Tottenham Hotspur

The Seismic Rending of Victory in the North London Derby

/ Alan / 9 Comments

Released from the stifling burden of his defensive responsibilities, Kyle Walker moves purposefully onto a loose ball. He’s spent a good while with his back to the wall, unable to shake free of the relentless pressure coming his way as our north London rivals dominate. Walker’s known primarily for his pace but he’s a fine footballer too, so it’s a touch then head down, eyes on the ball, it flies low and on target.

Walker has phenomenal potential but still has a lot to learn – his pace can’t solve every defensive conundrum. The thing is, this young man is tough beyond his years, battle hardened as a teenager in the Championship and now he has his opportunity, he’s absolutely determined to seize it. His eyes are cold and focussed. Ready. As the ball hits the net, the deafening sound of a seismic shift, a  cracking, groaning roar as plates collide to reshape our world in a terrible rending. Rising from the dust, a fresh landscape, new typography to bury the old amongst layers of dinosaur eras. North London is ours.

When I first began to understand fully the significance and drama of the derby, the records of the two clubs over the years showed almost precise symmetry. In the thirty or so years since then, one team has forged ahead. It’s bad enough but on top of that they not only pinched our precious prize of being the only team to win the double, they did it on our ground, then repeated that feat, as well as playing some of the best football the Premier League has ever seen.

Their dominance was symbolised not by these frightening statistics but in the derbies. We just could not get near them. Every time, something happened. Controversial decisions, red cards, we score four but they get five, how can that happen? But most of the time, the fact is they swept us aside, at the Lane with dazzling counter-attacking football and a defensive line that left us like toddlers banging our fists on the floor in blind frustration. I still feel the pain.

Now the balance has finally shifted. Three wins and a draw in the last four tells part of the tale. The key is, we have rebuilt our team gradually whereas they have failed to do the same. Now it’s they who are struggling to keep up. Our blend of youth and experience represents the way forward. And then there’s the intangible but real sensation that in a tight game like this one, it’s going to swing our way. We absorbed considerable pressure in the second half especially and had a few scrapes but did not concede another. In the past, we’ve had to play at our absolute best even to be in with a shout. Yesterday we won despite quiet performances from Modric and Adebayor. Then there’s that swerving, challenging shot that no one, and let’s be honest that includes the fans as well as the keeper, thought was going in until it crossed the line and there was no turning back.

Unlike the crash bang wallop of other city derbies, this was another in the growing tradition of excellent matches, shaped by a fascinating tactical battle between one manager who lives and breathes tactics and another who likes to deny their importance. As with many aspects of Redknapp’s public persona, things aren’t what they seem and ultimately the changes he introduced in the second half proved decisive.

Harry’s instinct to attack plus our opponent’s weakness in defence encouraged a 4-4-2. Wenger countered with five in midfield, tried and trusted by him as well as covering up for his side’s imperfections. After a bright start when we had good chances, their three in centre midfield first stifled our advances then after a period of stalemate, pushed us onto the back foot. Defoe was forced deeper and deeper. To his credit he worked hard all afternoon to good effect but it wasn’t where he wanted to be.

Despite this, we had gone one up, wonderful control from Van der Vaart – no irony, there, not handball – followed by a shot across the keeper. Although the marking could have been better, Rafa made that chance by his movement, popping up unexpectedly on the left. He has the freedom to do so because of the movement behind him, Parker running the show and shifting across to cover if he or others go forward. Adebayor didn’t shine, and missed a cracking chance in the second half, but on the theme of movement, he takes defenders with him to make space for others. A special mention for Defoe in the build-up to the goal. Instead of knocking the ball off, back to goal he turned and took the initiative. That was the crucial moment. Suddenly it created danger and committed their defenders. Three passes later, the ball was in the back of the net.

Second half, the three dominated and enabled them to exploit our vulnerable left. Parker and Modric couldn’t get the ball, never mind get us going, and we fell apart for the equaliser. Too much room for the cross, acres of space at the near post to score.

Redknapp turned the tide by bringing on Sandro, a brave decision to take off your goalscorer and and dangerman, but the correct one. Chances came and went but with this new Spurs there’s another one coming along. Luka should have done better with his but he was uncharacteristically off his admittedly stellar standards. However, he and Bale had done enough to unbalanced the defence that throughout we had been able to move around. Sucked left, there was space on the right as the ball ran loose to Walker.

When the going gets tough, Scott Parker gets going. He took over and despite a couple of knocks, he was not prepared to let this hard-won lead slip. It was as if he’s been playing in the derbies for ten years rather than making his debut. He knew what it meant. Outstanding. With Sandro straight into the action and Bale raiding down the left, we could have scored again but at least it meant for most of the time we had the ball and kept it far, far away from our goal. Kaboul and King protected it well, with Van Persie anonymous. Kaboul was beaten too easily twice in the first half by RVP, once conceding a free kick. However, he didn’t repeat those errors and was commanding in the last 20 minutes, when he needed to be. King’s return is a masterstroke by Harry. He doesn’t seem stretched in the slightest. Odd though to see our rivals cross the ball so often, rather than pass it around, a sure sign that their powers are on the wane. K and K headed it all away.

We won, yet by the end I was exhausted. Relief at the final whistle, but as I calmed down, I realised that despite my anxiety, we were totally on top after we scored. Now there’s only joy, which will last a long while. This is going to be a good week.

It’s frankly unlikely that in other circumstances I’d be able to have a chat with Salman Rushdie. However, a combination of Twitter and the comradeship of being a fan brought us together last evening. A few messages exchanged, he’s been a Spurs fan for 50 years and watched the match in Los Angeles, where he reports the sun grew even brighter on the final whistle. Let’s enjoy the sun and enjoy the win together.

 

 

 

 

Manu – We Need Him But Does He Need Us?

/ Alan / 19 Comments

Tottenham Hotspur desperately need a player like Emmanuel Adebayor. His strength, pace and goalscoring ability on the ground and in the air will if all goes smoothly become the long sought after focal point for our attacking play. No one who was at the Lane to witness his exquisite volley in the 3-1 defeat by our neighbours will need to be convinced – it’s seared in my brain, probably forever, which can’t be said for many of the goals we’ve scored since then.

So the real question is not do we need Emmanuel Adebayor but why does he need us? Specifically, and let’s not beat around the bush here, why does he want to play in front of fans who have given him dogs abuse, more calculated and vile than any I can recall in over 40 years of watching Spurs?

That Song is nasty, brutish and racist. Many say that’s not a legitimate interpretation. I wrote about this last year and nothing I’ve heard before or since has altered my opinion. I am neither a prude nor averse to the abuse that crowds dish out during matches. In fact, there’s a powerful argument  to say that abuse is all fans have left in the face of intransigent and distant administrators, a game driven by profit and power and players who value money and celebrity above pride in their performance.

Despite this, there are limits and this song goes too far. In so doing, it shames the tradition of tolerance in the stands at Spurs. We are rightly indignant when subjected to the equally despicable insults relating to the yids tag, especially as no one does anything about it, indeed in some quarters we are blamed for bringing it on ourselves. However, in the dark days of football racism in the seventies and eighties, when WHam and Chelsea fans racially abused their own black players, when bananas were routinely chucked onto the pitch and not as an energy aid, you never, ever saw that at Tottenham. Yet this song is sung out of habit these days, when until recently the player had nothing to do with us, didn’t even play in the same league. I’m not particularly aware of him having a real go at us, although I am happy to be corrected. Not in the way Terry and Lampard, Henry and Pires have gone out of their way to taunt us.

The song is sung just for the delight of it. He first heard when his father had been dead for less than a year. And we are not the only ones. L’arse sung it when he scored against them for City after his infamous length of the field run to their end.

So in the face of this extraordinary abuse, which he heard for himself at the Bernabeu only a few months back, knowing the fans detest him, he signs. If he strung us along until deadline day only to spurn us at the last second, I wouldn’t have blamed him.

The easy answer is ‘money’. No doubt there’s plenty on offer, not just in terms of matching his salary but also a hefty bonus for signing on the dotted line. However, that’s not the sole reason because he could have achieved that aim by staying where he was or by accepting the other offers that were around.

Professional pride is a factor. He wants to play regularly and knows he will be first choice at Spurs. Harry made him welcome and despite any misgivings about his image expressed on this blog and elsewhere, his reputation with most players is justifiably high. Our style suits Manu perfectly, and if it all goes according to plan, he will be a star again.

Yet professional pride can’t be the full answer because there’s plenty of evidence portraying the striker as disruptive and selfish. At our neighbours he became bored and agitated for a move, cited in the process as an unwelcome influence in the dressing room, while at City he had a right sulk on after being left out, including a fight with one of his team-mates. When the mood takes him, he’s not professional in the slightest.

For us mere mortals, it’s nigh on impossible to fully understand the psyche of a professional footballer. They’re like you and me, flesh and blood after all, yet so different at the same time. In your world, whatever your job, if you had been viciously and publicly abused over a sustained period by your main rival company, would you go and work for them for the same money and if you had an alternative job offer? At your sales conventions, in the pub, in your trade press, you were the butt of all the jokes, now you’re on the payroll. I wouldn’t, and I’m the most reasonable man I’ve ever known.

Some players deal with this by being mercenaries, flitting from club to club with little or no loyalty to anything other than themselves and their paycheque, but that doesn’t ring true in this case. There’s something more to Adebayor. Many professionals react to the pressure by retreating into their own world as a form of self-protection. They assiduously guard this sense of self-worth, to the point of absurdity at times where their self-importance becomes arrogance. However, without their self-confidence, they are lost, unable to cut it in the face of the demand to succeed in the public eye, endless analysis of their faults compounded with stark abuse from fans. In Adebayor’s case, this resilience is not just about football, it’s survival.

The messageboards and twitter greeted Adebayor’s signing with a flood of suitably positive new versions of That Song, and very amusing and self-depreciating they were too. In a small way I like to think I set the ball rolling. Granted my effort in that article last year is unlikely to be adopted by the Park Lane –  “Your father undertook a series of menial jobs despite the probable stigma and damage to his self-esteem in order to care for his family and give his son the best possible opportunity to further his footballing career.” It doesn’t even scan but has the advantage of historical accuracy.

Manu was born and raised in Lome, a town near Togo’s border with Ghana, where in order to eke out a living for her son and his 5 siblings, his mother sold dried fish. One account states that his family were so poor, they could not afford to pay for medical treatment so he was left in the hospital for a week or so. At 11 he was staying in a football academy close by a border where drug and arms trafficking was rife, moving on to France in 1999. This in an era where England’s internationals complain about the pressure of being in a 5 star training camp for a few weeks.

Despite his wealth, Adebayor hasn’t forgotten his roots. He’s built a house for his mother and family as following his father’s death in 2007 he’s taken responsibility for the household, and he regularly returns to his country to put something back into the society from which he escaped because he could play football.

Perhaps it’s not merely a common language and heritage that cements the friendship between Benny Assou Ekotto and Abebayor. Both have known hardship in their early lives, both present a detached attitude to the game that does not detract from the quality of their performance. They are self-contained, secure and confident in their sense of self. It gets them through.

This inner strength was tested to its limits and beyond when along with his Togo team-mates, Adebayor clung for cover in the twisted wreckage of a bullet-ridden coach as it was attacked before a tournament. His friend, the team’s press officer, died in his arms. He’s lived a life most of us could not imagine and he’s only 27. Perhaps the songs don’t have the same impact.

So there’s plenty to admire in Emmanuel Adebayor but the reasons behind his success mean that we’ll never become that close to him. And what does it say about us, the fans? Most didn’t sing that song, of course, but many have, and anyway he was on the receiving end of more than his fair share of abuse just for wearing the red shirt.

We’ll never take him to heart but I believe he will receive a warm welcome tomorrow and he will earn our respect if he gives of his best, as his former team-mate and fellow subversive Willy Gallas has done. Fans of all clubs are often accused of hypocrisy and there’s truth there. However, our loyalty is like no other in sport, in life perhaps, and that loyalty, blind, crazy, illogical, harmful, unwavering and unstinting, is to the shirt, to the club. Our club. That’s the point from all this.

In my own silly immature way, when Manu first comes over to the centre Shelf tomorrow, I’ll shout his name and applaud. He’ll hear me and I like to think it will mean something but it won’t. And if he scores, and runs over to the fans, and the fans sing his name, if he winks and raises an eyebrow in ironic surprise, I wouldn’t begrudge him his moment. Good luck to you, Manu. You’re one of us now and we’ll look after you.

As We Stand Still, Our Rivals Rush Past

/ Alan / 30 Comments

Frankly we got away with it: it could easily have been 8 on both sides of the north London divide. By the time Spurs found a little of the good stuff, City had made and missed three good chances. More opportunities came their way as the game progressed and they eagerly sliced through our toiling, bewildered defence.

Two games in and for many it’s doom and gloom. Reported scenes of Spurs fans leaving the Lane on their knees flagellating their naked backs may have been exaggerated. Others detect a whiff of conspiracy: Harry wanted us to lose this one to remind Levy that he needs to buy and buy big. Or to get Levy to sack him.

Back to reality. Yesterday we saw the same old Spurs, bright coming forward but no punch in the box and fatally neglectful of their defensive duties. What is particularly chastening is that whilst we are standing still, our rivals for the top four have moved on, and on this evidence have left us far behind, chewing their dust as they power off into the sunset.

Sandro Posing For Photos in the Paxton Before The Game

Whilst his choices were limited due to injury, especially in centre midfield, Redknapp’s selection and tactics were naive in the extreme. City swamped our fragile midfield from the outset, something that was apparent from the teamsheets let alone what happened once the whistle blew. Modric wasn’t fit and Krancjar has proved on three occasions this season that he is unwilling and unable to come back and cover.

With Lennon and Bale staying forward, presumably following instructions, our back four were exposed from the outset to City’s attractive blend of pace and movement. Goals were inevitable; the only surprise was how long it took them to score. It’s a familiar and numbing refrain on this blog – I love the attacking play but you have to have a foundation upon which to build, and in the Premier League that means a midfield defensive platform. Lennon and Bale are not best suited to coming back – sorry but they have to. Niko doesn’t fancy it – I don’t fancy conceding 8 goals in two games, however good the opposition.

City played with two men up front (thought they were supposed to be boring) and two holding midfielders. It can be done. Gareth Barry is not the player he was a few season ago, yet with minimum effort he protected the back four and stayed constantly on the move, just being around when he was needed and allowing others to get forward. Early in the game City attacked with four against four in our box. We cleared and went up their end. We had four up but faced 6 or 7 in their area, with Toure and Barry slotting into the gaps between back four defenders, whereas we allowed their men free rein.

Dzeko’s ease of movement was equally both instructive and indicative of how far behind our strikers are. Again he took up all the right positions without apparently breaking sweat. Our centre halves  have had better games but there’s little you can do against a combination of a sweet cross to a striker easing from behind the defender to just in front at the right moment. Contrast Crouch ambling to the far post or Defoe shooting repeatedly from outside the box. The way to deal with that is to stop those crosses coming in the first place, whereas we happily waved them through.

Midway through the first half I wondered if we had got away with it. City missed their chances and we attacked brightly, at pace. Despite his lack of fitness and, according to Harry, motivation, the team is comfortable around Modric and he made things tick. Benny’s passing from deep was incisive, Rafa busy and Crouch kept play moving with by being available and moving it on quickly.

Chances would be few and far between, and we missed them, Bale skying from close range then producing a gem of a cross that Crouch at full stretch couldn’t quite keep under control. No blame – it was a difficult header. Otherwise, Bale was asked to do a hell of a lot – attack wide and cut in diagonally, cover back and get forward with late runs into the box. Not unexpectedly, he didn’t quite manage to do any of them well. On the other side, Lennon was anonymous. When he did make a run, each time he hesitated fatally at the moment to cross and the chance was blocked.

City took their chances well but we allowed them to create far too easily. For a team with little width they made two against one on the flanks several times. We stood still for the second, played statues for the third, then Benny missed a tackle he should have won. In between, Daws did everything right one on one against Aguero, getting goalside and narrowing the angle, but the Spaniard is a master and made a tricky chance look easy. We should ever leave him one on one in the first place.

Well beaten by two of the best teams in the league, our season starts in a fortnight. I suspect we’ll be playing catch up until Christmas at least. Without reading too much into the season so far, it’s a harsh and unwelcome reminder of how far we are behind our rivals. We bid large for Richards, Aguero, Dzeko, Young at United. They spurned our advances: what we could be with them in our side. As it is, looks like we’re falling back on experience. Parker and Bellamy are good players but after yesterday, it feels like they are left-overs. It’s like we’re two weeks into pre-season, not the season itself.

Harry has a lot of work to do in the international break. He would do well to focus on building his team rather than complain about how much the media bang on about Luka, then proceed to bang on about Luka. Redknapp seems to be an irony-free zone: he just didn’t get it.  It’s a sign of his desperation but in fact he’s in charge of the team and there’s plenty to do there without venting his feelings publicly.

Finally, a true story if you are in need of a little perspective. Yesterday, while I’m chuntering away on the North Circular about matters described above, my wife is trundling in her wheelchair past a neighbour’s house. She hears cries from the first floor. ‘It’s coming, that’s the head, it’s here.’ She calls up and the woman needs some help. The ambulance and midwife have been called but like our full backs are late to arrive. She manages to get in and assists the birth of a premature but healthy baby boy, on the bathroom floor. A happy ending to this sorry tale after all.

Redknapp Should Keep Quiet But That Won’t Mask the Problems

/ Alan / 34 Comments

In the early days of Tottenham On My Mind I wrote a piece characterising the relationship between Harry Redknapp and his chairman. The title, Levy is Redknapp’s Poodle, summed up their dealings during their first summer transfer window together. At his previous clubs, Redknapp ensured large sums of cash were at his disposal, even when at West Ham and Portsmouth that money wasn’t really there to spend. His appointment signalled a potential sea change in attitude by the cautious and parsimonious Levy and the possibility of any policy clashes further receded after Redknapp’s success in averting disaster placed even greater power in his hands. What Harry wants, Harry gets.

Over the next two years, I came to revise that assessment. Like many before, I had underestimated the quiet man’s resolution. Redknapp was clearly given boundaries for the first time in his managerial career since he left Bournemouth. He operated within a strict salary structure and transfer fee budget. Given Harry’s garrulous nature and his cosy relationship with an adoring media, his frustrations occasionally surfaced but by and large he seemed happy enough. Success on the pitch helped. Now, with a watershed season already under way but a lack of new signings, Redknapp can’t contain himself any longer. Restlessness has become thinly disguised antagonism. The tail is trying to wag the dog.

His comments yesterday are all over the media. It’s classic Harry. He’s relaxed and reflective, understanding the situation facing his best player: “…if someone comes along and offers to treble your wages..” note the use of ‘wages’ not ‘salary’, old school is Harry….” and could win the Champions League, it’s not easy….he’s had his head turned.”

Yet he “wants to see him here at the start of the year…” Harry mate, we’ve started already…”I don’t see him going.” But hang on, there’s more: …”if he goes you get three or four players…They’re your options: get the money and get four players, and in all honesty have a better team, or keep Luka who is a fantastic player.”

Harry the pundit, taking a reasonable overview of the situation. Except he’s not a pundit commenting on the state of play, he’s our manager. He has a job to do, to get the best possible team for Tottenham Hotspur. At least he said ‘we’ and ‘our’ this time.

In fact, he doesn’t want to keep Luka at all. He wants the money to buy more players and ‘have a better team’. Thus he is in direct conflict with his chairman, who some time ago said unequivocally that Modric is not for sale, then kept a dignified silence.

Not only is our club riven with conflict at the very top precisely at the time when crucial decisions are being taken at the beginning of this watershed season, it’s revealed in the media for all to see. It’s bad enough our dirty washing gets an airing in public but Redknapp is blatantly using the publicity to gain leverage over his chairman.

In my limited dealings with the club and with people who have had dealings with the club, they are intensely controlling of things like access to the staff and information about behind the scenes activity.  Yet Redknapp can say what he likes. He’s so powerful, he kept his newspaper column as well as spewing out quotes about anything going on in the game. Journalists pick over the bones of the slightest incident or event in football, yet Redknapp is not criticised and is more  untouchable even than Alex Ferguson.  Call him a ‘wheeler-dealer’ and he’s at your throat, one win in 10 and Harry’s working hard to get it right.

Levy does not want to sell Modric or he’s playing hardball to make Chelsea sweat. Redknapp says ‘sell’. Either way, keep it quiet and sort it out behind closed doors. Redknapp’s instinct to deal via the media serves his own interests more than it does those of Tottenham Hotspur Football Club. His employer. As it is, he’s openly blaming Levy for not coming up with the cash for new players, cash which in passing surely does not have to come solely from the sale of one player. We have some cash from Keane plus O’Hara and deals will be done for several fringe players in the frenzied last few days of the window. Then there’s £31m from the Champions League and a well-run club.

While I’m at it, sell Luka for even £30m to bring in ‘three or four’ quality players – the sums don’t add up. It smacks of Redknapp getting his excuses in early – fail and it’s not his fault because he didn’t have the players.

I’ve been clear on the blog about my attitude towards our manager. I will always be grateful for taking us from the foot of the table to the quarter finals of the Champions League, in the process serving up scintillating football played by superb players. To say there’s more he could have done and still can do is not to diminish that achievement. I’ve never accepted his media personna as a cuddly uncle figure who just has to drape his arm round a man’s shoulders to transform him into a worldbeater. He’s crafty and shrewd, knows the game inside out and is tough as old boots. Fine by me – I don’t want a shrinking violet as manager because it’s a hard old game out there – but don’t try to fool me. Don’t like it, never have.

However, I’m tired of this game-playing in the media. It seems no one is prepared to control him so he needs to exercise some self-control for the sake of our club. Our club, Harry, our club.

To finish with, let’s talk about the team. There are serious issues here. If Levy is reluctant to release cash for transfers, even if it means paying a little over the odds, at this point in our history it could have disastrous consequences. If on the other hand he hangs on to make one of his legendary (or infamous?) late deals, he could be our saviour. Right now, all we know is that relations between manager and chairman have plummeted to a new low. After the window is over, something has to give and history suggests it won’t be Levy. The prospect of Spurs caught up in these internal conflicts is the very last scenario I had in mind as our season kicks off in a few hours time.