Does Moyes Read Tottenham On My Mind?

January 6, 2011January 7, 2011 / Alan / 30 Comments

David Moyes reads Tottenham On My Mind. Obvious. How else would he know that the best way to counter our attacking tactics is to give us a taste of our own medicine. I’ve been saying so for ages, and more fool the rest of the Premier League for not paying attention. Big Sam for one. Comes to the Lane with a revolutionary 5-5-0 formation, four down in a trice, sacked a few weeks later. Sam Allardyce – My Part In His Downfall. At least Tottenham On My Mind can take some crumbs of comfort from last night’s emphatic defeat by Everton.

From first whistle to last, we were never comfortable. Saha and Beckford’s movement, coupled with Coleman’s right side raiding pulled the back four all over the place and occupied the midfield to snuff out our attacking intentions at source. Said midfield were also strung wide apart to the point where Bale and Lennon were as far apart as Peter Andre and Katie Price. Later, as the match wore on, Lennon, Kranjcar and then Keane gradually faded from view like ghosts disappearing into the mists on the moor. Did they ever really exist? The apparitions on Most Haunted have a greater presence.

We witnessed a series of poor individual performances but this is one for collective responsibility. The midfield provided the back four with absolutely no protection, bar a few blocks and tackles from Jenas. Bale and Lennon should have tucked in more during the extended periods when we did not have possession, a fault that we’ve seen before this season, especially in Europe. If they don’t work back, the full-backs are unprotected and vulnerable. Hutton and BAE both had torrid times, Benny in particular as Everton repeatedly pushed down our right, and Hutton’s distribution was rotten, but defending is primarily a team affair. They should not have been left one on one with their opposite number. As a result we were treated to the slightly bizarre sight of Phil Neville as the flying full back, cutting the ball back from the byline. He and Coleman combined well, creating several two v one situations.

A Pictorial Representation of the Gap Between Our Defenders

In short, we were a mess. Saha had so much time and space to shoot, although his was a well-struck shot. With nothing in front of him, Gallas had to come way out of his comfort zone and Saha found the room behind him. This pattern continued throughout the game and great credit to an Everton side whose passing and movement made us struggle in the first half, then in the second we went under, never to bubble back to the surface. Overwhelmed, we held out only because in front of goal, Beckford is rubbish and Saha and others little better.

It’s a while since we’ve been as badly mauled. Saying that it had to happen sometime is in this case a little more than mere philosophising to excuse a defeat. We have been stretched badly on other occasions but managed to get away with it. However, this Everton performance was the best I’ve seen against us for a while now. They were superior in every department. They applied themselves much better whereas we looked jaded, and passed the ball extremely well. In contrast, in the second half we reverted to the bad old habits of conceding possession.

Yet if we had taken the chances that came our way the outcome could have been different. Equalising was straightforward enough, and without playing well we made other chances in a first half that ebbed and flowed, with first Everton then ourselves getting on top before Everton finished the half the stronger.

VDV was running wild and free, largely unfettered by the opponents’ defence. Modric also did some good work before fading. He was pressured hard in the second half by his opposite number. We made passes and half-breaks into the channels but missed or the ball was just cut out. Crouch once again delighted in the way he set up Rafa’s goal (he’s assisted 6 out of Rafa’s 11 goals) then infuriated by missing decent chances in the air and on the ground. That header in the first half – for goodness sake. The offside goal – what a waste. In the home game, Baines did the best marking job on him this season by tucking himself into Crouchie’s armpit and easing him off-balance. Did him every time. Neville sussed this by the end of the first half and the big man couldn’t handle it. If only he didn’t do things like that brilliant run near the end, we could consign him to the bin, but that’s what makes him so exasperating, the ability is there, it’s just that he fails to make use of it so often. Too often.

Half time provided some respite and a chance for Harry to regroup. Before the break, JJ was being bellowed at by Jordan and Bond. That may not be unusual – one imagines Jordan’s normal conversation as starting with the bellow and building from there. Also, Harry was taking notes – never seen that before, although he was using the same type of biro that I have in front of me. Me and ‘arry – two sprigs from the same bush, us.

Didn’t do any good. By the middle of the second half I lost count of the number of times that we gave the ball away. Luckily it was almost matched by the number of Everton missed chances, but in the end the goal was both inevitable and deserved. By this time, Everton were swinging it around like champions, we were bewildered. Bale was off injured. Neville gave him the treatment but no worse than the tackling he’s received earlier this season. Niko came on and was pathetic. An inexcusably feeble effort. If you can’t be bothered, just leave.

Gomes did well. He might have parried the second out wide but it was a fizzing shot. No chance with the first – credit to Saha for a firm, well-placed effort. Otherwise he had plenty to do, being unprotected and all, and he handled it all. In particular, he stood tall when Coleman was given the freedom of Merseyside, rather than committing himself early as he has done in similar situations lately, and this was a factor in Coleman’s miss. Hopefully with Tony Parks he’s working on righting that fault.

A forgettable night. Let’s console ourselves with the fact that Everton played really well, that we remain 4th and we took 9 out 12 points in 4 knackering games in 10 days.

A final more sobering thought. Perhaps our open style caught up with us last night. The idea lingers, that Everton were the first team to exploit fully a weakness in our play. The midfield have to be 100% to make it work, in terms both of going forward and when we don’t have the ball. I didn’t see the game but I strongly suspect the two teams at the Emirates didn’t approach the battle for the CL spots in quite the same way. Maybe we have to moderate our natural instincts for the long term good. One thing’s for sure – we can’t play like that again in the future.

The Rumble of the Seats On The Shelf

December 13, 2010December 13, 2010 / Alan / 13 Comments

The rumble of the seats on the Shelf echoed around the girders of the venerable old stand, growing into a roar as this tense derby tumbled headlong towards a climax. The rumble as the punters rise in expectation to catch every last fraction of a moment and their seats slam into the backrests, the clatter of anticipation as Bale, Luka, Lennon launch themselves onward. It’s the classic sound of the derby that took a while to appear but later, in the second half, as we freed ourselves from Chelsea’s pressure in a series of high speed counter attacks, was heard every few minutes, stilled as we stayed upright for the last five or so, the penalty save offering fresh optimism.

Although it’s a familiar sound, its character seems to have changed of late. No longer in hope, more of expectation. Chelsea were beatable: we entered this as slight favourites and have players who not only thrill the crowd, they are matchwinners too. Bale again, bursting 70 yards in the first half. I refuse to take my eyes off him. I want to savour every stride, full tilt at the opposition, his expression focussed but full of expectancy. I never want to get used to this. He’s so special, it’s like I’m seeing it for the first time, such is my delight.

Yesterday he did well but was cleverly marshalled by Chelsea. Fereira used all his experience, including a gentle bodycheck in the first half when Bale would have been clear, that failed to merit a booking but took him out with ruthless efficiency. His effectiveness can be also be measured by the space he gives others, notably Defoe who drifted wide left several times, into the space vacated by Fereira’s close marking. One pass from there led to our goal.

We have others able to step into the limelight. Modric was outstanding throughout, painstakingly making himself available time and again to pick up the ball from colleagues and either move it on or burst through the centre himself. As both sides attacked in an expansive game, Luka revelled in that space and where none existed, he made some with a swivel and close control. He’s a top quality footballer and an absolute pleasure to have in a Spurs shirt. In the past I’ve compared him to the great Ossie Ardilles, hunched skipping run, ball close to his feet and dictating the pace of the whole game as others move to his promptings. Modric has better stamina and a better shot, while he’s starting to approach the influence the Argentinean could exert.

This was a match that was finely balanced throughout. Both sides had spells on top but neither dominated for extended periods. Certainly both Spurs and Chelsea could have scored at almost any point. In the first half, Chelsea looked the most likely. Kalou and Malouda are perfect in turning 4-5-1 into 4-3-3 and although we had men back, the midfield and defence failed to pick up their runs from deep. Last week Birmingham scored from such a run but Chelsea wasted several good opportunities.

The feeling was, Drogba and Lampard would have taken one of those. Much has been made in the media of Chelsea’s injuries to key players but little significance has been given to our much larger casualty list. It shows how well we are able to compete that the media are barely noticing.

In the end, we scored first, a superb finish from Pav but his gorgeous first touch laid the foundations, taking the ball away into space despite a crowded box, then a fine swivel shot to the neat post.

Unfortunately as far as the strikers are concerned, and we tried all four of them, that’s about the last time I can talk about good control. Defoe was especially poor. At least three decent opportunities to make a break were wasted due to this deficiency, one in particular where he let Terry in with a chance when he should have been clean away. As it was, Terry and Ivanovic were consistently too powerful for our lot, brushing them off the ball with insolent ease, far, far too simply. We should have tried to get them on the turn more often and when we did, another recent failing, the poor final ball, appeared again. Hutton to Pav is one example that sticks out from the second half but there were others.

Second half, Drogba on, crank up the tension. Yet our back four came into their own in the second half. Palacios covered assiduously in the centre but he and Luka could have come back a few yards to shield their defenders, while again Bale and Lennon were adrift too frequently when Chelsea had the ball. Hutton and Benny, especially Benny, defended expertly. They too sit a little too far from their central defenders as a result of the lack of protection in front of them but both used their pace to deal with the many balls into the channels.

Hutton’s passing could have been more consistent but he linked well with the attack, giving us an extra dimension. He had space because the threat of Lennon and Bale kept Cole and Fereira penned back and that’s where Chelsea have to seek their width as the midfield are fairly narrow. Although our two wide men open up space for the opposition as well as us, their presence curbed a key offensive area that Chelsea usually employ.

Inside them, Dawson was immense, as if he had never been away. I was pleased to see him back but feared that a tough game such as this was a game too early – do this one when he’s match fit and has Gallas, fast becoming indispensible, alongside him. As it turned out, no need to worry. A towering performance. Finally, credit to Bassong for taking Drogba on. The Ivorian drifted onto Seb, presumably because he was seen as the weak link, but right from the first challenge, Bassong did not shirk from the physical contact, buffeting him about, refusing to let him turn and making the interceptions. Not everything worked, and he gave the ball away on three occasions in dangerous positions, but he refused to be over-awed.

The equaliser came from the other side, the left. No danger, Daws there and the angles sorted, but it squirmed over and through. There was great power in the shot but Gomes should have saved it. Ironically it came at a time when we had got on top again. I thought we had dealt with Chelsea’s pressure and were coming out the other side. Confident of our defence, a goal would come only through a mistake. I felt utterly deflated.

He made a couple of other good saves, notably from WP’s skimming header, then late on, as we pressed on the counter for a goal, another error at the death. I’ve not seen any replays of this or the game but it looked like another rash challenge. He’s a fine keeper who does not deserve the ridicule he received on 606 last night but diving at feet is becoming a weakness.

Then the hero, and be honest, you thought it had to be us with the winner as we dashed upfield, freshly invigorated. No repeat of Liverpool.

Before then, Keane had been rushing about in what could well be his last home appearance, earning cheap applause but doing little positive. Actually, that’s unfair – we need some energy, particularly as Harry’s strange substitution to have both Crouch and Pav made Chelsea’s task in defending that much easier. I really don’t see what that gave us.

A point in the end when we could have had three, or just as easily none at all. However, the lasting impression is a positive one. We took on the champions, were never overawed and certainly not outplayed. On the contrary, in another terrific football match we bravely and continually took the game to them. Sharpen up and the goals with come, and with them points and glory.

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.’

Bucketful of Joy

December 8, 2010December 8, 2010 / Alan / 9 Comments

A typical spurs performance in Europe. A mixture of judicious possession football, incisive attacking and reckless abandonment of defensive duties. Three times we went ahead only to let our opponents back into the match. A penalty needlessly conceded let slip the initiative presented by a lunatic own goal (and for fans of a certain vintage, it’s good to see the return of fat goalkeepers) but meh, this is Spurs, this is Europe, we’ll just run up the other end and get another one sometime soon.

Quite how we made as much space for Twente as we did, I’m not sure. Somehow we manage to enlarge the pitch when our opponents are in possession. Repainting the touchlines when the ref’s looking the other way. It was especially bad after JJ went off and we missed Modric’s influence terribly, but a pleasure to see JD so sharp again. As on Saturday we wasted good opportunities with a final ball that lacked precision. Sometimes the number of alternatives created fatal hesitation but Lennon curbed the instinct to shoot, only a little dink, so simple, so effective.

At the back, Bale and Lennon were too wide when Twente had the ball so…look – this doesn’t matter. Leave it. Today is not about analysis, it’s about celebration. I’ve only just about got used to associating Tottenham Hotspur FC with the Champions League. I still blink at the Sky ads, Champions League, JD’s on the poster, why… This morning I’m repeating over and over – Champions League. Knock out stages. Group winners. If you see me today, I’ll be at Waterloo in a minute, then the old County Hall, I might say hallo, buy a coffee, chat even. Bit overweight (I’ll shift a few pounds. promise. After Christmas. New Year), black woolly hat, that’s me but the eyes are blank. Champions League. Knockout stages. Group winners.

I was going to debate the list of possible opponents. Nah… we’re there. All that matters. Who cares. Bring them on. Bring them to the Lane. Europe has learned something about us this season, they don’t want to come here.

In a world full of hyperbole, where a loss of perspective is routine, this is a remarkable achievement. Genuinely outstanding. Take this, a bucket of superlatives. Astonishing, pulsating, glorious, unbelievable, transcendental, fab gear, brilliant, there are more, those are just the ones on the surface. Pick it up and empty it out, that’s us today, covered in glory.

In qualifying, we’ve scored more goals than any other team in the group stages and I believe are the only team ever to score at least two goals in every group match. (We’re allowed to leave the dodgy defending to one side today). Last night had been inked in my diary for months. Last game, if we were still in with a slender chance, maybe just maybe in the so-called group of death, have to sit down and watch that one on the red button. But we were through already. With a game to spare.

This has led to yet another bewildering phenomenon. In these days of tribal fandom, people like us. Spurs are popular. Fans love to watch us play. Many of the comments that I received on the blog this season from opposition fans have praised the team. Some criticise my conclusions but most end up by saying something like, ‘But good luck in Europe, I really enjoy watching your adventures.’

In the time I’ve been a Spurs fan, we used to be well liked by neutrals or least there was a fondness for the club that dated from the Double and our attacking teams in the late 60s and early 70s. I knew a good few Welsh and Irish people who followed us, rather like Manchester United are followed today. After the Villa Cup Final, I wore my Spurs scarf and badges in London and five people during the course of a single tube journey congratulated me on a thrilling game. You wouldn’t get that these days. Indeed, when we were down, other fans constantly accused us of having ideas above our station,living in the past, not a big club. We wanted success, they reveled in our failure.

Now people look for our matches. They’ve watched football from a bygone age, end to end, bags of goals, attack. They’ve seen heroes, especially a young full back come midfielder who is a character straight out of Roy of the Rovers, stampeding through packed defences in series of unstoppable runs with players bouncing off him from all sides.

Yet this is real. Gareth Bale personifies the talent, enthusiasm and spirit that Spurs have brought to the tournament, culminating in a pulsating encounter that saw the European Champions defeated and left an indelible imprint in the ancient rusting girders at the Lane. The old place has seen it all, but they’ve not not seen anything like this. The ground was rocking and is rocking still.

It’s unfair to single out one player, however outstanding his impact. Van der Vaart has taken centre stage and Modric has done increasingly well as the competition progressed. Huddlestone anchored the team, perfect in Europe where he has a fraction more time, while Crouch, maligned in these pages I confess, remains a mystery to foreign defenders.

Above all the team has played as a unit in the three key home ties, resilient and indefatigable. The first half Berne is a distant memory, a treatment room full of injuries overcome.

And Harry Redknapp has done us proud. He wants to attack, a strategy that has looked risky during frequent buttock-clenching incidents and which is perhaps dictated by the absence of a truly dominating defensive midfielder. But for now, who cares. He’s made it work to dramatic effect. Just enjoy. Savour every last succulent moment, because this is entertainment and pleasure of a rare quality. I love this club.