Well how on earth did that happen? Ten minutes after the Champs League final had ended I found myself ranting to my Dad about Jermaine Jenas. As is becoming an increasingly essential modus operandi here at AANP Towers I shall take a leaf out of Craig David’s book, and rewind a tad. Bo indeed.As expected, Barca had everyone purring. The Iniest-Xavi love-in is becoming a tad sickly, but I’ll give them a couple of hundred words (which, after winning the league, cup and Champions League, will no doubt put the icing on their cakes). These chaps seem quite happy to keep possession for the sake of keeping possession. Rather a contrast to the English style, whereby gaining-possession immediately equates to going-on-the-attack. And, lest we forget, ‘tis this English style which makes the Premiership so ruddy entertaining. I mean that in all seriousness. It’s flawed for sure, but I love the gung-ho English mentality. Just look at the title of this blog.
Having a lead with which to play, the Barca style had Man Utd chasing shadows. Few players in the world are capable of simply playing keep-ball the way their midfield does. I guess it’s immaculate touch, married to wondrous balance. The ball seemed to be glued to their feet at times - and this meant that even when in trouble, even when no pass was available, they could simply turn and shimmy out of trouble until a pass was available. I presume Iniesta and Xavi have vision to die for as well, but it does not particularly matter, because they both have such good close control that they can afford to take the time to look up and find someone, without losing possession.
Why, I moaned, can’t we do this at Spurs? And this, my friends, is how I ended up ranting at Jenas. He does not have the touch of a Barca midfielder. Consequently, he needs several touches to get the thing under control, and when he gets his head up he spends so long looking for someone that he gets robbed of the ball. The most sensible option for him, therefore, is to pass five yards, backwards or sideways.
However, even I can admit that this is stretching things to a ludicrous extent. To chastise Jenas for not being as good as Iniesta/Xavi/Messi is ridiculous. It would be tantamount to criticising All Action No Plot for not being some sort of flawless amalgam of Wodehouse, Austen, Chandler and Hunter Davies, or knocking Terminator 2 for its lack of realism and absence of romantic sub-plots.
I’m not even sure I would want Spurs to play the Barca way, if it means performances like those in the Champs League semi-finals of both this year and last year, when their intransigent refusal to shoot had me tearing my hair out. (That said, they got the balance right in the Final - the first goal saw them eschew any semblance of faffing, and sweetly get inside the area in the blink of an eye; moments later Messi even had a shot from outside the area; and rubbing my eyes and blinking in disbelief, I saw the third goal created by an early cross from outside the area).
So Jenas is off the hook this time. Instead, I look forward to the season after next, when we get the opportunity of a keep-ball master-class from Barca, in the Champions League.
Ah The Champions League. That inescapable anthem. The meaningless group games. The same teams each year - some of whom actually are indeed national champions. And money, everywhere. Advertising money. TV money. Salaries. Transfer fees.The All-Action Way
With this thick layer of cynicism building up around the Champions League I find it genuinely refreshing to look forward to tonight’s game. Two teams who generally play the right way. The all-action way, full of movement, interchanging and technique that has grown men drooling.
It’s all action for sure, but, at least in Man Utd’s case, there is a darned good idea of plot too, in the form of Rio and the Serbian psycho, protected by the beaverish midfield three. The excellent Radio 5 Live preview last night made an interesting point, namely that in the absence of their suspended, ridiculously over-attacking full-backs – Abidal and Alves – Barca will be forced to field a couple of understudies at right and left-back, and therefore might be more cautious, and consequently a darned sight tighter at the back than they usually are. Interesting point.
Other sub-plots of note: Van der Saar has gone all Obi Wan Kenobi – an old man, whose powers are waning. His flaps and fumbles are increasing in frequency. I’m not convinced that Giggs is an adequate understudy to Fletcher in the role of midfield hustler-and-harrier. Barca’s insistence on passing to death outside the area rather than have a pop from distance (an affliction which curiously hampered Spurs in the spring months) has generally proved detrimental to their cause against English opposition. Pretty to watch though.
Early Goal, Please
Naturally, there is the worry that after all the anticipation, this game degenerates into a dour, disappointing affair. However, an early goal ought to do the trick, and really open up the game. Although last year’s final was watched through an increasingly hazy cloud of alcohol, I do recall it being a generally entertaining affair – thanks, in no small part, to the early-ish opening goal. A pleasant contrast to the FA Cup Final between the same two teams the previous year.
Rooting For Man Utd. Sort Of.
I won’t particularly mind who wins, as it doesn’t concern Spurs, but I suppose I’ll be edging towards Man Utd. As with many of the greatest arguments of mankind, my reasons are threefold:
1) The patriot in me always likes to see English teams win European trophies. (Unless it’s l’Arse. Or Chelski).
2) Rooney. The man’s a genius, and I’d love to see him boss the game of games.
3) Generally a fan of the Man Utd style of play. Liquid football. In last year’s Champs League Final they produced one of my favourite pieces of football ever – Rooney picked up the ball at right-back (!), motored forward 40 yards, then pinged a diagonal cross-field peach of a ball to Ronaldo, who pulled it back for Tevez (I think) to diving head, saved by Cech, before Carrick blasted the rebound goalwards, where it was headed clear by a defender. Or something like that (alcoholic haze, remember). Absolutely awesome football. I just stood there ogling, as if it were a svelte brunette tying knots in a cherry stalk with her tongue.
Then in the semi vs l’Arse there was something similarly mesmeric in Ronaldo’s second goal – the backheel, Park’s burst, Rooney’s perfect pass, and Ronaldo again, sixty yards from his starting-point, finishing it.
More of the same tonight please.
