Here at AANP Towers we are inclined to pay short shrift to those who shuffle our way with puppy-dog eyes and quivering lower lip, complaining of bad luck. “You makes yer own luck,” we have been known to roar, with such ferocity that the aforementioned puppy-eyed, lip-quivering urchins have literally exploded into a ball of flames before our eyes; or else we invoke the barely perceptible murmur of a true testosterone-fuelled hero like that chap Stallone, and instruct “Take it like a man”; or indeed we sagely impart the sporting wisdom of some aged American golfing chap, and intone with zen-like calm “The more I practise the luckier I get”.
Between me and you however, such declarations have rather died in my throat the last few weeks. Lady Luck has taken quite the dislike to the lilywhite heroes of N17 in recent weeks. If it’s not Adebayor having goals disallowed left, right and centre it’s everyone’s favourite Italian rogue merrily crushing the skull of poor old Scott Parker underfoot, and waltzing away scott-free (ahem), before no doubt placing a whoopee cushion under the seat of ‘Arry unbeknownst to the officials, and then hanging, drawing and quartering every unused sub on our bench whilst Howard Webb’s back is turned.
All of which has earned our lot plenty of sympathy, and, coupled with our Veuve Cliquot brand of one-touch football, made us just about everyone’s second favourite team. Marvellous, but if major decisions keep robbing us of points all the sympathy in the world won’t be of much use. So I hereby offer a personal plea to Billy Bowden, or whomever is in charge of the rub of the green these days – for the love of all things wondrous, dish all the good luck back our way, and pronto.
There’s A Game Tonight Apparently
Not that we ought necessarily to need too much luck tonight against Wigan, who, for those who care of such things, are apparently bottom of the table. I fancy that this could prove another of those tortuous, one-sided-yet-laboured narrow victories, but if that be the case then so be it - we might as well gather up all the points we can and bury them deep beneath the turf, because the upcoming glut of fixtures will most certainly require our heroes to polish their shoes and sharpen their muskets.
Fare Thee Well…
Following the width-less experiment in the Cup last week ‘Arry and chums will presumably revert to the same old same old tonight, although they will have to do so without Corluka, who has apparently been loaned out to Bayer Leverkusen or some similar (and who can therefore, given his current mobility levels, be expected to pitch up in Germany some time in 2014). Some are murmuring that Louis Saha of all people is to tip-toe his way down the High Road tonight, but for now all thoughts of transfer windows ought to be shelved, and the Wiganers despatched. One point from two games is practically relegation form, so what better time to host the worst time in the division? Strut thine funky stuff please chaps.
So here we go, without doubt the biggest game since our last eye-catching fixture for which three points were at stake. While the win over a pretty inept Everton had all and sundry proclaiming this lilywhite vintage the greatest thing since Danny Blanchflower sliced a loaf, the draw with uber-negative Wolves had Hansen imploring all Spurs-supporting MoTD viewers to find their nearest cliff-top and hurl themselves in anguish – so whatever the outcome against table-topping City the reaction will presumably border on the apocalyptic. Win, lose or draw, somebody somewhere will explode in a cloud of uncontainable hyperbole.
In truth however, “phlegmatic” is the word of choice at AANP Towers ahead of this one. Winning the title would be quite a bonus (never, ever in my wildest dreams did I anticipate writing those eight words), but we are third favourites for a reason, and defeat on Sunday would make that whole jamboree far less likely. What seems absolutely paramount is that we finish in the Top Four (preferably the Top Three), and this is ours to throw away. For that reason my uncontrollable shivers break out at the prospect of the impending games with l’Arse, Chelski, Liverpool and Newcastle. “Six-pointers”, as the sages knowingly intone, and if they speak thus then it must be so.
That said, if the closing rounds of the Rocky Balboa – Ivan Drago clash taught me anything it was that the best time to play a well-financed foreign giant is when he is sweating buckets and he’s taken such a hammering that his eye is beginning to swell. City are without the gloriously named Yaya chap, which should make Modders’ life a tad easier, and my spies tell me that they’re also missing a handy centre-back. Time to charge into battle with a cry of “Adriaaaan” methinks.
Being owned by one team whilst playing for another could potentially lead to quite the philosophical quandary on the halfway line when the two outfits meet, but alas we will be spared the sight of Adebayor slowly degenerating into madness on the centre-spot as he ponders his obligations and liberty, for he is ineligible. This may mean ‘Arry takes a punt on Pav producing his standard 1 minute of magic amidst 89 of standing about whingeing, or, as is the AANP preference, he lets Defoe off the leash to shoot from all angles and then look in disbelief as he is flagged offside.
Otherwise, for better or worse, our lot pick themselves. Dawson, Kaboul, Ledley, Sandro, Parker – jumble them up, name a few injuries and you get the gist. We are underdogs for this one, but in a season in which we just keep doing the unexpected by golly this would be some feather in the lilywhite cap. Fingers crossed
So finally this much-vaunted “Game in Hand” is upon us. Truth be told, I will be a little sad to see it go. It has practically become part of the family, like a scruffy, uncouth urchin discovered in the wreckage of the summer riots, and adopted by the cheery folk of White Hart Lane. And let’s face it, this Game in Hand has proved more useful than the Sword of Omens when it comes to pointless bickering with fans of l’Arse, Chelski, Liverpool and the like. Whatever they say, I have smugly bleated “Game in Hand! Game in Hand!”, occasionally pointing to a copy of the Premiership table, and repeated this process ad nauseum until they storm off in a fit of pique to count their injured full-backs.
But alas, today is the day. Fond though I am of Game in Hand, ‘tis time to lead it unwittingly to the altar of Three Valuable Points For Our Ongoing Top-Four Push (Or Even – Whisper It – Title Challenge). Tonight, Game in Hand, shall ye be sacrificed, never to be seen again; but be proud to note that ye shall not die in vain. Unless we lose, I suppose.
Boo, Hiss
Irritatingly, when Game in Hand does finally depart this mortal sphere for the great Premiership table in the sky, he shall be bade farewell by a midfield disturbingly lacking in bite. Sandro is out, and Parker is not far behind him, if ‘Arry’s gloomy murmurings are to be believed (although that is quite a sizeable conditional, I acknowledge). This may leave us with a central midfield combo of Modders and VDV, or possibly even Krancjar, chaps who might as well just form a guard of honour through which Everton can bear down on our goal whenever they pick up possession in the midfield. Should young Livermore be thrust into the fold, much would be expected.
Huzzah!
On a cheerier note One Aaron Lennon is primed to return, and it turns out that both Cameroon and Togo somehow failed to qualify for the African Cup of Nations, so Adebayor will continue to stick his derrière into opposing defenders, and BAE will continue to perform shoulder-drops and Cruyff-turns in thoroughly inappropriate areas.
Elsewhere Michael Dawson is set to ease himself into the Ledley-shaped hole alongside Kaboul, while our resident blond with no knowledge of the offside rule may begin glancing towards the transfer window, if demoted to the bench again.
And that ought to be that. We have waited half the season for this – for goodness’ sake let’s make it worthwhile.
Recent games have dealt with the notion of ‘Arry as a tactical buffoon in no uncertain manner. In days gone by the signing of VDV, the plan to loan Bale to Nottingham Forest and the instruction to Pav to “go out there and f***ing run about” did little for our glorious leader’s reputation as tactical genius, and was grist to the mill of a whole army or interweb critics (mea culpa) who lambasted him for doing little more than closing his eyes, pinning a tail on a donkey and accepting the plaudits as his blind gamble paid off.
Lambast him no more, all ye armchair genii. ‘Arry’s switch to 3-5-2 and wing-backs against Stoke was a laudable moment of lateral thinking, which rather got swallowed up in the whole furore over referee Chris Foy, his trips to Specsavers and his Olympic cycling performances.
Then last week against Norwich, when faced with the non-Lennon problem again, he hit upon the startlingly effective idea of letting Walker and BAE take care of the flanks, and giving VDV and Bale free roles.
Whether this would work against Top Four types is still up for debate, but freeing Bale from the shackles of the left wing proved one of the best ideas since that chap in the bakery stopped juggling knives for lunchtime entertainment of his colleagues, and decided instead to plunge the things into the midst of the loaves and see what transpired.
The free role for Bale makes it dashed difficult for opposing Neanderthals to double- or triple-mark him, and also carries the potential for further ripping gallops straight down the centre, a la his second goal against Norwich. All those who can think of the foggiest reason why why this same strategy might not work again today, comment now or forever hold your breath in awe as Bale cuts swathes through the Swansea back-four.
Given that our fixture list tends to burst at the seams at this time of year, there may be a reason for a spot of starting XI rotation – but frankly that has rarely been ‘Arry’s modus operandi, so we can all probably close our eyes and reel off the starting XI right this minute. Play our usual game and it will be three more points to end the year.
All the best for 2012, ye lovely lovely people.
Just when I had considered giving up on Father Christmas altogether, he fills my stocking with dropped points by all of Chelski, l’Arse, Liverpool and even Man City. And – and - he even un-twinges VDV’s hamstring. I’m not sure there has ever been a Christmas quite like it.
No reason not to expect another high-class performance, missed chances a-plenty and ultimately three more points tonight. Of course one can never really account for refereeing idiocy, opposition goalkeepers being possessed by the ghost of Lev Yashin past, or the general workings of Heurelho Gomes’ brain, but aside from such phenomena as wildly unpredictable and utterly impossible to prepare for, the Tottenham of the last dozen or so games ought to outscore Delia’s lot tonight.
Apart from VDV’s dainty upper legs, we may have a central defence crisis on our hands, with Ledley surely unable to churn out another 90 minutes so soon, and Kaboul apparently also tight of the hammie. All of which points towards the Close-Your-Eyes-And-Clasp-Your-Hands option that is Bassong. Defoe is also out, and quite how we deal with the Lennon absence tonight is anyone’s guess, but otherwise it’s the usual mob. It should be enough, which means that daylight between us and the chasing pack tantalisingly beckons.
Crunch time. This one could not be much bigger if it were written in size 72 font, stretched in a rack and then injected with muscle-steroid-type-things by that Russian giant of a chap David Haye beat a couple of years back. It’s not just the three points, which would give us a five-point platform from which to wave down at Chelski, with a game in hand. Winning this one would hint at a rather symbolic shifting of power within London and beyond, like the passing of the Olympic flame, but with a bit more blood and thunder and complaining from John Terry.
Beating that ‘orrible lot from down the road earlier this season hinted at a shift in power in Norf London, and while time will tell on that front, the panicky ramblings of l’Arse ‘keeper Szeszecnezcsnzy earlier this week, that their priority this season was to finish above our lot (ha!), signalled that times may indeed be a-changing. Send Chelski packing tonight, and we may be able to display a freshly bloodied scalp on the mantelpiece.
Bale and Lennon
Alas, the gods have amused themselves by flinging down injury bolts left, right and centre. Well certainly left and right at least. Lennon is definitely out, and Bale has chosen a curious time to impersonate AANP by spraining his ankle (wear a strap at all times lad, makes the world of difference). Good news for all those who pick inopportune moments to blink, and thereby miss a sprint of half the pitch by one of these two; but bad news for all lilywhite fans of the counter-attack. Or indeed attacks of a more generic sort. The pace and width of these chaps has been crucial in our merry march upwards. By the pricking of my thumbs a conundrum this way comes.
On Sunday ‘Arry responded to the absence of Bale by sticking Modders on the left; the withdrawal of Lennon then saw VDV switched to the right. Alas, for VDV in particular, “pace” sits well down the list of notable attributes, somewhere in between “magic tricks” and “intermediate Excel capabilities”. Whichever honest blighters are asked to deputise – and Kranjcar and Pienaar are also nominees - our style will undoubtedly alter tonight, and a lot more traffic will be diverted through the middle.
A Gentle “Keep Modders In The Centre” Petition
Here at AANP Towers we are pretty keen to see Modders deployed in the centre rather than the left. It may be harsh on Sandro, following his all-singing, all-dancing, all-conquering display alongside Parker, in centre-midfield on Sunday, but particularly in the absence of Bale-Lennon, Modders’ ingenuity is crucial for the orchestration of all things inventive. Whatever his choice, one hopes that ‘Arry has enlisted his finest team of monkeys to pore over the permutations and select wisely.
Other Injury Footnotes
Further selection frivolities are provided by Ledley’s knee, which presumably is the size of an unbraided Benny afro at present, after his 90-minute stint on Sunday. The return of Kaboul should at least help out there, whilst the official Spurs website has done little for the good of calm and order up and down the High Road by noting that Adebayor has hurt his foot.
In truth I suspect that Adebayor will be fine, nor would I be entirely surprised if Bale gambolled across the turf at some point tonight either. At full strength I would back our lot to the hilt, but given a few crucial absentees this looks less straightforward. Friedel, Gallas, Kaboul, Parker, Modders, Adebayor – this lot need to rise to the occasion tonight. Go get ‘em chaps.
“The measure of greatness is not how many you win, but how you react to defeat”. Or something along those lines. In fact, AANP may have invented that just now.
Anyway, the point is that the epithet has been fairly redundant for as far back as I can remember, as we would generally fail to win in the first place, and then react to defeat with another defeat, or a two-goal lead thrown away late on, or whatever. A changed beast these days however, to be sure. Win follows win, and all delivered with an élan unmatched by anyone else in the country.
Today however we need to react to defeat – simply by resuming normal service. In defeat at Stoke, at least in the second half, we did our usual thing and looked absolutely ruddy marvellous. Play our natural game, and even allowing for the New Manager Effect at Sunderland, we should dominate and overwhelm our opponents today.
Defoe Begins Chuntering
We are presumably without Kaboul today, following last week’s very deserved red card, so the return of Ledley would help; while the handy showings by Messrs Pienaar and Kranjcar in midweek won’t help them make the starting line-up, so they might as well give up on that dream now.
The inevitable murmurings of discontent have emanated from the frustrated mouth of Defoe, and one rather sympathises. When he has played this season he has scored – and then been dropped. Following the fairly ineffective showing of VDV last week, another omission at the expense of the Dutchman again today would not improve the mood at Casa Defoe. Over to you ‘Arry.
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Have we ever had a less important match in our schedule? Friendlies aside, this is one of the greatest non-events in our history. With Sunderland and Chelski coming up in the League over the next week, and the cyanide-laced chalice of Europa qualification limited to mathematics equations of the absurd, ‘Arry would be forgiven for just leaving Clive Allen and Tim Sherwood to take care of the kids tonight, or maybe fielding Allen and Sherwood themselves.Our Europa failure will prove quite the barely-disguised blessing as the second half of the season begins and we continue the Top Four (or higher) push. If there is one worry about the absence of Thursday night non-events, it is that our gaggle of bench-warmers will become even more disillusioned and less match-ready, should injuries necessitate their promotion to Premiership duties. Gomes, Bassong, Corluka, Pienaar and Pav have at least had a chance to stretch their legs every couple of weeks – without the Europa league they may as well be replaced by a team of highly-paid cardboard cut-outs on the Tottenham bench.
These, however, are concerns for another day. Tonight we sign off, against an Irish troupe we really ought to demolish. Of the kids, Walker (and to a lesser extent Livermore) have earned first team status; Carroll and that moodiest of teenagers Townsend have looked handy; while for all his red-cheeked endeavour Kane has by and large looked out of his depth. Tonight, and possibly Cheltenham in the FA Cup, represent last chances for this lot to rub shoulders with the first teamers. If nothing else I rather hope they enjoy themselves.
After a run of 10 wins in 11, and six in a row, the true connoisseur does not really want the record to grind to a halt against Stoke. Against Barcelona maybe, or the Harlem Globe Trotters – but not Stoke.
Stoke are actually a member of that elite and highly exclusive band of English teams that have indeed beaten us this season (cast thine mind back to our peculiar Carling Cup exit a few months back). Given our tendency to panic in the face of set-pieces, this lot could pose problems from their Delap uber-throws, while leading their line is a familiar-looking chap of elongated proportions, Peter Crouch now allowing the ball to bounce unpredictably off his angular cranium in the red and white of Stoke. It all points to a side at the very opposite end of the aesthetic spectrum. Beauty and Beast. He-Man and Skeletor. Tottenham and Stoke.
Still, the drill for our heroes does not differ from week to week - swarm all over them from the off, and take a few of the plethora of chances we’ll doubtless create. Empirical evidence suggests that it is a winning formula.
On the personnel front Gallas may again deputise for Ledley, while Defoe and Bale have chipped fingernails and tummy aches, but even so our lot ought blinking well to prevail. The VDV-Defoe question may once again be an issue; it should matter not. Defend well enough and up the other end the goals will flow.
Switching from the all-conquering, award-winning, glitz-laden superstars of our rollicking Premiership campaign to the prepubescent kids and want-away squad members on our midweek Europa jaunts is somewhat akin to putting down the Dumas novel in order to tune in to Dogtanian and the Three Muskehounds – nobody in their right mind would dispute that it remains quite magnificent entertainment, but the whole forum is perhaps a little more frivolous.Thus we march into battle tonight knowing that defeat will do all manner of nastiness to our European campaign, but victory would all but see us through. None of which can really be taken seriously when one considers the red-hot Saturday/Sunday frolics of our first-choice mob in the League.
Still. There is still a cockerel on the shirt, pride at stake and a trophy to be won, eventually. Kane, Carroll, Livermore and Townsend will get their usual opportunities to impress, while Cudicini, Corluka, Gallas, Pienaar and Pav (if fit – and if not, then presumably Defoe) will add sprinklings of élan about the place. The reverse fixture against this lot was jolly hard work, but thus far on our home nights in Europe we have muddled through, so another three points ought to be the target once again tonight. All for one, and all that continental gubbins.
