wolves and Bolton they weren’t ready for the struggle. Here are a few words from Jermaine Defoe after Sunday’s game, taken from the official club site:

Jermain Defoe revealed the lads were on the end of a rollicking at half-time at Bolton and admitted: “We deserved it.”

Players and management alike conceded that we were second best in the first half of Sunday’s FA Cup fifth round encounter at the Reebok Stadium….”We had a bit of a rollicking at half-time and we deserved it because we didn’t compete in the first half.”

Post-match comments from players and managers seldom carry much perspective or weight, so it’s a little unfair to attribute undue significance to these. However, it’s what has gone unsaid that it important. Why after failing so ignominiously against Wolves did we kick off with such a poor attitude at the Reebok? We failed totally in terms of application and motivation. Also, the rollicking was undoubtedly well-earned but there was no response whatsoever at the beginning of the second half. We carried on exactly where we left off and were lifted not by the manager’s words but by a Crouch header. In other words, here is some evidence that Redknapp’s motivational skills, legendary in the minds of a sycophantic media corps, are on the wane.

Another snippet from Sunday’s press coverage was Bale’s comment that we don’t practice penalties, to which could be heard the sound of Spurs fans up and down the land shouting as one, ‘Why not??!!’ Only Harry knows. There’s an old saying in sport that the great coaches pay attention to the details, to the little things, and here’s an example of us failing in that respect.

Now when things aren’t working on the pitch, all teams need a plan B, which brings me to another problem. There was a frightening stat that I saw last week about the team that plays the most long balls in the premier league. Know who it is? Tottenham Hotspur FC. Again it’s unfair to read too much into this. I assume the figures do not differentiate between a wild hoof from the back or an aimless whack from midfield, a precision 40 yard through ball or a cross from out wide. I expect those masterpieces that Glenn Hoddle came out with most matches would be consigned into this category. Other stats show we pass the ball more than any other team apart from the top four. But anyone who has seen us lately knows that we play the long ball to Crouch far too often and as the pressure builds up it is fast becoming our main offensive ploy. Some of us are finding it extremely offensive. Apart from the aesthetics, it does not work. Crouch is too easy to defend against even when he plays well.

Time then for plan C, time unfortunately for the last problem that can justifiably be laid at Redknapp’s door. We don’t have a plan C. Keane is gone, at least for the time being, so it should be time for Pavlyuchenko to step up. He’s mobile, wants the ball to feet, does not want to play with his back to the goal all the time and, when he’s on form, can take his chances. However, Redknapp has always neglected him. He’s not fit, has had little game time and has been on the receiving end of his manager’s scathing ‘wit’. In short, he’s not a ready-made alternative, largely because Redknapp has never handled him well. Whilst he’s not the saviour that some portray him as, I’ll like to see him play because we need a striker with precisely the above qualities, but it requires a big change in our current tactics. We should have been more prepared for this, or not presumptuously have disposed of  Keane.

I was not a huge admirer of Redknapp before he come to Spurs so I’m not an instinctive supporter of his. I judge him on his record and he has done well for us. Despite the problems I deserves more time because in terms of building a top four team, 18 months is not that long a stretch and the good he has brought to the club easily outweighs the bad . He’s taken us on from an awful place and has created a good squad of players. It’s hard not to link the tax and court case with our  recent tribulations, and he needs precisely the mental fortitude we are seeking desperately in our players to get us through this bad patch. He’s made some mistakes and phase four plus the High Court is a dual challenge he may not have been prepared for.

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Tottenham Stories: Always On My Mind. The Do.

/ Alan / 8 Comments

The attendant opens the door with a grand gesture and fusses over my coat and bag. More than my gilt-edged invitation, this absurd attention confirms my new-found prominence, and makes me distinctly uneasy.

It’s a break for me, an opportunity to put behind me those wasted years and chances spurned, but my tentative tread as I stroll along the oak-panelled corridor festooned with self-satisfied portraits betrays my sense of not belonging. I affect an air of disinterested nonchalance, trying to take in the grandeur and undeniable beauty without looking like I have wandered in from the streets, a refugee of the London Big Bus Company tour.

The crystal chandeliers lie heavy from the ceiling, their brilliance eclipsed only by the glittering egos of the great and good. And the not so good, as long as they have money to ease their guilty conscience. I glance around, wary of eye contact. With the right person, it’s fine but an itinerant gaze is a sign of desperation. A stirring in one corner: within this room any spontaneity stands out. Adriana throws back her thick wavy hair then bends forward slightly from the waist, the laughter flowing through her body and rippling out to the group of six or seven guests around her. The women look away, the men shuffle a fraction closer and laugh a little too long. She catches my eye and shrugs imperceptibly. ‘What can I do?’

I begin a smile in return but our line of sight is swiftly interrupted by a tuxedo, anxious to secure her undivided attention.

There is an art to these gatherings. My usual chosen option is to skulk around the edges, pretending that I am content in my solitude and that drinking a glass of fizzy water in 185 sips is really how I want to spend my time. However, today I’m at the top table and must drink my fill. An assertive stride towards my target, followed by a firm handshake. I’ve practised my lines. ‘We met briefly at last year’s conference” I lie but they won’t remember me, whether it is true or not. A few short moments to make an impression – in a good way, so my approach is unencumbered by champagne glass or canape. Well chosen words and a card pressed from a clammy palm.

They know after a minute or so. I’m desperately polite and flattering, adding a succinct and devastatingly accurate critique of the new Bill. But they strip all the baggage away – is this guy useful to me or not? After a minute comes the tell-tale glance over my shoulder, seeking someone more worthwhile to converse with. It’s over and I depart.

The hall is full now. As I gather myself for the next foray, an actress few people have heard of is welcomed on stage. I pause, then slip away. Adriana glares at me wide-eyed from across the room, angry and enticing. Now I shrug and continue on my way without a backward glance. The cloakroom attendant purses her lips in surprise as I disturb her flirting with the burly doorman. She hands me my coat and the carefully rehearsed plan is enacted with precision. Two minutes to the exit (unseemly to rush), seven minutes walk to Liverpool Street for the 19.22 and I’ll be in my seat at five to, just before Fulham kick off. It’s a shame that I’ve missed the pre-kick-off chat and atmosphere, but we all have to make sacrifices.

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