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Spurs – Bolton Preview: A Break From Our March Towards Doom

This, I am reliably informed is a desperate situation. Quite possibly the desperatest. Handily glossing over the fact that our three consecutive defeats have been to three teams who, for one reason or another, stumbled upon optimum form just as they took to the field against us, the people have spoken in their lilywhite hordes, and this run of form is now scientifically proven to be the most wretched thing in history. Still think we can finish third? A thousand sneering glances in your direction! Forget about our form over the entire season – look at our last three results! We lost them all! People are tweeting and everything! If you’re not bashing your head against a nearby wall and itching to dust off the “’Arry Out” placards from a couple of seasons ago, you have clearly become drunk on common sense. The season is heading irresistibly towards meltdown, and anyone who tells you otherwise has had their judgement clouded by a reprehensible fog of perspective.

“Owen Coyle For Spurs” – Yes, I Really Did…Mercifully somebody somewhere thought of the children, and as a result we handily now get to punctuate our inexorable march towards Premiership doom by trampling our way past Bolton in the Cup. Back at the start of the season yours truly demonstrated his sagacity on all subjects football-related by wisely opining that Owen Coyle should be lined up as an outside bet for the next Spurs manager, a sentiment that is now hurriedly dismissed with a loud clearing of the throat and murmuring of “I probably meant that Swansea chap.”

 

Once upon a time Bolton existed solely to acquaint the ball with the clouds; then they became rather trendy and pretty, stringing passes together and whatnot under the auspices of Coyle; but now it seems their raison d’être is to make a beeline for relegation. Quite the opportunity then, for our heroes to advance ever closer to faux glory at Wembley.

Injuries (That Matter Not)Poor form or not, our lot should make light work of this. The exhausting and fairly futile search for a solution to the absence of Aaron Lennon is set to continue, the little man still sore of hamstring. Adebayor is apparently also a doubt, and Ledley is unlikely to be risked, but even allowing for these absences and one or two others, elimination here would be an affront to decency.

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Everton 1-0 Spurs: The Strange Quirks of ‘Arry’s Job Description

I do hope that ‘Arry’s comments to his players behind closed doors differ quite significantly to those offered to the gentlemen of the press. After the draw with Stevenage he piped up that he knew they would play that way – rather begging the question why he, as manager, did not therefore do something to pre-empt it – and now after games against Man Utd and Everton he has professed himself clueless as to how we failed to do any better. All of which strikes me as an easy way to earn a few million pounds per year.

In fairness, one appreciates his point on the basis of a second half as one-sided as a midfield sans Aaron Lennon, during which we had one effort after another, a string of corners and quite possibly became the first team ever to record possession of over 100%.

The first half however was not the prettiest sight. At one point the commentators on the deplorable ESPN (honestly, I switched on to watch the football, not random camera shots of some idiot in a wig and blue clown’s nose. What the deuces? Just show the football, you cretins) noted that ‘Arry was exhorting the troops not to sit so deep. Well, quite. Pick both Parker and Sandro in the centre and the chances are they will indeed err on the defensive side of things. Meanwhile confusion made its masterpiece in midfield, in the absence of any semblance of shape or fluidity. Bale resorted to delivering crosses on the right wing with the outside of his left foot, and Modders forlornly wasted his talents out on the left wing, while my eyes sat me down for a long and honest chat about the legitimacy of forcing them to watch such a shapeless mess.

Kaboul Learns From Last Week’s Mistake. Well, Not Really

The eagle-eyed may have noted that the goal itself came about when Kaboul charged in and sold himself with all the over-eagerness of a first-time lady-of-the-night – a decision presumably prompted by the criticism he received for backing off for United’s second goal last week. Heartening though it is to see Kaboul living by the mantra of the T-800 (“The more I interact with humans, the more I learn”) he is still a few correct decisions away from being the pinnacle of defensive magnificence. But progressing nicely, and on a day of general grumpiness ‘twas mildly cockle-warming to see his reaction to Saha hitting the post (check out a replay if you can), and to see him lying flat out and distraught on the turf at the final whistle. Good to see he cares.

Defoe’s Big Chance

Elsewhere, Jermain Defoe finally got the chance to stray offside for a full 90 minutes. To this amateur observer he did as good a job as anyone else, constantly giving the Everton defenders food for thought, and generally working the goalkeeper whenever the faintest whiff of a chance wafted his way – nobody else in lilywhite offers that. That said, his next tattoo really ought to be Law 11 of Assocation Football, preferably etched backwards across his forehead, so that every time he looks in a mirror he reads precisely what it is to be offside. Heaven help us.

The Aaron Lennon Factor

Ultimately, this latest minor catastrophe appeared to revolve around the lamentably absent Aaron Lennon. Admittedly, yours truly would probably be among the first to chide the young man should he misplace but one cross or choose the wrong final-third option when he returns to the team, but, as is commonly the case, his value increases in his absence. Without him the whole midfield was reshuffled, to ill effect, and we struggled to string three passes together in the first half. ‘Tis a problem that ‘Arry must solve tout de suite, and the issue of right-wing back-up (along with reserve left-back) probably ought to be addressed in the summer.

More generally, there is cause for concern at our heroes’ recent inability to slip back into the groove of lightning quick one- and two-touch passing, accompanied by busy off-the-ball movement. Bale and Modders look a tad jaded, no longer possessed of so many sudden bursts of pace and ingenuity, which may be a consequence of the lack squad rotation earlier in the season. A few consecutive wins would soothe the nerves and dispel the fears, but at present AANP has officially adjusted the state of its brow to “Furrowed”.

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Everton – Spurs Preview: Bad News for Fans of Traditional, Pacy Wing Play

Four points from our four big games (Liverpool, Newcastle, l’Arse and Man Utd) is a tad below par, and the gap to the ‘orrible lot down the road has shrunk accordingly, but even the most pessimistic, nihilistic doom-mongerers of our clan are struggling to whip themselves into a genuine frenzy regarding our two consecutive defeats. Disappointing for sure, but not much more. That said, the phlegmatic approach would dissipate sharpish if our cheery odyssey were to unravel further at Goodison today. Losing to l’Arse and Utd is understandable, but our Top Four (Three) credentials darn well demand that normal service is resumed pronto – and continued in the coming weeks. Battling draws at mid-table teams are tommyrot now – we need to return to that swift, fizzing passing style, and the games will win themselves accordingly.

‘Arry’s Lexical Ambiguities

David Moyes has celebrated his 10 years in charge at Everton (crikey) as anyone would, by striking a gentleman’s agreement with our glorious leader, to the effect that Monsieur Saha will not feature today. However, ‘Arry has indicated that there is one small caveat to this agreement – in that it will not apply if he decides to pick Saha after all. Apart from stretching the definition of “gentleman’s agreement” beyond anything any self-respecting lexicographer has ever previously contemplated, the selection of Saha would be jolly rotten luck upon Jermain Defoe, who could probably score a five-minute hat-trick, solve the economic crisis and cure cancer within one substitute appearance, only to find himself overlooked again in the following game.

Injury News and the World’s Slowest Makeshift Right Wingers

On the injury that front poor blighter Michael Dawson and the various bits of ligament floating around his leg are out for the season, which makes the return to squad duty of William Gallas frightfully well-timed. If you pardon the cruel bluntness, of greater concern for this afternoon’s jamboree is the absence of One Aaron Lennon and the balance he provides. It seems a lifetime ago now, but once upon a time Bale and Lennon would scamper up and down the left and right wings respectively, allowing opposing defences barely a moment’s rest. These days Bale and his ego roam wherever they please in the ongoing bid to become the new Cristiano Ronaldo, to occasional devastating effect, but quite often to the end of a cul-de-sac. In the absence of Lennon we will presumably attempt once more to use absolute stasis rather than breakneck speed on the right wing, via the heavy legs of VDV or Kranjcar.

That aside, the usual striking concerns need to be addressed by ‘Arry; someone needs to get the crayons out and give the back-four some nice illustrated examples of the causal relationships between ball, opponents, net et cetera; and glory be, Scott Parker returns to the middle. It has been the best of times (Newcastle) and the worst of times (l’Arse) in recent weeks, but champagne football has been our norm this season, home and away, and a return to this vintage would suffice today.

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Spurs 3-1 Stevenage: (Tardy) Ends, Not Means

Stumbling over the ball, chasing shadows and conceding possession with almost religious fervour while the scoreboard flashes the eye-watering message “Spurs 0-1 Stevenage” is not really a recommended means of achieving an aim as menial as making a cup of tea, letting alone winning some sparkly silverware, but more wizened sages than I have it that for such competitions as this the ends will justify the means. Hence, if our lilywhite heroes set about making the quarter-finals by the novel method of beginning a football match by abandoning football, then this is tickety-boo as long as they progress in fine.For the most part this season has been a rip-roaring blur of one/two-touch play and zippy off-the-ball movement. Exceptions have been rare – Liverpool away, Chelski at home, l’Arse away. To this list of luminaries can now be added Stevenage, bizarrely enough.

While the outcome was never really in doubt, and the chuntering amongst the masses was of the more frivolous ilk during that first 20 minutes, that a team comprising VDV, Lennon, Bale, Kranjcar and Defoe could find it quite so difficult to string three passes together certainly prompted the occasional scratch of the cranium. However, life became cheerier and the quality of football a tad silkier once lilywhite noses were in front. Should Ledley, Parker or A.N.Other hoist that great silver jug aloft in May, AANP will do its best to desist from interrupting the ticker-tape

fêting of our heroes in order to chide them for three messy halves of football against Stevenage.Standard Stuff From Defoe

Precious little of value can be gleaned from a formulaic victory against lower-league opposition, but AANP always cherishes those fleeting glimpses of young Master Defoe. Uncannily instinctive and gifted finishing? Check. Look of incredulity that there exists in the game the Offside Law? Check. Doing just about all that can reasonably be expected of him – and a tiny bit more – in his limited game time before being shunted back onto the bench at the weekend? Check. Eyeing up a move away from N17 this summer, simply so that he can gambol across a football pitch, anywhere, in anyone’s colours, just as long as it be on a regular basis? Oh golly…

Oh Danny Boy

Young Danny Rose, on t’other hand, is fast tumbling out of favour at AANP Towers. Physically incapable of delivering a decent cross with his left foot(where “decent” may be defined as “eluding the first blinking opponent in his way, for goodness sake”), and seemingly unable on pain of death to use his right, the vast oceans of goodwill earned by that goal are rapidly drying up in this neck of the interweb. He has time on his side I suppose – use it wisely, young man – but for the remainder of the season I would gladly see him confined to the shadow of BAE’s eccentricities.

If you’ve made it this far down I congratulate thee. In their entirety these musings could probably be summarised thus: We progressed; the minutiae matter little.

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Spurs 1-3 Man Utd: Tardy Musings on Proximity Minus Cigars

Apologies for the tardiness…

Speculating about what might have happened had Parker, Bale and/or VDV been fit is the very living, breathing embodiment of pointlessness (although it has not stopped yours truly moping on a near-daily basis about what might have been had Gazza tapped in against the Germans in Euro 96), but for the purposes of perspective following our SECOND CONSECUTIVE DEFEAT (gasp) it might be salutary to note that with the aforementioned gentlemen on board our lot probably would have prevailed. Having effected a mighty convincing impression of being the superior team in general, the addition of any of those three might also have impacted upon some of the crucial specifics of proceedings. Par example, ‘tis hard to imagine Parker or even Bale switching off to fiddle with their hair as Modders did for the second goal, while Parker again might have made a difference when Kaboul backed off for the third. Moreover, all our possession and dominance could feasibly have translated into something infinitely more satisfying than swooshy Sky Sports graphics had Bale or VDV been gambolling across the turf. Desperately frustrating to have to play a game of this magnitude missing such key personnel, but with human cloning technology still liable to misfire we simply have to accept such absences.

The Reshuffled Pack

Such is Parker’s unadulterated magnificence that it literally takes two men to replace him, but Sandro and Livermore performed admirably. Alas, this reshuffling meant that Modric’s myriad talents were not fully exploited, as he struggled to make sense of a job description loosely pertaining to activity on the left, but we nevertheless displayed various shades of wholesome attacking brio. Lennon’s final ball, as ever, lacks a certain refinement, but all the preceding scuttling tends to prompt the ringing of alarm bells and panicked swinging of legs amongst opposition ranks. With Adebayor and Saha again doing plenty to keep United occupied, at the apex of an old-fashioned 4-4-2, we were jolly close to hammering home our advantage.

However, the rather cruel lesson from all of this was that against the elite there is precious little margin for error. By somehow hanging on through the use of assorted fingernails and teethskins, and then taking advantage of the slightest lilywhite lapses, United fairly pointedly illustrated to our heroes what needs to be done to take the next step, from majestic Top Four glory-blazers to actual ruddy champions. The very best teams tend to do eke out such outcomes, having spent all game scrambling to survive. As the resident agriculturalists of AANP Towers have pointed out, thus is the wheat separated from the chaff.

That Cursed Horrible Wench, Lady Luck

That said, the gentlest soupcon of luck would not go amiss just once in a while for our lot. He being Adebayor and they being United it was thoroughly unsurprising that our first half “goal” was disallowed, but in a more lenient mood the ref may have noted that there was precious little means of avoiding a handling of the ball at full speed. (That said, had it been the other way round the howls of protest from AANP Towers would have lingered long in the air). Further ill luck was the decision by United’s part-time clown and resident 8 year-old goalkeeper De Gea to punctuate his season of general amateurishness with an absolutely blinding save from Livermore’s deflected shot in the second half. And while I’m having a whinge, how the dickens did a standard, fairy harmless foul by Sandro earn him a yellow card?

General grumpiness therefore pervades the air around these parts, but this whole sequence of frustrations ought not to derail the third-place push. Our football remains perky, we have outstanding players due to return and our remaining fixtures appear thoroughly winnable each and every one.

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Spurs – Man Utd Preview: Over-Reaction Overload

A brief perusal of the comments section beneath in the aftermath of the l’Arse defeat rather gave the impression that our heroes are about to nose-dive to the oblivion of the Championship and beyond. Excuse me while I take cover in the battered old AANP bomb shelter, in anticipation of the apocalyptic levels of anguish, vitriol and over-reaction that will rain down if we take a beating from the current Premiership champions on Sunday.

Ahead of Sunday’s game, the principal conundrum here at AANP Towers is where to wager my weekly tuppence. The current lilywhite vintage have looked mighty darned snappy against all and sundry at the Lane this season, with thrashings dutifully distributed to Liverpool and Newcastle, and a pleasing array of other scalps that includes the ‘orrible lot from down the road. However, our labours against the rotters of Chelski rather hurt my eyes, and in general our traditional swash-and-buckle approach has been stymied somewhat by the Champions League-chasers, albeit typically away from home. Excuse therefore the brief lapse into rocket-science, but this home game against Man Utd could potentially go either way…

Alas, we will all simply have to cherish the memory of Scott Parker getting crunched by two Dutchmen and landing groin-first on a camera tripod during the England game last night, for his woefully-timed one-game suspension means that we will have to do without his generous input of heart, soul, sinew and every last drop of blood. No pressure on Sandro/Livermore then.

The Saha-Adebayor partnership has so far wobbled rather dramatically between wondrous and appalling, having sparked the rout of Newcastle at home, and prompted an ugly descent into deep defending and long-ballery last week. Time for ‘Arry to show the world he really knows his 4-4-2s from his 4-2-3-1s, what? Parker aside our heroes ought to be well primed and ready for battle. A difficult one to call frankly, both sides looking notably fallible. Fingers crossed for a lilywhite outcome.

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L’Arse 5-2 Spurs: Sitting Deep and the Crouch Reboot

Awkward. Maybe we should begin at the beginning…

The Glorious First Five Minutes

Ah, ‘twas a pleasure to be a Tottenham fan. Our heroes produced some ovely stuff. Swift, slick passing; patient but pacey; sideways if necessary but probing forward whenever opportunity even threatened to knock. L’Arse struggled to focus upon the little leather orb, and the whole thing was crowned with a delightfully typical Tottenham goal, albeit aided by quite extraordinarily inept defending.

Alas, what followed was downright blasted awful.

The Crouch ApproachHaving spent all season passing the bejesus out of opponents, our heroes hit on the dubious tactic this afternoon of eschewing pretty passing for a slightly less refined approach of smacking the ball heavenwards towards Saha and Adebayor, and hoping that by hook, crook, chest or gangly limb the ball would somehow or other stick there. There was something eerily Crouch-esque about the whole thing, evoking painful memories of unpleasant hoicks that pybassed our midfield and ruled out any opportunity for us to play our natural passing game on the green stuff.

 

Further woe was to be had by the collective decision of the midfield to station themselves Alamo-style some 10-15 yards ahead of their own penalty area and wait for l’Arse to attack. The rationale was presumably to allow for counter-attack revelry, but the effect was instead to invite relentless pressure upon poor old Friedel and his worryingly popular net. Every time we cleared to halfway, l’Arse were able to amble forward at will into the final third, and catastrophe duly ensued.

More GrumblesCuriously, the sending-off of Parker in the dying embers was a darned sight harder to swallow here at AANP Towers than any of the unabated awfulness that had preceded it. United at home next week are beatable, but sans Parker it becomes a lot less likely. (On which note, Sandro looked every inch a man who hasn’t played in a month or two, all misplaced passes and niggly fouls.)

 

The “winning” of the penalty by Bale was also disappointing. If ultra slow-mo, zoomed in replays prove there was contact I’ll happily retract – but to this disgruntled viewer it appeared that Bale took a dive, which would be cheating, and not for the first time. Not at this club, please. Bale in particular is comfortably good enough to excel by fair means rather than foul. On a brighter note, the handsome young Welshman’s turn of pace in the first place was outstanding, matching the excellence of the pass from Modric.

Returning however to the grisly business of head-shaking and repeated tutting, the initial team selection seemed at the time a tad curious, and in hindsight fairly ill-judged. Saha upfront instead of VDV was a bold call, particularly away from home, but was understandable to a degree, in terms of giving the centre-backs all manner of complexities (and a goal within five minutes provided a degree of vindication). The selection of Kranjcar ahead of Lennon will require a little more explanation in order to placate the teeth-gnashers of AANP Towers, particularly if the plan really was to play swiftly on the counter-attack.

Punters Across The Nation Stare Quizzically At Their “’Arry for England” PlacardsSilver lining? A 0-0 against Stevenage followed by a thrashing in our local derby – from 2-0 up, and despite two significant half-time managerial changes – have probably done as much to slow down ‘Arry’s charge towards England management as anything else will all season. In truth however, this is no sort of positive at all (and nor is it likely to make the slightest difference to the summer’s managerial moves).

 

Despite all this, there is no particular need to panic. Play this way every week and I’ll happily send out the memo that the time is ripe for every man and his dog in the N17 area to scuttle around like headless chickens. However, resume normal service next week, and continue until the end of the season, and this whole episode could have attached to it a post-it note marked “Blip”. An unsightly mess for sure, but this lot can and do perform a whole lot better each week.

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Arsenal – Spurs Preview: Like Playing Stevenage Again

Times a-changing? Keep up – they’ve already a-changed. ‘Tis now generally agreed, either publicly or otherwise, that Tottenham are the best team in North London; the “St Tottingham’s Day” bet with my Arse-supporting chum Hawthy is fast becoming redundant; and following the weekly toasting of our own latest bravura successes we lilywhites as a regular side-note are also able to amuse ourselves by sniggering at the ongoing and quite spectacular implosion of that ‘orrible lot down the road.

What this means is that by any measure one cares to use (with the exception of “having that Van Persie chap loitering in our colours up the top of the pitch”), our lot have the upper hand. Which seems to lead smoothly to the conclusion “Huzzah! We shall triumph!”

Their Cup Final

Alas, this is not necessarily guaranteed, as is evidenced by the last time we travelled to a side so patently inferior. (Moi? Inflammatory? Never!) It happened relatively recently – just last weekend in fact – as our heroes dutifully trotted out onto the ill-disguised bobble-fest that was Stevenage’s local park, and encountered a team of honest, average, jolly hard-working blighters who understandably enough treated it as their Cup Final and consequently kept us bay. A further gaggle of distinctly average types awaits on Sunday, as l’Arse ready themselves for what is now their Cup Final. Bless.

A struggle awaits then, be ye in no doubt, for as with Stevenage last week so this lot will strain evey sinew for the privilege of presenting themselves as our equals, if only for an afternoon. More pertinently, away days against Top Four(ish) teams tend not to bring out the best in the glorious heroes of N17, as has been evident from the slightly meek display at Anfield a few weeks back, and countless under-performances at Old Trafford, Stamford Bridge and indeed the Emirates/Highbury over the years. A mentality more akin to our usual blitzkrieg modus operandi would therefore be welcome on Sunday.

In terms of personnel the news can be loosely qualified as “spiffing”, with Adebayor, BAE, VDV and Modders all available again, following their various ailments and maladies. Presuming that Ledley and Kaboul are also niggle-free and fighting fit that ought to give us just about our first-choice, pick-themselves XI. A trip to l’Arse is never straightforward, but their current vintage are liable to collapse faster than Robert Pires in the vicinity of an outstretched leg, so frankly the pre-match scenario could scarcely suit our heroes better. Your adoring public awaits chaps.

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Stevenage 0-0 Spurs: A Cracking Draw (Boom Boom)

Entertaining and exciting, with a most satisfying finale – oh that the game had matched the quarter-final draw, but we can’t have everything I suppose. Should I ever cross paths with His Eminence The Lord of Time there are one or two queries I would throw his way – whether Superman’s little fly-ruddy-quickly-around-the-world jape really could turn back time, for a start – but high up there on the list would be a polite request to have my two hours back after the excruciating trudge through treacle that was our draw with Stevenage. Far better to have an off-day in this particular fixture i suppose, than against l’Arse or Man Utd in the coming weeks (or indeed against Newcastle last week), but nevertheless, ‘twas the very antithesis of one of those rip-roaring unforgettable classics, to which we have been treated so frequently.

My Eyes! My Eyes!

Irrespective of formation, had those eleven played with a tad more sense and desire they would have made short work of Stevenage. Alas, the early, simple one-touch method was jettisoned for one that could aptly, if rather lazily, be described as “certified nonsense”, and as a result our heroes failed to string three successive passes together, the ball more typically being launched into orbit or pinged inaccurately sideways, as Spurs fans around the globe reached for nearby stabbing implements and went to work on their own eyes.

Of positives there were but few – the prospect of Stevenage and then Bolton, both at home, barring our way to the semi-final proving the most obvious reason for cheer. Young Livermore seemed to keep his head when all about him were losing theirs, to his credit, but that aside there was precious little to blow up anyone’s skirt until Aaron Lennon was brought on for the death throes.

Lennonlessness And Its Associated Problems

Strange to note just a week after we beat Newcastle 5-0 sans Lennon, but without the jet-heeled swagger-meister we can be dreadfully lop-sided. A reserve with similar oodles of pace would be a useful option, for while Niko Kranjcar’s technique is as dreamy as his looks, to point out that he lacks somewhat in the pace department is hardly likely to set the interweb alight with incandescent twitterings and the like. At times Danny Rose showed the value of a turn of pace to reach the byline, but against better opposition he is typically stymied by his one-footedness. With both Bale and Lennon available to charge down both flanks we ooze menace and threat and other such dangerous-sounding nouns, but in the absence of Lennon it can all become a tad predictable. (The name Junior Hoilett was bandied around during the transfer window, but scoutery of others’ players is not at all my forte, so while reports suggest that he has pace and two good feet, I can, alas, offer zero corroboration.)

Swerving back on-topic – in truth a replay against this mob, at the Lane, is tickety-boo with me. If it can be sandwiched in between 4 points or more against l’Arse and United, all the merrier, and we can all set about diligently forgetting that this ever happened.

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Stevenage – Spurs Preview: Won’t Somebody Please Think of Kyle Walker?

Complacency (noun): A feeling of contentment or self-satisfaction, especially when coupled with an unawareness of danger, trouble, or controversy

Just saying. However, given that we are now blinking well the best team left in this whole bally competition, it would be a dashed shame if we whimpered our way to the exit door with the derisory hoots of assorted Stevenagonians ringing in our ears. Best avoided, methinks. Two goals in the first fifteen minutes seem to do the trick these days.

This being non-Premiership, one can safely assume that Ledley will watch from the comfort of his luxury villa, knee safely submerged beneath great big sackloads of ice. Quite who else may be afforded the afternoon off is open to conjecture. Friedel tends to benefit on such occasions, and with l’Arse and United looming ‘Arry may look thoughtfully at Modders and Bale, and wonder if their services are really absolutely entirely necessary today.

Here at AANP Towers the latest useless one-man petition to gather pace promotes the motion that young Kyle Walker should be omitted from proceedings today. With Corluka shipped off to Deutschland (and setting up goals against Barcelona in the Champions League, of all things) we are a little deficient in the right-back department. In an emergency we would probably shove Kaboul across and reshuffle accordingly, but that does make things rather messy elsewhere. The absence of alternatives means that Walker’s health and safety is now jolly important to our continued success, an equation with which I must admit my brain struggles to cope, but thus have events transpired.

Cudicini, Nelsen, Rose, Livermore, Kranjcar and Defoe will presumably feature today, and Stevenage keeper Chris Day can reminisce teary-eyed about the day he coached a bunch of wide-eyed whippersnappers including a 10 year-old AANP, but ultimately, whatever the small-print and details, our lot ought to continue the pleasant stroll to Wembley.