Well the prophets of doom can stick that in their pipes and smoke it. Admittedly it was not exactly vintage, one-touch, rapier-like Tottenham, but then that was understandable enough - in defence of our heroes, I think if I had simply to catch a bus for £20 million I might be a little more cautious than normal. Still, while it may have lacked panache in places the performance oozed professionalism, efficiency and good old-fashioned, red-blooded desire from the off. Only one Spurs team in history has competed in Europe’s elite club competition before this season, so our heroes deserve all the accolades heaped upon them, both for last season’s efforts and the thorough negotiation of last night’s potential banana-skin.
There are a handful of phrases by which we live here at AANP Towers. You know the sort, essential pearls of wisdom fashioned by time itself. “Women – can’t live with them, can’t kill them,” and suchlike, but another such bon mot is “By jiminy, thank goodness for that early goal, ought to steady the nerves, what? (Let’s hope we don’t now sit back and invite trouble)”. And lo and behold, when Bale lobbed one in, Crouch stooped, we had ourselves the early goal and all was right with the world. I’ll never know, but I often stroke the whiskers in contemplation of what it would be like to be a good citizen of Tottenham, idly minding his own fare and wandering along the High Road at the exact moment that a goal of such magnitude is scored, and it sounds for all intents and purposes like the sky is collapsing in on itself. The perfect start, at which instant White Hart Lane became so excited it pretty much went ‘bang’ in a puff of smoke.
Life Minus Modders
Back on the green stuff (au naturale, rather than the dastardly tenth-generation macrofibres, or whatever the deuces they used out in the Wankdorf Stadium) we controlled the game in a very careful fashion. To his credit, from first whistle to last Sergeant Wilson bore his fangs like an illegally-bred fighting mutt, and this midfield bite was welcome, our heroes following his lead and pressing the Young Boys (if you pardon the phrase) high up the pitch. However, the deficiency of a midfield bereft of Modders was evident. Hudd’s passing, long and short, is joyous to behold, but neither he nor Palacios are the type to run with the ball from the centre. As a result there was a slight dearth of central creativity, and several symptoms of Crouch-itis in the team, as a number of long-balls were launched up to the gangly one (although he did a topping job of shielding the thing like a new-born babe while it was conveyed from heavens to turf), while the heart always thumps upwards against the mouth around these parts when we play those square balls across that 10-yard space just in front of our back-four. This, however, is somewhat hypercritical, for in truth, in the game of their lives our heroes were barely threatened.
Young Boys for their part adopted some curious tactics – leaving the 6’ 7” striker unmarked at corners, time-wasting when trailing 2-0, etc. I was going to commend their right-back for doing a generally sound job on Bale, in not allowing the handsome young Welshman unrestricted access throughout to the yawning wide expanses of greenery in that particular corner of the Lane – until it dawned on me that His Royal Baleness actually provided the assists for all four goals, and got the right-back sent off. And that on what, for Bale, was a relatively quiet day. For all their attacking prowess last week, Young Boys, even when 3-0 up, looked porous at the back last week, and having excelled themselves on home turf they were no match for us this time. Pot Three awaits.
Negatives
For a start, I lost my delightful, gleaming Tottenham Hotspur flag within about 30 seconds of kick-off, trampled into the dirt several rows in front of me. Of arguably equal importance on such a momentous night, Gomes hobbled off halfway through. Some need to be mown down by an Uzi before signalling for treatment; our loveable net-minder is not of that near-invincible breed. Should a butterfly sneeze in his direction Gomes signals to the bench for Florence Nightingale and 24-hour care, so when he winced and limped his way to the dressing-room at half-time I raised an eyebrow in scepticism. Time shall tell I guess, but back in the day I suspect that Gomes had a leading – and non-lupine - role in his school production of ‘The Boy Who Cried Wolf’.
Also disappointed in the boy Defoe. Bluntly, he cheated. Admittedly he had the good grace to look long, hard and incredulously at each of the numerous officials before celebrating, but I don’t like to see Spurs players deliberately breaking the rules to gain an advantage. Mind you, his curious natterings about “destiny” beforehand now seem to make a bit more sense.
However, irrespective of the officials’ call, his finish was classic Defoe. If he does require surgery, it will do him the world of good to have such a clinical finish under his belt while he twiddles his thumbs and heals.
Elsewhere On The Pitch
After last week Young Boys evidently thought that BAE was the susceptible heel within our mighty Achilles, but the headbanded one brought his A-game and did not allow them a sniff. Dawson also banished the memories of last week with an imperious display, while Hudd purred his way through the game.
Que Sera Sera, Whatever Will Be Will Be
And so to the future. ‘Arry has hinted that he has no intention of dipping into his humungous new transfer kitty, but I have my fingers firmly crossed that this is fabrication of the highest order. Now that our participation is guaranteed we are running a Mission Impossible-esque race against the clock before the transfer window is closed, bolted and has curtains pulled across it for good measure. With Gallas on board I’m not sure a centre-back is still a priority, but a top-notch striker, capable of leading the line in vacuo would be mighty handy.
The draw for the much-vaunted Group Stages also awaits, and for some reason our non-existent Champions League pedigree lands us in the third of four pots. So be it. Some are hoping to avoid the big guns and thereby ease our passage to the next phase, but here at AANP Towers we are fervently beseeching the clueless UEFA suits to hand us the cream of Europe so that we can welcome to the Lane the finest kickers of a pig’s bladder currently roving the planet. Any one or two from Barca, Milan, Inter or Real would be just dandy. Because that is the company we can now keep.
Audere est Facere? Tonight it’s Aut Vincere Aut Mori – kill or be killed. Do or die. Damn well strain every sinew on pitch, while we scream ourselves hoarse in the stands, and keep it going until we’re in the Champions League group stages.
The rabbit-in-headlights approach of the first leg was vaguely understandable, but as every other game we play these days seems to be the biggest in our recent history, there should be no stage-fright this time. No dodgy surface either. Tonight, instead, we’ve got the pristine White Hart Lane carpet, floodlights, the Champions League theme tune and a 36,000-strong choir singing the slow “Oh when the Spurs…”.
For all the time I spent patiently trying to explain the permutations to my female colleagues last week in the aftermath of the first leg, the nub of the matter is that just about any win will do. Admittedly we are the sort of team uniquely capable of winning 4-3 and thereby knocking ourselves out, but broadly speaking victory will suffice. And while the complete disintegration of order, game-plan and sanity in the first 30 minutes last week was a tad difficult to stomach, I’m secretly actually happier knowing that our lot have to go out there and attack, rather than, say, try to protect a one-goal lead for 90 minutes. Remember ye the 5-1 thrashing of l’Arse, when we went into the game facing a 2-1 deficit, psyched ourselves appropriately, scored after 2 minutes and didn’t let up thereafter.
’Arry’s seems to have the right idea. Castigated in some quarters for an over-adventurous mentality in the first leg, there is no point in sitting back this time, so his tag-line tonight is the rather exciting “Swarm all over them”. The absence of Modders does not exactly aid the cause, while my admittedly sparse medical knowledge has me querying the wisdom of sanctioning Defoe’s involvement when he is apparently in need of groin surgery. Nevertheless, we should have plenty at our disposal. Ye gods be praised for the return of Ledley at the back, while we look like scoring every time Bale touches the ball, and Pav demonstrated last week the value at this level of a striker with a touch of class, even on an off-day. Add to that the return from injury of Keane and Giovani, the fact that Lennon makes his CL debut and an already promising start to the season from Hudd, and we have ourselves an impressive cast-list. I fret a little that the absence of Modders may mean that Sergeant Wilson starts, but given the need for goals I suspect ‘Arry will look elsewhere - to Kranjcar perhaps, or maybe even Jenas (if it came to it I think I would prefer an immobile Modric to a fully-fit Jenas, but it’s ‘Arry’s call).
So how are your nerves? I presume I’m in a minority of approximately one, but in all honesty I’ve rarely felt as confident about a Spurs game. We’ve spent the last 12 months playing some fantastic football, particularly at home: do it again tonight and we will be fine. Admittedly the colour will drain from my face if we go into the final 15 with a 2-1 lead, but things really are set up frightfully well for us. Young Boys had a glorious opportunity to put us out of sight last week and blew it; while it is scarcely conceivable that our mob could play as badly. As mentioned above, even the one goal deficit at kick-off ought to work in our favour, in terms of our mentality.
Just the thought of hearing the Champions League theme tune five minutes before kick-off has me in goosebumps. I know it’s almost a legal requirement at this stage to be practically paralytic with nerves, but I can’t wait for this, potentially a real glory glory night at the Lane.
Once upon a time a trip to Stoke with a depleted team would have been the cue for our lot to step back, usher in the opposition and direct them towards a three-point haul with minimal fuss. Now, however, it seems our heroes have steel, and backbone, and other clichéd, macho-sounding adjectives. They have evolved into footballing vertebrates, who stomp around the dressing-room pre kick-off making clenched fists and shouting “Grrr”. There was evidence aplenty of this trait last season, when we turned the away win into something of an art-form, but I had worried over the summer that that would prove an anomaly, for our soft underbelly had been nurtured over several years, and such old habits die hard.
How marvellous then to behold the return yesterday of squad depth and a determination not to roll over and die. Had we lost yesterday, or even conceded a late equaliser, there would have been plenty of fairly valid excuses, not least injuries and the rigours of our midweek European game. Yet despite these we instead dug in, and while we certainly rode our luck at times the win can nevertheless be considered ruddy well-earned. Forget about slick passing triangles, and glorious derby wins at the Lane – come the end of the season in order to push for fourth again we will need a great big sack of points from scrappy away days such as this, when a decimated squad faces an Alamo-style barrage.
4-5-1 and Jermaine Jenas
The backs-to-the-wall finale means that this probably deserves to be filed under the “Winning Ugly” column, but we did also churn out some eye-pleasing stuff in the first half, as exemplified by the build-up to both goals. With Crouch on his own in attack the success of our 4-5-1 depended on Lennon and Bale attacking the area, and Jenas making the occasional lollop forward in support. In the first half in particular this approach met with a degree of success, which leads me to doff my cap in the direction of J. Jenas Esquire, as tends to happen approximately once every sixth months.
With the platform of Hudd and Sergeant Wilson behind him he adopted an unusually proactive approach, eschewing the traditional urge to turn around pass backwards and instead venturing on the odd gallop towards the Stoke goal. Indeed his dash into the area just before half-time was vaguely Lampard-esque (and had he been more clinical it might have brought him a goal). I would still sell him off in the blink of an eye, but with five attacking types out injured, he served his purpose as a squad-player yesterday.
Hits And Misses From Gomes
Not entirely to which genre the performance of Heurelho Gomes belongs. The stretchy Brazilian got himself in a right pickle for the Stoke goal, made a similar mess of things from a second half corner (from which Tuncay really ought to have scored) and generally veered perilously close to becoming that butter-fingered doppelganger who flapped and spilt his way through his first few months in English football. However, aside from the set-piece mishaps he actually saved our bacon more than once, with a cracking tip-over-the-bar from a Tuncay lob, as well as a low reflex save from Fuller. A happy ending means it is all smiles, but a return to the wobbly days of yore would be unwelcome.
Bale’s Volley: Sometimes A Commentator Nails The Moment
And so to the boy Bale. His first may have been a tad unorthodox, but his second deserves to be turned into a big-budget Hollywood production. Multiple viewings have left me drooling at the technique - and actually wincing at quite how high he raises his left leg - but the first-time, real-time viewing of it stunned me for the audacity he showed in even attempting such nonsense. Hark thee back to Alan Partridge’s football commentary, from back in the day (just here, specifically around 0.50), and the rather apt exclamation on seeing one particularly eye-catching goal of: “Shit! Did you see that?” Quite the mot juste for anyone witnessing Bale’s latest. My goodness the boy still needs to work on his celebrations though.
For all the late controversy, broadly speaking it was a pleasingly determined defensive effort, while up the other end we can be grateful to have in our ranks forwards capable of producing the odd moment of match-winning quality. Glad to have ticked “Stoke, away” off the fixture-list. Onwards.
Well first of all, a history lesson: in our first ever European Cup tie, back in 1962, Blanchflower, Mackay et al travelled to Poland to play Gornik, under the auspices of Bill Nick, and promptly found themselves 4-0 down at half-time, before scoring two late goals. Back at the Lane in the return leg we won 8-1… (That and just about everything else in our history can be read about in AANP’s book Spurs’ Cult Heroes, now a tenner on Amazon, ahem).
So that, ladies and gents, is the Champions League, Tottenham style. Despite the fact that players, management, fans, pundits and just about anyone remotely connected with the club had spent the entire summer banging on about the Champions League, our lot looked to be taken completely by surprise by the whole experience. Everywhere we looked players were discovering new and exciting forms of ineptitude. Daws and Bassong spent the first half hour diligently practising their Corluka-running impressions, and by half-time had given some near-perfect examples of that running-through-quicksand look. If there is a physical opposite to Velcro, Pav appeared to have wrapped himself in it in the first half, as the ball flew several yards away from him every time he tried to control it. And so on. Giovani looked lively in the opening stages, but the rest of them ought to have worn sixes and sevens on the back of their shirts. Action in places, but not the merest semblance of plot.
And yet, even despite the sudden presence of Larry, Curly and Moe in the Tottenham defence, the feeling around these parts persisted that we would at some point sneak an away goal or two and have plenty to play for in the second leg. From the outset, although our hosts were merrily waltzing through our back line, there were some fairly straightforward indications their own defence was far from watertight, with Giovani and Defoe spurning a couple of early opportunities. A more seasoned CL outfit may well have slammed the door in our faces and lobbed the key into the Rhine; instead, for all the euphoria of their early blitz Young Boys seemed oblivious to the fact that in European competition a miserly defence at home is paramount.
We May Have Ourselves A Scapegoat…
Presumably much will be made of the plastic pitch, but from the comfort of the AANP armchair it is difficult to know quite how great an impact that had. It may have had a psychological effect, or it may have meant that any pass over 20 yards fizzed off the surface and away, but whatever the reason, the introduction of Hudd, and the short passing he brought with him, certainly seemed to aid our recovery. Passes under 10 yards looked like they were easier to control, and for a period either side of half-time the players appeared to warm to the task.
By and large however, they made it look like they were running across a minefield rather than an artificial pitch. Ought not these chaps, whose entire lives have been geared towards mastering the dark arts of a size 5 football, have been capable of adjusting to Astroturf pronto? Perhaps, but AANP is reluctant to chastise our lot on this account until I’ve walked a mile in their astro boots. Moreover, injuries sustained by Defoe and Modders suggests that beneath those artificial fibres lurked some malevolent daemon of terra firma. No doubt our heroes will be a darned sight happier on the green, green grass of home.
A Word On Our Glorious Leader
It was as big a night for ‘Arry as the rest of us, and even prior to kick-off he made a few eye-catching calls. Having confidently predicted a near-unchanged line-up from the weekend AANP’s knowledge of the beautiful game was exposed for the sham that it is, as our glorious leader omitted Hudd and Aaron Lennon, presumably for surface-related reasons. There’s nothing like an early three goal deficit to test a manager’s mettle, and after his head briefly threatened to roll right off his neck with all that twitching he made the proactive decision to replace BAE with Hudd, a smart move, and all the more so as it was done in the first half, rather than waiting for half-time.
We’ll Be Fine
An inauspicious start then, but better things should await in the second leg. No doubt we rode our luck yesterday, as Young Boys could have hit five or six but for some schoolboy (sorry, couldn’t resist) finishing. Nevertheless with Ledley quite possibly to be restored to offer some almost motherly reassurance and organisation at the back, plus Aaron Lennon waiting in the wings, and Gareth Bale yet to make an impact on the tie, I sense that our opponents have blown a good opportunity to give themselves a much more imposing lead.
So, unusually, panic is nowhere to be seen at AANP Towers. If we hit a level remotely near the standards of last season I back us to cruise through, particularly at a throbbing, floodlit White Hart Lane. It may of course all go pear-shaped again (recall ye our UEFA Quarter Final home leg to Sevilla, a few years back, when after an encouraging 2-1 away leg defeat we cunningly conceded twice in the first ten minutes at the Lane to set ourselves a Herculean task), but I personally draw inspiration from the class of ’62, and their christening of Tottenham’s European adventures with the concession of four first-half goals, before proceeding to a 10-5 aggregate victory. Gifting the opposition an early lead, and generally doing everything in our powers to complicate the uncomplicated is a peculiarly Tottenham trait, as proudly displayed today as five decades ago. One-nil may suffice next week, but I suspect that our lot will find a vastly more complicated means of progressing.
Ah, Champions League Tuesday. I could get used to this…
Admittedly it’s only the qualifier, but this is still Europe’s premier club competition. That music still blares out at the start, and the nifty, starry football logo is still sewn into the shirt sleeves. After all these years of hurt it feels like Moses finally making it to the promised land (if the Israel of biblical times were full of the best footballers in the world, and plastered with obscenely-priced advertising hoardings, and admittedly if Moses hadn’t died just beforehand).
Sunny Optimism
A principal concern since the glorious night in Manchester a few months back was that our heroes would succumb to complete amnesia over the summer break and re-emerge this season a bunch of malcoordinated halfwits, a million miles removed from the slick troupe who despatched l’Arse, Chelski and City to make the top four. Mercifully, such fears were generally assuaged on Saturday, as we picked up where we left off last season, and feeling suitably sprightly as a result, the official party line here at AANP Towers ahead of kick-off tonight is “Quietly Confident”. Our opponents will be tough little nuts to crack, but given our ability to mix it with the Premiership’s best, coupled with the fact that Young Boys presumably won’t adopt that dastardly ten-men-behind-the-ball approach that tripped us up a couple of times last season, over two legs we ought to edge it.
Team News
No Ledley, given that the delightfully-named Wankdorf Stadium boasts a plastic pitch, while fans of sanity and a universe free of physics-defying preposterousness will be pleased to know that injury denies Jermaine Jenas the chance to become a Champions League player tonight. ‘Arry may decide to tinker with the strike-force, but by and large we all ought to be able to name the team that trots out tonight. There may be a temptation to adopt a more defensive approach, dropping one of the front-men for Palacios, but our lack of a striker capable of leading the line on his own has been well-documented, and frankly 4-5-1 just isn’t ‘Arry’s style.
We ought to be quite capable, on paper and indeed on grass (or synthetic fibres, or whatever it is tonight), but with Daws’ shaky England debut last week still fresh in the memory, it seems conceivable that nerves may play a part tonight. Of our current mob Gomes and Crouch have CL experience, most of them toddled off on various UEFA Cup trips in lilywhite a few years back and just about every one of them has played internationally – but this is a different kettle of fish. Still, even if things go a little awry tonight, over two legs we ought to prevail.
Sod The Scoreline – Enjoy The Moment
While every man and his dog are aware of the importance of begging, stealing or borrowing our way into the lucrative™ group stages, I reckon I could happily die tonight just as soon as I see our lot march out to that Champions League theme tune. Given that we’re not going to win the entire competition (although after reflection last night I reckon we have a better chance of winning the Champs League than the Prem), tonight I plan just to relish the moment. Years and years of false dawns, kamikaze defending, managerial changes and incessant baiting from gooners have all been leading up to this moment. Where Blanchflower, Mackay and Greaves first went, back in the ‘60s, now it’s the turn of Dawson, Bale and Defoe. Absolutely ruddy marvellous.
Off and running anew then, but in various senses it was if the old season had never finished. The personnel all looked pretty familiar for a start, the sumptuous brand of football rolled out brought back sepia-tinged memories of the finer moments of season 2009/10 - and alas the profligacy of old also made an unwelcome return.
AANP’s wish-list for the new season may have been hastily scribbled at the eleventh hour on the back of an envelope, but (unnervingly) at least one point has already proved frsutratingly prescient:
Be More Clinical In The Crunch Games
For all the 5-1s and 9-1s last season there were a few unnecessarily jumpy finales, against the likes of l’Arse and Chelski, which could really have been avoided if a number of clear-cut chances had been converted. I vaguely remembering tearing out great big clumps of my hair as Pav and Gudjohnsen missed gilt-edged chances to wrap things up in the dying stages of those games. Well aware though I am that watching Spurs will one day be the death of me, it would make a pleasant change to see us ease through the final ten minutes of such games in comfy, serene fashion.
(AANP, Friday night)
While the blank we drew yesterday was due more to the heroics of the opposition goalkeeper than to egregiously bad finishing from our heroes, the point remains that one avenue for improvement is in increasing our ratio of gilt-edged chances created to goals scored.
A Thousand Curses Upon Inspired Opposition Goalkeepers
Tempting to search for a scapegoat, particularly after such a one-sided first half, but in truth just about all eleven of them – plus the three subs – turned in above-par performances. In such circumstances the default option here at AANP Towers is always to blame Jermaine Jenas, but, levity aside, it would be rather harsh to attribute point the finger at any of our lot. ‘Twas just one of those days. With a sprinkle of good fortune we would now be mixing it with Blackpool atop the table; alas, within the four walls of AANP Towers it is a truth universally acknowledged that if there is any luck going in North London, it goes the way of l’Arse (last-minute own-goal equaliser, the swines).
Last season, there were a number of games in which we created umpteen chances. Sometimes it seemed that just about all of them flew in (Wigan springing obviously to mind); on other occasions we came up against a goalkeeper turning in the performance of his career (Hull City, and that darned Boaz Myhill – whose obscurity since has been reflected by a headline-avoiding low-fee transfer this summer). Yesterday fell into the latter category, but we are consoling ourselves around these parts that more often than not our heroes will be rewarded for such performances with three points and shiny gold stars.
Consistency? At Tottenham Hotspur FC? Madness.
The first talking-points of the season were settled in rather straightforward manner prior to kick-off, as ‘Arry simply recycled his teamsheet from last season. Defoe started alongside he of the gangly frame, but with the potentially gruelling fixture-list ahead Messrs Keane and Pav ought to receive plenty of game time in the coming weeks. Other noteworthy selections were the omission of Sergeant Wilson, use of Bale on left midfield rather than left-back, and appearance of Giovani on the subs’ bench – each of which seemed sensible enough.
The lack of transfer activity has caused a degree of disquiet in some quarters – including these, I must confess – but the benefits of a summer bereft of transfer activity could be witnessed from the off yesterday. While the City team assembled at a cost of approximately several million billion trillion pounds looked every inch a bunch of strangers newly-introduced, as they struggled to get a touch of the ball for the first 45 minutes, our lot gave an interesting tutorial in the benefits of consistency (not an adjective bandied around these parts too often in recent years).
The starting XI bore just the one change (Charlie for Kaboul) from the team that beat City at Eastlands last May, and as Bale and Lennon set about harassing the City full-backs (if that was Micah Richards’ audition for a White Hart Lane move I’d rather we politely discontinue our interest) it really was as if last season had not ended. None of that business of new management needing to dish out name badges, or a whole platoon of new faces needing to gel – our current lot should know each other’s deepest darkest secrets by now, and they set about their business on the green stuff looking accordingly square pegs in appropriately-shaped holes.
Other Points of Notes
As BAE’s volley dipped and swerved AANP idly wondered whether an audacious brush with the spectacular is going to be an annual first-day-of-the-season offering from the lad. Further up the field, he may not have been a big-money transfer as such, but the introduction of Giovani from the bench was a reminder that recalled loanees are vaguely akin to new signings, and the sprightly Mexican is one who would have commanded a sizeable fee. May he live long and prosper at the Lane.
An honourable mention too to HRH the King. Given the urban legends about his ricekty knees it is always reassuring to see some small child stumbling out of the White Hart Lane tunnel hand-in-hand with Ledley, just prior to kick-off. Having managed three games in a week at the end of last season it is not inconceivable that he might yet be good to go again on Tuesday in the Champions League (I trust it feels as good to read those last few words as it did to write them…).
So two points dropped they may be, but after careful inspection of the liquid content, refraction of light and meniscus level, AANP ventures that the glass is half full. To spend 45 minutes fairly uninterruptedly slicing open one of our principal rivals for whatever it is at which we’re aiming this season (fourth? sixth? a trophy?) constitutes a decent start, and bodes fairly well. Even though standards were noticeably lower in the second half, we arguably created more - and better – chances. Darned frustrating stuff, but a decent start nonetheless.
Cripes, it’s upon us. No longer a blurry speck in the distance, the new campaign approacheth sharpish – and as such a wish-list for season 2010/11 is, if nothing else, rather timely…
1. Finish Fourth
Why the devil not? Admittedly nothing seems to have changed and nobody has been bought, but finishing fourth is scientifically proven to be awesome, so let’s aim for it again. Cynicism aside, having done the deed last season we presumably now need to aim at consistently hitting that level. As a one-off this our fourth-placed finish would make for an exciting old European tour, but I think the point is that we must now have a ruddy good stab at cementing our place at the top table. A heavier fixture-list, the spending of Man City and rumoured outbreak of sanity at Anfield will all make the task that much harder, but our heroes simply have to suck it up and aim for the fourth (or higher) again.
2. Gareth Bale to Keep Eating His Greens
Or swigging his isotonic drink, or running up the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art to “Eye of the Tiger” every morning, or doing whatever the devil it was he started doing from around last Christmas onwards. Having stormed through the latter half of the season like He-Man on speed the fingers are firmly crossed around these parts that that was not just some short-lived quirk of nature, but that Bale is now in fact well en route to becoming a bona fide, week-in week-out white Pele. The pre-season signs have been encouraging, but time shall tell. If he could avoid injury too, that would be marvellous.
3. Some Top-Class Signings
I had rather dreamily imagined that finishing in the Top Four would allow us to spend squillions of pounds on a handful of the best players around. (Specifically, “Cracking centre-back” and “Brick outhouse of a centre-forward, capable of leading the line on his own on those glorious European away-days” are amongst the items scribbled on the AANP shopping list.) Instead, Joe Cole ambled off up north, Luis Fabiano appears to be thumbing his nose at us, and we’ve been linked with Scott Parker, Ashley Young and even William ruddy Gallas. Which has me rather panic-strickenly wondering whether last season was but a dream, and we are in fact limbering up for a Europa League campaign. No doubt Levy and his cohorts are working all around the clock on this front, and we may well need confirmed CL group stage qualification in order to lure the top-notch types, but whatever the reason I still rather feel like throwing a tantrum. This empty summer is not what finishing fourth was meant to entail.
4. Bring In An Older Head
I was moved to stand and applaud when Eidur Gudjohnsen was signed in January, not only because of my borderline-unhealthy obsession of the Sheringham role in any given football team anywhere, but also because an older, experienced head seemed like a jolly good idea as we approached a season’s conclusion in which retaining-possession-in-the-dying-stages and general nerve-holding became increasingly important. Ours is not the most boisterous gaggle of young men, and an older head like Gudjohnsen, or indeed Davids and Naybet before him, could potentially prove a handy investment, imparting the odd morsel of wisdom on the training-pitch and in the changing-room, and adding a touch of nous on the pitch. (nb No idea what has happened on the Gudjohnsen front, but I presume, alas, that he won’t be returning to the Lane).
5. Rediscover Sergeant Wilson’s Sparkle
And by “sparkle” I don’t mean fairy-dust, I mean lust for blood. Amidst the back-slaps and jolliness of last season, one issue had the brow furrowed on nigh-on a weekly basis, for W. Palacios Esquire was most definitely not the same player as that leash-straining pitbull who arrived in early 2009. In fact by the end of the campaign his fabled on-pitch aggression was primarily resulting in the concession of clumsy penalties and he seemed incapable of successfully directing a 10-yard pass. His decline was entirely understandable, given the horrific personal circumstances of mid-2009, but he is a lesser player nonetheless. My barber’s suggestion that we cash in on him now seems a tad premature – with four competitions this season, and a possible 4-2-3-1 formation on the cards, I suspect he will be much needed – but it would be a timely fillip if the Palacios of old were to take to the field in season 2010/11 and dine on raw legs again each Saturday afternoon.
6. Continued Improvement From Daws (And Hudd)
This time last year Daws and Hudd were under the microscope somewhat. Well admittedly the Hudd’s physique does not really require a microscope for observation, but you get the point. Both players were at something of a crossroads, career-wise, either about to step up a level or fade out of the picture, Anthony Gardner-style, to a career of pleasant mediocrity elsewhere. Hudd was trusted with a starting berth, Daws did not even have that much, but both came on in leaps and bounds last season, advancing from squad players to first-team regulars and joining that orderly queue outside Mr Capello’s door. However, both have room for improvement, and as such they can perhaps strive to hit the next level (which would presumably be to establish themselves within the England set-up). Dawson’s highly wobbly 45 minutes for England this week indicates that this will be no cakewalk, but if they continue to improve at the current rate they will be cracking little nuggets by May-2011.
7. Be More Clinical In The Crunch Games
For all the 5-1s and 9-1s last season there were a few unnecessarily jumpy finales, against the likes of l’Arse and Chelski, which could really have been avoided if a number of clear-cut chances had been converted. I vaguely remembering tearing out great big clumps of my hair as Pav and Gudjohnsen missed gilt-edged chances to wrap things up in the dying stages of those games. Well aware though I am that watching Spurs will one day be the death of me, it would make a pleasant change to see us ease through the final ten minutes of such games in comfy, serene fashion.
8. More 5-1s and 9-1s
Thrashing teams is great. Let’s do it more often.
9. Nurture At Least One Of The Kids
I may as well copy and paste from last year’s wish-list – and do the same again next season, and the following season, etc – but the point remains. Names like Walker, Naughton, Rose, Livermore and Obika are becoming increasingly familiar, and it would warm the cockles to see one of these home-grown types nail down a place for himself. (And if they do go out on loan again, they could do worse than follow the lead of the boy Bostock last week, whose goal for Hull was top-notch.)
10. Hit The Ground Running
After all the blood, sweat, tears and ultimately thigh-slapping euphoria of last season, defeats to Man City and/or - more importantly - Young Boys would be the definitive slap in the face with a wet fish. No time for bedding in – our heroes will need to have their fingers on the buzzer right from the off come Saturday lunchtime, while elimination from the Champions League within 10 days of the new season will make this particular grown man weep. It may be a marathon rather than a sprint, but we need a fast start.
First up it’s the paupers of Man City. Strictly speaking it is only three points, but hark back to 16 August 2009, and victory over Liverpool was the perfect start to the season, immediately sprinkling around liberal quantities of belief that we were capable of challenging the Top Four, as well as injecting a most pleasant sense of bonhomie around N17, upon which we toddled off and sat atop the table for a few weeks. Something similar tomorrow against another key rival would be tickety-boo.
I half expect that if City’s owners find out that I write a football blog they’ll make a bid for me too, as their spending spree is verging on the ludicrous, but to be honest if some billionaire foreign sort offered to swan into White Hart Lane and invest several hundred million on new players I’m not sure too many South Stand punters would object. However, for all City’s spending they can only stick 11 on the pitch at any given time, and mano e mano our heroes are certainly capable of three points. Here we go again then…
It’s hardly been the most frenetic week in recent memory, but as the hour-glass gently edges us towards 2010/11, the look-outs atop the parapet of AANP Towers have assembled in the boardroom to deliver their findings on the week’s happenings.
Young Boys (Snigger)
It’s the draw that had a nation of headline-writers treading mighty carefully. Whatever fates befall us over the course of the next nine months, we can weigh it up against the good fortune meted out on 6 August 2010, when the Champions League gods decreed in their wisdom that our path to the group stage depended upon conquering these relative minnows of Switzerland. The White Hart Lane dignitaries duly trotted out the usual platitudes (you know the sort of gubbins - “Any team at this level will be difficult” et cetera), while various straight-faced Spurs officials have also been at pains to point out that they beat Fenerbahce in the last round, so let that be a lesson to the lot of us.
The veracity of such points cannot be doubted, but the fact remains that this could have been a jolly sight more difficult. It is a glorious chance, and having beaten Chelski, l’Arse, Liverpool and Man City (home and away) last season, we ought to be capable of steering past this lot over two legs.
Fare Thee Well Adel Taraabt
It ought to have been a rather dreamy combination. We White Hart Lane folk are typically most enthusiastic in adopting crowd-pleasing types, but ultimately Taraabt never quite reached the heights at which he hinted. Blessed with some barnstorming dribbling ability though he may have been, on his rare appearances in lilywhite he looked more like the kid in the playground who obstinately kept his head down and attempted single-handedly to weave past the entire opposition every time he received the ball.
One or two may wistfully wonder what might have been, particularly if, say, injuries elsewhere had allowed him a run in the starting line-up à la Pav last season, but we at AANP Towers wish him well with a fairly ambivalent wave. I somehow suspect that in a couple of years time he’ll pop up in the Champions League for someone or other; however, for the time-being it’s the slightly less glamorous headlines generated by a £1 million move to QPR.
Giovani
No further goings, or, slightly more alarmingly, comings at White Hart Lane this week, but one returning loanee has been pointedly dropping hints that he may be the equivalent of a shiny, big-money foreign signing. After scuttling around impressively during the World Cup, Giovani has transferred that form to his pre-season appearances in lilywhite, which ought to appease all those (including yours truly) sulking at our failure to lure Joe Cole and his box of tricks. The lad’s flicked pass to set up Gareth Bale’s goal against Benfica this week was the highlight of our pre-season, while I do declare he could also be observed to be chasing back to pressurise opponents when not in possession. Golly. AANP is very firmly of the view that the depth of this Spurs squad is fine, and that the only additions we need are a couple of international quality types to push us up a notch – a template Giovani could potentially fit quite neatly.
Eusebio Cup Champions 2010, Apparently
Victory over Benfica on their own patch was decent enough, albeit with the rather overwhelming caveat that results in these pre-season jamborees ought to be largely ignored. Benifca are Portuguese champions no less, so that’s not a bad spine to rip out and swing around with a roar, in a triumphal Predator-esque manner. Jumping on a plane for a little continental sunshine will serve our heroes in good stead ahead of the Champions League rigours, and possibly gave a hint at how we will approach European away-days, with Giovani roving off Crouch in a 4-5-1 formation.
‘Twas with a mixture of pleasure and relief that AANP noted young Gareth Bale galloping down the left in precisely the manner with which he ended season 2009-10; while on t’other flank Aaron Lennon was similarly lively. The brow occasionally furrowed at the ease with which Benfica every now and then scythed through our central areas, but we emerged victorious, and picked up a peculiarly shaped ornament at the end of it all, as is our pre-season wont. With Ledley putting in a 45-minute shift slightly closer to home, this week can probably be filed under the heading “Satisfactory”.
Something for your withdrawal symptoms if, like yours truly, you have such a Tottenham-shaped hole in your life that you now spend the first half hour of your working day actually working, rather than trawling the interweb for morsels of Spurs news. Before season 2009/10 becomes but a sepia-tinged memory sending good vibrations through your very core, it is only right and proper that the second AANP End of Season Awards are dished out.
Admittedly it’s a bit late (we at AANP Towers can be lazy so-and-so’s) and there is no arguing with the fact that vastly more rational appraisals of the season’s ins and outs can be found down the road at Dear Mr Levy, at Jimmy G2’s abode and at the ever-entertaining Who Framed Ruel Fox? - but please do now pour yourself a good bourbon, stick some Julie London on the gramophone and ask a kindly neighbour to perform a suitably dramatic drumroll…
The Storm From X-Men Award For The Most Pointless Superpower in Christendom
That Halle Berry lass is quite the looker, make no mistake, but the character she plays in the X-Men trilogy is pointless in extremis, boasting the highly dubious capacity to send a gentle breeze rustling the leaves whenever her eyes go white. There are a couple at the Lane who have similarly useless calling cards – note Robbie Keane’s inimitable ability to point and flap and shout every time he loses possession, while scuttling around in circles of ever-diminishing diameter. The Hudd is also a contender in this category, possessing the most ferocious shot known to man, but all too often using it to decapitate punters in the upper reaches of the North/South Lower. However, the master of pointlessness in season 2009-10 has been Heurelho Gomes, for his occasional tendency to overarm-hurl the ball beyond the halfway line. Which is nothing that could not be achieved simply by picking it up and kicking it.
The Play-Off-Chap-Who-Chipped-It Award For Most Mental Penalty Of The Season
There’s an unhealthy obsession with that 12-yard spot over at the Lane, right from the opening day of the campaign when we conceded to Liverpool. In the latter stages of the season Sergeant Wilson confusingly made it his mission in every single game to go bundling over someone in the area, while BAE and Daws were amongst numerous others who saw fit to go hurtling in at opposition legs when all manner of wiser options were available.
On top of all that, ill-fortune also befalls our lot when penalties are awarded our way. Defoe has had several saved, and the Hudd broke the habit of a lifetime when opting to place his shot rather than leather it, in his penalty against Bolton. However, amidst the blitz of spot-kicks this season, the one stands out is Robbie Keane’s against Everton – an effort initially saved by Tim Howard, prompting a melee more akin to playground football, as Messrs Bale and Bentley went charging in for the rebounds, and Howard produced about six separate parries before Keane eventually slammed the ruddy thing in. Truly, ‘twas all-action-no-plot, in penalty form.
The David Bentley Award For The Best Speculative Punt Against l’Arse
Always worth closing your eyes and putting your foot through the ball when playing against l’Arse, and this season the gods of the better half of North London smiled upon one Danny Rose. He may have to go some to make the grade, but with one inspired swing of his left leg the chunky whippersnapper guaranteed himself immortality at the Lane.
The Bacary Sagna’s Hair Award For Fashion Faux Pas of The Season
Frankly they have been a bit thin on the ground this year. Gareth Bale’s hair-clip is long gone; Defoe has stopped messing around and settled upon a nice, smart short-back-and-sides; even the tattoo brigade have decided against emblazoning the name of their latest WAG across their foreheads and stuck with poetry on the forearm. Therefore, this season’s ignominy falls upon the good folk of Puma, for putting together quite possibly the worst home shirt in our history. It really ought not to be possible to make a mess of a plain white top, but that particular ignominy was duly achieved by the gift of random yellow streaks. I remarked before the season began, when there was nothing better to discuss, that I would not mind what we wore if we qualified for the Champions League; but having achieved that goal I actually change my mind – it would have been much nicer to have finished fourth in the ’91 Umbro kit, or even 2008-09’s straightforward white-with-blue-trim shirt. Good to see that Puma has duly made amends with a lovely shiny retro effort for next season.
The Clegg-Cameron Award For Unlikely Partnership Of The Season
For the first half of the season it appeared that Messrs Corluka and Lennon would retain their crown – two chaps who one imagines barely speak to each other on non-matchdays, but who combine to glorious effect once ambling around on the turf. However, once injury struck we had to look elsewhere for our resident odd-couple, and suspension for Sergeant Wilson duly created the opportunity, as Modders and Hudd were flung together. With each of them having demonstrated a certain reluctance throughout their careers to whisper “boo” at passing geese, one wondered quite how they would fare in the tough-tackling world of Premiership central midfield battles, but despite being outnumbered against both l’Arse and Chelski they held their own quite comfortably, creating a platform for all manner of wonderfulness on the flanks and up top. Chalk and cheese in human form they may be, but one hell of an on-field combo.
The Saving Private Ryan Award For The Most Mental, 30 Minute, All-Action-No-Plot Sequence Of The Season
While there was an astonishing all-action 30 seconds or so late on in the season, at home to Pompey (when Thudd almost snapped the woodwork in two, Crouch volleyed the rebound against the very same spot, and then tried an overhead kick from the resulting corner), the most astonishing half hour of this – and quite possibly any – season, was in the second half at home to Wigan. Jermain Defoe donned his Midas suit, and Niko Kranjcar responded to our last-minute please for “One more, we only want one more”, as a little bit of history unfolded at the Lane.
The Et Tu Brute? Award For Attacking Your Own Team-Mate
When Benoit Assou-Ekotto tried smiling, after scoring on the opening day of the season, the sight was so disturbing that small children began bawling and a watching Medusa turned to stone. The man is not one of life’s certified friendly folk, so there was a vague inevitability about the fact that he ended up turning on one of his own team-mates. Vedram Corluka was the unfortunate victim, a push and shove ensuing during the match against Stoke accompanied by language so fruity that those bastions of virtue at the BBC took the honourable step of censoring/pixellating BAE’s mouth when they showed highlights of the incident on that night’s Match of the Day. No harm was done that afternoon, but I fancy that Corluka will one day look in the mirror and see BAE standing behind him with some stabbing implement in hand and expressionless stare on his visage. Creepy.
The “Sod It – Who Else Wants A Go?” Award For Most Popular Position Of The Season
If you’re a male, aged 17-32 and in possession of the requisite number of limbs plus a pair of football boots, the chances are that ‘Arry cast an eye over you at some point this season to help out at right-back. Despite having collected them like stamps just a couple of years ago, we seem to have been desperately short this time around once Corluka hobbled off the scene, resulting in BAE, Kyle Walker, Sergeant Wilson and finally Younes Kaboul each filling in at various stages of the season. If Messrs Hutton and Naughton are recalled from loan we could seriously consider fielding an entire outfield team of right-backs.
The Geoff Hurst Award For Hat-Trick of the Season
This may annoy Jermain Defoe, after hat-tricks against Wigan, Hull and Leeds, but Heurehlo Gomes’ three saves in quick succession against l’Arse not only won us the game and gave a timely adrenaline shot towards Champions League qualification, they also created a whole new branch of science, the traditional understanding of space-time dynamics having been rendered obsolete by the chap’s quite astonishing performance.
The Teddy Sheringham Award For Moving Exceptionally Slowly For A Professional Athlete
The arrival of Eidur Gudjohnsen on loan in January made for interesting comparisons with Sheringham, not just in terms of his pace (or lack thereof) but also his general touch and positional sense on the pitch. However, when it comes to the art of ambling, Vedran Corluka remains peerless. Which is fine, because he’s got Aaron Lennon ahead of him to do all the running we need.
The Klinsmann-Dive Award For Celebration Of The Season
The bar was set pretty low here, with BAE simply not knowing what to do after he thumped in his opening day scorcher against Liverpool by running off. Further woeful celebrations were to follow, with Gareth Bale doing a really weird twisty-hand thing after scoring against l’Arse, and then treating us to a nice big heart against Chelski. Fortunately, David Bentley made up for the general lack of invention, by pouring a bucket of ice over his manager and then prancing around in his underwear on live TV, after the Man City game.
AANP’s first book, Spurs’ Cult Heroes, is now available in the Spurs shop, all good bookshops and online (at Tottenhamhotspur.com, as well as WHSmith, Amazon , Tesco, Waterstones and Play).
You can become a Facebook fan of Spurs’ Cult Heroes and AANP here, follow on Twitter here
Maybe it’s just as well. For all the joy and excitement, it was actually a bit disorientating to see us churn out displays of such professionalism and efficiency week in and week out. Just as in the final episode of an American soap opera, when popular former characters are wheeled back in for nostalgic cameo appearances, so in tear-jerking style Spurs made sure that in the season finale we were given a final glimpse of former weekly regulars, the Soft Underbelly and Barely Fathomable Implosion. Thus, as would happen with regularity bordering on inevitability in the not-too-distant past, we were once again treated to our heroes managing to throw away a game of which they had appeared in complete control. Two up against a relegated side? Not a problem for the Spurs teams of yore, and for old time’s sake, here it was again, in all it’s former glory.
Old Folk: Wise
The old-timer next to me in the pub may have had the right idea when he suggested at half-time that, on finding out that l’Arse were 3-0 up - and third place therefore gone - the Spurs players would ease up in the second half. It would certainly explain why our lot simply melted away in the latter stages. The wizened gentleman’s analysis was also a darned sight more accurate than the AANP retort, that we would push on for the 10-goal win we needed that would improve our goal difference in the event of an Arsenal draw. Ahem.
If It Hadn’t Been For The Four Goals We Conceded…
Still, until that pack-of-cards-in-a-tempest routine, there were some bright and beautiful moments. Rather than use the final weeks of the season to parade a new home shirt, the powers-that-be at the Lane thoughtfully decided to ditch that idea and give instead a sneak preview of possibly the most destructive force to be unleashed on a 50 by 130 yard patch of grass. It’s got four legs, red cheeks and a shaved eyebrow; and it’s called Lennon and Bale. The sheer prospect of both of them zipping along the wings ought to have full-backs across the country weeping all summer long. Young Lennon seems to have eased his way back into pre-injury form, and while the achingly handsome young Welshman actually looks like he could do with a rest now, I shall spend the summer impatiently stomping around the corridors of AANP Towers waiting for the new season to begin and wing-related bedlam to ensue.
Around these parts we’re thoroughly chuffed for young Modders. As I watched his goal get better with every repeat viewing, I could not help thinking that he probably does that sort of thing every day in training. If there is a criticism of him it is that he does not score often enough, but by golly they are always well worth the wait.
Thoroughly perplexing to see Ledley in action and fully mobile yet again. Perhaps with the names Carragher and Sol Campbell now bizarrely being bandied around for the World Cup squad, Ledley thought it best to ease everyone’s nerves by demonstrating that he can in fact play three times in one week, and that there is therefore no need for Don Fabio to go mental and start scouting the 2002 squad list for options.
2009/10: Better Than We Had Dared Hope
It was a shame to see things end with a whimper, but if ever there was a good time to concede four goals, this was it. Today’s particular episode can quite easily be swept aside, leaving us all to bask in the reflected afterglow of a season-long job well done. Further AANP analysis on 2009-10 will follow imminently, but for now I wish you well, and hark back to August 2009, when the following musing was woven into the tapestry here at AANP Towers:
”Top six, or a trophy. Or both. The bookies make us sixth favourites for the title, and sixth spot is an aim that straddles the divide between “ambitious” and “realistic”. In more private confines we may peer hopefully towards fourth spot, particularly given the sales made by Wenger this summer, but there will be tough competition for that…”
Many, many sincere thanks to all have this season supported AANP in the writing and publication of Spurs’ Cult Heroes. This modest tome is now available in the Spurs shop, and online (at Tottenhamhotspur.com, as well as WHSmith, Amazon , Tesco, Waterstones and Play).
You can become a Facebook fan of Spurs’ Cult Heroes and AANP here, follow on Twitter here
