Not So Much a Match Report, More a Celebration

November 3, 2010November 3, 2010 / Alan / 23 Comments

Last night Spurs produced a fearless, compelling and utterly irresistible display of bravura football, the like of which I have seldom seen in my 40 plus seasons of watching my beloved team. Inter Milan, proud champions of Europe, a defence the envy of the competition, were repeatedly torn to shreds. One of the greatest nights in our modern history, but with football like this, there’s scant need to be parochial – this morning the eyes of Europe are upon us.

At the end of the night, a shy, modest young Welshman was anointed as a world-class talent. Gareth Bale shattered Inter with an unstoppable combination of muscular direct running and devastatingly accurate crossing. Top class players with every trick in the book, pace, hard tackling, positioning plus the arcane dark arts of international defenders, they’ve seen it all before but on the night all they saw was his backside as he powered past them. As they thrash around in the middle of the night in storm-tossed demented half-sleep, the number three will float into their consciousness and torment them for evermore.

I’ve seen a game or two in my time but I’ve never seen anything quite like Bale. In full flight this big man is a fearsome sight. he needs a stride or two to get moving but once he gains momentum he’s away. Yet despite this, the most remarkable aspect of his play is the final ball. Viciously swerving crosses that are nigh on impossible to handle or the far post ball on the ground, they are dispatched with great accuracy whilst he’s stampeding through at full tilt. The touch to the byline, the amount of times the ball does not cross the line but is pulled back as his instep curls around it and into the box. This is not a reflex reaction. Rather, he’s learned to pick his passes much better, witness the second and third goals last night. As the blood pumps furiously and every sinew strains, his mind remains focussed and calm. He is twenty-one years old.

It’s not as if Inter were unprepared. Not only was there plenty of first hand evidence from the first leg, Benitez knows the English game intimately, yet his team offered too much space. Even if they had closed him down, Bale would have escaped their clutches. This signals a new strand of defensive tactics. Against Bale, formations are no longer described with players spread across the pitch horizontally. Goal-line to goal-line, 5-3-2. It’s the only way.

This was no one man band. Modric was outstanding in the centre. Low to the ground, seeking space and then filling it with an angled ball or a short stabbing run to collect the pass and move on. Always active, he provided both an outlet for team-mates and a steady supply of creativity. Little arms outstretched, give it to me, give it here, I want it give it to me. The opening goal was exquisite, a simple natural beauty rather than the glamour of those that followed but nonetheless it took the breath away. The touch and turn, head up, how can a football rolling 6 yards be so sumptuous? Van der Vaart, on the same wavelength, as one and in. Stunning.

VDV roamed wild and free in the first half. Not everything came off but Inter could never rest. Hud was solid in the centre, spraying the ball wide and undertaking defensive duties diligently. Gallas had a decent match. He bounces around like tigger, hopping up, down and sideways, alert and balanced, barking out instructions. No thought of bygone days, only Spurs on his mind and new challenges ahead. Lennon occupied Inter’s attention, if only the final ball were better but he made his fair share of opportunities. Another word of praise for Kaboul. He should be way over his head in this company but he’s not having any of that. He wants it, wants it bad, and he had another good game. For our third, the little Inter forward had possession, edge of the box, back to goal, and Kaboul stayed patiently on his feet rather than diving in. Result? We gained possession and Bale disappeared into the wide blue yonder.

Yet the really wondrous aspect of this match was the team itself. No hint of the disjointed, aimless play we’ve seen so often with this squad. They produced a sustained display of attacking endeavour, moving as a single organism with one intent, victory. The movement was excellent throughout with barely a moment to catch their breath. They supported each other magnificently and played from the off with sustained purpose and high tempo. From the kick off Bale took a waist-high pass under pressure and first time knocked it back, to Benny I think. A footnote on a wonderful night but it was a sign of confidence. Spurs imposed themselves on their illustrious opponents from the beginning and never let up. My head was spinning as we tried to break down the Italian barrier – both wings, running, passing, onetwos, the entire gamut of creative football.

I suspect Benitez had no sense that Spurs would dare to attack so consistently. It’s the Champions League, a group match, you want to win but are cautious because losing is a crime. Everyone knows that. Kudos to Redknapp and the coaches for setting up the team in this way and for instilling the will to win. The fluency up front was a joy to behold. Not just VDV and Luka, but Bale making diagonal runs off the ball into the middle and pushing JJ forward when Rafa went off. Inter had barely a moment’s respite from this unceasing assault.

So Bale, this giant of the game, runs amok then amidst the tumult of celebration absent-mindedly checks his hair. In the post match interview, he looks at the floor, says he’s still learning. Last week he had a few days off. Went to stay with his mum. Just a kid of twenty-one. Me, I’ve seen it all before, but I’ve not seen anything like this. Past 1 am, can’t sleep, watch the recording and waves of goosebumps flow down my body from head to toe. After all this time, I should not surprised by what Spurs does to the emotions, but once again they’ve floored me. A head-spinningly joyous night of wild passion and wonder.

Not All About the Clattenburg Clanger

November 1, 2010November 1, 2010 / Alan / 5 Comments

Let’s do it then. 93 minutes of a fascinating and, for lengthy periods, pulsating match at Old Trafford can be dismissed because only 60-odd seconds really matter, or so you would think if you followed the media this weekend. You want more, don’t you, there’s not been enough about it.

It’s a while since I’ve seen so much go wrong in such a short space of time. Kaboul was fortunate to get away with the foul on Nani, then the winger took the most definite hold of a ball since Michael Johnson’s last basket but the turning point comes a few seconds later. Clattenburg’s decisive signal that he was denying the penalty appeal was not matched with a similar sign indicating advantage. Where Gomes placed the ball is irrelevant: all keepers pinch a good few yards if there is a free-kick close to the byline. Also, the ref could easily have thought our keeper was about to shift the ball upfield quickly. Then, Gomes hesitates, he knows something is not right. Scoles and other United players are urging Nani to get over his childish sulk and get on with it. Gomes looks to the ref, hands forward, and is met with a shrug. Up to you, old son, the ball’s in play.

The linesman’s late flag was reasonable. He had every right to assume the ref knew what he was doing but just in case, he wanted to tell him about the handball. There was an interesting discussion about refs on 5 Live last night. Some refs tell their linesmen not to flag for a foul if the ref is in their quadrant. I bet Clattenburg falls into this category. He likes to be in charge and be seen to be in charge. Linesman says handball, ref says I know. If the referee allowed Ferdinand to join in because he just can’t be arsed once again to tell players to shut up and go away for the zillionth time in a match, I might have a little sympathy, as players haranguing refs drives me bananas. But for a guy who wants to be in charge, it was a sign of fatal weakness. At least it offered further evidence of what a dipstick Ferdy is, abusing the linesman even after it’s gone his way. Not like our lovely nice boys – the stream I watched replayed pictures and sounds of the Spurs players around the ref at full-time and not a swear word to be heard. So sweet.

I don’t want to defend the ref – he did not deal with this well – but in the end, play to the whistle is an adage drummed into the youngest schoolboy and I presume it’s the same in Brazil. This season, referees are allowing more advantage and they do bring the ball back if none is gained. Clattenburg could have done so here, as Nani advanced towards the ball. If the FA followed rugby’s example and issued clear guidance to referees to permit a few more seconds for the advantage to pan out, football would be a better game. I remember saying that when I was a schoolboy, too.

Gomes was daft but I feel for him. This bizarre episode will be endlessly replayed over those blooper reels, with ill-informed D-list celebs ripping the piss out of our keeper to get a cheap laugh, and I don’t want that to happen because it’s so undeserved. He’s a fine keeper who had an excellent match. Often exposed by wayward marking in front of him, he was a redoubtable last line of defence.

Now we have Harry banging on about it, including in the Sun, where he just happens to have a contract and column. He seemed philosophical at full-time, chuckling away ruefully with Fergie. If the pressure on him to comment leads to a touchline ban, he’s more stupid than the ref.

Enough already. I’m curious as to why this one incident has occupied so much attention in the media this weekend. Sure, it’s crazy in itself, let alone in a top of the table Premier League clash, but the coverage has been way over to the top. It’s not as if the match hinged on this one moment. It snuffed out our final desperate efforts to seek an equaliser but we were a goal down and flagging. To me, it’s symptomatic of one of the most harmful aspects of the modern media coverage of our great game. It is reduced into micro-moments. ‘Let’s have a look at those penalty appeals’ and the TV pundits snuggle up to replays of 37 angles before pronouncing that they’ve seen those given. Football is about the ebb and flow over time, territory fought over, assaults repulsed and swift counters, all balance and guile, sweat and toil. On Saturday, the first half in particular was a pulsating advert for the much maligned Premier League, full of open, flowing and skillful attacking football. It’s like nobody bothers about that any more.

Also, from Spurs’ point of view, the Clattenburg Clanger is a convenient smokescreen to mask the limitations of our play. Harry doesn’t want to get into this, and neither does the media, because it doesn’t fit their current perception of our team. We are getting great publicity: our squad strength is praised consistently, rightly so, and our attacking football has won friends, especially in the Champions League, where if you want goals, choose the Tottenham Hotspur option on the red button. However, take a closer look, as we fans do, and there are a couple of problems that are not going away as the season goes on.

There are genuine positives to take from the match, especially the way in which we took the game to United in the second half. It’s not much, but we forced our opponents back for lengthy periods, holding possesion and probing for the gaps. We compelled them into making changes to bolster their defensive shield, and it’s a while since you could say that about a Spurs performance at Old Trafford. Van der Vaart was again brilliant in the first half. His turn and shot utterly breathtaking. Modric took a greater part in the second half, showing how well he can perform. We were not strong up front but at least we made some chances.

But there we are, what’s going on upfront. Not much. Keane’s selection was a brave one. He played well in that role in preseason and in theory it means we could keep it on the ground. However, he was largely anonymous, so it was left to VDV to provide the punch. Pav did well enough when he came on but there’s no disguising the lack of threat from our strikers, whoever plays there.

At the back, we were far too open. If United had not been so unusually wasteful, we could have been three down by half time. I’m always talking about how the midfield fail to protect our back four, so I won’t bang on about it again. Suffice to say, Superboy may appear invulnerable but in the end he’s human too. He has to get goalside and do his fair share of defending. Too often on Saturday he was drifting in no-man’s-land, 5 or 10 yards outside our box as United got in behind us. Same goes for Lennon and Modric to some extent. I don’t wish to be over-critical of these excellent players – but they have to do it and it is holding us back because it leaves us vulnerable.

Kaboul did well once again, a fine prospect, but part of his particular learning curve is when to get in tight and when to bounce back a fraction. Against Everton and on Saturday, unnecessary free-kicks led to goals. On Saturday the error was compounded by downright useless marking in the box. It was criminal to leave Vidic with so much space. Our injuries at the back are beginning to make me maudlin. If only. If only Daws and Led were fit. If only Woody could have come back…it means so much, and could mean real might-have-beens come the end of the season.

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.

Look Out, You’ve Been Levyed!

September 2, 2010 / Alan / 23 Comments

The ‘Buy It Now’ price was reasonable but pitched too high for a tried and tested model like that one. Demand and supply fixes the value regardless of the opinions of the vendor, and these days everyone wants these new-fangled gadget phones. This one suited me, just calls and texts. He was open to offers, so I waited, that’s what I do. Tick followed tock followed tick followed tock.

As the clock ran down, I pounced. Once I made my move, he had little choice. The Nokia 3109, brand new, unwanted work upgrade, T-mobile only – he had nowhere else to go. Half his asking price, a quarter of the shop value. I had my prize and the vendor had been levyed.

Levy – verb to extract the lowest possible price, ruthlessly, from a transaction, usually by exploiting the weakness and vulnerability of others

Origin – the chairman of Tottenham Hotspur, an English football club, renowned for waiting until the last moment when purchasing players for the team.

The purchase of my phone is pretty much the same as that of Van der Vaart, bar the 6 zeros at the end of the price. In the past I’ve been bitterly critical of Levy, from the ghastly era of Pleat as the caretaker boss where we so nearly were relegated, through to Santini and Jol’s sacking. However, over the past few years my grudging acknowledgement of his undoubted business acumen has become genuine respect. The club’s long-term future appears to be far more secure than most Premier League clubs and he’s brought some fine players here in the process. Early last season I wrote a piece characterising Levy as Redknapp’s poodle. When he took the job Harry made much of the fact that he had sole control over transfers – no director of football – and Levy, a businessman out of his depth when it comes to football matters, was more than happy to roll over and have his tummy tickled. I was wrong – Levy’s biggest success has been to curb Redknapp’s spendthrift instincts whilst simultaneously enabling the team to develop.

As someone who is to bartering what Kevin Pietersen is to tweeting, I admire his chutzpah. I am the definition of the opposite of pokerface, as anyone who has ever played cards with me will gleefully confirm, yet Levy is prepared to sit it out. More than that, he coldheartedly susses the vulnerability of a prospective vendor and exploits it to the hilt. Word is that other chairmen and agents don’t like doing business with him. I wonder why.

It’s not always worked, of course, as the hapless Ramos will testify. Frazier Campbell for Berbatov, anyone? We’ve clearly been outbid in terms of both fees and salaries for top players in this window. As the tumult dies away, I am more disappointed than I anticipated by our failure to improve the striking options. A top class striker with different skills to those currently available to Redknapp would have done us the world of good. However, I remain convinced that Levy is correct in refusing to pay vastly inflated fees and especially salaries. It’s tempting as we have cash in the bank but there is no reason to upset the pecking order in the club, where good players have been rewarded with generous contracts, team spirit is cohesive and the quality is there already.

Also, and I’m sorry if regular readers have heard all this before, we have to face facts: players may not wish to come here. Fabiano for instance: I’m sure we made a good offer but settled in one of the most beautiful cities of Europe, excellent wages, good team, sun on his back, fewer language problems, swap that for a team with no recent pedigree in Europe, an area of north London containing some of the most deprived communities in the country or, worse, Chigwell, a long hard slog through the winter and a ground that holds fewer than 39,000 people. To me, WHL is a holy paradise on earth but not to everyone.

When it comes to gambling, I understand all there is to know. What happens is, you put your money down, on the card table or at the bookie’s window, wait, then never see it again. But one thing I do know is, for a successfully gambler it helps if you’re lucky. Levy has mastered the art, or likes to think he has. Van der Vaart is a superb piece of business. He’ll provide vital guile and drive in midfield, plus hopefully the intelligence that was markedly absent on Saturday. But Levy and Redknapp got lucky with this one. I suspect we had made a few enquiries, as we have for hundreds of players, but this was a late call rather than the product of a systematic pursuit. Levy had a tip-off at 4pm and the deal was wrapped up by 6, or in fact just after but who cares about that, we had (snigger) ‘a problem with our server’, apparently.

Granted you make your own luck and Levy’s contacts served him well in this case. More importantly, we had the cash to put on the table. If we had had to go through the rigmarole of loans and staggered payments this thing would not have gone ahead, and that’s good finances. But in the end it was his luck that held, not on this occasion his nerve.