Spurs supporters

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

Pay Now And The Club Will Pay For It Later. Price Hikes, Tickets and Alienation.

/ Alan / 10 Comments

Easter is a time of custom and ceremony, and Tottenham Hotspur have entered into the spirit of the season with a tradition of their own. Booking office chaos as the tickets for a big match go on sale swiftly followed by season ticket price increases that cannot be masked even by the wave of excitement as Spurs’ season reaches a crescendo. It’s as familiar as Easter eggs, admittedly without the warm feeling that giving and receiving brings, although by the end you will be left sick and bloated.

Another Wembley appearance, more stories of lost days watching the dreaded purple bar edge from left to right or hanging on the phone listening to musak only to be chucked out of the system just as you reach for the ‘buy tickets’ option. Let’s be clear about this: there is no good reason why this should happen. The lines are busy, of course they are. Season ticket holders are guaranteed a ticket but not the view or the price they want. Demand could be met if the club were prepared to invest in a system to handle it. It’s all down to money: they aren’t bothered in the slightest.

I confess that I escaped lightly. I was fortunate enough to be office based that day and able to use a landline phone so after the bar appeared to be etched permanently on my computer screen I dialled the box office more in hope than expectation and got the tickets I wanted in 10 minutes. What infuriates fans is not so much the delay but the total lack of logic and information available. If it took me 10 minutes at about 12.30 on the day of sale and others were cut off after waiting for two or three hours, there’s no proper queuing system. If people are patient enough to wait online, why then are they turfed out at the point of payment? To repeat, this is not technology. Rather, it’s a club that refuses to organise this fairly.

We’re doing well so out come the season ticket prices. Other clubs offer a

We’re all in this together

discount for early renewals as a reward for loyalty and for the extra interest they can accumulate all the while the cash is in their account. Spurs on the other hand give us access to a TV channel no one wants to watch. It’s the equivalent of Sky triumphantly saying that although prices have gone up £5 a month, Dmax and Sumo TV are free.

I negotiated the ridiculously untidy official site (things I do for you, dear reader) – design concept why click once to find key information when we can take you to seven different windows – to find out the other goodies. As well as yet another pinbadge I don’t want, they’ve included the plastic season ticket card as one of the gratis benefits. I should now apparently be grateful to have the means to enter the ground.

As inflation in N17 rises, Paxton season ticket holders pictured on their way to the ticket office

Spurs say they have limited the rise to keep pace with inflation, which works out at an average of £1.50 per game but even accepting these figures there are still winners and losers, again for reasons that are unclear. My seat in the centre shelf has gone up by £25, just under that £1.50 figure, perhaps because this time last year it rose by over 6%, way above other increases. Meanwhile, my salary has gone up 1% in 4 years. Last evening on twitter @cobthfc told me his Shelf side ticket is now £840, a rise of £70. The venerable @lustdoctor is now down a further £100 and 9 years of loyalty points for his Paxton vantage point. Inflation in N17 must be different from the rest of Britain. It hasn’t quite reached that of post WW1 Germany but expect fans with wheelbarrows of cash turning up at the box office.

I’m lucky to have a season ticket and a job but these rises to prices that are already amongst the highest in the world to watch a football match serve only to alienate Tottenham’s core support. It’s naked exploitation, of the fan’s passion, their loyalty to their team and of the club’s current success on the field. Players and manager praise the support, they couldn’t do without us, but there’s no reward, only a further turning of the screw. Here the law of supply and demand rules supreme. Levy will point to the lengthy waiting list, choosing whatever figure between 20,000 and 33,000 that suits at the time. To him, it doesn’t matter who turns up, it’s just bums on seats. If lifelong supporters turn their backs, there will be others to take their place.

However, the ultimate victims of this short-sighted policy could be the team itself, because this is simply storing up trouble. Things are fine and dandy now because we are doing well but as soon as standards fall, as they will as surely as day becomes night, dissatisfaction will grow, and it will be expressed in the only way fans around the country and across the globe know how – abuse.

In a logical world, protest will be expressed by simply not going but despite efforts at several clubs, that’s not the way we do things. We will complain by shouting, screaming and moaning, out loud, at the ground, in front of the players and staff. This does no good whatsoever for the team and its prospects, and if it happens, the board have to take a large share of the responsibility because they have alienated fans and exploited our apparently inexhaustible supply of goodwill towards the team we adore.

There is an unspoken but palpable and profound bond between fan and club, not just at Spurs but at very ground. We’ll support you, we’ll certainly take the bad times, provided you do your best. It’s a implied contract that is as powerful as anything that could be written down yet Spurs like many clubs in contemporary football do not understand that it’s a two-way agreement. Instead, we give, they take.

They can do so because one aspect of the old contract no longer holds good. ‘We pay your bloody wages’ was a familiar terrace cry during the lean spells but the fact is, we don’t any more. ‘We make a small contribution to your vastly inflated salary’ hasn’t much of a ring to it but it’s accurate because most of the cash comes from TV these days. I look forward to the day an impatient player snaps back with, ‘Ah but you haven’t taken Far East merchandising revenue into account.’ The price increases will probably fund a back-up squad player’s salary for 9 or 10 months, not much more.

Tottenham are lucky that most of our support are long-standing loyalists who wear the shirt through thick and thin, and we’ve seen plenty of thin over the years. In contrast, there is a generation of Arsenal and Chelsea fans who have known nothing but unbroken success. I’m not having a go (for once) – it’s a fact. That’s all they know. To us and the rest of football, it can make their recent complaints the subject of ridicule – Chelsea sack world-renowned managers because they only win the league once every two years, Arsenal are currently struggling, apparently, and fans are washing their hands of the club when they were “only” 5th.

However, we may have more in common with our north London rivals than we may wish to acknowledge, because the underlying reason for this discontent is high ticket prices, even greater than ours. The massive expense of football means we want something for our money, and before you say it, make no mistake that will happen at Spurs if prices stay high and we slip down the table, because this is no local problem, it’s a feature of the Premier League era. Manchester United have lost season ticket holders this season. Sunderland, Newcastle, Liverpool, fans all over the country will give voice to their indignation. This is not just about league position, it’s about the increasing distance between fan and club that high ticket prices engender.

Spurs know this. It’s no coincidence that the two photos that accompany the new price structure on the website are a player’s huddle and Rafa in the crowd celebrating a goal. We’re all in this together, but that phrase isn’t going down too well lately. It’s OK, we get it. My fear is that Spurs, like other Premier League clubs, don’t. It’s a two-way stretch and like Easter, giving means something as well as receiving. Tottenham could have given something more than a free plastic ticket wallet to reward our loyalty and they are stirring up problems for the future, because if we don’t get behind the team, the team don’t play. It’s not just about the money, it strikes at the heart of what really matters, on the pitch.

Tottenham Hotspur: Football The Way It Should Be Played

/ Alan / 23 Comments

We were in our places a few minutes earlier than usual, standing not sitting, hopping around not so much to stave off the bitter cold, more in excited anticipation. Even the veterans haven’t seen anything like this.

The players had a prematch kickabout, the mascot’s nervous pride shone through as they found a hero to play with, but all eyes were on the tunnel. Harry scuttled to his seat, eyes down, surrounded by his loyal lieutenants. A few short paces, but the march of an ancient Roman Emperor returning to the city from a successful campaign could not have been greeted as a greater triumph.

The ground sang his name from beginning to end, ‘one Harry Redknapp’, ‘we want you to stay’.  Pause for breath and it was ‘Pardew for England’. As if determined not to be overshadowed, the players proceeded to rip their hapless opponents to shreds. Inspired by a tidal-wave of goodwill, they swamped Newcastle in a breathtaking display of bewilderingly complex movement, stunning pace and ice-cold finishing.

Modric dominated the centre, sinew and artistry in contrast to his team-mate Bale, pace and muscle

Harry waves at me

rampaging through the defence. He and Krancjar swapped sides, Saha became 10 years younger in an instant. Throwing off all those injuries and scars as he drank deep from an elixir of youth. Assou Ekotto strolled up and down the left and was both playmaker and unlikely scorer. And through it all Emmanuel Adebayor provided the focus and vision around which every attack revolved.

Beforehand Redknapp tried to pretend this was business as usual but as the goals went in one by one he was as thrilled by his marvellous side as any fan in the land. He’d created this, a team of all talents that swept away a rival for the coveted top four. Harry’s a tough old bird but he’s seldom seen football this good, and he made it happen. This was beauty, the way the game is supposed to be played. He punched the air after the first goal then quickly sat down to regain his composure. Less than twenty minutes later, number four and he punched the air, a little dad at a wedding dance, part joy, part incredulity, much relief. After a week like he’s had, everything had come right and the expelled tension flowed into the night air. The Lane is home now. He’ll never feel safer.

Everything happened around and because of Adebayor. Four assists plus a sweet delicate chest high volley, it’s hard to believe he’s been out of sorts lately even though his most disappointing game was only 6 days ago. Maybe that’s the sign of a quality professional, that he decided to do something about it. Drifting wide he took the defence with him, leaving the keeper cruelly exposed, as for the opener when Benny had enough room to throw down a picnic blanket and open the hamper at the far post. More central, he held on to it under pressure or toppled sideways, in the act of falling touching back to a team-mate, eye on the ball, mind on the half chance.

His work for the first two goals was masterful, an irresistible combination of skill, pace and precision. He’s top dog here if he plays like this. He has no rival for that position. Rather than making him complacent, that’s where he wants to be, on the pitch and in the dressing room. That’s why we don’t get any disruption from him. This was the definitive modern lone striker and the first half should be used in traingn videos.

We prospered from the stream of crosses and neat balls into channels that came from all sides. Walker, Modric, Bale, Benny, Niko, a few from Parker who for the most part stayed in the background and made sure nothing much happened at the other end. Although Saha was playing off Manu, his instincts take him into the box. Recently I’ve mentioned that if I do have a niggle, it’s about scoring more goals from inside the area and noticeably we had a couple more bodies in there last night. Our second showed the value of how an ageing striker may not have the legs but he has the instinct. Right place right time, only the finest goal scorers make it look that easy. I’ll leave you to the blockbusting blasters from 25 yards. This is my kind of goal. I’ve watched it 20 times on ESPN goals and you now what, I’m pausing for a second to have another look. Oh Harry, you’ve done it again.

Manu and Louis again for the third, back to the goal touch this time, Saha close by. They say it takes time for partnerships to build and develop, but 20 minutes?

Newcastle are shattered and there’s still three-quarters of the game to go.

HR looks worried. This wasn't taken yesterday

Adebayor has pulled them all over the place. Like an old woollen jumper after a downpour, they are sagging and out of shape. Collocinni has no idea what to do but he makes a better effort than the rest of his defence. Our opponents had injuries but no pattern or organisation. Their midfield offered no protection whatsoever and their fullbacks will have nightmares for years to come, in the depths of the night a vision of blurry white shirts rushing past them from all angles. Make it stop, in heaven’s name stop, have mercy! You don’t have to be a first-teamer to stand in the right position but they failed to do even that.

The gaps opened and e filled them, piling into the space at lightening speed from all directions. Saha almost with a hat-trick then Niko followed up.

We drew breath and the second half was bound to be an anti-climax after that. We strolled, largely untroubled although Friedel made one good save, as attentive to his duties as ever. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see him on the end of one of those first half crosses, such was our superiority.

I love Harry Redknapp, Harry Redknapp loves me. I think he’ll go but if anything keeps him here, it will be nights like these. The Lane is rocking, the football is delightful and Harry’s heart was pounding. He’s one of us now, and he likes that feeling. He’ll forever be associated with West Ham but Harry, be honest, you never had a night like this one at the Boleyn, now did you?

On a day when the headlines have been dominated by the wretched Suarez and a minority of apologist Liverpool fans who seek to justify his foul, base attitudes, this was the perfect antidote. Football as it is supposed to be. An outstanding, stunning performance.

A Night Of Tension Not Glory

/ Alan / 16 Comments

Everybody I talked to said the same thing – we were up for it like no other game in recent memory. Not just a derby, this one has become more sour over the last few years. There’s a bitter edge to it, compared with the intense but long-standing rivalry with the Arsen*l, heightened by the welcome but unusual sensation of being third and favourites. Yet after Spurs’ dazzling start, Chels*a hauled themselves back into the match as our performance gradually collapsed under the weight of expectation.

Recently it has taken Spurs a while to get going. Last night, we started like greyhounds after a live hare. Bale went for the throat and ripped apart the defence in a series of blistering, muscular runs. The Sandro/Parker platform give him free rein and how he took to his task with relish. In the end, Chels*a stopped him only by delegating 3 men to cover. By then he had set up Adebayor’s goal, great anticipation plus a long gangling leg to get in front of the defender and better judgement than Cech who didn’t think the Spurs striker could reach it.

This was one of a number of runs, wide to bang in the crosses or cutting inside to make and miss a good opportunity in the opening minutes. The volleyed cross above waist high, chasing a cause everyone else had given up, epitomised his first half.

Good times. Sandro snuffed out any moves by our opponents down the middle while Modric was always able to find space in a crowded midfield. One lovely moment when he conjured up a pass in the very moment of being dragged to the floor by a defender. Assou Ekotto found him regularly with early, accurate passes. We played like the favourites we were and ran the game. Sturridge shot over after an uncharacteristic Friedel fumble. Nothing could go wrong.

However, gradually our opponents reasserted themselves. Drogba hit the post. The goal was a soft one, the scorer unmarked in the box a few yards out. Handball? I’ve not seen any replays but it didn’t look blatant from the Shelf. The Paxton were outraged but then again it was one of those tense evenings that provoked moments of outrage throughout. I did see Benny trailing back, too late to pick up Sturridge, who caused problems for the rest of the game coming in from his wing and BAE was adrift too often. Not one of his better nights.

It wasn’t just the goal that brought them back into contention. In the comments section of Sunday’s piece, as ever more interesting than the article itself, a few regulars and I chewed the tactics fat. Tactics were always going to be crucial in a match of this significance. The Blues’ 4-3-3 allows them to break quickly and sustain an attack with numbers but also they fall back into a dense, disciplined 4-5-1 when they lose possession. To break through we needed to continue to be at our peak but for threequarters of the match we didn’t pass or keep the ball as well as we have done this season. Our opponents stifled us like a boxer hanging on in the clinches but we could and should have been more inventive. VDV couldn’t get on the ball at all, perhaps because of injury, and Parker was quieter than usual. Rather than knock it around and wait for an opening or spread the ball wide, we pushed it forward too quickly.

Harry saw Rafa’s departure as an opportunity rather than a threat. We went 4-4-2 in a bold move to take the game to the Blues and exploit their rearranged right side of the defence. It didn’t work. Pav provided some comedy value but no one was laughing. On the way home we were overtaken on the North Circular by a white Audi 6 PAV, heading off down the A12. Could it have been he, speeding away from the ground as fast as he could, which supposedly he did on Sunday?

As with Sunday, two up front doesn’t work well with this team. They are used to a different balance. It’s better with Defoe because he’s adapted his game this season to play deeper when required. However, as time went on Pav and Manu stayed forward and increasingly detached from the others, too far apart. Manu should have roamed but as it was, their back four were seldom shifted around and dealt with our increasingly rare attacks.

Also, Luka has to stay central. Despite Cole’s advances on our right, we were weak when Modric was wide right and strong every time he came into the middle. This was why we were better in the later stages: Luka was in his rightful place. He had a good effort deflected, then made the pass that enabled Bale to put in Manu for his late chance.

Our defending at set pieces was amateurish. We never got close to Terry and I was relieved when Drogba was substituted.

Our opponents were stronger for much of the half and frankly should have scored. I swore as the ball reached the head of Ramires: it sounded for a split second that mine was the only voice in the stand as a deathly hush descended and time stood still. He missed, and 30,000 souls exhaled.

We mopped up many attacks but never quite picked up their runs from deep. Gallas rose to the challenge, becoming more assertive, while King was alert and quick. He and Sturridge set off on a chase. This was more than a dangerous throughball on the right wing. It was the old master versus the young pretender.

In the blink of an eye, it could have been the changing of the guard. Ledley has learned to turn quickly and maintain a chopped economical stride to coax the maximum effort from those battered, weary bones. He was ahead but the young man pressed from behind. Eager and willing, he sensed weakness and quickened. Shoulder to shoulder at full speed now, for a moment he eased ahead but Ledley stretched one last time and came away with the ball, the master still. Long live the King.

We rallied in the final ten minutes but the impact of good chances for Luka and Sandro were lost in the stomach-churning emptiness of the possibility of defeat. This hideous desperation is part and parcel of success too, I guess. I thought our moment had come as Modric and Bale opened up the defence at last. Manu stroked the ball goalwards but Terry blocked it and the moment had passed. Despite this, we began the night confident that anything less than three points would be failure but ended it relieved that we had one. A good point in that we are ahead and stayed there. Chels*a are still chasing us and like Ledley, we have enough to stay ahead.

Everyone focussed on John Terry. I’ve deliberately left it until last. I don’t like the man and how he carries himself. He deserves some stick but the negativity grew tiresome after a while. The ground felt a better, more positive place for our team when the Lane was rocking with ‘When the Spurs’.

His fans gave him their full support. I question what this says about them. Terry is innocent until proved guilty but if I were accused of racist remarks I would be home under suspension rather than leading my team into the challenge of the New Year. His employers put their own narrow and selfish needs before that of the wider issue of racism in football.

The same can be said about their fans. It’s highly unlikely but if a Spurs player were similarly accused, I would support the team because I love the shirt but would remain silent when it came to that individual. Yet by their actions I can only presume that their fans provided their full backing to a man accused of racism. The tribalism of football offers no excuse. Disgraceful.