Ifonly Adebayor: Don’t Rely On The Unreliable

January 10, 2014 / Alan / 7 Comments

Since Andre Villas-Boas was sacked as Tottenham manager, one man has emerged from the shadows to become the key influence on Spurs’ success or failure this season. Only Emmanuel Adebayor can unlock the potential of this able but disoriented squad and manager, coach or whatever he is Tim Sherwood has placed great faith in the striker’s ability. So far it has paid dividends but it remains a big gamble.

Manu’s disappearance from first team contention remains the most telling indictment of AVB’s stubborn rigidity. In August, it didn’t seem to matter. Adebayor was last year’s model, barely worth a mention in the excitement that greeted the new era with all the shiny, gleaming signings. Chief amongst them was Bobby Soldado, an expensive marquee centre forward for whom we had searched for years, the stuff of myth and mystery, the holy grail at the end of a seemingly eternal quest who surely would convert the chances that came his way.

Through September we waited for the spark to ignite the flame. Manu was on compassionate leave after the death of his brother, then he was unfit. Supposedly: no one outside the club really knew what was going on and frankly few were that bothered. This was what he does – one season wonder, loses his appetite for anything except his pay cheque, moves on after a sulk. Anyway, we had Bobby, and wingers, and it was only a matter of time until it all settled down.

AVB was happy to blame the fans when it suited him but frankly the flaw in that scenario dawned on us far sooner than it apparently did on him. We had a Soldier but no goals. The system wasn’t working either. We needed a change, some variety, some bloody goals, but apart from one appearance as a substitute, Adebayor remained an outcast. There are rumours of an argument over Manu wearing a beanie to a team-talk. Whatever the truth of that, Villas-Boas appears to have willfully frozen him out at the expense of the well-being of the team and that is unreservedly disgraceful. The club comes before individual pride.

Sherwood brought him back. Call his formation what you like – 4-4-2 which Tiger Tim refuted in a garbled post-match conference after the Ars***l game – Adebayor is the fulcrum. It’s not much of an exaggeration to say that when Manu plays well, Spurs play well. They say you need to play to show off your skills. It’s also said that sometimes a player’s true worth is shown by their absence. Against W Ham, Adebayor managed both in a single game, transforming a dour, directionless Spurs into a free-flowing attacking force, target man and goalscorer with an eye-opening volley before coming off with Spurs apparently secure. Whereupon the Hammers took over the last 15 minutes and won 2-1.

That was the warm-up. Against Southampton he was mobile, involved and fully committed. Having a man to lead the line, who knew when to hold it, when to give it and could score too transformed the side. The following weekend, Manu had one of his static days, mooching around up front and we couldn’t break West Brom down. Goals aplenty versus Stoke, a match where the midfield excelled but they just had to look up and Manu was available for them.

Then United beaten and Sherwood coaxed even more from his centre forward. Now Manu was dropping back into a forward midfield position when we lost the ball, vital if we only have four in the middle. The importance of this element of his game and Sherwood’s tactics was reinforced in the NLD when we faded after a decent start. Adebayor was tired, didn’t work back enough and our opponents gained a grip on the centre of the park that they never relinquished.

So he’s Ifonly Adebayor again. Inconsistent, moody, frustrating. Sherwood has done extremely well to motivate him, appealing both to his sense of personal pride in his performance and to the most base of emotions, revenge. Judging by his efforts against West Ham and Southampton, if we could somehow have harnessed Manu’s anger to the National Grid, the nuclear/fossil fuel debate would have become redundant.

Sherwood sees his task as getting Adebayor to play to his best, “go out and do what you do best” or something similar were his comeback instructions. That’s fine but only up to a point. It’s a mistake to see Adebayor as an enigma. He’s a known quantity: we know he will be inconsistent. Not only that, we also know that it’s hard to predict how he will perform on any given day. It may be apparent to people within the club, I don’t know that of course, but that’s how it appears.

This has been the case since he came to this country. A couple of months before he turns thirty, he’s not going to change now. I doubt very much if there are some magic words, some pre-existing conditions, a carrot or a stick that will change him. He’s magnificent, a world-beater, he’s lazy and lacks committment. Adebayor is a contradiction you can’t resolve. That is who he is.

You can’t rely on him and that’s the problem, because that’s exactly what Sherwood is doing. He plays a key role in Sherwood’s formation. He scores goals, makes them, makes space for others by pulling out wide. He slots back deeper when we lose it, defending from the front. Giving him such responsibility is asking for trouble because he’s never been consistent and at the moment we don’t have a fall-back or an effective back-up plan.

Can I say what I am not saying? Sherwood is doing a decent job at the moment with what he has available, and he has limited options up front with Defoe on his way to Canada, so I’m not saying Tim should not play him. I would pick Adebayor and would have back in the autumn as it gradually became clear we had lots of providers of chances but no one on the end of them. I’m also not saying Adebayor should be excused criticism: there are countless times when I despair at his lack of application.

The one thing we know for certain is that Manu will always let you down and so Sherwood needs to look long and hard at plans B, C and D. This could be as straightforward as reinforcing the midfield because a player with a more defensive outlook could provide the cover for Adebayor to do his thing and to compensate if Manu isn’t working back.

Sherwood has put considerable faith in his centre forward. I would like to say to Manu that he should work his backside off to repay his manager. Sadly I know that is never enough. How often have we heard managers moan about the ‘if onlys’. I don’t want Tim to become like Allardyce, creating a team around a centre forward and having nothing left when he’s out except whinging and a redundancy package. You can’t rely him so don’t put all your eggs in one basket.

Hats Off To Spurs, Winners Again

January 2, 2014January 2, 2014 / Alan / 13 Comments

The unexpected victories are often the best. If you truly thought Spurs could beat United, I take my hat off to you, because I didn’t, and enjoyed this win more than most precisely for that reason. Every player exceeded my expectations and the manager’s tactics and motivation were spot on.

Sure, we nearly threw it all away – more of giving away goals and penalties later – but this is Spurs, and the overall performance more than compensated for the tension of the last 15 minutes. A lovely win.

A lot has been made of Sherwood’s 4-4-2 and his comments about liking to take a few risks. What’s more significant is the variation he has employed, partly to adjust the set-up to the demands of different opponents, partly to compensate for injuries and suspensions beyond his control and partly as an element of his crash-course in How To Be A Premier League Manager.

Having smoothly disposed of a weak but negative Stoke side, Sherwood faced the very different challenge of defending against United for lengthy periods. When United had the ball, we kept a familiar shape but everyone dropped five yards deeper whereas against other teams we have pressed near the halfway line. The full-backs conspicuously did not get forward very much except on the break or on a run from deep when they were covered by a team-mate. Eriksen stayed wide left.

As a result, we were better than we usually are at stopping crosses at source and it was only when the Reds began to bang them in late on that we looked in any consistent danger. Hardly surprising – we tired after massive effort for the whole game and by then United were playing a 0-10 formation with virtually an entire team of forwards.

Key again was Abebayor with another excellent performance. His movement for the goal bamboozled Smalling into submission. He foraged deeper, dropping off with or without the ball and leaving Soldado usually the furthest forward. However, they interchanged as required. The pass before the pass for the assist in both Spurs goals came from the Spaniard, cut free from his anchorage at the edge of the box under AVB. Manu thus got in the way of United’s attempts to build from the back, although Cleverly and Carrick were inconsequential, while Lennon kept Evra fully occupied so he seldom was able to get forward.

Sherwood is a good communicator too. The players could not have responded in a better manner. Their effort and application was universally excellent, the tempo high when we had possession. Capoue was solid and economical, providing a sound base. I like him: good positional sense, an awareness of what’s going on around him, he wins it then gives it quickly. In one terrific move from defence to attack before half-time, he touched the ball 6 or 7 times, keeping it moving. Alongside him, Dembele is ferociously active.

With Eriksen we have the Modric Conundrum – he can play there but it’s not his best position. But he’s clever – witness his popping up on the right to cross the ball plumb onto Manu’s forehead for a classic far-post header, our opener. Plus he’s involved. He may like being the number 10, it may yet be his best position but his whole attitude and demeanour has changed for the better since he dropped back because he’s on the ball much more and is willing to take that responsibility. He’s eager and wants to play, which come to think of it sums up what Sherwood has done with the whole of the side. Like Redknapp at his best, Tim has given each player a role that suits them, as opposed to AVB who persisted with square pegs in round holes. Even the subs leapt to their feet in delight when we scored.

I haven’t mentioned Lennon yet. He should have crowned a fine performance with a goal, hitting De Gea early on when clean through then sliding the ball wide from the left in the second half. It would have made the game safe but as it was we had to endure another fractious and nerve-shredding 15 minutes or so. He should also have had a first-half assist when poor Soldado failed to convert his low cross at the far post.

Lennon did set up our second, his deflected cross from the right bouncing into the area. Valencia rocked back on his heels, apparently transfixed, whereas Eriksen delightedly pounced on the opportunity to dive forward and head it home. I thought De Gea could have had stronger hands and done more but then again I was in mid-air, not analysing. United never coped with his pace and it’s noticeable how well he not only times his runs from deep but also the angles he decisively employs, dashing into space where it hurts the defence most.

After a bright start when Welbeck nearly scored and Hugo punched the ball away from outside the box (no foul), it was strange to see United so ineffective near our box for lengthy periods, but hey, I could easily get used to this. Apparently however this is not our destiny. Two up, we immediately came over all Spursy and conceded immediately. Could not have been more convenient for the Mancs – Chiriches let Welbeck run behind him, good finish – but the real problem was the ease with which the pass from deep reached him. No pressure on the ball.

Predictably this gave United momentum for the rest of the match and we were under intense pressure. Adebayor was carried off and we were more vulnerable for that loss. However, Lloris made four good saves plus a diving defensive header from the edge of his box that reached past the halfway line! Saves and bodies in the way, fighting spirit., Moyes cunningly moved Rooney, their most dangerous player, back to deep midfield and confused his team with his substitutions, so we made it.

Apart from one scare. Better to be a lucky manager than a good one, as the saying goes? Late on, Lloris launched himself wildly at Young, took him out at both ankle (right foot) and waist (left foot) but no penalty. After the Mendes “goal” and the Gomes “penalty”, I indulged in a moment’s karma and could not resist a chuckle at Moyes’ ashen-faced post-match apoplexy even though he was right in hammering the ref for a lousy decision.

I thought Smalling handled an innocuous cross in the first half when under no pressure but MOTD showed a replay. Not part of a narrative that focussed on United’s bad luck over the decisions rather than Spurs’ excellent performance that warmed this slightly soggy heart and soul.

Thanks to everyone for their good wishes after my flood and the loss of my Spurs programmes – frankly touching response, deeply appreciated. I will spare their blushes but the three best-known Spurs authors are kind, generous and entirely worthy of any money you invest in their books, so buy them. The piece is really about the hold the club has on our passions and emotions, which is the single most important theme of this blog, and that woe betide those who seek to undermine that. A very Happy New Year to you all.

Flood Damage

December 31, 2013January 2, 2014 / Alan / 48 Comments

Christmas is the season of goodwill and I for one got to know my neighbours better this year. Popping into their houses, the presents round the tree, excited bright-eyed children, deciding whether or not to evacuate. Tis the season to be jolly and in our case, you had to laugh or else you’d cry. Come to think of it, just the crying bit really.

I spent Christmas Eve and early Christmas morning alternating between taking as many of our possessions as possible upstairs and watching the floodwater creep towards the house. Late afternoon, as my neighbour and I paddled in our flowerbeds, we confidently reassured ourselves that it could not possibly rise another two feet and come into our houses. Could it? It’s not as if we live especially close to the river.

By 2am as it lapped over the top step, I was less sure. There’s nothing you can do to stop the water getting in. People rush to get sandbags but unless you are the Royal Engineers, all you get are wet sandbags to move out the way later as you bail out your front room.

In the end, the top step is where it stayed. No damage to the house. We were luckier than many others and Spurs blog 106 grateful for that. The garden and the summerhouse were completely submerged under a few of feet of water – see below TOMM Exclusive Pictures! Unfortunately most of my Spurs books were submerged too and need replacing, a blow but they are insured and easily replaceable these days via ebay and Abebooks.

Boxing Day morning I went to clean it up, took one look and did what any self-respecting householder would do: closed the door immediately and went to the Lane. It was only the following day that I realised what else had been ruined – my entire collection of Spurs programmes. Snug and warm for many years in the loft, just a few weeks ago in a sudden and uncharacteristic burst of organisation, I shifted them into the summerhouse so all the football stuff was in one place. I hope my nearest and dearest recognise that my future untidiness isn’t a sign of lazy neglect but has a clear and distinct purpose to avoid all possibility of future disasters.

It’s hit me hard. Sure, I can retain perspective on all this. To repeat, we were lucky not to lose anything else or experience the months of disruption and misery that is the drying out period following a flood. My wife’s cousin lives in Boscastle and it took them over a year to get back to normal, having made a frantic dash up the hill to save themselves as the deluge swamped a town never mind a glorified garden shed.

I am simply being honest in saying I am very sad. I’ve lost my collection but I’m not a collector. Apart from a few exceptions, I went to every one of those games and brought back a programme. They are not in pristine condition although I’ve looked after them carefully, lovingly even. They are creased and tattered from being shoved in a pocket or down my trousers, the safest place because in the crush on the Shelf or at Wembley they could easily fall out and be lost. These are my memories and I wanted to keep them safe.

With time and effort I can probably buy replacements but it won’t be the same. I didn’t pay for them at the ground, usually outside the Red Lion pub on the corner of the High Road and Lansdowne Avenue, for many years the first place on the route from Seven Sisters to the ground where programmes were on sale. As a kid I wanted to get hold of one as soon as I could, feel the smoothness of the glossy paper, anticipate the pictures of my heroes inside, the secret, special information you got only from being there to get a programme. Nearly there, five minutes more and I would see the stands, inside in 10 or 15, longer if it was a big game, and onto the Shelf. I held my programme and I was a Spurs fan.

Spurs blog 108 66-67, Sheffield United. The score is written in childish ballpoint, it reduces the value for the collector but it’s my first game, so priceless. Late 60s, a photo of Jimmy Greaves (they always had photos of the goals in those days) sliding the ball past the Newcastle keeper, as nonchalantly as if playing with his kids in the park yet he’d weaved from the halfway line through half their team. My favourite player scoring my favourite goal, signed many years later by the man himself when I was lucky enough to interview him for ten precious minutes.

November 1970, away to Chelsea, the programme already ruined because it was soaked despite being deep inside my dad’s pocket. He’d taken me to my first away game. He always worked on Saturdays, not the slightest bit interested in football yet for some reason he took this afternoon off and my mum worked an extra day in our little sweet shop, just to take his football-mad only son to a game. It rained torrentially for three hours (of course I had to get there early) and we stood unprotected on the open terrace at the away end. Soaked like the programme, which I carefully dried out and kept even though the pages were stuck together and unreadable, but who cares – two nil, Mullery late volley and dad. It won’t dry out a second time.

UEFA Cups, the Ardiles testimonial and Diego Maradona in a Spurs shirt, Feyenoord with Guillit and Cryuff taken apart in the best 45 minutes I’ve ever seen from us. Under water. The 81 replay, a few quid on ebay but not with my ticket stub, not in my section behind the goal, leaning over screaming at Ricky to shoot, but he didn’t, he didn’t. I saw it clip Corrigan’s body as it rolled towards me but not Villa’s celebratory dash into the arms of grateful astonished team-mates, because I was in heaven.

91 and the semifinal, on the halfway line at Wembley, for one crazy day the authorities saw sense and made the best seats in the house the family enclosure, that will NEVER happen again, on tiptoe with my late son as the bloke behind me screamed at Gazza not to shoot because he’ll never score from there. Andy and I will never be able to reminisce about that moment together but I have something to remind me. Had something.

And most of all, the midtable, the mediocre, the mundane and the meaningless. The seventies, eighties and Spurs blog 107 nineties, Division 2, all kept with the same care as the glory glory nights, organised by season, flat in cardboard boxes that have followed me through relationships, marriages and housemoves. They all meant the same to me, because I was there, I was watching the Spurs.

I can’t remember exactly when I stopped, some time in the late nineties when ticket prices were going up and up, the programme was £2.50 or £3 and told you nothing of any value whatsoever. The programme used to be a valuable source of information – by being there, you knew things lost to the stay-at-homes and the MOTD watchers. The tone was parochial and patrician, like a old-fashioned headteacher talking down to his pupils, but it felt like there was a connection between club and supporter.

Now the programme is glossy, well-produced and meaningless, another over-priced symbol of the distance between us. It’s slick PR for all the ways they can take our money. I’ve written several times about how the contemporary Premier League increasingly alienates clubs’ core support. Extortionate ticket prices, no involvement or influence, supporters treated as background extras by television companies intent on making their cash from those who stay at home, changing kick-off times, owners changing strips and names on a whim.

As we enter another year, the alienation hangs over the game like a pall of glutinous smog. We try to resist but it seeps into every fibre of our lungs, through every pore. At Spurs, it’s there waiting to overflow. Like the river that burst its banks, most of the time the currents flow undisturbed but occasionally something happens to force an unstoppable torrent through the most resistant of barriers and flood defences. Once out in the open, it’s impossible to put things back the way they were.

Regardless of the merits of Villas-Boas’s sacking and Sherwood’s appointment, the anger at the way we have been treated, the missed opportunities, the directionless management of the chair, the money we pay, has sliced through the thin veneer of acquiescence. There is booing, abuse, fury sometimes. Tottenham can’t carry on like this.

For me, one Act of God over which I had no control has destroyed one part of a lifetime of supporting Spurs. I still have the memories. For this New Year, more than anything else, I wish that the little boy who sits two rows in front of me, who laughed and sang in his father’s arms when we scored our third on Sunday, who loves every second of being part of the crowd, will look back with pride and fondness on his memories when he reaches my age. Other kids his age won’t because their families are forced away by scandalous prices. There’s a real danger the game itself is hell-bent on permanently ruining the unique, glorious, passion of supporting Tottenham Hotspur or any other club for that matter. Despite everything, they can never take the memories away.

Sincere thanks to everyone who has read Tottenham On My Mind this year, especially those who take the time to make the comments section so fascinating and insightful. You have no idea how much I appreciate it. A happy and peaceful New Year to each and every one of you.

What A Waste

December 18, 2013December 24, 2013 / Alan / 35 Comments

Funny how these things turn out. I’m bashing out my post-match piece after the Liverpool game, usual routine except I was hitting the keys so much harder than normally, castigating Villas-Boas, blaming Levy for a decade or more of lousy decisions and predicting our manager’s sacking, at the very moment AVB was indeed being dismissed.

It’s happened before, many, many times before, but still comes as something of a shock. This follow-up should be a proper review, a look back at his time at Spurs. But it’s not about analysis, it’s about emotion. At least it is for Spurs fans. For others, it is much more straightforward – Tottenham are a laughing stock. Eight managers in twelve years, close to £100m spent in the summer and four months later the guy who spent it was gone.

It’s provoked different reactions amongst the fans, as you would expect. Many are delighted, some ghoulishly gleeful that their negative assessment of his ability has been proved right. My blogging pal Greg is angry and tearful in this fine Dispatches while Martin Cloake and Adam Powley separately (they are not joined at the hip after all) glory in the absurdity of it all. You have to laugh or else you’d cry.

I should be worked up about it. Long ago having sold my soul to the devil, I’ll be watching Spurs ’til the day I die regardless of who is in charge and who is playing, so rejection, the rational response to the mess the club is in, is out of the question. Rationality and supporting Spurs – really? What am I thinking?

But I invested in what I thought was happening at the club. I wanted Villas-Boas to succeed because I like the idea of a young, progressive and driven manager taking the club forward with a squad of similarly able and upwardly mobile players under his protection. I felt protective because of the way sections of the media and those within his club rubbished him at Che***a. He was ours now and White Hart Lane would be a safe home for him. We Is Us 18 months before it was said out loud.

He’s gone and I wish him well. I’m left feeling not angry, sad or happy, but numb. Hollow and distracted that once again my club, should be left in such disarray as supporters look on powerless. However difficult any life event is, human beings develop strategies for dealing with any repeat. Life goes on. Time and again our hopes have been raised only to be dashed once more. One step up and two steps back. We’re always regrouping, starting again. A endless loop of transitional seasons. It has to stop. Some clichés deserve repeating because they are perfect encapsulations of reality. We can cope with the despair, it truly is the hope that gets you.

I guess I don’t ever want the hope to be extinguished. Life isn’t measured by the passing of the years, it’s how enthusiastic you feel about the things that matter. Once that enthusiasm withers, so does body and mind. That’s why football supporters are such lovely, wonderful people to know. I mean real supporters, measured not by how many games they go to or their knowledge of the inside-out passing stats of Latvian second division false-nines, but supporters who feel rather than spectate. They hold these two diametrically opposed emotions in happy, blissful equilibrium, the cognitive dissonance of despair and hope that protects us from collapse. We moan, wring our hands and kvetsch in our frustration but we know what’s important. And we will turn up next week because good times are just around the corner. It’s a fundamentally decent, buoyant outlook on life that I love and would never be without.

It’s a good way to be but damn hard to maintain with a club that takes every opportunity to trample those positives into the mud beneath layers of cowpats. Uncomfortably numb, in fact, although the thought of a Pink Floyd song is the surest way of driving me completely over the edge.

I’m a keen student of Spurs’ history. If you asked me right now to sum it up in a sentence, I’d say something like: ‘none of the people who have run this club in my lifetime knew what they were doing.’

Daniel Levy has presided over a period of financial stability, and rightly deserves praise for that achievement. Yet he is totally unable to put into practice those same principles of sustainability and continuity on the field. A CEO in any business is not responsible for the detail. That is a waste of her or his time. Rather, they should establish a framework to implement clear goals that everyone signs up to. They set the parameters and the plan, the way the organisation will go about its business. Above all, their job is to pick the right people at senior level to put the plan into action.

This is how Levy has been successful in business. When it comes to football, that flies out of the window. This is what I can’t understand. I would rather a bad plan than no plan at all. To my mind, the club has had a consistent strategy over the last few years, to buy young(ish) players who will develop at Spurs. They come with more potential than experience. Develop together, we have a future in the long-term. the risk that they will leave is balanced to some extent by their increased value in the transfer market.

This long-term strategy is the best option for a club like ours, without a big stadium or recent success to generate income or a rich investor prepared to buy success. (we have a rich investor not prepared to buy success). It’s worthless without a coherent, stable senior management because this development takes time. Time is the most precious resource at the chairman’s disposal. No successful enterprise would dream of making so many changes. yet Levy cannot find the right man and does not know where to look.

Never mind all this speculation, we all know that Levy has no idea who to appoint. None at all. I wish Sherwood well. People I respect rate his coaching abilities and knowledge but if he succeeds it will be by accident not design. Levy has a record of appointing men at odds with the English game – Santini, Ramos – then folding to give anyone who happened to be around a chance – Martin Jol. He allows infighting within his management team – Jol actively undermining Santini with the players, Poyet the same with Ramos. Redknapp came as a panic measure to fight some raging fires, the success was unexpected. He invests millions in giving Villas-Boas the job, a huge risk given his recent CV, then refuses to back him in the market, the Moutinho deal going down the pan and playing an entire season with only two strikers.

I’m numb in the face of this because I have heard it all before. Much sighing and head-shaking annoying everyone around me this week. It’s real but the anger has gone. Not totally – it erupts to the surface as it did when I wrote my last piece. Sugar – Graham, Gross, Francis. Scholar – brought the club to the edge of bankruptcy. Burkinshaw’s parting shot: “there used to be a football club there.” Sidney Wale dynasty: Terry Neill, failed at one club and Ars***l to the core. It has to stop.

Monday was my birthday. It was nice to get wish-you-well messages. My good friend Adrianna, who tolerates but doesn’t get it, asked me if I had a good day. ‘Lost 5-0, lost a manager’ I replied. She hasn’t got back to me. My son knows me well: ‘Spurs in disarray, there’s a birthday present’ was all he said.

It is a shameful catalogue of wasted opportunities stretching back for over forty years. However, I am a supporter, a stupid sucker maybe but a committed sucker undoubtedly, so I find grounds for optimism always, and it is this: the players. This is a decent squad of footballers. Some obvious gaps but the potential is real. Healthy organisations need a goal: ours should be, whoever is in charge, to start next season with this same group of players. Without direction or some sniff of Europe, they will leave. It’s imperative that we keep them. Add to them, sure, but build on what we have.

Levy should look for someone with evidence of enabling talented, skillful players to create the right patterns of attack. In other words, to do what AVB couldn’t do. And whatever happens, I’ll be there to see it.