Tottenham Hotspur

Spurs v Bolton. That Will Do

/ Alan / 9 Comments

Job done: one down, two to go. On the morning after the afternoon before, the prevailing emotion is one of raw anticipation for the City clash but at the final whistle sheer relief was the only feeling on my mind.

This is Tottenham – we never make it easy for ourselves. I never for a moment believed that this would be the lull before Wednesday’s storm and sure enough Bolton proved to be well-organised and motivated opponents. However, we had enough space to do what we do best yet seldom passed the ball through midfield. Movement was stilted and we gave the ball away needlessly, time and again.

I didn’t gain the impression that the team were stage struck, immobilised by nerves. Our play was not so much hurried, rather it broke down through basic failings around poor control, especially from the strikers, and a lack of purposeful mobility, which meant that without a passing opportunity, we were often caught in possession.

If ever there was a match when Luka needed to buzz then this was it but he suffered the most. He worked hard but had little impact overall. In my preview I noted concerns at the form of our strikers and take no pleasure in having those confirmed. Pav was awful, consistently out-muscled by Cahill (if we need another centre half in the summer then we could do a lot worse than look at him) and his woeful control meant that we could never hold on to the ball whenever it was played forward.

Not Pav

When the chances did come, one early on and then later as Bolton were stretched, he either fluffed his lines or was in the wrong place, hanging back when he should have been hammering towards the edge of the 6 yard box. In the second half he applauded the Park Lane as they lifted his flagging spirits with the chant of ‘Super, super….’. No one had the heart to tell him that it was directed towards Gary Mabbutt who had been spotted in the crowd.

Defoe looked brighter in the second half and should not have been taken off. That shot that went just wide resulted from one of the very few passes ahead of him into a channel that he has received in the last three or four matches, but again he looked lethargic, the tell-tale sign of his anxiety being the  unwelcome return of his old fault, drifting offside.

The game began in an atmosphere more like that of a derby than a home encounter with Bolton. Not since the cup and league encounters in the same season in the 70s, when we were both vying for the top spot in the second division, has this fixture produced such a noise. They must have been shocked, they can’t be used to this.

Buoyed by the waves of support, we started well but it soon became apparent that we needed something out of the ordinary to break through. Which

The Statue Formerly Known as Kaboul

Huddlestone duly provided, a sumptuous first time clean strike rising all the way into the very top corner.  At such moments, this big ungainly man is transformed into the epitome of athleticism, body and mind in complete harmony. A electrifying experience, worthy of winning a match.

He was our best player because throughout the match he sought to be available for teammates and remained inventive, probing and passing short and long. One deft run from defence carried him past several tackles and set up the forwards, who once more let him down. Under pressure, Tom did not shirk his defensive responsibilities either and when he did make an error tried to rectify it as soon as possible. My main criticism of him in the past has been his lack of awareness and anticipation. He doesn’t read the game well. If the first yard is in the head, the message takes a while to reach his feet. Yet yesterday his positional play was sound and one occasion in the second half he set off to cover a potential gap before his stray pass had even reached the opponent. He’s not played well recently and in the past has hidden in the big games, so all the more reason to praise him now.

In the man of the match stakes, his goal would give him an edge,  such was its thrilling brilliance, but close behind were several defenders. King was unobtrusively dominant. There’s an economy of effort about his play these days. He sort of slides over the ground, a series of rapid short strides transporting him to wherever danger lies, then snuffing it out. This belies his strength: one consequence of his injury is that presumably he has plenty of time to work on his upper body. Davies tried to make him give ground, to be met each time with steadfast refusal. When players make the game look straightforward and effortless, it’s a sign of greatness.

Dawson again performed with admirable solidity, coming into his own in the second half when first Bolton pushed us back and then drove a series of  crosses into the box. But the big surprise, and very welcome it was too, was Kaboul. Formerly known primarily for his statuesque performances, in comparison making Hud look as agile as Beth Tweddle, he repeatedly stampeded down the right, showing pace, awareness and considerable skill. Towards the end he remained calm as the tension cranked up, timing tackles impeccably and using the ball with care. He and Lennon linked well in the short time they were together.

Last but not least, Gomes was decisive coming off his line and sprightly on it, on the few occasions that he was called upon to make a save. He makes better choices now between catching and punching, the majority of the latter achieving decent and safe distance as he emerges fearlessly into the ruck of bodies in front of him to clear the danger. His absence on Wednesday just does not bear thinking about, especially as he seemed to injure himself in a moment of needless effort. Let’s be honest, he can be a bit of softie, asking for the physio to come and tend to a speck of dirt on his gloves. I hope it’s not too bad – it was a good time to break up the play (added time had begun) and if he had been badly hurt, surely he would not have joined the lap of honour, although probably that would have disappointed his young daughter who he carried in his arms and who clearly enjoyed it far more than most of the squad.

If this central defence stays tight and taut, and does not get moved around by City’s pace up front, it provides our best chance of a point or three on Wednesday. They work tremendously well together as a unit and also enable the ball to come smoothly from the back.

We never do it the easy way. Bale and Lennon provided a taste of what we might look like with them both in the team as Bolton came forward and the space opened up, but a succession of good chances were squandered. In the end it did not matter but would have eased the suffering in the stands. The moment when the ball was swung wide to Bale who hit it first time across the box was breathtaking. Clearly a training ground manoeuvre.

Afterwards Dawson took the plaudits for Player of the Year. Waiting in the tunnel, he could not resist nipping out to get a better view of his highlights on the big screen. He’s terrific.

The lap of honour was a desultory affair, the player hidden under rainwear and apparently keen to get into the warm and dry again. No left-over goodies from the Spurs shop tossed into the crowd. No footballs booted into the stands. I’ve come to expect such corny theatrics at the end of the home season. No one was bothered – perhaps like us they had thoughts only for City.

Disappointed, But It’s All Down To Us Now.

/ Alan / 15 Comments

In a few words, disappointed but philosophical. Hopes were high at Old Trafford but ultimately the forces of history – make that 67 away matches against the top four without a win –  were too powerful to overcome, despite our recent progress. And you know what I’m going say – 6 out of 9 points from the last three fixtures will do. And it is progress.

My rosy glow from That Week still lingers but it’s a touch brown and crinkly round the edges, because we did not give of our best on Saturday. Logically  it’s over-ambitious to believe that we could have taken United, but we’ve never had a better opportunity. I’m always uncomfortable with the familiar phrase, ‘I’d have settled for that before ….’. Whilst it contains the worthy truth of pragmatism, it also smacks of a lack of ambition, a denial of what it is possible. So I suppose two weeks ago I would have ‘settled’ for 2 wins from the last three games, but having seen two of them, I now know more about what is possible, and that is the phenomenal potential of our team.

On the field the game was won and lost down the flanks. It was inevitable that with so much attention and praise lavished on Bale from all quarters, ranging from this humble blog to the national media, he was due a poor performance. For once, Superboy was brought down to the level of the rest of us mere mortals. A reminder both to him and to his adoring Spurs public that he is young and inexperienced will do no harm in the long run but it was painful to watch. I suspect Rafael had a dose of kryptonite down his shorts.

On a few occasions he stood idly as the game passed him by, his lackadasical approach at odds with the fierce concentration of recent weeks. He was at his most culpable for Nani’s goal when he not only failed to track back but could also see his man ahead of him yet still failed to move. His failings were compounded by Assou Ekotto on the opposite side, where he was repeatedly caught out of position and whose decision-making was dire at times, leading to the vital penalty that broke the stalemate. United may have made their pressure tell as the game went on but that ill-judged and desperate tackle was the outcome of the pressure that Benny had been under since kick-off. It eroded his sense of sound judgement to breaking point.

However, it was more complex than both full-backs having bad games simultaneously. United played five across the middle. This meant that we were usually outnumbered 3 to 2 in the centre of the pitch and were also stretched by their two wingers, ultimately to breaking point. This latter led to Bale and Benny staying wide too.Whether this was their inexperience, made worse by Benny being out of his usual position, or from the manager’s tactical advice we will never know. It meant two things. One,without sufficient protection from Modric and Bentley, both were exposed one on one too frequently. Two, there was a gap between them and the centre backs. Time and again, United slid the ball into these channels for Berba or their ever-willing attacking midfielders. King and Dawson had to come across to cover, thus leaving space behind them in dangerous central areas. Wilson and Hud failed to slot into those gaps.

As a result, United had more room than they should have, and the fact is, it was no score at half time primarily because of their profligacy in front of goal. We have to defend as a team, and this was not the case on many occasions.

Fergie also became the first manager since Bale returned to the team to combat his attacking prowess. Valencia is hardly known for his defending but he can at least stay out wide and get in the way, and also he kept Bale occupied with his forward play. Then, with three in the middle Fletcher could ease across to provide the next barrier, and should we get through, the 12 year old full back is nimble and fast. Our lot didn’t help out much and seldom gave him a decent ball or an inside pass.

Fergie and Harry, the two wily, shrewd and battle-hardened campaigners up against each other, and Fergie outsmarted and outmanoeuvred Redknapp. There’s also an argument to say that we were hamstrung even before the kick-off. Redknapp took the risk of changing a winning team by bringing back Palacios and shifting Luka to the left. It did not pay off but frankly I would have done the same. The defensive cover Wilson offers would have been perfect, in theory, for Old Trafford where we would have less of the ball and hit more on the break compared with previous games. We should be comfortable with that formation.

As it turned out, Palacios was rusty after two games out and did not get going until the second half, whereupon he was moved to right back. There is less reason for this other change to the winning team. The reasons looked good on paper – BAE is fast, Kaboul isn’t, Nani likes to come inside onto Benny’s good foot. In practice, Benny played like a man in unfamiliar surroundings, which he was. With the lack of cover I have already mentioned, it fatally weakened the team. It’s been said that Harry rates Kaboul at right back. Kaboul himself this week says that’s not his position. This all smacks of serious confusion, and once again it is my solemn duty to point out that we have a quick international right back out on loan, a decision that to my mind is a massively wasteful use of our squad.

With Bale out the picture, it highlighted the paucity of our attacking options. It was wonderful to see Lennon again and he looked bright enough in short bursts but once on the field we did not give him the ball. Ridiculous. Defoe has not looked at all sharp since his injury, although the contrast between those United passes into channels and our failure to deliver anything much for JD to feed upon over the last few games could indicate a problem for us in the next few, vital matches. The joy of the derby victories has obscured this to a large extent, but it’s worrying.

King was again excellent, still a master of the penalty box but my man of the match was Gomes, not his busiest afternoon but he was impeccable. Otherwise, Hud was invisible and Modric poor.

One bright note was the way in which we responded when Luka switched to the middle and Wilson went to full back. The team immediately looked more comfortable and started to move the ball around with pace and confidence. United’s tactics were better than ours but they can’t be everywhere and we began to suddenly realise that we had space if we chose to use it. Nani’s great goal and Wilson’s foolishness put paid to that, but it shows that we do have a plan B if things aren’t working, something that could not be said with confidence at the start of the season.

And that attacking balance should be just right for Saturday. It’s in our hands, and I could not ask for more at this stage.

What Do Gomes, Dawson and Bale Have In Common?

/ Alan / 7 Comments

I’ve been reflecting on this tumultuous week past for Tottenham Hotspur. I say reflecting: what I really mean is, I’ve been thinking of little else. Work has suffered, naturally. Days like today, when I have been office and computer based, have passed in a giddy and unproductive haze, just remembering. From my office window I’ve not been dissuaded by the slice of daylight above the large breezeblock wall, even though it frames the twin chimneys of the cement factory, and still I gaze dreamily into space.

Talking with people, the other major component of my role, has however been a belter. I’ve been on scintillating form, even if I say so myself. On the ball, sharp as a pin, empathetic and witty, where logic has failed to win the day, sheer charm has taken over. Perhaps work would fund a portion of my season ticket, if not in gratitude then as an investment in my future performance levels. I’ll run it past the chief exec and let you know what he says.

I can’t recall a week quite like it since I’ve been a fan, which is 1967 onwards. Not one with both the sheer joy of the victories against Arsenal and Chelsea but also containing such extremes of despair and elation. All suggestions welcome. One that comes to mind is the ’81 cup final, when the replay was on the Thursday following the first drawn match. The anticipation of what was my first final gave way to the realisation at some point in the second half that actually we were going to lose, then the ecstasy and overwhelming relief of our fortunate equaliser. Then that goal at 2-2 in the replay, the absolute pinnacle of being a Spurs supporter.

But of the all the things from this remarkable special history-making sodding brilliant week, one provides a glow so warm you could toast your marshmallows on it – the performance of players who in many quarters had been written off. Not good enough for Spurs, won’t take us to the next level, total waste of money. Get rid. At one time or another, these and other charges were levelled at the three supernovas in a galaxy of stellar performers, Gomes, Dawson and Bale.

Less than three weeks ago the mighty brains of the Sky pundit panel solemnly identified Gomes as Tottenham’s weak link. We who knew differently had faith, but the image lingered of the kindly face of this gentle and loving family man contorted into a rictus grin of terror every time he emerged from the safety of his line to deal with a cross. It was not so much the fumbles,  although they were agony enough, it was the look of sheer bewilderment that followed that truly worried us.

So we roared our approval at his gravity-defying leaps into the top corner, gasped as his reactions palmed away goal-bound shots, cheered with gratitude as, one on one, in the tangle of long limbs the ball bounced to safety. Above all, in all this was the element of delight and pleasure that he had become one of ours, his struggle to demonstrate his skill and determination complete, and all this on our behalf. Show them, son, you show them all, every last one who sniggered as we suffered, you’ve shown them.

Dawson’s mask of devoted concentration broke towards the end of the Chelsea game. Ever alert and steely-eyed, he bent to pull up his socks, necessary as his mental exercise to gather himself and stay focussed, and he grinned. He finally took pleasure in his own performance as well as that of the team, as his name was belted out from all four stands. From a gawky clumsy and ungainly oaf to John Terry’s replacement. The Park Lane spotted it first, then the football media have followed this week.

We can only imagine how hard he has worked this season. Recovering from injury is difficult enough, but then he found himself out in the cold and watching from the sidelines as without him we secured a low goals against tally. He waited, and when his chance came, he made damn sure that he took it. Nothing was going to be left in the dressing room. In the past he’s held something back for fear of making a mistake, but his wholehearted approach is precisely his biggest strength. He let rip in a series of fearless performances, the background to which must have been not only the need to avoid jeopardising the team’s success but also the worry that this could be his final opportunity, with five centre halves in the squad and a manager impatient for progress. He is nothing short of outstanding.

And Bale, the terrified hesitant youngster or scourge of the best defences in the league, a rabbit stuck in the headlights or the most dynamic full back around? This force of nature was comparatively recently in danger of being consigned to the dustbin of Spurs history, the overflowing section labelled ‘Promising youngster – Failed’.

I’ve mentioned before a 5 Live commentary of a cup match when he came on as sub. The commentators could hear the bench screaming at him to get forward, in a game that carried little pressure, but he was immobile, unsure about how to react. Again he has suffered the pain of serious injury that for young players can leave emotional scars more lasting than the physical damage, but given the chance presented by BAE’s injury, he was determined to take it.

One of the things about writing on the net is that your opinions hang around in the ether for eternity and come the day of reckoning, all will be taken into account. A couple of years ago on MEHSTG I described Bale as a world class prospect, but I never realised that he was this good, and frankly, neither did he. We’ll gloss over the ‘this is JJ’s year’…for two years running…

Three magnificent footballers, who I dearly love and cherish, who should never leave us. They’re ours – we’ve watched them grow and mature, now as part of our family we can marvel at their talents.

In closing, a reappraisal. We were awful against Portsmouth but perhaps in the light of subsequent events my verdict that they lacked the resilience to perform at the top was harsh. They could have done more, should have taken hold of that game without playing well. However, in hindsight many of them were not fully fit yet they gave everything in terms of energy and commitment. Corluka was obviously totally gone but he kept moving and tried his all. I don’t believe that the Arsenal and Chelsea performances emerged solely from the motivation of defeat at Wembley. Deep down, it came from a commitment to doing their very best for Tottenham Hotspur, and you can’t ask for anything more.

Spurs v Chelsea

/ Alan / 16 Comments

Not again not twice not both of them not in the same week. You hardly dare think about the possibility. On Sunday they were out on their feet after 70 minutes, after 120 they were the living dead. It’s OK, they did enough on Wednesday. You always want more, in that delicious five minutes before kick-off, when all that has gone before is forgotten and time begins, always hope for more. For so long we couldn’t beat them at all. Yet twice in one week.

The surprise of spring sunshine in the afternoon is pleasant on your back but it’s not right for a derby. The journey is too easy, park up with no problem, it’s all just too – nice. Early evening football is wrong somehow. The teams emerge and there’s a phone call.My boy, a man now, tall and strong, is cut down. As passionate and silly and consumed and soppy about the club as you were at his age, he lives for each match. The news is delayed by the discordant and irrelevant Premier League anthem.No music fires us like the sight of white shirts and navy blue shorts. The call confirms the worst. His friend, the same tender age, has hours, his insides eaten away by cancer ravaging his organs and his spirit. My boy leaves to be with him for the last  moments, we blink away tears and scream louder than ever at the kick off. From inside, let it out, screaming and shouting to get it out somehow.

And we play. Oh how we play. Ball to feet, one touch and pass, then move on. The others are moving too. Ball to feet, they want the ball, no one hides, they pass and move. It flows upfield and endangers their goal. Modric leads. Luka little Luka ball to feet moves it with a touch to me to me, in comes the tackle  but he moves it on with sway and swivel, in his stride, theopponent thinks he has a chance but Luka is away, the defender left spurned and forlorn by the object of his desire, wondering where it all went wrong. But Luka, lovely little Luka, is already looking fo rmore, to me to me, head up gliding into space, balanced and poised amidst the turmoil, who wants it who needs it. The pass is angled and perectly weighted, he moves on I’m here to me to me. It is a masterclass in creativity and he runs the midfield. It is beautiful.

Huddlestone too, cumbersome and unfit perhaps this past few days. How could a man of his bulk disappear on Sunday? Yet he’s put that behind him because time begins at kick off. He moves, he’s available to me to me, pass it on, long and short to me to me. Pav wanders when on Wednesday he stood still, Bentley wide, Bale running, running. To me to me. Pav shoots, Bentley messes up, Defoe’s power blocked.

After ten minutes you draw breath. This is happening.You thought it could not get any better after Wednesday night but this is happening. Deco, Lampard, Mikel, Cole, they are all there but look at the space in midfield. Arsenal did not let us rest for a second, they tackled and nicked and nipped and smothered, but Chelsea watch us play. This is a training match. Ancellotti is the tactical master at every level but hasn’t he watched the DVDs. What about all those blokes with clipboards and notepads who sit behind him, or Arnesen who left us behind because we were not good enough for him? Just Watch the DVDs for five minutes,or ring Mick McCarthy, Tony Pulis orPhil Brown (he’s  got time on his hands), this isn’t the way to play against Spurs. Later, Mikel injured and you make Deco the defensive midfielder. Idiot. Ta.

Bale stampeding forward is stopped only by an outstretched leg but nothing. Then handball. Not him,someone else give the ball  to someone else anyone else not the shimmy please not the shimmy just plant it please not the shimmy. Bang! That’s what you do best bang it, one up and fully deserved. Chelsea top of the league and outplayed by the living dead.

Bale is unstoppable, a force of nature rampaging down the left. He is a sprinter with the build of a middleweight and the touch of an angel. He rips huge gaping holes in the defence from first to last. Again he’s on the ball, off then slowed, almost stumbled, they close in but he is away, all is well we’ve shifted him to his right foot and Cech has the angles covered, then low and firm, near post, as Cech dives he thinks he has it, my near post that’s mine but it’s gone before your hand is fully outstretched grasping only thin air. This is happening.

Space in midifled means they have more men up front. We  organised superbly against the Arsenal but this lot have Lampard, Ballack and Drogba, they have bodies waiting as it comes forward. But we have Gomes. Ridiculed by pundits and fans throughout the land, the icy fear in his bulging eyes when he came for crosses sent shivers down the spine. Past tense. Lampard lightening volley and Gomes leaps to his right, all arms and legs but look at those hands, together and strong, just as they were for an earlier stinging long shot. We have Gomes and wouldn’t have anyone else. We have Gomes.

Corners and pressure, just keep them out,hang on until halftime, the better team, well on top, don’t let yourselves down, hold onto halftime. You won’t let me down, you’ve done enough to prove yourselves this week, the living dead, don’t let yourselves down.

Half time.Time to catch your breath, slap a few backs, shaking heads. Can’t last. Not Wednesday and tonight. Is this really us? Can’t last.The whistle blows, they attack, balls into the channels, Drogba absent in the first period, moaning now  and a better player for it. Balls into channels, where’s Ledley? They were saving him for tonight, for Drogba, pace over ten yards, strength to hold him off, intelligence and anticipation to get there first. Where’s Ledley, I wish Ledley were here, wish Capello could see Ledley.

But we have Dawson,strong and tall. We have Gomes, sweeping up the loose. We have Bassong, inspired and surprisingly strong. They have too many men forward, if only we could set Pav and and JD free, just keep them out. JD on the break, one on one, game over – he’s missed it! Bale unstoppable, missed it! Pav moving well, drops back working so hard.This is what English football is all about, hear the noise, work back, sprint forward,work back.It’s worth it, enjoy it, you understand now what it’s all about, you are working so hard and enjoying it. Here’s the chance you’ve worked so hard for- missed it! How many more, how many more….

Terry unblinking as the abuse washes around him. Looking tough but inside it’s getting to him. Wayne, Vanessa, we don’t care, your mother or your father, couldn’t give a flying one. Just now, just this moment. It’s not pleasant but it is all we have. The Land Rover with the tinted windows, the PR machine, your media mates, the electric gates at the house, cut off from the real world, cut off from us, all that money, no protection now.  It’s all we have and it’s getting through. Two fouls and gone. You have a word with Bale, somehow his fault that he was too fast for you, old man. The kids smiles and answers you back, didn’t expect that did you?

The abuse, the songs, the chants, the noise. Great slabs of noise rise from the stands of this old ground, high and close to you, feel the noise, closing in. No escape. Chelsea fans sing about the library. Meanwhile the Lane is rocking and rolling, shaking to the foundations, ten on the richter scale. A roar from deep down, all those defeats, those years of pain, now we have a team. Down and out on Sunday evening, they have dragged themselves up somehow, some way, and we are beating the top of the league easily. Easily the better team. They are giving everything and so shall we. From the Park Lane, the Paxton, East Upper, new songs roll around, picked up on all sides. Chelsea surrounded, no escape. This is as good as it has ever been. Steep stands and devoted fans. A proper football ground.

Keep the ball, keep it. They always come back, can’t if we have the ball. Stay on your feet, don’t dive in. Keep it Bentley you greasy haired poser, stay on your feet that’s it nice and easy keep it. Working hard, never stop, no one stops, every last one of them. Just keep it.

Dawson, our mighty leader, we’ve got Dawson at the back. First to every ball, blocking with every fibre of his body, get in the way. Drogba dozing no more, through, shoots, far corner but there! Dawson from nowhere and blocks. The crowd rise and roar, the mask of fierce concentration slips for a moment and he grins to himself. One of us, a remarkable performance, leading from the front.

As Luka moves towards the ball already in the background Bale is off. Lung-busting surges from deep, unstoppable endless energy, how many times in the last week, how many? Ferreira, international,broken and substituted at half time, as before him Salgado then Kelly. Magnificent physicality and atheticism.They can’t stop him,but the ball slides tantalisingly past the post. Pav clear, hit it turns, hit it! Flickity flick fuckety fuck wide. Just hit it!

And they score, same goal as the Arsenal, same time, same anxiety in the noise. Then it’s over, sweet relief then overwhelming joy. Both of them vanquished. Tears for the team, for my boy, for his friend, his family. A wild and crazy week,contrasting emotions but those emotions, wretched and ecstatic both,were profound and lasting. This is our team, our wonderful wonderful team. This why we do it. Our wonderful team.