Month: March 2024

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 2-1 Luton: Three Tottenham Talking Points

1. Kulusevski On The Right…

That AANP reacts to Kulusevski’s deployment on the left by burying his head in his hands and noiselessly weeping is a well-known truth, and just to hammer home its salient points the Swede kindly offered a live-action example of precisely its ills, within the first two minutes on Saturday.

He picked up the ball on the right and went a-galloping, at a steady lick if not exactly breakneck speed, and by the time he reached the right-hand corner of the area all observers of lilywhite persuasion were fairly united in the view that here was a position of some promise.

At this point, as sure as night follows day, Kulusevski could be relied upon to cut inside on his left foot and make a hash of the main course, and he duly obliged. The cut-back brought a sigh, accepted as just one of those crosses one has to bear, but it need not necessarily have liquidated the attack. What happened next, however, absolutely stamped as a certainty the misdeeds that are brought by Kulusevski on the right.

Not only did he aim a pass to precisely no-one in lilywhite, using his position of opportunity to place the ball behind rather than into the path of the advancing Son, but the resulting loss of possession – as Sonny scrambled unsuccessfully to redeem things and Luton hared away with it – led of all things to a goal for the other lot. Townsend scuttled up the right, and before one could mutter, “But a moment ago this was our goalscoring opportunity, dash it!” Luton had the ball in our net.

This is not to suggest that the goal conceded was down to Kulusevski (although if The Brains Trust were to recommend ‘Nipping Things In The Bud’ as his bedtime reading for this week they’d have my vote), but more to emphasise that a fellow of his undoubted substance is frittering away his talents out on the right.

And frankly the man himself seemed to be at pains to emphasise that he is rather wasted on the right, by doing all his best work when he cut infield. Cast the mind back to the presentable one-on-one that Havertz put wide midway through the first half, and the glorious pass that released him emanated from Kulusevski wandering infield towards more central regions.

2. …vs Johnson On The right

Of course one hesitates to suggest that Big Ange asked himself at half-time what might AANP be thinking, and acted accordingly – modesty forbidding and all that – but the evidence is pretty overwhelming. Come the second 45 the concept of Kulusevski on the right had disappeared into the North London atmosphere, and Brennan Johnson was added to the cast list. Had an interested observer looked carefully they would surely have noted A.P. desperately trying to catch the AANP eye for approval.

The switch was made to considerable effect. Being an old-fashioned sort, AANP considers that a little too much fuss is made about the concept of Assists, there being a heck of a lot more to any half-decent attacker than his Assist count; but nevertheless, Johnson topped off a pretty sprightly 45 minutes with assists for both goals. That he did so was as a result of his repeated ability to hare off down the right in a puff of smoke, leaving Luton’s left-sided pack scrambling in his wake (credit here to supporting cast members, notably Pedro Porro, for doing much of the spadework that sprung Johnson from his traps).

Having been thusly unshackled Johnson did not waste too much time dwelling upon his options, adopting the principle that straight lines have a lot going for them and accordingly sprinting the shortest distance between two points before smacking the ball towards the far post. And thereafter, the second principle adopted by Johnson seemed to be that if it worked once it was worth trying again, and Luton seemed pretty powerless to stop him.

Hardly rocket science, but it’s worth noting that a pretty integral element of Johnson’s success was the fact that having sprinted free he didn’t go in for any of that meandering fluff about cutting back onto his left, instead just blasting in a low right-footed cross while Luton players were still rushing back to their posts. Put another way, at the crucial juncture Johnson opted for an approach that was about as far removed from Kulusevski as one could be, and it was markedly more successful.

On top of which, I’m rather a fan of Johnson’s predilection for tiptoeing into the area when attacks emanate down the left, with a view to flying in for a far-post tap-in – another element oddly lacking from Kulusevski’s game.  

None of which is to suggest that Johnson is necessarily a better player than Kulusevski, or a nicer chap about the place or anything like that; but yesterday at least, the deployment of a pacy right-footer on the right wing was far more effective than the use of Kulusevski and his adored left foot. The question of where Our Glorious Leader goes from here, in selecting his next XI, and particularly his right-sided attacker, adds a gentle frisson of excitement to the coming days.

3. Classic Timo Werner

No doubt about it, Timo Werner is as curious a little eel as they come. He somehow managed to cram all his classic elements into one single performance yesterday, and I rather fancy that when he tucked into his post-match sauerkraut last night he himself would have been scratching the old loaf wondering whether his performance went down as a Yay or a Nay.

In the early stage I was impressed by his willingness to cut inside and worm his way into the heart of the Luton back-line, a spirit of adventure that I thought boded well, and had me looking forward to an afternoon of inroads on the left. I was a little disappointed therefore to note that thereafter he rather lost interest in that particular route, opting for the vastly more conventional approach of trying to outpace his man down the wing, and finding himself up against a pretty stubborn sort in that Kabore chap.

In Werner’s defence, our complete absence of any useful build-up play in the first half didn’t help his cause. Any good we produced in the first 45 seemed to come from pressing high and winning the ball in the final third, rather than any particular ingenuity from deep. An exception was the pass from deep from Kulusevski, alluded to earlier, which set Werner free to have a run at the Luton goal. I suspect that when he blew out the candles on his last birthday, Werner wished for someone to play the ball into his path from deep, allowing him to sprint onto it from the halfway line, because few situations better showcase his standout talent.

This, of course, is the talent for covering 20 yards in a blur of movement. Putting aside for the moment, the issue of what happens once the sprinting is done and life’s serious decisions creep up, when what is required is transiting from halfway to the penalty area with minimal fuss, Werner is up there with the best of them. I would hand over a decent portion of the weekly packet to see Werner, Van de Ven and Johnson duke it out over 60 metres or so.

And in fact, having ticked the ‘Sprint’ box in exemplary fashion, Werner then negotiated the second chapter with admirable skill, sending that Kabore chap this way and that, thereby creating room for his shot.

However, as has been well documented, this is where Werner really ought to have been directing those birthday wishes, because he somehow makes the job of manoeuvring the ball from his feet to the net look like the most complex operation in human history. Needless to say, after careful consideration, he deposited the ball a few inches wide of the target, and one just didn’t really see much point in chiding the fellow because he seems so pathologically incapable of depositing the ball anywhere else.

Which is not to say that he adds no value; far from it. As mentioned, this was a 90-minute package of every element of Werner’s game, and his role in our equaliser ought not to be understated. Johnson and Porro deserve tidy salutes for fashioning the chance, but when the ball was whizzed across the face of goal there arose a legal obligation for someone in lilywhite to come piling in at the far post, and Werner clearly knew his onions. Fortunately, however, he was spared the indignity of blasting the ball over from about two yards by that Kabore chap, upon whom Werner’s close attentions and whispered promises proved irresistible, forcing him to pop the ball home in a manner that Werner can presumably only dream of.

It’s not the first time our heroes have profited by one winger crossing for another, and even though the minutes of the occasion record it as an own goal, the value of Werner was there for all to see.

And to round things off he also played a critical role in the winner, providing assistance to Sonny on the counter-attack to great effect, first in carrying the ball from halfway to penalty area, as Luton backtracked furiously from their own corner, before getting his cross past good old Kabore and into the thick of things in the area, from which vicinity Johnson and Son tidied up.

So his usual mixed bag, but Werner certainly fits the system and contributes to the fun, in his own unique and loveable way. Another of Big Ange’s decisions in the coming weeks will presumably be whether to continue with him out on the left, or shove Sonny there instead, with Richarlison up top.

On a final note, I’m not sure I’ve ever witnessed two efforts in the same game roll across the goal-line without crossing it; but any inclination to bemoan our luck in those instances was neatly offset by the fact that both our goals featured generous dollops of luck the other way, comprising as they did an own goal and a hefty deflection. All such gifts gratefully accepted.

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Spurs match reports

Fulham 3-0 Spurs: Three Tottenham Talking Points

1. Bissouma

Before spitting on one’s hands and getting into the meat of the thing one probably ought to clear the throat and make one of those frightfully dull public service announcements, along the lines that the singling out of Bissouma, Dragusin or anyone else for some forensic analysis in this instance does not mean that they are the principal rotters of the piece.

To be clear, in yesterday’s shambles the blame could be split pretty neatly eleven ways (if you want to dust off the old abacus and calculate what proportion the five subs merit, then be my guest). I pick out Bissouma because as the flames spread and the whole edifice came crashing down, the thought occasionally struck me that he was stinking out the place, but not really any more so than the rest.

Having made clear who’s responsible (all of them), and who would be welcome at AANP Towers in the coming weeks for a snifter and a few jolly back-slaps (none of them), I do want to bang on a bit about Bissouma. I suppose if this is the sort of forum in which a thesis requires one of those descriptive sub-headings, I’d maybe plump for, “Bissouma: What the Dickens Was He Contributing?”

After a pretty encouraging opening minute and a half, in which we didn’t let Fulham touch the ball, things took an abrupt slide, not so much downhill as over the edge of a cliff and to our collective doom at the bottom. Fulham kept wandering right into shooting distance within our penalty area, seemingly whenever the whim grabbed them. And not only was it one of those free-entry binges, they seemed to wander into our holiest of holies in precisely the same manner in each time: viz., some chappie lurking outside the area would dink a diagonal for a midfield runner to canter forward without any of our lot anywhere near him.

Now it’s one thing for the other lot to play a pass with a bit of dressing on it. Even as a Spurs sort since the womb, I can appreciate when the opposition unwrap a spot of the good stuff. But the notion that all present should then simply stand idly and gawp at this is decidedly off. Save the awe and wonder for the half-time chit-chat, I say. When a Fulham player pops one through the midfield and slap bang into the front-line, all in the vicinity ought to be racing to their posts, the extinguishing of imminent danger their absolute top priority.

To be clear, it’s not the case that each and every time a Fulham player snuck in and got their shots off in those early stages it was Bissouma’s man. Sarr and Dragusin, to name but two, were also responsible for rocking back on their heels and watching events unfold around them rather than taking a bit of initiative and piling in, or better still, anticipating the danger and cutting it off before it sprouted wings.

But Bissouma was definitely amongst the guilty parties, not least when Fulham got their second – which really did feel like the coup de grâce – early in the second half, the one that seemed to deflect in off the fellow’s thigh. On entering our penalty area that Chap of the Fortunate Thing (calls himself Lukic, apparently) was level with Bissouma, but our man picked a bad moment to drift off a bit, gazing about dreamily as the menace increased, and seeming to jog back on auto-pilot, enjoying the view a bit too much, rather than busting a gut to keep pace with (or indeed overtake) that Lukic fiend.

And indeed, during the genesis of that same goal, when Fulham won possession around halfway and knocked the ball into centre circle territory, the entire dashed premises appeared to have been vacated by our midfield. Once more, Bissouma cannot be chided alone, for there are at least two other midfielders, as well as two inverted wing-backs, each of whose job descriptions involve bobbing around in that neck of the woods.

Nevertheless, the complete absence of any semblance of control in midfield throughout does reflect pretty badly on Bissouma. Admittedly job descriptions in the Ange era are all a bit fuzzy, the general strategy seeming to be to invite everyone to wander off and explore any patch of land that catches their eye; but Bissouma is generally regarded as the chap all turn to for a spot of sentry duty. And yet when we were on the back-foot, I struggle to remember him making too many tackles or interceptions (which suggests that he needs to sit down with a map and compass, and position himself a bit more thoughtfully), or particularly standing out for being a bundle of energy, harassing the Fulham mob and generally bullying those around him.

Failing to match Fulham’s general energy was a collective foul-up, but once Fulham had beaten our high press and set off towards our goal, Bissouma was pretty easily bypassed. Difficult to know why his form has dipped, because in the early weeks of the season he seemed a man at the peak of his powers. Apparently he had a spot of malaria, poor cove, during his AFCON jaunt, which I can’t imagine does much for the constitution of the elite athlete, but whatever the reason he’s not really adding much to the cause at present.

2. Dragusin

Strange to say now as we survey the charred remains, but pre-match I was oozing with childlike enthusiasm, amongst other things at the prospect of giving young Dragusin the once over. The absence of VDV or course, would normally be lamented and with considerable concern, but like everyone else I’d drunk in the little video clips of Dragusin mastering various Serie A attackers, and felt appropriately buoyed.

On top of which, the fellow struck me as the sort whose drink one would not want to spill in a London nightspot, if you follow my meaning. Some bobbies, purely from appearance alone, strike you as the jolly, genial types; and some as mildly terrifying. I know into which camp I place Radu Dragusin.

Obviously most right-minded souls would exercise a few degrees of caution before passing judgement on a new signing, and as such AANP is hardly positioning himself as judge, jury and executioner after a few cameos and one 90-minute performance (particularly when that 90-m. p. involved all around him giving up the ghost and delivering solid 3 out of 10 stuff). With that caveat in mind, I thought Dragusin started fairly solidly, might have bucked up his ideas a notch for the opening goal conceded and thereafter was not really any better or worse than the rest.

One of his first tests involved him shuffling over to the right to escort some Fulham forward off the premises, and as suspected, this relying more upon brawn than brain seemed to be right up his street. He duly muscled the lad out of the way and got rid of the ball. A solid start, but on a couple of first half occasions, including the goal, I thought he might have at least pretended to care a bit more, perhaps by flinging himself full-length to block the incoming shot with one of those meaty legs. Dragusin, however, preferred to keep his legs to himself. Admittedly, if given the chance of a face-to-face interview with the young heavyweight in order to air my grievances I’d likely keep the lips firmly zipped and just agree with everything he said, the urge for self-preservation being strong in AANP, but from the safety of the armchair I’m happy to spout that he ought to have done better.

No particular blame attached to him for the third goal either, when he had a healthy swipe in an attempt to clear the loose ball, and took a chunk out of the goalscorer instead. Ideally he would have got there first, but one hardly blames him and him alone for the goal. And that sentiment rather summed up his evening – ideally he would have been a bit better, but the defeat was not really his fault.

One positive against his name was that he appeared not to be sent into a a frenzy of wild panic when the ball appeared at his feet, but generally has the good sense to pick out a nearby associate, and even on one occasion went for a stroll into Fulham territory, to see for himself. So that might be what the poets call a silver lining, but on the matter of quite how accomplished he is as a defender, we will presumably require a fair amount of additional evidence.

3. Complacency?

No doubt we will soon all be drowning in tactical hypotheses about precisely what went wrong yesterday, and apart from some superficial observations – Bissouma as mentioned above, Kulusevski continuing to fire blanks when out on the right, Udogie probably the best of a bad bunch – I don’t have much of value to add on that front.

One thought that did drift to mind as the whole bally thing fell apart in front of my very eyes was that I had rather expected our heroes to swan up and turn over Fulham, and this was swiftly accompanied by a second, related thought, that perhaps our heroes had themselves adopted precisely the same mindset. AANP has never tried his hand at shelling peas – wasn’t aware they came in shells, truth be told – nor at stealing sweets from babies, but by all accounts these are amongst the easier tasks known to man. And one got the impression that our heroes had greeted the dawn yesterday in agreement that there was a third activity to that list, that of rocking up at Fulham and collecting three points.

For a fan to think thusly is one thing. Ill-advised, no doubt, but excusable enough. But for the players to think similarly, and under-perform accordingly, is pretty rotten stuff. And the sight of them losing fifty-fifty challenges, and misplacing passes, and miscontrolling other passes – as well as failing to track runners or guard the wide, open spaces in midfield – generally gave the impression that here was a gaggle of lilywhites (albeit in natty dark blue) who were failing in what one might consider their principle duty, that of giving their every last ounce for the cause.

And it was all the more galling for serving as the sequel to the ultimately rampant performance last week, in which our lot did the hard yards in the first half and were therefore able to swan about like they owned the place by the end. I suppose it was precisely because they made such a good fist of things last week that they were so complacent this time around, presumably convinced that they would simply pick up where they had left off last week, evidently labouring under the misapprehension that life works like that.

It doesn’t, of course, so in the same way we can chalk up last week’s triumph as an example of the very best that Angeball can produce, this will serve as the polar opposite. Which presumably means that once the international break is over and everyone gears up for the final push, we can expect something in between the two extremes.

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Spurs match reports

Villa 0-4 Spurs: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. Kulusevski: The Bad

AANP pens a spot of fiction, don’t you know, and a key piece of advice that the experts like to hammer home in that area is to make sure the characters have a bit about them to make you think. Both positives and negatives, I mean. Elements of good, elements of bad. Stops the reader dozing off apparently – and if I ever need a spot of inspiration for this sort of thing, I would need to look no further than Dejan Kulusevski’s 98 or so this afternoon, he managing to mingle the positives with the negatives like an absolute pro.

If you’ve passed this way before you’ll know that the AANP opinion of Kulusevski, while not exactly having plummeted, has entered something of a troubling downward trajectory in recent weeks. Broadly, I remain a fan – all things being equal, one would rather a world in which the honest soul were part of the lilywhite fabric than not – but poke around beneath the headlines and really get into the meat of the thing, and, no doubt about it, the eyebrow starts to twitch in a northerly direction.

The issue, as I’ve blathered on about interminably in recent weeks, is his output in the final third. Receive the ball on or around the right-hand corner of the area, and up there with death and taxes is the fellow’s propensity to chop back onto his left. Which would be an absolute triumph, and the sort of manoeuvre I’d laud to the heavens, if it were a guaranteed winner. As it was in his first six months or so after joining, in fact. Back in those halcyon days the chap couldn’t set foot on the pitch without following up the chop-back-onto-left routine by curling a shot into the far corner or picking out an onrushing striker.

These days, however, Kulusevski chopping back onto his left foot is the cue, as sure as night follows day, either for a shot to waft off amongst the paying public in the lower tiers, or some specimen of output – cross or shot, they blend into one – to thud against an opposing limb and bounce away harmlessly. It happened a couple of times in the first half, and the air at AANP Towers was thick with the deepest exasperation.

However, to dismiss Kulusevski solely on the grounds of his activity when just outside the penalty area would be to do him something of a disservice. Granted, in that vicinity he’ll elicit in the onlooker the urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until his insides jangle; but station him as the attacking outlet inside his own half and on the right, and his value suddenly soars.

2. Kulusevski: The Good

Essentially, when it comes to playing out from the back, if the first stage of the campaign has been delivered – viz., transferring the precious cargo from Vicario to one or other of the Back Four through some slick first-time passing – then when Porro or whomever plant the ball at Kulusevski’s feet, still inside his own half, the energetic young cad suddenly comes alive.

And evidence of this was provided in our pretty critical opening goal. Kulusevski was shoved the ball by Romero, and, after a spot of admin, played a neat one-two with Porro, receiving the ball back from PP with his head up and the old compass pointing north. At this point, for clarity, he was still inside his own half. What followed was what I like to think of as the principal value that Kulusevski adds to the entire operation: he ran forward five yards to the halfway line with ball at feet, and then biffed it past a couple of Villa sorts and into the path of Sarr, in a great swathe of open greenery.

Now I appreciate that it might not sound much in practical terms, but the effect of this sort of input is to transform what you might call A Spot Of Bother (i.e. trying to play out from the back while under pressure from the opposition, facing one’s own goal and whatnot) into A Sudden Attacking Burst. In particular, Kulusevski’s knack for knocking the ball past a defender both near halfway and facing the wrong way has a solid history of bringing home the bacon. Whether he himself runs onto his own forward thrust, or a teammate takes up the baton, it’s a pretty reliable means of our heroes suddenly springing into life and, essentially, counter-attacking.

This is, of course, a very specific skillset, and accordingly requires a pretty specific set of conditions, not least that the opposition happen to be defending high up the pitch, around halfway, attempting to press our lot. And I suppose this is partly why Kulusevski has appeared so toothless in recent weeks. Most recent opponents have defended near their own area, thereby negating his particular adeptness in the field of springing a counter-attack from inside his own half. The circumstance just doesn’t arise.

Anyway, Sarr ran onto Kulusevski’s pass and effected the rest with the same outstanding quality that was sprinkled on his every contribution throughout; and AANP rather grudgingly admitted the value of Kulusevski’s input.

And wouldn’t you know it, barely had the cheers died in our throats than Kulusevski was at it again. Whether it was specifically to make a mockery of my first half critique, or whether it was simply because he saw an opportunity to nab possession from a Villa man high up the pitch I guess we’ll never know; but nab he did, like the very best of them, leaping into action while the Villa chap miscontrolled and gawped.

Not only did Kulusevski nab, but in doing so he also rather neatly managed to pop the ball straight to the waiting Sonny. I suspect that when he lies on his deathbed several decades hence and spills the beans on his deepest secrets, Kulusevski might admit that the pass to Son was actually unintended, if serendipitous, and that all he had meant was a spot of high-class nabbing. It mattered not. The sum of the thing was that Sonny collected it, and rolled it along to young Johnson, who was pleasingly clinical.

Again, being the humble and gracious sort, AANP dished out some of that grudging applause; but, unbelievably, the Kulusevski masterclass wasn’t finished there, as in injury time he popped up to set up Sonny for his goal.

I think the records really ought to show that Kulusevski did, in the intervening period, also pickle a few pretty promising situations – in the final third, inevitably – but nevertheless, come added time he absolutely nailed his delivery. I noted with interest that he did not actually bother with the old chop-back-onto-his-left-clog routine, breaking the habit of a lifetime perhaps because we were two up against ten men in added time, and if one cannot let one’s hair down in that circumstance than when can one?

Controversially, he instead fired in his pass with his right foot, and in what I hope will be a moment that is analysed and pored over for hours by The Brains Trust, the decision to do so, before the defence had themselves organised, immediately struck oil. Son hit it like a tracer bullet, and off we romped.

3. Johnson

Ahead of kick-off, on casting the critical eye over the teamsheet I had actually wondered if Kulusevski might start on the left and young Johnson on the right. Call me old-fashioned, but I rather like the idea of wingers being stationed on the side that allows them to stay on their stronger foot, and plough ahead to the byline.

Such decades-old thinking was obviously laughed out of town by Our Glorious Leader, who instead stuck to the terribly new-fangled way of things and popped the right-footed Johnson on the left. On observing this, I chuntered away a bit, envisaging countless scenarios in which Johnson did the hard work, beat his man, created an opportunity – and then cut back onto his right.

As it happened, however, Johnson was rather lively, in the first half in particular, when the general way of things was so moribund that any hint of liveliness stood out for miles like a beacon. To his credit, he did not give the impression of being overly inhibited by his new station, admittedly having to check onto his right foot more often than not, but seeing these moments as opportunities rather than challenges, and doing a solid job of keeping momentum ticking over by finding chums infield, rather than giving it one-eighty degrees and rolling the ball backwards.

He did, on occasion, also try his luck on the outside and using his left foot, although perhaps more to keep Matty Cash Booo on his toes rather than for guarantee of success.

It was the sort of performance that would elicit a polite ripple of applause, and I was rather pleased for the young egg when he tucked away his goal, given that the knives have been out for him at various points this season. (A propos his goal, a word of commendation to Sonny, who had the presence of his mind to roll the pass slightly behind Johnson, so as to allow the latter to shoot with his favoured right, rather than rolling the pass into his path, as convention might have dictated, which would have forced Johnson to roll the dice somewhat and swing with his left.)

4. Angeball vs Ten Men

If the final half hour taught us anything it was that Angeball is quite a lark when pinged about against ten men. When I put this theory to my Spurs-supporting chum Mark, he made the fairly reasonable point that few teams are likely to oblige us by taking to the pitch with ten, but nevertheless, the whole system of running rings zippy little triangles around the opposition is evidently a tad easier when there is one fewer amongst the opposition number. Angeball against a team with a two-goal deficit leaves the odds stacked in our favour, as they leave gaps behind them; Angeball against all of the above and with an additional pair of legs is pretty much a fait accompli.

Dave, another of the Spurs-supporting fraternity, made another valid point when he drew attention to the nasty jar received each time Villa attacked, for even when two up against ten men, once our lot lost possession one was inclined to descend into blind panic at the fact that our heroes still somehow left themselves 2 vs 2 at the back.

In general, however, it was a pretty serene half hour, once the opening goals had gone in and that thuggish Villa sort had gone off. Our lot kept possession well, slowing things down as appropriate, but also picking judiciously their moments to burst into life.

It was not really an outcome I’d have envisaged after the first half, in which Villa oddly descended into some pretty agricultural stuff – sitting deep and punting long – and our heroes laboured away with precious little reward. Moreover, I suspect was not the only lilyhwhite fearing the worst at the sight of poor old VDV hobbling off, having yet again demonstrated his value as a blur of legs covering for others’ mistakes. (A brief tip of the cap to young Dragusin, who dealt with everything thrown his way with minimal fuss.)

So it was to the credit of all involved that in a game upon which so much was riding, our lot absolutely cantered home. Fourth is of course far from a done deal, but the ominous prospect of an eight-point gap to Villa has been swatted aside, and for good measure a goal difference deficit of six has turned into an advantage of two, in the blink of an eye.

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 3-1 Palace: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. Vicario’s Error

A chiding is due of young Signor Vicario. This is quite the rarity, as the loveable imp tends to do far more right than wrong in the cause, but I fancy he dropped a rather large one yesterday, for the Palace goal.

It was the way in which he set up the wall – or, more specifically, the location in which he set up the wall. Put squarely, he popped the damn thing in the wrong place. Or perhaps he put the wall in the right place but then positioned himself in the wrong place. Either way, neither he nor wall were covering the great big yawning gap to the left (as he looked) of his goal.

It was awfully rummy stuff. Akin, it seemed to me, to a builder constructing a roof but leaving a hole of considerable diameter in one corner of it, possibly on the grounds that he didn’t anticipate any rain falling in that spot.

Anyway, whatever the reason, that lad Eze’s eyes almost popped out of his head, and he simply drilled the ball into the vacant spot. I read variously on some of the media outlets that he scored a ‘terrific’ free-kick and other such rot. This, to be clear, is tosh. It was not a terrific free-kick, the fellow did not even not to curl the dashed thing, or bother with lifting it up over the wall and back down again, or any of the other intricacies and technicalities that tend to make well-taken free-kicks stand out as things of beauty. Eze simply needed to kick the ball in a straight line, which for a professional footballer is many things, but certainly not ‘terrific’.

For Vicario, however, it was a moment of ignominy, and might have cost us pretty dearly. Whatever the Italian is for ‘Tut tut’, this needs to be communicated to the fellow as a matter of absolute urgency.

2. Werner

That Werner fellow makes one scratch the head a bit, what? Difficult to know what to make of him at times, I mean. He has my full backing, of course, and never shirks his duties, and is no slouch over ten yards, and so on. Crucially, however, he also makes me tear my hair out, howling to the sky and cursing his entire lineage. So two sides to the coin, you might say.

The standout moments yesterday involved a goal not scored and a goal scored. There was all the other usual Werner guff of course, for those of us playing Werner Bingo – the straightforward ability to outpace his full-back even with ball at feet; the occasional cross that sailed into the stands; the tendency to suck momentum out of an attack by turning backwards to receive the ball and then passing it backwards instead of gathering it and galloping – but there were two particular highlights to his 1st March showreel.

Firstly, the miss, which, within the category of the things was rather a corker. Too much time, I suspect was his problem, given that he actually began the operation inside his own half. It all started pretty promisingly, the fact that he set off from inside his own half meaning that one could wave a derisory hand at the linesman and yell, ‘Fie to offside!’ while scuttling off towards goal. This Werner achieved with minimal fuss.

And on the matter of relocating from halfway line to shooting distance, the young cove seemed similarly inclined to dispense with pomp and ceremony, and more in the mood for getting down to brass tacks. “The penalty area, and schnell!” appeared to be his logic, and I was all in favour.

At this point most neutral onlookers would have observed that all was going pretty swimmingly. The decision to take a touch that sent him on a more central route, rather than maintaining his inside-left course, struck me as intrepid, and possibly a little unnecessary, but I was inclined to defer to his superior experience in such matters. “He knows what he’s doing,” muttered the AANP internal voice, in an attempt at self-reassurance. “Probably a right-footed gambit.”

At that point, however, Werner started to stray from the script, and without really knowing where he was going to end up. A spot of improv is all well and good, as long as one has a vague idea of what one wants to achieve by the time the curtain comes down. Unfortunately, one started to get the idea that Werner was instead banking on the notion that things would probably take care of themselves and he could just tag along for the ride. He took another touch to the right, and what had looked like a pretty straightforward shooting opportunity now adopted a rather unnecessary layer of complication. Where a moment earlier all options were on the table, the clueless nib had now backed himself into something of a corner, with only one real option: round the ‘keeper.

The problem with this was that the ‘keeper was by now also privy to the masterplan. In fact, all of us were. Werner knew he had to round the ‘keeper, but the ‘keeper also knew that Werner had to round the ‘keeper, and in those sorts of situations – well, everyone just sort of cancels out everyone else, and the whole thing becomes a bit of a damp squib.

Which was exactly what happened, leaving us all to recall those grim warnings upon his arrival that for all his many talents, Timo Werner cannot score.

The truth of this statement seemed pretty undeniable, but the second half brought to our attention the caveat, penned in the tiniest font imaginable, that actually Timo Werner can score – if given an open goal from about five yards and without the luxury of time to overthink the bally thing.

Johnson squared it, Werner banged it in and a solution duly presented itself: Werner can score by the hatful, as long as his chances are presented at point-blank range and requiring only one touch.

(By the by, I suspect I was not the only one who chortled gaily to themselves on witnessing how Sonny dealt with his Werner-esque chance, just banging the ball home as if it were the easiest thing in the world).

3. Van de Ven

Slightly odd to say in a match in which our goal was under pretty minimal pressure, but Van de Ven struck me as head and shoulders above the rest yesterday. Although perhaps the very fact that our goal was under minimal pressure could itself be deemed Exhibit A in the case for VDV’s outstanding contributions, for the magnificent young squirt managed to extinguish every Palace attack at source and single-handedly.

Any sort of dubious circumstance, whether caused by him, by a teammate or landed upon us by a spot of Palace counter-attacking, was instantly quelled by VDV putting his head down and absolutely storming out of the blocks. As such, Palace attacks barely merited the name, they being cut short by VDV typically before they had advanced to within 40 yards of our goal.

These heroics appear not to come without a price, as at least once a game – and two or three times yesterday – he seems to go to ground with an anguished yelp and the crestfallen look of a man realising that a valued limb is about to fall off. If such moments cause him pain he should spare a thought for his legions of onlookers, because each time he collapses in such fashion the AANP heart skips a good beat or two.

He got through proceedings relatively unscathed, however, and while his presence alone hardly guarantees our imperviousness to counter-attacking danger, he does a jolly good job of things on that front.

4. Another Slog

The three points were vital, and the 3-1 scoreline looks straightforward enough – and indeed, it was peculiarly comfortable to see out the final ten or so plus stoppage time with relative ease, rather than clinging on for dear life or – worse – desperately trying to magic a goal out of thin air.

Nevertheless, whichever bright spark came up with that “All’s well that ends well” gag was rather stealing a living in my book, because the first half was another illustration of a certain bluntness in our play. The only chances we created stemmed from pinching possession in our own half and counter-attacking. Of chances created against the defensive 11 there were none.

A slight improvement came about in the second half at least, although I confess to lacking the technical nous to understand whether this was due to an improvement on our part or a more advanced setup on Palace’s, which perhaps left more room behind them.

Either way, in the second half Werner seemed to have more joy against his full-back, and Maddison started to show the odd glimpse of a return to his pre-injury form, one or two shrewd diagonals missing their mark by a whisker. (Good also to see his quick thinking and impeccable technique in creating our second, for Romero.)

I confess to giving the forehead a few extra creases when Johnson was introduced. I have no problem with the chap himself, but he was deployed seemingly to act as a second right-winger, in addition to Kulusevski, a tactical innovation that threatened to make my head explode. As it happened, however, whatever the hell it was it worked a treat, as it was Johnson’s honest beavering on the right that created our long-awaited first goal, so I suppose Our Glorious Leader is due the approving nod for that one.

All told, however, that joyless first half continues to eat away at me. The challenge of sides that sit deep en masse is not one we will have to face every week – Villa away next week, for example, will be a pretty different kettle of fish – but the moments of attacking inspiration for games such as these still seem a little thin on the ground.