Reading 1-3 Spurs: Little Commemorative Statues
The lark’s on the wing, the snail’s on the thorn, the three-man midfield is bossing things and young Master Defoe is running riot – it may be over-stating things a mite to suggest that all’s right with the world after a routine dismantling of mediocre relegation fodder, but great big exhalations of relief are being puffed by lilywhites across the land (not least, one suspects, in the household of the assorted VBs). As ever we have had to wait a few games, but the good ship Hotspur has finally lurched off on its way, and huzzah for that.
Dembele and Chums
Defoe might raise a rather piqued eyebrow, but AANP is tempted to suggest that ‘twas won in midfield. Dembele skated along this way and that, oozing regal control over things, with generous lashings of strength, control, discipline, awareness and well-judged, well-executed Viera-esque forward bursts. With Sandro a more-than-adequate Rodney to Dembele’s DelBoy, our heroes seemed mightily well-balanced in the centre, and wholesome goodness accordingly seeped forth from every pore.
Gylfi – Splitting Opinions and Defences
There have been conflicting opinions of Sigurdsson’s contribution, both at Reading yesterday and in general this season, with murmurs in some quarters that he is not quite of the standard of those around him. The presence on the sidelines of C. Dempsey Esquire ought to keep young Gylfi on his toes, and while in these quarters the preference would be for our American cousin in that advanced midfield role, Sigurdsson seems at least to be toeing the party line, in terms of joining in with all that midfield high-jinks and keep-ball, and gamely trotting forward to support Defoe. Moreover, while the close-range miss was a little embarrassing, the supremely-weighted pass for Lennon, which resulted in our opener, ought to have a small statue erected in its honour, for here at AANP Towers a perfectly-weighted pass inside a full-back is right up there alongside the musical adventures of 90s beat combo The KLF and the verbal niceties of Malcolm Tucker, on the list of stuff that has us tipping our hats in goggle-eyed admiration.
Marvellous Stuff From Young Defoe
Of course it would be remiss to pootle through proceedings without clearing one’s throat in honour of Defoe. His detractors will presumably continue to point to his limitations, greediness and propensity for wandering offside, but the solid counter-argument to all this was pretty evident yesterday. Possibly more impressive than the goals he scored was the one he missed, in the first half – plucking the ball out of the sky (taking out two defenders in the process) and, before the ‘keeper had had time to recall what day it was, belting it netwards with the outside of his right foot, which really is the mark of a man wearing his hat at a jaunty angle and not caring who sees. As it left his foot the sculptors of AANP Towers primed themselves to chisel out another commemorative effigy, but alas, the execution was slightly amiss, and rather a shame it was too.
Minor criticisms can be lobbed around – such games as these really ought to be wrapped up and rather boringly ended as a contest not much later than half-time, while the goal conceded was awfully sloppy. Those, however, are for another day. The priority here was really just to despatch this mob and trundle our way up the table.