N17 Has Never Looked So Sweet

October 6, 2010 / Alan / 9 Comments

For any club, moving to a new stadium is fraught with peril. It takes time, energy, a steely determination to win over all the interested parties, money, then more time. Some clubs ruin themselves in the process. Spurs, under the cautious stewardship of Daniel Levy, have spent years laying the groundwork, then the ultimate irony. On the day planning permission is granted by the council and the new ground is closer than ever before, comes the news that we may be off to east London.

Levy is known for his love of last-minute business, so here’s a window and he just couldn’t help himself. Last Thursday was deadline day for ‘expressions of interest’ in moving to the new Olympic Stadium and our name’s on the list.

Spot The Difference

Later that same evening, Haringey Council approved the revised planning application for the new ground right next to the Lane. This has been in the pipeline for several years now. The club have gradually bought up all the land in the vicinity and have overcome objections from a number of groups, including English Heritage. Now without any intended disrespect to the hardy residents of N17 0AP, there’s not a lot that could be done to make it worse, now could there? But we’re there now, admittedly with a reduced number of dwellings to be built on club land, the proceeds of which will go some way to cover the £400m cost of the project. Boris has to give his seal of approval, then we’re away.

It took a few days and some predictably inflamed comments from the Porn Twins (Sullivan: “If it happens, there will be real problems that could easily lead to civil unrest. I think there could be riots”) before the full implications sunk in. Although the papers cranked up the story, most of us accepted that Spurs were just covering themselves in case of a last minute slip-up. ‘Expression of interest’ isn’t saying very much. Then, the management of our ‘partners’, American company AEG, were bullishly quoted in the press. The Guardian was unequivocal, in the headline at least: ‘Olympic Stadium Now First Choice for Tottenham.’

I find a move to the Olympic Stadium hard to accept, in terms both of the evidence before us and the effect it will have on Spurs fans throughout the world. Spurs have poured years into the project, the development costs of which have been variously estimated at between £30m to £50m already. It finally has the backing of the Council. Finance is being put in place. The costs are not out of the question given turnover and demand. 56k+ is a lot of cash at Spurs’ CL prices. It will be hard to turn back now.

However, for the fans, this is about the heart not the head. The plans are a remarkable achievement, provided that we really have the money, but let’s leave that one for now. I desperately envied the Arsenal, not for their sterile ultra-modern stadium but for the fact that they built it so close to where they belong (OK OK insert your own gag here, you know what I mean). These things are important to fans and we have that in common with them. With space in London being at such a premium, it was a feat that surely could not be repeated by any other top club in the capital but I underestimated Levy, not for the first time.

Moreover, it’s a proper football ground. The club have apparently responded to fans’ feedback with stands close to the pitch and steeply tiered so there are good viewing angles all round and no one is too far away. The roof will hold in the atmosphere plus there is an ‘end’ to focus the support. Recently I’ve heard several pundits compliment White Hart Lane on the atmosphere. The numbers may be low but, enclosed and intimate, we can make some noise and it will echo and inspire, just like the old days. This won’t change.

Contrast this with the wide open spaces of the Olympic Stadium. We can wave to the players over the running track. I love athletics but not even Chirpy kills a football atmosphere more than those 8 lanes.

The problem is, this counts for little when it comes to planning. We the fans probably have a greater attachment to this most deprived of areas than many of the residents, but we don’t vote. That’s what counts for councillors already thinking of the next elections. Granted we bring much needed income to the place on matchdays but much of that ends up outside the borough. The cleaning and catering staff, the stallholder, the foodsellers all take their cash away.

Talking of cash, east London could save up to £200m, a not inconsiderable figure, especially on the day Liverpool are trying to implode.

Is It Better Like This? Or Like This?

Also, getting away from the Lane is bad enough as it is, but with another 18,000 I’m thinking that a helicopter is the only way to go. Anyone who has tried to escape from the Emirates will know what I mean, and they have 3 tube stations within 5 minutes walk. Tempted by the purpose-built stations, the wide plazas and relaxed setting of the Olympic park?

Me neither. The answer is ‘no’ and Levy needs to hear that loud and clear. If one good thing has emerged from this, it’s that I’ve realised how attached I am already to the new ground. It’s out of the question. Totally. Good news WHammers, it’s all yours. Get up a petition in support of your application and bring it to the Lane next home match. With all the signatures you’ll run out of paper. We’ll welcome you with open arms, cuddle and lace daisies in each other’s hair.

I suspect Levy thinks the same. He’s covered his bets, as a responsible chairman should, and at the same time nudged both Haringey and Boris in the right direction. I can’t vouch for the exact sequence, but I’m sure Haringey Council knew about our Olympic interest when the time came to take the decision. There’s some hard negotiating still to be done, especially regarding the redevelopment of Tottenham Hale station, but Levy’s not bad at the negotiating lark, as we’ve seen before.

Not least, West Ham’s bid is probably better. They have the local connections, although large sections of their support are not keen, and theirs is a joint bid with Newham Council. This will play very well with decision-takers tied into some concept of leaving something behind for the community once those two weeks in 2012 are over.

I drive past the Olympic Park on my way to and from the Lane. It’s odd to think that the eyes of the world will marvel at the design – it will look fabulous – yet all I see are the crabby dilapidated buildings adjoining the A102. Even odder, however, to conjure up a vision of this as the New Lane.

It won’t happen. AEG for reasons of their own image have gone overboard and this afternoon the club have issued a downbeat statement on the official site. http://www.tottenhamhotspur.com/news/articles/stadium-plans-update-061010.html Levy comes over as a cautious, taciturn figure but the new ground, our new ground, is his legacy. He’ll do the math but he’ll feel it in his heart too. He won’t turn away from that.

There’s a good business take on this by Martin Cloake, author of several Spurs books: http://www.dailyfinance.co.uk/2010/10/01/spurs-400m-stadium-plans-boosted/

True Love Blossoms Against the Villa

October 3, 2010 / Alan / 17 Comments

I demand my rights as a taxpayer and citizen of our great country. A public inquiry, nothing less. Maybe a Royal Commission, I’d accept that if pushed. Never mind Chilcot and Iraq, the might of the nation’s investigative forces should be re-focussed on a single key question: who told Daniel Levy that Rafael van der Vaart was available for transfer from Real Madrid?

The story goes that in mid-afternoon on deadline day, Levy rang Harry Redknapp to say he’d heard the player was available at an acceptable price. Might H be interested? No doubt you’ve heard this one, a moment in our modern history that is fast becoming part of the club’s folklore. What I want to know is, how? How did Levy know? Who called him? Why Levy and not some other chairman?

The reason is, find that person and I will give them everything. The house, the car, new flat-screen TV, that nice art-deco lamp from my wife’s family. Take it, anything you want, I’ll get down on my knees in gratitude because you deserve it, my friend, you deserve it.

Well, actually, you know, it’s a lease car so that’s not really on. And the house, nice little end of terrace but mortgaged to the hilt, so you might have to wait 20 years. OK then, all my worldly goods and chattels. That’s it, I’ll collect all my chattels for you. There’s the watch – no, that stopped 9 months ago and I haven’t got round to fixing it. The laptop! No, from work. This second hand thinkpad notebook that I’m typing on now…. Look, Ok, it turns out that I own nothing of any value whatsoever, but have it. What are chattels anyway?

You all adore him already. Bet I love him more than you. The control, vision, the quickness of thought matched only by the pace at which he moves the ball on. Athletic, squat and bullish. The confidence and swagger. Pointing, the ball here, give it here, now. Let him roam, wander wherever you wish. Where you end up, it’s the right place to be.

More than this, he makes everyone else play better too. They scurry around where before they would be still, waiting for something to happen. Now, now they want a piece of this. So Pav comes off the front man, Crouch peals away in expectation, JJ pushes forward with determination, head up, looking for the channels, Bale and Lennon on the charge out wide, Hutton comes from deep and Luka, lovely Luka, has a partner at last, someone on the same wavelength. Push and probe, up the pace of the attack suddenly at the edge of the box. VDV, just by being himself, opens up space. Defenders are uncertain, on the back foot, anxious. Notice how we had room for one-twos around their box. Not all worked but there was room for willing runners.

Dream away, there are goals too. The first, prosaic. A far post cross (the sight of one striker crossing to his partner, rare with Spurs these days but so welcome) and he with predatory instincts makes a run that Pav, Keane and JD should be able to do with their eyes shut, but don’t. And he’s in there, muscles needed now, no danger that anyone else will beat him to it, the power to force it home, the will to be first.

The second, breathtaking. Another header across the box, this time he’s in the thick of it. He hears Dunne’s heavy tread thundering down upon him, the brave defender launches what he believes, certain, would be another block like that which thwarted VDV earlier…and Rafa shimmys, a flicker of movement enough to take the ball under control…it’s like he has the power to manipulate the laws of physics, such is his ability to create space. Elemental particles bend under his thrall. So there, as the ball bounces to knee height, there is clean air where before there was none. Then the hammered volley. A moment of shimmering brilliance that will live long in the memory.

Before I go on, one more thing: what a fan-bloody-tastic game of football. The second half in particular pulsated with excitement, end to end, thrilling football, high drama, top quality skill from both teams at breakneck pace, near misses galore, heroic individual performances, old-fashioned physical challenges, frustrating mistakes. We are lauding a fine victory in what has been a great week for the club, while any Villa fans glancing at this will be aggrieved at not picking up a point to reward their excellent counter-attacking, but in the end we all love this game of ours. Here was a reminder of why football so captivated us as kids and weaves its magic spell to this day.

One reason for such an open game was that neither defence was able to get on top. Villa brought 10 or 11 men back without hesitation and for once Spurs deserve great credit for consistently finding a way through rather than floundering on the massed ranks at the edge of the box as happens so often. Movement, purpose and the ability to come down the flanks as well as through the centre created several chances, Pav, Hutton and Pav again failing to hit the target in the first half when well placed.

At the other end, our 8th choice centre half was targeted by Villa as our weak link. First Heskey then Carew was pushed up against Big Tom to exploit his inexperience in the role. Heskey destroyed Huddlestone. He had no idea whether to come tight or to drop off, and Villa wreaked havoc in the opening exchanges. Young was excellent throughout: I had long since dismissed his potential but in a freer role he will prosper. Always a danger yesterday. Albrighton looks a real prospect too.

Heskey it was who bullied the hapless Bassong into conceding the ball, then a bulish run into the box led to the goal. Coincidentally, he was a celebrity audience member in last night’s Comedy Roadshow. Michael McIntyre duly took the piss re the World Cup. Nothing like a bit of topical humour. Heskey smiled sweetly throughout his humiliation as the crowd roared their derision, but his wife’s fixed grin was truly terrifying. Astonished that this could happen, she then gazed at the stage with a rictus grin, eyes burning laser beams of hate straight into McIntyre’s heart. His performance today was a reminder that with all his faults, and there are many, he could have been so effective a player. His injury was a turning point – it relieved the pressure on our ailing defence and allowed us to move forward with less risk.

After the break, Harry allowed VDV more freedom in the middle and Lennon out wide kept Villa’s left side occupied. Most significantly, Jenas was stronger in the centre, offering more defensively and coming forward into the gaps ahead of him. Another fine performance.

However, there were still wide open spaces at the back that became a series of heroic individual contests, Benny and Seb one on one with their attackers, deep in the box. Great stuff, and they both did so well. Bassong is much better alongside some experience, playing off another centre half, but he had a good second half. Benny had a stormer, hurling himself into challenges and barely putting a foot wrong. Positioning not so hot for either of them but one on one they won their battles.

I would have liked Hutton to have tucked in more to assist Huddlestone but Harry was urging him forward. On the other flank, Bale as ever a danger.

In the first half, Villa counter-attacked at pace, effective indeed but we gave them the ball all the time. back it came, pinging off Pav and Crouch’s feet. This was another thing we handled better in the second period, keeping the ball.

Luka played in fits and starts, good combination play with VDV in particular but he does not look match sharp as yet. Together as regulars in midfield – dare we dream?

So a marvellous game and a deserved win, just about. Villa obligingly refused to spoil our week when two players missed the same cross and whilst they were always threatening, Gomes did not have to make a difficult save.

Rather than losing momentum in the international break, it will provide precious healing time for our injured centre backs. Without wishing to sour the mood, we won’t get anywhere without at least a couple coming back to full fitness. Then watch us go.

Almost Like Being There

October 2, 2010 / Alan / 4 Comments

No alternative, really. I had to go to the meeting. As the cosmic orrery whirrs inexorably into infinity, it’s hardly the equivalent of a supernova but it had to be done.

If it were just about me, no problem. In a heartbeat. Being there is all that matters and I would have put aside most everything else, just as I have for the last 40 or more years. This was about other people, however. I take my role as a trustee of a child care charity seriously, trying in my largely insignificant way to do the right thing for others.

Can you see me?

As a reasonable, aware and generous character, I’ve accomplished a few decent things over the years but amongst the people who knew me best, my legacy will be one of broken promises, mind-numbing stubbornness and scarred relationships, all due to Tottenham Hotspur and being there. Weddings, of course weddings. Not actually been invited to that many, come to think of it. Friends living in sin, perhaps, or so dysfunctional that they can’t hold on to a relationship for long enough. Three invitations turned down, when I was younger. Maybe they just don’t bother asking any longer. As a teenager I dreamed of getting into the school team, or in the coach’s case a nightmare as I was rubbish. But my chance came, early season against the old boys. Could have cemented my place for the rest of the season, but Spurs at home, not selected ever again. Dumped a group of kids in the hands of two colleagues and walked 6 miles along a dual carriageway in the rain to get to the station, when we were in the old second division. Missed the start of a course that was vital to my professional standing at the time because Spurs were at home to Ajax. Rang in from a phone box to say I was ill, pretend cough and sore throat, I was 29 for goodness sake. And best not to think about a couple of women who swiftly lost patience. The natural blonde….oh well, best leave it.

Now many people have other stories about football fanaticism far more crazy than this. Feel free to confess in the comments section. But for me, it’s been about arranging my life to the best of my ability to be there. The course as above – I chose that one partly because it was interesting, mainly because it took place on a Tuesday and Thursday. In those days, children, an immutable law of the universe stated that Spurs played evening games on a Wednesday, the A’s on a Tuesday. T’was ever thus and evermore shall be so. And the thought of football on a Thursday, well, please. Rotas, duty systems, favours stored up for cover. But this was an appointment too far. It’s like I’ve let myself down. In a complex, ever-changing world of compromise and shallowness, a man has to live by some principles, and what is he if he lets slip the fundamentals? I despise myself.

Very pleasant it was too. Excellent company in a swanky restaurant. I know it was good because you could barely see the portions. My sea bass was more like a stickleback. I made out I had not started out of polite deference, waiting for the other orders to arrive, but in fact I paused in expectation of vegetables that never came. What they termed a sauce, I thought was a smear on a dirty plate.

My son texted the half-time score. Regular updates would have been too much, the strain of waiting, anticipating a message that could arrive at any moment. Better for the nerves to wait until 8.35. Couldn’t even pick that up as I was sat next to the chair who chose that moment to begin the speeches.

So we say goodbyes and stroll back to the station. My companions step left to the bus stop and I cross over to the tube. Then…I have to turn back. There’s still about 5 minutes left. 6 screens in the Wetherspoons on the corner, all showing Man U. Oh well. There’s another pub in the next street, 100 yards, may not be open in the City at night, quiet place, I’ve been in there before, pleasant but the lights are just a fraction bright. Just this one, give it a go.

Can’t see through the windows. May not even have a TV. Open the door, it’s reasonably busy, I register the reassuring familiar burble of a commentator’s voice plus a crowd roar. It’s us and we’re 3-1 up. There, in the corner of the screen, 3-1. I smile then in the few steps it takes to get to the bar I’m grinning manically. The barmaid was positively terrified that I was so delighted to see her.

White Hart Lane. Nearly

I dimly clocked a Spurs shirt to my right but my focus was on the TV. I looked up, it’s Bale in the box, it’s in and the whole place goes mental. I’m slapping the backs of total strangers having been in the place for all of 50 seconds. It’s full of Spurs fans. Everywhere. The surge of raw emotion, pent up and suppressed in the days leading up to this most vital of matches to the extent that I suspected the passion just wasn’t there any more, utterly engulfs me. I swoon and sway in the ecstasy of victory, flooding over me, purging the heart and cleansing the soul. The roar is deafening and we’re dancing to ‘Glory Glory Tottenham Hotspur’ over the PA as the players troop off.

A couple of blokes by the door bring me up to speed. I watched every second of the drama when I got home but somehow I felt part of it all. So to the regulars of the One Tun in Farringdon, my sincere thanks for evermore. As good as I could get to being there. And in my case that’s the biggest compliment I can pay you.

Spurs v Bremen – Intoxicating, Infuriating, Ultimately Satisfying

September 15, 2010 / Alan / 14 Comments

Spurs opening match in the Champions League was an intoxicating mixture of breathless brilliance and the downright infuriating. Just as we became accustomed to the new model Eurospurs, dictating and dominating to the manor born, as if this were our 51st game in the competition rather than our first, familiar frailties threatened to expose it all as a giant conceit. In the end we discovered a measure of equilibrium and the result not only provides sustained satisfaction, it also heightens the anticipation for the home game against Twente in a fortnight. A point to begin with is fine, four after two matches and the possibilities are staggering.

Wide eyed we marvelled. Pass and move, smooth, purposeful and easy on the eye, punctuated by a few moments of swooning beauty, like gazing into the eyes of a stunning woman for the first time and she looks right back. Two mesmerising moves for the goals, both moving the ball 60 yards with two passes. I roared at the first, gasped open-mouthed at the second. A move of classic simplicity, made to look effortless by outstanding skill and finished with a header that was glorious in its perfection. The opening passages were truly the stuff of dreams.

Our five man midfield was set up to avoid being over-run but we proved how effective an attacking option such a formation can be. The proviso is, we have to have the right players. Last night the blend was almost perfect. Huddlestone and Jenas toiled unstintingly in the centre and crucially could also deliver the ball accurately when required. JJ in particular was excellent throughout, his stamina and passing adding another dimension to that key area of the battle. His selection to replace the off-form Palacios was a bold move by Redknapp and the manager was rewarded with a fine display.

Definition of a class midfielder: Rafael van der Vaart. This guy has got it. In spades. Strong, shrewd and skilful with a great touch and sense of where to be, right time right place. The Bremen defence were permanently on edge as he moved around in the area between back four and midfield. He wasn’t averse to dropping back when we lost the ball.

In the delicate balance between our attacking instincts and the need for prudence lay the destiny of the match. On the left we clearly ran out winners. After the group stages are over, Gareth Bale will be the most talked about young footballer in Europe. He slaughtered an international opponent in a battle-hardened team. In fact the most grief he had all evening was from his manager who appeared to be giving him an ear-bashing for not doing more of the same in the second half.

Over on the other side, the scales tipped the other way. Lennon failed to sparkle but even so he provided width that stretched their defence and kept their left side occupied. His lack of tracking back, however, left our flank ripe for exploitation and Marin took full advantage. In the same way that Bremen did not close us down in the centre, Marin was given far too much room: too often he faced only one man when he should have been double-teamed. His sense of freedom was enhanced by Corluka’s wretched evening. Left exposed, he appeared to have totally lost his bearings, a dyspraxic lost at sea. In vain I waited for this solid player to gather himself. His form has been poor for some time now and is becoming a major concern. His positional play and sound timing always has to be sharp to compensate for his lack of pace, and these resources have deserted him. A favourite of mine, I’m so disappointed.

The strength of our centre backs provided a solid platform at first for our early enterprise and later for some hard defending as Bremen pressured. Kaboul was the pick. This raw talent is maturing in front of our eyes, His application has been superb this season, taking Dawson’s determination to seize his chance in the middle of last season as his example.

Benny. Ben. Benjamin. Benny boy. Benny the ball. Ben Dover no not that one. Ben Jovi. What on earth. You know I like you, wrote about it a few weeks ago. But we’ll never know what passes through your mind. Lovely passes, good support of the attack, nicely timed tackles. Then a wildly misplaced hack up the field. I’ll actually let you off the goal. You could have done more but even if you had, he’s a big bloke and would have beaten you to that ball.

But here’s the thing. Don’t give the ball away unnecessarily. Regular readers (I can dream) know what’s coming…I’m retitling the blog. From now on it will be called ‘Giving It All Away’. It could be sub-titled ‘Severe Ball Retention’ but that would get the wrong sort of interest from Google searches. Here’s the infuriating bit. Keep the ball. Don’t give it away, let them come and get it. Time and again we presented Bremen with possession. Even when we played keep-ball in the last 10 minutes, we had that throw-in and free kick in the far left, in or near injury time, and no one took it to the corner flag. This will come with experience, or so I would wish to believe, but we’ve heard it all before, in the Premier League. It’s the hardest lesson to learn and frankly Bremen should have punished more severely.

As it was, our defence was pierced too easily in the second half. The midfield who were sound by and large, were asleep after the restart. All five of them were upfield, presenting Bremen with a open path to our box, uncluttered by tackles or pressure. Well-finished by Marin but he could not believe his luck in getting that far.

A combination of good fortune, wayward finishing and some good blocks saw us through. Cudicini could have come for the cross that led to Bremen’s first but it was a decent ball (delivered with any pressure being applied) and he was solid enough on his line. Notably his distribution was an asset – on several occasions he passed the ball to team-mates from the box where most keepers would have hacked aimlessly downfield.

The contrast between VDV and Keane could not have been more damning against the Irishman. I say this with no pleasure as in his experience and all-round game is welcome in a substitute. However, he too gave the ball away and wasted precious opportunities, opting for over-complicated passes and making runs that look good but in fact ask far too much of his colleagues. Notice how often his runs require a ball of such precision, into the narrow strip between the back four and keeper, or a ball right into the corner that takes him into safe areas for the defence.

I detest the popular phrase ‘settle for a point’ because it denies potential and restricts ambition. However, the fact of the matter is, an away point at Bremen is a fine outcome. Undoubtedly parts of the second half were excruciating – I covered my face with my hands on more than one occasion – but this morning I was quietly delighted, a feeling that has stayed with me all day. Driving late last night night, I found myself switching from station to station, just to hear the sports bulletins, opening item, “and in the Champions League tonight…”, followed a few moments later by ‘Tottenham Hotspur’. These words are so familiar, yet so distant. Until now that is. Exhilarating and excruciating, this is the Champions League and we are part of it. And I want more.