Spurs 1-3 Man City: Five Tottenham Observations

1. Off-The-Ball Struggles

I don’t think I’d be deceiving my public in suggesting that that was right up there with the more underwhelming nights in recent memory. Admittedly few of us would have had particularly wild expectations, but City’s recent form was enough to have some of us glancing surreptitiously at one another and whispering “What ho?” with a mischievous smile and a knowing wink or two.

But any such inclings of unlikely glory were given a damn good kicking in that opening half hour. I had, reasonably enough, hoped that we might have taken the game to our visitors and got stuck in at them from the off, to test their mettle so to speak.

Whether that approach might have worked we will never know, because they zapped the ball around as if it were a beam of light, and none of our lot touched the dashed thing until we were two down.

We were not undone by any moments of individual brilliance as much as a bit of a tactical shoeing, as the City chappies oozed from one position to another, and collectively from one formation to another, all of which made our brains melt. Our off-the-ball approach, so often something of a nifty secret weapon, was reduced to the rather depressing sight of simply pattering around a couple of yards behind play, desperately wanting to pause for breath and clarify north from south.

2. Dembele – Genius With A Potential Flaw

I suspect the weekly adoration of Dembele might become a little wearisome to the unconverted, but in this parish it continues like nobody’s business. To say that the chap is merely a “dribbler” is a bit like saying that Grace Kelly or some other such Hollywood siren is “rather a looker” – that is, while true enough per se, it doesn’t really begin to do justice the manifold talents on show.

I can honestly say I have never set eyes upon another soul who gildes past opponents as well as our man. And without wanting to labour the point, it is not as if he throws in an array of befuddling stepovers and party-tricks either. The chap can seemingly send two or three opponents spiralling off in the wrong direction simply by means of a shoulder-dip, some pretty magnetic close control and the body strength of one of the more Herculean bulls going around.

All of which is topping stuff, and has the locals bursting into applause on a regular basis. Look closely enough at the fledgling stages of any Tottenham attack and as often as not you’ll find Dembele’s fingerprints riddling the thing.

However, when we are not in possession – as happened for great swathes of the match yesterday – Dembele’s star burns a little less brightly. The chap is not really blessed with the indefatigable energy reserves of many of his lilywhite chums, and in truth his principle means of terminating an opposing attack tends to be the slightly unrefined Cynical Haul of the Shoulders.

Now personally I am of the opinion that Dembele’s value on the ball pretty much excuses his failings as a defensive midfielder when not in possession, but it is a thought worth chewing over. To pad out the point, a general inability to affect things when not in possession is my principle reason for arguing against the inclusion of First-Rate Rotter Jack Wilshere in the England team.

3. Kane – Fully Fit?

Given the moral outrage generated this week by the public declaration of a striker that he wanted to score goals, I was under the impression that Harry Kane would only ever touch the ball to shoot or tee himself up for a shot. Picture my surprise then, when he found himself around the edge of the area and opted to slide a pass in for Eriksen (to do what Sonny never would, and go flying in amongst the limbs to score), rather than blast the thing goalwards himself.

That, alas, was about as fruity as the participation got for our golden boy. Had I noticed him at any other point in the game I would have observed that he was pretty anonymous, which makes one think.

As someone with zero medical knowledge I don’t mind opining that the young bean did not look fully fit, from my vantage point. Where previously he would dash down the channels like some buccaneering hero, or drop deep to shield the ball and spray to onrushing chums, yesterday there was something of the amble about his gait.

No doubt he sweated a good honest gallon or so of the honest stuff, but he barely got anywhere near the ball throughout. (Not that much can really be done if he is indeed lacking match practise, other than giving him more matches.)

4. Upbeat Stuff From Lucas

By contrast, Lucas Moura set about the thing with all manner of vim and gusto once introduced.

There is, I suppose, the eternal pessimist’s concern that the blighter might be all flash and glitz and whatnot, and no actual end-product – presumably Time, as she often does, will have the final say on that one.

But for now, or, more accurately, then, Lucas’ quick feet and general impression of an eel of the particularly slippery variety quickened the pulse in a most welcome manner. One imagines that tiring defenders would groan and curse at the introduction of such a rascal, and I for one hope that he upgrades from cameo roles sooner rather than later.

5. Another Day, Another Lloris Clanger

What the dickens is up with the chap? His errors of judgement are becoming so regular and costly that somebody somewhere will soon write a strongly-worded letter about it to the one of the big cheeses.

Admittedly the foul was outside the area – but, by heck, what a foul! He could not have been less subtle if he had set off from his line with an axe slung over his shoulder and brandishing a sign that read “Regardez! I’m looking for a striker to upend.” Not the sort of thing for which he earns the weekly envelope, I’m pretty damned sure.

Watching the ghastly scene unfold did make me pause and stroke the chin, and wonder what had become of those halcyon days in which Lloris played as a genuine “Sweeper Keeper”, to coin a phrase. Back then, it was as common a sight as a singing lark to see the young egg haring fully thirty yards from his goal to triumphantly intercept an opposition pass and boot it roughly back when it came.

Such interventions would be jolly useful in season 2017/18, given that our eye-wateringly high defensive line often begins business up around the halfway line, but Lloris seems to have decided that racing off his line to help out his back four is now strictly for nostalgic reminiscence only.

So we are left with a defeat that we suspected might come our way, and which does not do much damage to our Top Four push – but finishing third has now become a mite trickier, which bothers me a tad, given that 4th spot would presumably mean a CL play-off during post-World Cup season. The brow furrows.

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