All Action, No Plot

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Spurs 0-1 Ajax: Five Tottenham Talking Points

1. Compliments to the Opposition

It feels like a crime against nature to bestow any sort of admiration upon an opponent, but I couldn’t help but goggle at some of the sleek, dreamy football Ajax produced, in the opening fifteen minutes in particular.

The build-up to their goal was jaw-dropping stuff of the highest order – and I don’t just mean the assist, or the pass before that. The little one-touch binge on halfway, facilitated by some neat flicks and backheels, left our heroes giddily spinning around and flailing at shadows. It was a demonstration of the sort of fare to which the good ship Hotspur ought to aspire.

Another move they produced shortly after drew genuine gasps of admiration, which I thought only happened in the short stories one reads in the nonsense magazines in doctor’s waiting rooms, yet as they sliced us open with what looked like well-choreographed balletic movement, there were all sorts of awestruck murmurs amongst the masses.

Difficult not to admire that sort of racket.

2. Llorente: Not At The Required Level

By contrast, we had the honest but fairly abject toil of Llorente. Not really his fault that nature has bestowed upon him a pretty limited set of tools with which to work, but even within these restrictions he had a pretty wretched time of things.

When he did manage to hold up the ball and hold off his foes, his distribution was, on the whole, just plain inaccurate. He passed straight at teammates rather than into their path, and a couple of attempts to spread the play fell short of their intended targets and instead went down the hatches of opponents. who were only too happy to gobble up the ball and turn the tables on us.

The other principal asset of the chap is supposedly his heading, and while I guess I ought to show some compassion and laud him for getting his head to the thing on a few occasions, it does feel a bit like clapping the useless lad at school for taking part.

Rather surreally, I found myself halfway through a Champions League semi-final wishing we could call upon Vincent Janssen, which just goes to show.

3. Set-Pieces

So with little potency in attack, and the Ajax lot running rings around us in midfield, they only semblance of a threat we posed in the opening 40 minutes or so was from set-pieces, which was an absolutely dire reflection of how badly we were taking to this business.

Even these set-pieces tend to be about as likely to bring about success as tossing a coin, but at least it reminded the rather eccentric Ajax ‘keeper that he would have to keep his wits about him.

Alas, not only did it fail to bring a goal, it also wiped out poor old Jan – although by an odd quirk of fate, this also stopped the rot by virtue of bringing Sissoko into the fray, and if not quite swinging the tie back in our favour it certainly evened things up a tad.

4. Poch’s Tactics

Easy to say from the sidelines, and in hindsight – two vantage points from which I don’t think I have ever made a mistake – but the fact that the enforced switch to 4-4-2 and addition of Sissoko made such a huge difference rather leads one to shoot an accusing glance or two at Our Glorious Leader for his masterplan at kick-off.

Although massively hamstrung by injuries and whatnot, and unable to call upon Sissoko from the off, the tactical choice of a back-three left us woefully undermanned in midfield, and Ajax tore us to ribbons right from kick-off. Worried murmurs abounded that something had to change before the tie was just a speck in the distance, but Poch seemed happy to watch us cling on by our fingernails, until Jan’s injury forced some action.

Wanyama could not keep a lid on the Ajax midfield, and neither Dele nor Eriksen have too many defensive bones in their bodies, so we were crying out for a change in shape to address the problems at root. The point – and I’ll get there in the end – is that Poch need not have waited so long to switch to a 4-4-2. It appeared that he was willing to wait until half-time, but we were jolly lucky not to be two or three down by that point, and out of the tie.

In the interests of fairness however, I do at least laud the blighter for replacing Jan with Sissoko, rather than for example throwing on Dier as a like-for-like replacement and sticking with the back-three. Lessons, one would hope, have been learned for the second leg.

5. Sissoko’s Star Riseth Ever Higher

Sissoko’s surge towards our Player of the Season Award continued apace on his entrance. The transformation in the chap, from the misfiring ball of limbs but a couple of years ago, to Champions League commander-in-chief, is pretty staggering stuff.

And yet there he was in glorious technicolour, rolling up his sleeves and jumping right into the midst of the fray to wrest back some semblance of control for us.

Where Wanyama made the occasional interception, and Rose’s all-action fire was limited to the left flank, Sissoko went charging straight into the centre, either to make tackles or run with the ball and attract opponents towards him. It did not win the game, but it almost single-handedly stopped us drifting irretrievably out of the tie.

Wrap the chap in cotton wool until the second leg, and with Sonny restored to the attack we might just have a chance.

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Spurs 0-1 West Ham: Five Tottenham Talking Points

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1. Squad Depth

Galling stuff, with a distinct flatness about the place, particularly in the second half – but I suppose one has to take the rough with the smooth, and stiffen the upper lip accordingly.

Though easy to criticise in hindsight, the first half actually wasn’t so bad. Admittedly not of the ilk that will be seared into the consciousness for generations to come, but some of the link-up play from the front four bordered on the Pretty Darned Effective, and but for six inches here and a goalkeeper’s paw there we might have been ahead.

However, once that horrible lot had their noses in front, our attacking sorts almost visibly ran out of steam. It was like watching a child’s wind-up toy slowly grind to a halt, as there was simply no puff left in the little cheeks of Dele Alli and Christian Eriksen. One might have had the urge to dash out and offer a consoling pat to their shoulders, if one were not so frustrated by the dashed thing.

Disturbing times, and all the more irritating for the fact that every man, woman and child about the place has seen this coming a mile off. Failure to supplement the squad with either first-rate starters or useful reserves has come home to roost in pretty predictable fashion, and murmurs about our lack of squad depth were all the rage on the sparkling concourses yesterday.

Even ignoring the injured personnel, the lack of squad depth means that those who do play do so with diminished fizz. This actually makes perfect sense, because these good citizens are being asked to perform to the peak of their powers at a pretty relentless rate. If it’s not a Champions League tie against one of Europe’s elite it’s invariably a domestic joust with a Premier League team that thinks better of rolling over and having its tummy tickled.

The generous thing would be to invest in some personnel of vaguely comparable talent, to allow Eriksen the occasional weekend with feet up and bourbon in hand; but instead the liliywhite barrel is being scraped for whippersnappers and cast-offs, none of whom are fit for purpose, so every last drop of energy is wrung from the A-listers – and we end up losing winnable games such as this.

2. Absent Friends

On occasions such as this one’s heart rather yearns for Harry Kane. The strength to hold up the ball, the nous to drop deep, the sheer gall to look both ways, shrug his shoulders and have a biff from 25 yards – qualities which Kane possesses by the sackload, and which were conspicuously absent from the various reserves out on parade yesterday.

With the attacking sorts on show haemorrhaging both ideas and energy, one could not help but wistfully wonder what difference Kane might have made.

Similarly, the heart grows fonder for Moussa Sissoko as his absence continues. In fact, the heart grew fonder for the old bean even in his presence too. In this post-Dembele era, he and he alone is capable of picking up the ball and driving twenty or so yards with it, and it is the sort of urgency from which we would have benefited mightily yesterday.

Little that can be done about it now of course, but the whole sorry spectacle seemed to ram home in no uncertain terms the fact that these two have become pretty indispensable cogs in the machinery.

3. Juan Foyth (Or The Gradual Erasure From Existence of Kyle Walker-Peters)

Returning to more pertinent matters, yesterday marked another experimental twiddle of the Pochettino thumbs, as Juan Foyth was square-pegged in at right-back again.

The young imp had a fairly eventful time of things. In the credit column he could boast a forward foray or two, to occasionally useful effect – including the last-minute dash that almost brought Janssen a moment of glory.

At times Foyth’s little dribbles seemed to strike oil due to accident rather than design, the ball appearing to escape his whirring limbs and rather kindly pop back into his path to invite him to have another go; and at other times he simply got his sums wrong and spurned some handy opportunities.

In the debit column, more than once he was marooned miles up the pitch as West Ham broke, a white dot in the green distance, providing a sterling example of a chappie lacking the positional awareness that would come with a lifetime of right-backing, and instead looking every inch a wide-eyed youth drinking in a new experience with little grasp of what was unfolding.

But aside from the pros and cons of Foyth’s performance in the role, his selection raised a broader existential question about young Kyle Walker-Peters. From an opening day headline-making performance against Newcastle last season, via a flawed but admirable fist of things in the Nou Camp a few months back, the whippersnapper’s star has taken one heck of a tumble, as he now finds himself fourth-choice right-back, and fit for little more than a watching brief, even as colleagues drop like flies.

It has been a curious move from Our Glorious Leader to prefer Foyth – himself hardly an expert in the rigours of central defence, let alone full-back – to KWP, a full-back by trade, particularly given the faith demonstrated in the latter to date in his career. Quite what this means for KWP’s future at the club is anyone’s guess, but there is something vaguely Orwellian about the way in which Walker-Peters is being erased from existence.

4. Danny Rose, And The Implications For The Ajax Match

Another rather loaded selection was that of Danny Rose, for the second time in four days. Alas, AANP is not privy to the medical records of the great and good of N17, but I have been labouring under the impression that angry young Master Rose is not a fellow whose constitution can bear two games within a week. The sight of him taking to the starting blocks twice in four days therefore prompted a scratch of the head and stroke of the chin, as all manner of permutations raced through the bean.

Foremost amongst them was the question of whether this meant Rose will now be unfit for parade against Ajax on Tuesday. This, if it transpired to be the case, would be a dashed shame, for Rose is nothing if not filled with the spirit of battle, and his snarl and aggression would be of huge benefit in a Champions League Semi-Final.

The deployment of Rose, coupled with the complete absence from the squad of my best mate Jan Vertonghen, does prompt me mischievously to peddle the notion that Vertonghen might be selected as left-back vs Ajax. With Pochettino in his current, creative mood, there is no telling who might start in which positions.

5. Positive Signs From Davinson Sanchez

On a day of pretty grim tidings I did at least take some encouragement from a central defensive display from Davinson Sanchez that at times had something of the Ledley about it.

The chap is blessed with a rare but most useful combination of pace and upper-body strength, and both were on show at various junctures yesterday. There were a couple of notable sprints to un-muddle defensive lapses, on top of which he deserved some credit for keeping a beady eye on Foyth – which frequently meant haring across to the right to cover for the errant full-back.

Not a flawless showing – for if anyone were to blame for the goal we conceded (and it is debatable that anyone were) then he appears to have been the prime suspect – but as the mind flits towards the future and a potential post-Toby era this at least provided a shimmer of positivity.

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Spurs 1-0 Brighton: Five Tottenham Observations

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1. A Rummy Tactical Set-Up

So evidently inspired by the hilarity of leaving emotions strewn around the place in tatters at the end of the Champions League quarter-final, our heroes decided once again to leave matters late last night, to similarly side-slitting effect. Oh the japes!

I don’t mind baring my soul and admitting that by the time Eriksen did the honourable thing I was uncorking a bourbon and preparing the palate for a particularly stiff dram. Could not really fault the endeavour of our heroes, you understand, but some of the chosen routes to goal did slightly boggle the mind.

Right from kick-off, I looked to the left touchline, where Sonny lurked, and the right touchline, where Lucas hove similarly, and gave the chin one of the season’s more pensive strokes. Worth a whirl of course – and in defence of Our Glorious Leader, he was not exactly inundated with options.

However, the proof of the pudding appeared to be the countless dead ends into which Messrs Son and Lucas wandered, barely able to deep their toes into the Brighton area, let alone conjure the requisite magic to slice upon the visiting defence. All the while Senor Llorente rather forlornly slunk around in the penalty area, throwing occasional pleading glances towards team-mates in the hope of being allowed to join in.

It was not to be, which was fair enough; but the fact that this was evident so early on is what really got my goat, if you pardon the fruity language. It irked. The system did not really work, so why not change it? Perhaps switching to two upfront, with a midfield diamond and the full-backs pushing further up? Or tucking Sonny and Lucas in more narrowly, outnumbering the Brighton centre-backs?

Piffle, you might well opine, and with some justification; but the nub of the thing is that the selected approach generated precious little reward, so persisting with it throughout was most peculiar.

2. Pochettino’s In-Game Changes

On a related note, the reluctance of Pochettino to twiddle knobs during proceedings will likely be recorded by the record-keepers as one of the few blots on his escutcheon.

I perhaps do him a disservice, because at various points this season, more so than in previous years, he has indeed made an occasional half-time tweak to good effect. Last night, however, was an unwelcome return to his predilection for seemingly forgetting that it is within his gift to alter personnel or system on a whim.

Admittedly, as remarked, he was short of alternatives from which to choose, and one understood the reluctance to opt for the Vincent Janssen option, but changes such those he did finally make arrived only at or beyond the 80-minute mark – and as such bordered on the redundant. Brighton were making a darned good fist of repelling everything he hoicked their way from early on in proceedings, so there would have been some value in trying a different approach at an earlier juncture.

3. The Need For One-Touch Stuff

A further curiosity, from afar, was the inability of our heroes to play any one-touch stuff. One understands that they were generally afforded plenty of space when twenty or twenty-five yards from goal (or further), but they did themselves few favours by their constant tendency to dally on the ball.

It was all control, look around in every direction, take another touch and have a long think before passing. The concept of simply zipping one-twos between themselves seemed utterly alien. And I don’t mean the sort of incisive, dreamy one-twos just inside the area that see Man City and pomp Barcelona cut teams to ribbons; I mean simply a one-two between a couple of chums in nearish proximity anywhere on the pitch. Just whizzing the ball swiftly back and forth can give the opposition a bit of a jolt, and tempt them to follow ball rather than man.

4. Eriksen: Worming His Way Back Into AANP’s Affections

Mercifully, all can be forgiven and forgotten. As mentioned, there was perspiration by the bucketload, and neither Dele nor Toby could have got much closer with their respective efforts.

Ultimately it came down to Eriksen, whose radar had been gradually inching towards the sweet spot throughout the game.

Regular drinkers at the AANP watering hole will be aware that the chap has not been my firmest favourite in recent weeks. It would be a mite strong to say that we had fallen out, but a certain cooling in affections had certainly come to be. I, for my part, have begun to lose patience at his sloppy passing; he, for his part, has passed sloppily.

However, to his credit he has retained throughout proceedings the capacity to rustle up something magical from thin air, and he was at it again tonight, for the goal when it finally arrived was struck as sweetly as a cover drive on the opening morning of a first day at Lord’s.

In truth, as the game wore on and Brighton defended so stoutly that they seemed to become one with their penalty area, our lot increasingly turned to Eriksen to unpick the cuffs and get them out of the frightful mess. And he generally did his best to oblige, constantly probing for the killer pass, and indulging in a handful of reasonable long-distance efforts. In short, he shirked not his responsibilities. Perhaps a truce between he and I might be in order.

5. Angry Danny Rose Excels Again

Not that I want to lavish too much praise upon Eriksen, mind, for the star performer from my vantage point was Danny Rose.

Taking the field in a his usual angry mood, he kicked off proceedings by sending a Brighton player flying skyward with a slide tackle by the corner flag that served no purpose other than to show the world quite how angry he was; and he simply became angrier thereafter.

On top of which, he established himself, during the first half at least, as possibly our most creative outlet. Formally assigned the left-back role though he might have been, these days Danny Rose is pretty convinced that he is Paul Gascoigne, and he duly gambolled into central midfield whenever he could, because you could be dashed sure nobody else was going to dribble past an opponent.

The second half saw him stick a little more rigidly to the left flank (although he simply would not be caged, and at one point almost thumped one in from range with his right foot, which seemed to juggle the laws of physics a tad). As the game wore on, his star faded a mite – and Eriksen’s burned brighter – but nevertheless, he injects an energy and aggression into his every performance that sets a pleasing tone for those around him.

All things considered, this was another one of those peculiar episodes, with our lot beavering away relentlessly yet seeming to do so in quite a counter-productive way for much of it. However, the Top Four is pretty dashed close now, the new stadium remains a fortress and it is the credit of all concerned that they stagger on with resources so depleted.

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Man City 1-0 Spurs: Five Tottenham Observations

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1. Missed Chances

Quite the oddity this, because despite taking a fearful battering, in the first half in particular, we probably ought to have won the thing with a spot of breathing space, purely in terms of chances created.

Sonny twice (possibly thrice?), Eriksen and Lucas Moura all had chances that one under oath might have described as “presentable”. Not just scrambled, snapshot efforts, but bona fide whites-of-the-keeper’s-eyes stuff. Some pretty slick build-up play too, which was stirring to watch.

Credit in a sense must therefore be slopped pretty generously upon the plate of Our Glorious Leader, who set us up most pointedly to play on the counter-attack – with both of Lucas and Sonny unleashed, and Llorente’s rather alternative take on things kept under lock and key on the sidelines.

Everybody else in our number was tasked with chasing Man City shadows, but the deployment of both Son and Lucas at the pointy edge of things had the City centre-backs squirming throughout. Either our front two were sprinting at them, or they were threatening to sprint at them, which in a way felt every bit as effective – rather like one of those ghastly horror films one sees, in which a heroine picks her way through a silent and foreboding house, and although nothing is actually happening on screen, it still sends the pulse into overdrive because of the fear that at any given moment some scoundrel might leap out from the shadows and do some mischief.

Alas, whereas on Wednesday night we were impressively clinical, today all who found themselves in front of goal were a mite too ponderous about their business. All seemed to want an extra touch, when really the hurly-burly nature of the fare meant that it was an occasion for rather swifter and more decisive action.

2. Line-Up

I gave Poch credit for the set-up, and he certainly improvised well given the depleted resources, but I suppose his hand was slightly forced. With players dropping like flies he went for the rarely-seen Six Central Defenders Gambit, and I suppose this was as suitable a time to do so as any, given that City have nift and trickery seeping from every pore.

Alas, despite the presence of so many versed in the art of centre-backery, we still managed to leave arguably the most lethal striker of the last five years completely unmarked inside the penalty area within the first five minutes, and calamity duly befell. Fingers of blame duly wagged at Sanchez (which was actually the only blot on an otherwise mightily impressive escutcheon) and Toby, for nodding off at their sentry posts.

At that point I grimaced the grimace of a man who foresaw all the walls caving in and at double-quick rate, because City, already stoked for revenge, raged around the place looking like chaps very much with the scent of blood lingering in the nostrils.

They hogged possession and battered away, but, gradually at first and then with increasing regularity and control, our massed ranks of defensive types repelled them. I rather certainly for the midfield three of Dier, Eriksen and Dele, relentlessly shuttling hither and thither in the midday sun, but although they struggled to control things, they did enough to help out the back five.
Wobbly though we had looked at the outset, by the time the second half pootled around the complexion of things had begun to change, and the expectation was as much that we might nab a counter-attack chance as that City might double their lead.

A shame that shooting boots were not packed – but ultimately few complaints. City were, as ever, pretty good value for the win.

3. Foyth Impresses

After witnessing Trippier being led a merry dance on Wednesday, I feared for the earnest but flawed young buck Juan Foyth when the actors took to the stage and Raheem Sterling gave him the once-over. Their opening tête-à-tête duly made for grisly viewing, as Sterling left Foyth reeling through a cloud of jet-heeled dust; but thereafter our man grew into the game, and just about edged a very tough personal duel.

Under strict instructions to show Sterling down the line, Foyth did so with admirable judgement, and also a few dollops of hitherto unknown body-strength, which earned a tick or two in the AANP book. Credit also to Sanchez for offering generous assistance; and even when Sane entered the arena and the nature of the threat took a subtle turn, Foyth was generally equal to it.

He does still rather dwell on things when in possession, as if inclined to take four or five seconds to admire his immediately preceding handiwork, but where there might have a pretty seismic Achilles’ Heel we did in fact boast a pretty well-secured potential entry route.

4. The Angry Rose Cameo

Danny Rose’s fragile limbs means that the angry young tyro cannot legally be fielded for two sets of 90-minute fare within four days, so he had to content himself with around twenty minutes in which to vent his incessant rage, and simultaneously enrage all those in opposition.

But by golly, doesn’t he do that well? He stormed onto the pitch to take a midfield role, immediately looking aggrieved at the state of things, and duly communicated this by executing a perfectly legal tackle on Bernardo Silva that was accompanied by a quite unnecessary and thoroughly enjoyable follow-through, sufficient to send the chap flying.

Thereafter the general level of angst and needle amongst both sets of players shot through the roof. In a way this might have been to our detriment, because City were already losing the plot quite comfortably on their own, without any egging from our heroes, and the added level of aggravation merely prevented us from counter-attacking as repeatedly as we needed.

However, in the grander scheme of things I was jolly pleased to see our lot take a leaf out of the Rose Playbook and mooch around with scowls on faces and flying tackles in their feet. From the off, City had shown far more desire, and our lot had given the impression that they were satisfied with Wednesday night’s outcome. City had continually hounded us and won back possession in the early flashes, so, late though it was, I was pleased to observe us at least finish with some appetite for the fight.

5. Muted Dier Performance

As an aside, one notes with concern that in 20 or so minutes, Rose kicked immeasurably more lumps out of opponents than self-styled hard man Eric Dier managed in his 60 minutes. The AANP Jury remains far from convinced on Dier. Though a handy asset given his versatility, he displays neither boundless energy nor exquisite positional sense, nor is he possessed of a particularly notable range of passing.

When sitting in midfield on days like today, his task is presumably to act as a disruptive and destructive influence, making forceful tackles or at the very least giving the opponent in possession a friendly shove – but today he contributed little. As stated, Rose performed the role in vastly more eye-catching manner.

All told, however, this was game from which anything other than a hammering would have been a pleasant surprise. Having created that many chances it was a shame to lose by a single goal, but a string of winnable games now sits between our lot and a top four finish.

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Man City 4-3 Spurs: Five Tottenham Observations

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So for those who had the slightest doubt, that is why it’s called All Action, No Plot.

Not to put too fine a point on it, but this was one of those madcap jamborees in which words just rather flit into the ether, and one is left gawping, a mere spectator, as utter madness unfolds. Five goals in the opening twenty – and even that did not compare with the quite gut-wrenching finale of unadulterated ridiculousness.

1. Nerves Shredded To Dust

It is not the first time this thought has occurred, but rarely have I been more struck by the notion that watching Spurs will be the death of me. I will simply keel over and be no longer for this mortal coil, the trusty blood-pumper simply not up to the rigours of watching our eleven heroes in lilywhite toying with the nerves.

To order things chronologically, there was simply no time to get one’s head around the unfolding madness in those opening ten minutes or so. They scored, and we scored, and we scored, and they scored, and – well, one gets the gist. Every time we tried to take a deep breath and get our heads around the permutations, another goal flew in and all that had gone before was as naught. It really was most discombobulating.

In the midst of those opening thrusts, Sissoko injured himself in a manner that was so innocuous it could only possibly have been pretty dashed serious, and in one of those decisions that was entirely in keeping with the utterly sanity-free nature of proceedings, Our Glorious Leader replaced him with Senor Llorente. And Sissoko was booked for being substituted. Really.

2. Llorente: Zero, Hero and All Things In Between

Might as well dwell further on Llorente and his impact on things. Both match-winner and cause of our near-downfall, the honest fellow’s introduction pretty much sucked the life out of all we had as an attacking force, at around the 40-minute mark.

Admittedly we were hardly bossing proceedings until then, but for all City’s razor-sharp potency in the first half we did at least possess a heck of a threat until that point. With Lucas and Sonny looking shifty, and bringing about two early goals, there was plenty about which the City back-line might ponder.

Llorente did his best, as ever, but rather than the desired effect of holding up the ball and allowing others to zip up in support, he lumbered this way and that, a good few yards behind the City back-line. His introduction inadvertently castrated our counter-attacking prowess.

And yet.

Cometh what seemed like our only foray into the City third, in that relentless second half, cometh the hip – and quite possibly the elbow, or wrist, or some other stray upper limb – of Llorente. For a chap whose forte is supposedly his heading, it was a pretty atrocious effort, his head nowhere near the ball – and it was also the most gorgeous finish I think I’ve ever witnessed. The AANP tuppence worth on the VAR call: not a clear and obvious error. So there.

3. Full-Back Struggles

Easy to criticise, and I’m not sure the fires of hell itself are as unforgiving as the rampaging forward thrusts of the quite majestic Sterling and De Bruyne – but Rose and, in particular, Trippier, were so adrift in those opening twenty minutes that the whole thing seemed to be in contravention to the rules.

Trippier is a mighty fine attacking threat against just about any team in the world, but he supposedly is a defender by trade, and his approach to containing Sterling was so weak as to be laughable, comprising, as it did, the grand plan of showing the chap onto his stronger foot. For goodness’ sake.

Rather harsh to zoom in on the full-backs when our entire team was being cut to ribbons fairly incessantly in the second half, but I did not think either full-back covered themselves in glory in their individual battles out wide. Oddly enough, when matters became a mite more last-ditch and backs-to-the-wall, and all a matter of blocking and hacking clear, they both looked a bit more dependable.

Worth emphasising also that Messrs Lloris, Alderweireld and my mate Vertonghen used every inch of their nous and defensive skill during that second half battering. Bravo, chaps. Lloris in particular, so often lambasted in these parts for his moments of startling wobbliness, delivered some top-notch palm extensions.

4. The Famous Soft Tottenham Underbelly

Easy also to overlook quite what a remarkable effort this was. In the context of not spending a penny on players for two transfer windows – against a team that flings around monopoly money – and to take the field without our main striker, one had only to look at our substitute options to get the sense that we would need something verging on the other-worldly to pull this off.

The departure of Sissoko in the first half simply made the dashed difficult unfeasibly testing. A glance towards the respective benches highlighted the fact that we are woefully undercooked for such top-level squad jousting.

No faulting the effort of those involved, but Wanyama looked every inch a player who has barely played in the last two seasons; Llorente looked every inch a man in his mid-thirties looking rather bewildered at the vastly trendier youths whizzing about him; and the options on the bench, of Walker-Peters, Davies, Skipp et al did not inspire lashings of confidence.

They deserve every ounce of praise therefore, for staying within touching distance throughout, forcing their noses ahead seemingly through sheer force of will, and then clinging on for dear life.

5. That Finale

I don’t mind admitting to my public that I felt physically sick throughout, and reached what one might term a lowest ebb when Sterling bundled in what appeared to be the winner in the dying moments of added time.

I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced the lowest conceivable low being instantly interrupted by the highest possible high, but it really ought to come with a health warning. For a game that I’d cheerily dismissed beforehand as a free hit, one that did not really matter in the grand scheme of things, and of vastly lesser importance than the domestic stuff on Saturday, this certainly drained the engine.

Utterly incredibly, we are through to the semi-finals of the Champions League – this after being within a few minutes of elimination seemingly throughout the group stages. And without any signings. And without our star striker. And so on and so forth.

Utterly bonkers, and utterly compelling all action, no plot stuff. Time for a stiff drink.

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Spurs 4-0 Huddersfield: Five Tottenham Observations

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1. The Ongoing Evolution of Sissoko

Convention usually dictates in such exalted circumstances as these that the celebratory fizzy pop commemorating the Man of the Match be bestowed upon the scorer of the hat-trick. Being the anarchic type however, I am willing to question the validity of such a call, for there were a couple of other notable performances.

Moussa Sissoko has been long established as a pretty vital cog in this machine, and the improvement in his doings continues with each game. He now really is emerging as the heir to Dembele’s throne, no longer simply a barely-connected bundle of limbs, but now offering a regular injection of energy in bringing the ball forward from halfway in irresistible fashion.

Admittedly he does not possess the grace and finesse of Dembele, but he is nevertheless jolly effective in what he does. And in fact, pretty much his first touch of the ball today – a 360 degree pirouette away from trouble – displayed a hitherto unseen finesse that set the tone for his performance thereafter.

Where once we would turn to Dembele to bring the ball forward and defy all attempts to displace him, now Sissoko performs that role with some relish. In a game in which we spent much of proceedings simply keeping possession and toying with Huddersfield, Sissoko’s forward forays were a regular threat.

2. Llorente Channels His Inner Teddy

Another fellow whose afternoon was full of right and proper content was Senor Llorente. As vocal a critic as I generally am of the chap’s limited mobility, I am also a swooning admirer of his velvet touch, particularly when cushioning passes into the path of chums, and he delivered several dollops of the good stuff today.

There was something of the Sheringham about him, as there often is when he is on song. He as often as not plays the way he faces, and if that means he has his back to goal and is going to dab the ball whence it came, into the gallop of an onrushing support act, then he will dashed well do so.

In hindsight I think Llorente benefited more than most from the early two-goal biff that effectively ended the competitive nature of the game. Where the elongated bean often labours, with the weight of the world on his shoulders as he feels the pressure of deputising for Kane, the fact that the game was won so early had a delightfully liberating effect upon him, and he simply pottered around enjoying himself.

As well as his link-up play with back to goal, he also sniffed around at chances like nobody’s business, with a couple of flicked headers indicating that the compass was in decent working order, and a couple of shots from his size elevens requiring the flailing of various Huddersfield limbs to deny him.

Most impressive was his gorgeous control and clipped shot off the bar, early in the second half, which demonstrated a touch that was about as silky as they came. Dashed shame that that did not go in, but by and large it was a handy old stab at things.

3. The Good and Bad of Juan Foyth

The very public education of Juan Foyth continues apace, with all the usual trademarks on show. It made perfect sense to choose an occasion such as this to continue to blood the young imp, with Huddersfield offering only minimal threat throughout. For the majority of proceedings, young Foyth crossed defensive t’s and dotted defensive i’s with that usual appearance of assurance. The meat and veg of defending, he generally got right.

The problems seem to occur more once he’s already won the ball, and the elaborate process of deciding what action to take next begins unwinding in his mind. Oh, that the little voices simply whispered to him to release the ball to the nearest lilywhite shirt and be done. Instead, Foyth will typically ignore the cause of sanity, and be seduced by delusions of grandeur that see him eagerly try to start attacks, cure cancer and solve Brexit.

The notion that opponents might try to rob him off the ball seems the last thing on his mind, and so today he was occasionally the victim of many an attempted tackle while weighing up distribution options, or attempting to shoulder-drop and Cruyff-turn his way out of slightly precarious spots.

However, his decision-making will improve with experience – games like today undoubtedly will help – and in time, his combination of defensive solidity and ability to bring the ball forward ought to make him quite the asset. A tip of the cap too, for his instigation of our second goal.

4. Delightful Finishing

The sight of four well-taken goals certainly added a dash of class to proceedings.

Moura’s first and third harked back to a glorious, simpler age, in which boots were black, games kicked off at 3pm and goals were scored by blasting the ball with every ounce of strength. They were joyous to behold, and struck with the sort of pure technique that makes you want to add an extra splash to your afternoon restorer.

Wanyama’s nifty footwork also merits praise, for as Sissoko demonstrated in gory detail at Anfield recently, these chaps who are unused to the heady heights of the opposition box can get themselves into an awful muddle when through on goal.

No such trouble for Wanyama, who danced his way in with the assuredness of a seasoned goalscorer. And all the more important for being the opening goal, struck early. Serene though the whole affair might have been, our nerves may have jangled a couple of bars had we reached, say, the half-time mark or beyond without a goal.

5. A Triumph for Squad Rotation

Easy to say in hindsight, but Our Glorious Leader certainly judged his team selection to perfection. With injuries to Messrs Kane, Alli and Winks a degree of prodding and poking was already required, and while the rotating of full-backs was standard Pochettino fare, the additional omissions of Toby and Sonny did prompt a rather nervous chew of the lower AANP lip. The thought flitted across the mind that this might be one tweak too many.

A nonsense, as it transpired. All involved performed creditably enough, the game was sewn up in double-quick time and the cherished limbs of Toby and Sonny were protected from any prospective rough and tumble.

Many a sagacious type has suggested that while our Starting XI is a match for most, our squad depth verges somewhat on the lightweight, and I suppose in comparison to some of our cash-rich rivals this has a degree of truth to it. However, conscientious types like Davies, Walker-Peters, Wanyama, Foyth, Sanchez, Lucas and Llorente have comfortably have enough to best bottom-of-the-table rot, and as gambles go, this one proved one of the safest in town.

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Spurs 1-0 Man City: Five Tottenham Observations

1. A Marvellous Team Effort

What splendid viewing that made. And all the better for being a couple of notches above and beyond wildest dreams.

Given recent form, the quality of the opposition and, frankly, the weathering effect upon the soul that three decades of Spurs-supporting inevitably has, the pre-match mood at AANP Towers was defeatist to the point of philosophical. “What the heck?” was the general, resigned tone, accompanied by suitably accepting shrug, “We aren’t expected or likely to win, so this amounts to something of a free hit.”

But goodness me, with the presumably strict tactical instructions of Our Glorious Leader ringing in their ears, our heroes played out scene after scene just about to perfection.

They hunted in packs as appropriate, but cunningly did so only at suitable junctures and as a team, similarly picking moments simply to sit off and let City mooch around in possession. While the sound of jangling nerves undoubtedly resounded a few times, particularly in the second half, as City buzzed around the edges of our area, they did not actually fashion a clear-cut chance, and Lloris was relatively untroubled.

Quite the triumph for teamwork then, but also as individuals just about every man in lilywhite – including subs Lucas, Wanyama and Llorente – excelled in their individual duties. Pre-match I had feared that 89 minutes of good honest graft might be undone by those increasingly typical moments of unforced madness that various individuals are liable to sprinkle around the place; but yesterday every man was near-faultless.

Sissoko was immense, carrying the ball forward like the slightly clunky ghost of Dembele and defending with non-nonsense force; Toby and Jan were watertight; young Winks repeatedly picked the sensible options, be they backwards or forwards; and Rose was a constant threat in his intriguing match-up with erstwhile chum Walker.

2. Lloris

Recent history dictates that if anyone were going to magic a calamitous error out of thin air it was our resident net-protector, but his handling was secure, and in saving the penalty he gave the entire place an almighty fillip.

This penalty-saving lark is becoming something of a habit, what? Which is all the more pleasing given that in his previous half-dozen or so years of employment I’m not sure I remember him diving into the right postcode when faced with a spot-kick, let alone saving one. Yet there he was, as clear as day, beating the thing away as if it were the most natural way in the world to right a wrong and inject a little fire into sixty thousand bellies.

Heaven knows I malign the chap like the dickens when he errs, so it is only right to salute him today.

3. Sonny Saves Augments The Day

By the time Sonny popped up with his coup de grâce I would happily have traded in my right arm for a goalless draw, so it would be a slight mangling of the Queen’s English to suggest that the cheery soul saved the day, but by golly he certainly popped a cherry on the top of it.

At that stage, deep into the second half, City had decided to go about their business with a darned sight more urgency, and while we weren’t exactly clinging on for dear life, we were backtracking into that sort of territory.

As so often happens, the absence of Kane seemed to remove a chain or two from the being of Son, and he appeared more than happy to occupy the vacated limelight.

It is an odd quirk, that the sight of Kane limping off down the multi-million pound tunnel did not sear my very core as once it might have done. Make no mistake, yesterday was a fine advert for the honest fellow’s general hold-up play, and until Llorente came on we had no similar apparatus in operation. However, this lot are now pretty well-versed in the art of Kanelessness, and actually I was more alarmed by the sight of Sonny going down with a wince a few minutes later.

Sonny will presumably be the focal point in future weeks, and much therefore depends on the supporting roles of Lucas, Llorente and Dele (plus Lamela, if he returns to fitness). All told, the absence of Kane is not the terminal blow it might seem.

4. Eriksen

While most in lilywhite peddled their wares with intense concentration and sterling effectiveness, for much of the game, and in keeping with recent weeks, I paced the corridors with concern at the outputs of Master Eriksen.

His workrate remains as good as ever, but for an hour or so his distribution was decidedly careless. For a man of such ability to misplace ten-yard passes, or suck the momentum out of attacks by passing south, struck me as a real waste, and a poorly-timed one at that. It seems no coincidence to me that our flatness during February and March has coincided with his swerve into off-boil territory.

Mercifully, he righted numerous recent wrongs with that delightful chip into the path of Sonny for the goal, and in general in the final twenty or so minutes of proceedings he danced around the expensive place with some of the old menace.

5. VAR

In truth I prefer not to wade into any topic that doesn’t have Tottenham at its front and centre, and frankly if the rules state that Rose’s was a handball then I’m willing to accept that and toddle along because such is life.

However, the lack of consistency irked me, I don’t mind admitting. The fact that the penalty was awarded despite literally no appeals for a handball does not irk me (it merely suggests that none of them were particularly familiar with the current rules); the lack of consistency does.

I happened to catch snippets of the Liverpool game being played concurrently, during which a pretty similar accidental handball occurred, and VAR decided against a penalty award. All of which gives the impression that rather than mete these things out consistently, they might as well be adjudged by the toss of a coin. If they want a ridiculous rule then so be it; but dash it, apply that rule consistently.

On top of which, it appears that elbows to the head are now also above board, in the all-seeing eyes of video refs. Which is fine by me, if that approach will now be universally applied; one rather suspects it won’t.

A tad harsh on Rose to be yellow-carded too, but such are the mind-boggling days in which we live. Ultimately the whole curious affair simply provided our heroes with a greater sense of injustice with which to fire them along.

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Liverpool 2-1 Spurs: Five Tottenham Observations

For goodness’ sake, dash it all. Is there a more galling way to lose than through a last-minute own-goal, when you’ve actually done enough to win the thing?

Despite every element of it being perfectly above board and within the rules, this somehow feels like a gross injustice – not least because we should have been a couple of goals ahead by the time the clock rumbled over to 90.

1. Much Improved Performance. So That’s Nice.

It’s now one point from fifteen, which officially qualifies as Dreadful Form, but at contrast to the four preceding games, this one at least came with a performance that, for the second half at least, was pretty impressive fare.

Once the necessary tweaks had been made to the tactical levers and pulleys, our heroes rattled along with something approaching rhythm, pinging neat first-time passes and shimmying around in sprightly manner off the ball, which always makes for a winning combo. At one-nil down we took the game to Liverpool and gave them a thing or two over which to chew; and at one-one we looked particularly nifty on the counter, and really ought to have sewn the thing up with a few deliveries to spare.

2. Tactics, Tactics

Pre-game, much of the nattering at AANP Towers had been doleful recollections of how in previous games against the Top Six this season – including Liverpool at home – our wing-backs have flown off as far up the pitch as physics allows, leaving enough greenery behind them to set up a small farm and live off the land, and opponents have duly taken advantage like nobody’s business.

Consequently I barely dared to look at the set-up from the opening toot yesterday, for fear of what fresh hell might unfold. As it happened however, our lot went to the other extreme, with Rose and Trippier erring so far on the side of caution that at times the defence resembled a string of five centre-backs. With Sissoko’s ball-carrying neutered by the instruction to sit in front of the back-three and protect, matters were pretty decidedly awry, and Liverpool’s attacking full-backs had a whale of a time.

Credit to Our Glorious Leader then, from his lofty perch, for adjusting first to a 5-4-1 out of possession, and then to a 4-4-2. The Liverpool wide threat was largely neutered, and our lot began to impose themselves.

Our equaliser was thoroughly merited, and had any one of Eriksen, Dele or the wild shooting boots of dear old Sissoko converted the second half chances that came their way, I suspect most right-minded observers would have deemed matters perfectly reasonable, and given the green light. Which makes the wretched finale all the more galling, but such are the vicissitudes of life, dash it all.

3. Lucas: A Handy Contribution

By and large, Lucas Moura has underwhelmed a tad when introduced from the bench this season. Way back in August he was awarded one of those awfully modern Player of the Month awards, on the back of a match-winning dazzle at Old Trafford and a fistful of other handy contributions while those around him shook off the jet-lag from their World Cup adventures.

Since then, the starting nod alongside Kane has tended to be for Sonny, or occasionally Lamela, and Lucas has been shoved on as something as an afterthought for the dying embers.

At Anfield however, with Sonny having racked up enough midweek air-miles to travel to the moon, Lucas was in from the start, and immediately looked like he had a thing or two to tell the locals, and didn’t care how it would be received. It would be stretching things to say he ran the Liverpool back-line ragged, but he certainly carried bundles of whizz and pop every time he touched the ball, and he merited his goal.

4. Errors At The Back

Here in this corner of the interweb we have never been averse to a spot of pedantry, so while it might seem churlish to shine a great glaring light upon the marginal defensive errors that cost us the game, someone has to kick up a stink about these things.

Exhibit A was Kieran Trippier’s delicately-executed hokey-cokey in the first half, as he went in, and out, and in, and out again, when faced with Robertson and ball. The net effect was that the opponent was thoroughly untroubled, and obliged by swinging in a peach of a cross that was nodded in for Liverpool’s opener.

Worth noting that Exhibit A during the game happened to be something like Exhibit J or K or so, in Trippier’s own personal Case For The Prosecution This Season, because his performances since the World Cup have been littered with defensive errors. (He does deliver a wicked cross when up the other end of the pitch though.)

A pedant might point to Danny Rose’s half-moment of ball-watching at the death as Exhibit B, as this allowed Mo Salah to deliver his fateful header.

Exhibit C, however, was Monsieur Lloris’ nonsense of a non-save. It seems to be quite the fashion amongst the young folk who bear the mitts and stand between the posts these days to push and punch and do everything but catch the blasted ball. It’s an absolute blight upon society, and Lloris deserves a good thrashing for such wispy nonsense.

On top of which, his errant clearance actually sat neatly at the root cause of the opening goal we conceded. The time to look at other goalkeeping options has arrived.

5. Danny Rose Popping Up Everywhere

Danny Rose, once he had been sucked out of the ultra-defensive mode that saw him glued to the back-three in the early stages, did what Danny Rose does, and took it upon himself to forage forward with that familiar, angry air of one who is being continually wronged. It makes for splendid viewing.

Rose was then indulged in his preference for a full-time placement further up the field, as we emerged in the second half in a shiny 4-4-2, of which he played left midfield. This naturally played to his strengths, and reminds us also that we should be grateful for the flexibility of my personal chum Jan Vertonghen.

Not that Rose’s dalliance in midfield lasted too long, as he ended up back at left-back once Sonny arrived, but I do quite enjoy seeing him being unleashed in midfield, even if he does start to think he’s Pele and take on all-comers.

And as a valedictory point, the highlight of AANP’s day was arguably the gorgeous cross-field ball from Kane to pick out Trippier in the build-up to the equaliser. Quibblers have duly insisted that the ball was rolling – whether it should have stood or not, it was a ping of the highest quality. Allied to his hold-up play when dropping deep, and his robotic scoring ability, the man’s talents are mind-boggling.

One would hope our heroes take the spirit of the second half here, as well as any perceived injustice about the ultimate nature of the demise, and unleash it in the spanking new bowl on Wednesday.

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Dortmund 0-1 Spurs Bottlers: Six Tottenham Observations

1. The ‘Thou Shalt Not Pass’ School of Defending

Hindsight being a pretty flawless sort of gem, it is easy for us to playfully nudge each other’s ribs and chortle, “Well that was pretty easy pickings, what?”

But being Spurs fans in general, and having sat through the first 40-odd minutes in particular, I think we can probably all swiftly reach a consensus that this was actually one heck of a delicate operation, and one which, but for six inches here and a millisecond there might have seen us one or two down by half-time and stewing in our juices like nobody’s business.

A three-goal lead we might have held at kick-off, but Dortmund came out of the traps at a fair old lick, and emanated the strong whiff of a team that would go on to nab a second, third and fourth if they could just get that first.

Enormous credit is therefore due to the entire N17 cast for defending as a team, particularly in the first half. Like those rather natty shoals of about a hundred fish that you see weaving this way and that in perfect synchronisation, as if controlled by a single mind, our defence and midfield diligently shuttled hither and thither as Dortmund prodded away like the dickens.

Normally this sort of guff wouldn’t earn a second glance at AANP Towers, where the teeth have been cut on a strict diet of the non-stop, all-action swash and buckle that has lent its name to the place; but there is a time and place for such things, and the drill last night was quite rightly to keep the door shut at all costs during the initial blitz.

This is not to say that our heroes were flawless in their defending as a collective. Had they been, there would not have been need for the last-ditch heroics peddled by Messrs Lloris, Vertonghen and Davies at various junctures.

Nevertheless, I got the impression that if one were to pluck a lilywhite at random and slice him open, one would have discovered intense concentration levels and a strict game-plan coursing through his veins. Our lot were hell-bent on keeping Dortmund at bay.

2. What Lloris Does Best

So as mentioned, the generally topping work done by all eleven was embellished in timely fashion by a couple of goal-worthy challenges from certain members of the back-five; and when even these lines were breached, Monsieur Lloris produced the sort of performance that in truth he’s probably owed us for the past couple of seasons.

Some saves were straightforward, and some were absolutely first rate. Usefully, Lloris was not in discriminatory mood, and did the necessaries with all of them.

In a way, the slightly desperate, last-ditch, backs-to-the-wall nature of the thing in the first half played neatly into Lloris’ hands. The chap seems to be at his best when instinctively thrusting out a paw to repel a close-range snapshot.

Shoot at his legs and there is a moderate-to-good chance the ball will find a way through. Ask him to come dashing from his line to mop things up and any sort of fresh hell might transpire. But simply fire the ball at him from a distance of 5-10 yards, as Dortmund did repeatedly in the first half, and he’s precisely the sort of nib you want manning the phones.

3. The Ironic Need for Sideways and Backwards Passing

Not that Lloris’ heroics and the collective spirit of defence made the first half much more bearable. For all the thrill of seeing a Davies limb extend or a Vertonghen toe intercept, the respite rarely lasted more than around 5 seconds before the next Dortmund wave was upon us. For almost the entirety of the first half we were unable to retain possession, our on-the-ball subtlety rarely extending beyond simply blooting the thing to halfway and trying to regroup for the next yellow attack.

In between staving off heart attacks, the thought did strike me that we would have benefited immensely from a spell of possession, just for its own sake. Not with the aim of pelting towards the Dortmund area in search of an away goal, but simply to relieve the pressure.

Instead, out on the greenery, the only intention seemed to be to launch the ball north, in the hope that Kane and Son might magic a goal out of nothing. The net result was that neither were able to hold up play and we were immediately back under the cosh. What we were crying out for was actually a spot of sideways and backwards passing, with zero attempt to encroach on Dortmund territory, and every intention of simply controlling the game for a few priceless minutes.

Being the sort of egg who’s all for a spot of irony during their daily routine, it did strike me that in recent weeks I have hit something pretty near apoplexy at the sight of Toby, Sanchez, Vertonghen, Winks and Sissoko pinging the ball sideways and backwards ad nauseam. When the games against Burnley, Chelsea and Arsenal were absolutely howling out for some urgency, invention and blasted forward forays, our heroes intransigently pivoted, and pivoted, and then rolled the ball sideways.

Contrast with last night, when all they seemed capable of doing in the first half was attempting unnecessarily and unsuccessfully to force the ball forward. I don’t mind admitting I swept a hand across the fevered brow on more than one occasion.

Mercifully, the penny dropped from about the 40-minute mark, as Dortmund’s enthusiasm for the chase dwindled. Thereafter, our heroes began to look like they were starting rather to enjoy themselves. Aware that it simply did not matter whether they passed forward or backward as long as they retained the ball, they began to lead Dortmund a merry dance, occasionally feinting to attack, and then rather cruelly about-turning and shuttling the ball across the back-line.

4. Kane Adulation

And that, in truth, was pretty much that. Half-time arrived with our heroes in possession, and the early second half goal gave every one of us the opportunity to indulge in a good, old-fashioned spot of exhaling.

Being an absolute machine, Harry Kane did not pause to mess around when presented with his one and only chance. The chap’s Champions League stats already boggle the mind a tad, and the circumstances around his goal yesterday were impressive – one might make the case that the very best strikers need only one chance in the crunch games, and Kane is very much of that ilk.

On top of which, he spent much of the rest of the game pottering around winning free-kicks while strongly outnumbered. A cracking performance from whichever angle one views it.

5. Why Hello There, Eric Dier

A tip of the hat also to Eric Dier, who returned from witness protection looking like these were the circumstances for which he had been born to play.

Thrown on with half an hour to go, instructed to protect the back-four and generally ensure no alarms, he did so with discipline and aggression, as one would expect, but also threw in a neat line of simple and effective short passes that kept the pressure off and gradually sucked the will to live from the Dortmund mob.

With Winks and Sissoko seemingly playing every minute of every game these days, and hobbling off accordingly, the return of Dier, particularly in this sort of mood, is most useful.

6. All Grown Up

Two years ago our heroes were gifted a fairly straightforward draw, and failed to progress from the group.

One year ago our heroes topped a group containing Real Madrid, then outplayed Juve for all but 13 minutes over two legs, and failed to progress past the Round of 16.

This year our heroes have delivered absolutely textbook Home and Away leg performances, and now gambol on to the Quarter Finals. The evidence mounts in pretty compelling fashion to suggest that they improve year on year.

No doubt they will continue to lose the occasional game against big teams (and presumably be labelled ‘bottlers’) and occasionally lose to smaller teams (and presumably be labelled ‘bottlers’), but the two very different and devastatingly effective performances in this tie – following a group stage in which we faced elimination unless we scored in the last 10 minutes of each of our fourth, fifth and six fixtures – points towards a team that is getting the hang of this lark.

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Spurs 1-1 Arsenal: Five Tottenham Observations

1. If Sissoko Is Our Man of the Match, Something Is Not Quite Right

It has come to this. Moussa Sissoko was our star performer, seemingly the only man in lilywhite who recognised throughout the importance of the game. Rather than limit himself to his usual, highly effective but sensibly contained game of providing monstrous defensive cover and occasional forward runs as a supporting cast member, yesterday the notion struck him that if he did not seize the game by the scruff of the neck then nobody else jolly well would.

Consequently we were treated to the unlikely sight of Sissoko being the fountain from which most of our creative urgency sprang. Eriksen was either too well shackled or just too plain bored to get involved, and the option of feeding Rose an early ball and letting him set off at a gallop was oddly overlooked. The default seemed to be the usual turgid wealth of ineffective short passes, punctuated by some aimless long ones.

Sissoko at least had the decency to try righting the many wrongs surrounding him. Adorably, he tried doing his best Dembele impressions to force the issue. Ultimately they tended to amount to little, as he overplayed his hand on just about every occasion, but the effect was at least mildly galvanising to the watching hordes.

Lamela did little once introduced, bar earn his customary yellow card for his customary mistimed lunge; Lucas Moura remained unused throughout; and even Danny Rose was invited to try his luck as a creator from deep in the final fifteen or so, but like Sissoko, got a little carried away by his own high opinion of himself and got it in his head that the best option was to try taking on the entire Arsenal team from deep within his own half. The spirit was willing, the flesh was weak.

2. Eriksen Still Below Par

As alluded to above, part of the problem is that Eriksen remain off-key. Arsenal seemed well drilled in this respect, generally snapping around him, but even when afforded space and time, his act appeared tired and lacklustre.

Which points to a deeper problem within the fold, namely that when Eriksen is misfiring, to whom the heck do we turn for a creative spark? Occasions such as these suggest that Eriksen is the most important component within our DNA (for even when Kane is absent we have a system, of sorts, that enables us to cope). Remove or nullify Eriksen, and the whole delicately-arranged construction starts to come crashing down.

The immediate concern is that the chap is below par; the lingering longer-term worry is that he might not be too much longer of our parish.

3. Sanchez Mistakes

Davinson Sanchez’s progress in the last couple of years has been, if not quite blemish-free, then certainly on the pleasing side of such parabolas. However, he does retain the ability to make a fairly notable pig’s ear of things where none should really exist, and yesterday he threw in a couple of stinkers that, by rights, ought really to have cost us the match.

Having been at fault for Ramsey’s goal, I suppose there are massed throngs who will howl that he ought never to have been penalised for the late penalty as well, but this rather misses the point.

Rather than quibble about the minutiae of how much contact is required to justify the award of a penalty, I have long banged the drum that we would all be in a much happier place if those concerned simply steered well clear, and did not give the referee the option or chance to award a foul. And certainly not in the last minute, when the striker is haring away from goal and towards the byline.

Sanchez is not quite in the Juan Foyth school of Sudden and Massive Defensive Aberrations, but these are not isolated incidents either. With Toby likely to shuffle out the nearest exit come the summer, Sanchez will need to up his game a notch or two.

4. Son’s Diminishing Impact Now That Kane Is Back

One of the more curious findings from the day’s gallivanting was that since Kane has returned, our attack has seemed even more neutered than in those games in which Llorente stood in one single spot for 90 minutes and Sonny whizzed around him.

Kane, naturally enough, has waltzed back into town to receive star billing, diamond slippers and have an army of admirers tripping over themselves to light his cigarettes; all of which makes a strong bucketful of sense, since the chap, as is commonly recognised, is something of a freak of nature.

Nor is Sonny, with his permanent smile and boundless energy, the sort to go around upsetting apple-carts and spitting out dummies. Despite having been rightly showered with plaudits for his various acts of skin-saving over the last month or so, he has simply tried his best to adapt to life as Not Quite The Star Man.

The trouble is, it’s just not quite working at the moment. Kane and Son have resembled a couple of strangers whose paths occasionally and fleetingly cross, but between whom even the most die-hard romantic would struggle to say there were any genuine relationship.

And even this would be excusable if they were separately being nurtured by the rest of the mob, but service to them over the last three games has been poor, whilst opponents have been organised and sat deep. I’m not sure either man has had carved out for them a red-blooded and meaty chance worthy of the name in the last three games.

They sure as heck do not currently resemble a partnership, and nor is there any obvious conduit from midfield towards them. The mind boggles to recollect that just a couple of months ago these two, alongside ERiksen and Dele Alli, were absolutely shredding Everton seemingly at will.

I am certainly not advocating that we simply shunt out Kane, field Llorente and hope that Sonny can be restored to former glories; but sorcery of some type that elevates Kane and Son to the sum of their parts would be pretty dashed handy at this point.

5. Current Form: A Worry

This may prove a controversial opinion amongst the masses, but in the latter stages of the first half I rather fancied we were making a decent enough fist of things. It was hardly exhibition stuff admittedly, but every man in possession at least had an air of urgency, and there was a swiftness to our work.

What a glorious seven or eight minutes it was – Trippier whipped in a couple of crosses; Sonny beavered around the periphery; and in what was possibly the highlight of the past four and a half hours of outfield play, Kane dinked a cute pass into Eriksen. Who promptly missed a sitter.

Prior to that, and indeed throughout most of the second half, there was no discernible improvement in performance levels from the previous couple of mooches.

Now while I’m all for beating around the bush when the situation demands it, this is some pretty darned worrying stuff. Our heroes teeter between toothless and plain uninterested in attack, and have demonstrated themselves to be fairly consistently riddled with mistakes in defence, irrespective of the personnel selected. If ever there were a time for the Brains Trust to earn their weekly envelope, this might well be it

Like what you read? AANP’s own book, Spurs’ Cult Heroes is available on Amazon…

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