Tag: Brennan Johnson

Sheff Utd 0-3 Spurs: Five Tottenham Talking Points

Post author By AANP
Post date May 20, 2024
10 Comments on Sheff Utd 0-3 Spurs: Five Tottenham Talking Points

1. Dragusin and That Tweaked Back-Four

Reasonably enough, Our Glorious Leader persisted with the VDV-at-left-back-and-Dragusin-in-the-centre gambit, all concerned having performed passably well in midweek, and our opponents yesterday having already been relegated. Indeed, as with Burnley a couple of weeks back, the fact that Sheffield United were literally a Championship-standard team does skew the takings on this one, making it difficult to draw too many meaningful conclusions.

Nevertheless, should I happen to cross paths with any of Van de Ven, Dragusin or Romero in the next day or two, I’d offer them one of those silent but meaningful nods I keep in the armoury, the sort that wordlessly communicates respectful acknowledgement of a job well done without going overboard.

Dragusin comes across as a fellow who is happy simply to crack on with his job in unfussy fashion, leaving the histrionics and drama to others. I did note the chap make a mess of an early clearing header, resulting in a straightforward chance for Diaz that might have been decidedly stickier, but aside from that he generally conducted himself with a goodish amount of common sense, and intervened as circumstance required.

With that in mind, the slightly terrifying visuals he deploys are actually a little misleading. His general bulk, not to mention that haircut and unsmiling stare, give him the air of one of those nameless henchmen who will face off with Jason Statham in the final act. By appearance alone one gets the impression that here strides a specimen who is comfortably master of all he surveys, and whom one will have the dickens of a job bypassing.

Yet in terms of his actual performance, it is all a little more low-key. Admittedly, he put that significant physical frame to pretty good use when we had corners to defend, politely introducing himself as “Vicario’s mate” to misbehaving Sheff Utd forwards, and treating them to a couple of meaningful shoves to hammer home the point, which served a welcome practical purpose, as well as making for good wholesome family entertainment.

But if, based on looks and gum-chewing alone, one expected Dragusin to spend his 90 minutes uprooting passing forwards and leaving them in crumpled heaps about the place, one was to be a little disappointed. Dragusin seemed to content himself simply with clearing whatever danger lurked, without too much fanfare or overthinking. This is not to denigrate him as agricultural or lacking in delicacy, for he showed himself capable enough with ball at feet and happy enough to muck in with the rest of them when they all started playing out from the back; but broadly he came across as not caring too much for headlines or limelight. “Keep it simple”, would appear to be the motto of the Dragusin clan.

2. Van de Ven

As mentioned, one does not really learn too much about the moral fibre and performance under pressure of one’s troops when up against the weakest mob in the division, and so as with Dragusin, one takes with a generous measure of salt the performance of Mickey Van de Ven at left-back.

Allowing for that, however, this was once again promising stuff at left-back from the earnest young bean. I would suggest that he perhaps lacks the general puff, to use the technical term, of Signor Udogie, in terms of galloping up, back and up again in the full-back role, VDV instead perhaps rationing his forward charges. But when he did venture north he did so with a few health dollops of gusto, and made sure to plant a flag or two commemorating his presence there, notably with a role in both of our first two goals.

The first was with what one might describe as a small but significant input, in winning possession for us high up the pitch – or, as AANP likes to call such things, a good old-fashioned tackle. The Sheff Utd chap had the ball at his feet in a right-back sort of spot, and was drinking it all in, and VDV simply sped over to him and effected a firm block tackle. I suppose if I were a SUFC fan I’d have waved around a pretty irate hand at my right-back at that point, for offering such meek input that he was promptly deposited on the floor, but from a lilywhite perspective it was most pleasing.

One does not see actual tackles much these days, with every contact causing someone or over to screech in agony and roll over a few times, and as often as not a standard spot of limb-to-limb contact now bringing a yellow card too. Therefore just seeing Van de Ven square up to the fellow; fly into combat with a bit of a sense that consequences could be damned; and come out on top, was a bit of an event in itself.

Thereafter, he sensibly decided that his contribution had already been memorable enough, and that it was the job of his more forward-thinking chums to chivvy things along further, so he posted the thing off to Maddison outside the area and within two passes we had the ball in the net. One can enter into rich debate, I suppose, to decide whose input had been most pertinent, but in simply winning possession in the first place, through the oft-neglected art of the block tackle, young VDV earned himself his latest free offering at the AANP Towers drinks cabinet.

Moreover, in case anyone missed it first time around, he got stuck in with another of those ‘Firm But Fair’ numbers early in the second half, in the build-up to what could be considered our decisive second goal. Again, there were various other contributory elements to be recorded before the ball eventually found its way into the net – the ricochet from VDV’s challenge forcing a full-length save from the goalkeeper, which I personally thought a little dramatic for what it was, and thereafter Brennan Johnson picking up the scraps before laying it off to Porro to finish – but VDV’s dedication to triumphing in what was, objectively, a 50-50 issue, was once again crucial.

3. Contributions to Our Goals

If AANP Towers is a regular haunt of yours you may recall that only a week or two ago I cleared the throat, surveyed the audience and then gave both barrels to that most irritating of concepts, The Assist. The case for the prosecution largely hinged on the notion that there are generally several contributory elements to any goal, and the notion that the penultimate chappie involved should merit some worthier praise than anyone else who chipped in with their tuppence worth is a tad presumptuous, what?

To illustrate what I’m wittering on about I invite you to look at our first goal yesterday, or Exhibit A, as you may wish to refer to it. As mentioned above, a pretty critical role in this was played by young Van de Ven, out on the left, by winning possession in the first place. He then fed Maddison, whose input, it seemed to me, looked suspiciously to amount to miscontrolling the thing. As luck would have it, however, the ball bounced obligingly into the path of Sonny – whose own input, one might argue, also owed a little to good fortune, he dabbing a slightly half-hearted toe at the ball, which was just about sufficient to poke it through to Kulusevski.

The point being that before the ball reached the eventual goalscorer, three others were involved, and fan clubs of each would no doubt argue passionately that their man’s was the critical contribution – and yet the only statistic that seems to merit general acclaim is that Sonny provided The Assist. Of the contributions to the goal of Maddison and, in particular, VDV, there is nary a datapoint.

Now one might argue, and with some justification, that AANP really ought to find more useful ways to spend his time, but dash it, when the awards are handed out for that first goal it just doesn’t seem cricket to overlook VDV and instead droop a garland around the neck of Sonny.

The second goal followed a fairly similar pattern, with Brennan Johnson officially receiving credit for The Assist, while the good work of Sonny, in really setting the thing in motion, with a cunning dip of the shoulder out on the left, as well as Maddison and VDV in trying to force the issue in the penalty area, will go forever ignored.

Credit where due, Maddison did an excellent job of things in setting up the third. It was an Assist worthy of the name. I doffed the cap. But what the record books will fail to show is that Sonny again started all the fun and games, with some pretty innovative use of the outside of his right foot, curling a pass off into the great swathes of greenery ahead of Maddison out on the left, from which position the latter did his thing.

I suppose the moral of the story is not so much to belittle whomever provides The Assist as to acknowledge what are often more valuable cogs in the machinery earlier in the piece.

4. Porro

All that said, the greatest acclaim most typically belongs to the goalscorer, and by golly Pedro Porro has this week made up for some lost time in that respect. If there has been something of an injustice this season it is that young P.P. has finished with only the four goals to his name, for goodness knows he threatens each week to score an absolute belter, seemingly missing almost every shot by a matter of inches. Indeed, my spies tell me that he has 36 shots to his name this season, in 35 Premier League appearances, which makes me cock a suspicious eye at the Law of Averages for granting only three League goals. It somehow strikes me that he ought, by rights, to have scored a lot more, what?

Anyway, as mentioned, he started righting that wrong last week against Burnley, building up a head of steam before putting heart and soul into the finish; and, evidently having developed a liking for the act of almost tearing the net from its moorings, he was at it again yesterday.

Received wisdom generally dictates that one’s chances of scoring are generally increased by aiming for one corner or t’other, but such a theory evidently fails to take into account the absolute leathering applied to the thing by the right foot of Porro, which is seemingly sufficient to contravene the Laws of Physics and allow the ball to travel straight through the body of the goalkeeper.

Last week the Burnley ‘keeper was beaten at his near post, understandably taken by surprise at the speed at which Porro had the ball past him, and yesterday there was a pretty similar sequence of events, with the goalkeeper only raising his paws upwards in preparation for the intervention required when the ball was already bouncing out of the net behind him.

And when invited to make a speech toasting Porro’s two goals in the last week, as I inevitably will be sooner or later, I’ll be sure to commend in particular his talent for adjusting his balance sufficiently to ensure that in pummelling the ball with every ounce of force in his being, he did not lean back the one or two degrees that would have resulted in it flying off into orbit. It is to his credit that he kept his shots low enough hit the target.

5. Kulusevski

I don’t mind admitting that when the dramatis personae were revealed pre-kick-off, I took one glance, assumed with a weary sigh that Johnson and Kulusevski were on the wings and Sonny therefore upfront, and then focused my energies on the back-four.

Our Glorious Leader evidently had other ideas, and thus it transpired that Kulusevski spent his afternoon as the closest thing we had to a central striker. And a dashed useful fist he made of it too. I will leave others to argue over whether he was officially a centre-forward, or Number 10, or advanced midfielder, or some other variation, and instead simply attest to the fact that, whatever else one says about his contribution, he did the goalscoring part pretty well.

It seems unlikely that he was actually aiming for the inside of the post with that opening goal, but nevertheless, the gist of his thought process was presumably to plant the thing beyond the ‘keeper and inside the frame, and let the Laws of Physics – at that point still firing on all cylinders, pre-Porro – take care of the rest.

Easy, too, to bang on about the finish when it’s as aesthetically satisfying as that – inside of the post and all, always merits a cheeky splash of the good stuff over here – and overlook the preceding legwork, but the fellow collected the ball with back to goal and a defender loitering within his radius. He therefore deserves a decent lump of credit for that first touch, which simultaneously achieved the twin aims of shielding the ball from that defender and setting things up just so, for a left-footed swipe.

He then took time out to remind the watching millions that he is nothing if not left-footed, spurning an arguably easier opportunity fed to him (with some elan by Maddison) on his right, five minutes later, but ensured that we could all gloss over that with some impressive forward-play in nabbing his second and our third – checking his run to come inside the defender and then angling his body to finish with that same, much-maligned right foot, in what I can only assume was a pointed rebuke to AANP.

I can’t imagine that anyone seriously considers this set-up, with D.K. in the central striking position, as The Way Forward for our heroes in 2024/25 and beyond, and this is probably as good a time as any to hammer home once again that caveat that our opponents were Championship-standard, but it’s an interesting option to have, potentially allowing a neat segue into the 4-6-0 off-the-ball arrangement that caused Man City to scratch the old bean a few times midweek.

Thus ends a season in which, all things considered, we have pootled along to an acceptable enough resting-place (or at least it will be once the bonkers Australian friendly is done). All sorts of tweaks and improvements – and signings – and indeed sales – are needed, but AANP is pretty happy with the efforts of Postecoglou and the troops.

Enjoy AANP’s ramblings? Yearn to have them neatly contained in a book, with physical pages through which you can leaf? Then watch this space, as Seasons 2023-024 is soon to be published for your delectation.

Tags Ange Postecoglou, Brennan Johnson, Cristian Romero, Dejan Kulusevski, James Maddison, Micky Van de Ven, Pedro Porro, Premier League, Radu Dragusin, sheffield united, Son Heung Min

Spurs match reports

Spurs 0-2 Man City: Five Tottenham Talking Points

Post author By AANP
Post date May 15, 2024
10 Comments on Spurs 0-2 Man City: Five Tottenham Talking Points

1. Shiny New Formation

AANP is a creature of habit. Meals at the same time each day; lights out at the same time each night; a dram of the good stuff at the same time each morning – one knows where one stands. One knows what’s coming.

And it was in this spirit of continuity and consistency that I donned the monocle to give the teamsheet the once-over last night, and duly assumed that Sarr-Bentancur-Hojbjerg would spread out their picnic blankets in midfield, while Maddison, Son and Johnson would duke it out between them for spots across the forward line – my personal assumption being that Maddison would be on the left with Sonny through the centre, but being an open-minded sort I politely listened to various chums of a Spurs-supporting bent announcing their opinion that Johnson could be central, and so on.

The point being that we all just assumed it was Our Glorious Leader’s usual 4-3-3, because if there is one thing A. Postecoglou Esquire does not do, it’s change his approach, upon pain of death. Even if the apocalypse were upon us and flaming meteors rained down from the sky, Ange would stick to his guns, muttering something to the effect that this is how his teams play, and adding his trademark “Mate” as if to put an official seal on the notion.

As such, I’m not sure the word has yet been invented to describe quite how quizzically I arched the old eyebrow once the curtain went up last night, and everyone started getting their hands dirty, because there before our eyes, our heroes were setting about their business in, for want of a better phrase, a 4-6-0 formation.

Son and Johnson stayed out wide hither and thither, that much I clocked myself pretty sharpish; but in the midfield it appeared that Hojbjerg sat, and Bentancur, Maddison and Sarr took turns – or at certain points just ganged up and went about things in unison – as False Nines, as the experts put it (sort of midfield bobbies with licence to spring forward into the area and yell ‘Boo!’ as and when the whim grabs them).

Anyway, having a reeled a fair bit with the shock of all this, it made sense to collect one’s thoughts and subject the thing to the critical eye – and I’ll be dashed if it didn’t actually seem to work out pretty smoothly.

Caveats abound, of course, as is always the case. We lost the game for a start, so anyone clearing the throat to produce a lavish speech about the unbeatable virtues of 4-6-0 could legitimately be interrupted with a pretty solid counter-argument. One might also point out that City weren’t really for sitting deep with all eleven camped behind the ball as other less forgiving opponents have been, so one couldn’t knowingly say how 4-6-0 would fare in such a scenario; and I think that what one might delicately describe as the forgiving atmosphere about the place meant that there was a lot less pressure on our heroes to perform than is sometimes the case. There was, one might say, a pretty high tolerance threshold for mistakes and missteps last night.

Nevertheless, I could not escape the sentiment that our lot were making a jolly good fist of things – and that, by extension, the curious new formation was delivering the goods. Critically, we seemed to benefit both in and out of possession.

Out of possession, the squadron of no fewer than six pristine lilywhites strung out across the midfield caused City quite the head-scratcher when it came to their usual gambit of poking a nifty pass through the lines and setting their forwards away. In terms of basic physics, there simply was not room for them to do so. Every time they tried any such pass, a Tottenham limb extended to cut it out – and if the pass evaded one extended Tottenham limb, you could bet the life of your least cherished child that another such limb would be in close proximity to get the job done. The only real attacking outlet City had (beyond our own suicidal passing from defence, more on which below) was to play the ball ahead of Kyle Walker and watch him and VDV sprint it out.

In possession too, for what felt like the first time since that fateful night against Chelsea in November, our lot seemed inundated with passing options n, and quickly getting the hang of the thing they took to knocking the ball around rather smartly. One of the advantages of having six in midfield, I suppose, is that there is always a supporting nib hovering nearby, whom one can spot from the corner of one’s eye and sling the ball towards whenever any danger starts approaching.

And as mentioned, with Maddison, Bentancur and Sarr each seemingly having been heartily encouraged to trot forward and explore the City area, there tended always to be a few members of the cavalry ready to offer their services whenever we did break forward. Admittedly we lacked a central figure up top, the sort of bird who might hold up the ball with back to goal and do other useful things, but when it came to breaking from around halfway and racing towards goal, we were actually quite well stocked.

2. Sarr

Vicario made some good saves (the first half block from Foden at close-range in particular seemed to defy physics, our boy managing to stick out an arm faster than the naked eye could detect), and Kulusevski seemed particularly motivated when he was introduced, but if I were given the chance to pin a rosette to any of our lot I’d beeline straight for Sarr.

I’d probably take a few hours to catch him mind, because the young tyro appeared convinced yesterday that the key to a good time was never to stop running. Even though he had five teammates alongside him, and as such one could reasonably have made the case for sharing the workload, Sarr seemed to have had it drilled into him that if there were a job that needed doing there was no point in waiting for someone else to do it, not when he could break into another gallop.

Within a formation that relied so heavily upon runners from midfield to do a bit of the heavy lifting – masquerading occasionally as forwards, chasing back to clog up our own penalty area when City did sneak through – the medical anomaly that was the Sarr lungs and legs were of particular value.

The thought nags, and will presumably continue to do so for the next couple of months, that our midfield could do with a slightly clearer delegation of duties, as I still narrow the eyes and furrow the brow when trying to work out exactly what Bissouma and Bentancur are supposed to be doing, but alongside a couple of well-drilled and well-performing sorts one can safely assume that Sarr will be a pretty critical cog next season.

3. Hojbjerg

A quick note on Hojbjerg, of whom this might have been our last glimpse on the hallowed N17 turf. Those of a comic bent seemed keen to suggest last night that if anyone were going to sabotage our efforts, and ensure that Woolwich remained trophyless, it would be that man P-E.H., and true to form he spent the evening marrying the sublime and ridiculous with gay old abandon.

One five-minute spell early on in the piece neatly crystallised his entire lilywhite career. It featured in the first place an absolutely glorious cross-field spraying of the ball, from inside his own half and nearish the left flank, forward about twenty yards within the City half and out on the right flank, one of those perfectly-flighted numbers that drops with just the right parabola over the reach of the full-back and into the lap of the winger. It was a reminder of how good a player he can be, all the more so as he collected the ball in the first place when we were being harried a tad in a little midfield cul-de-sac, with Hojbjerg proving the unlikely saviour to safety.

But then moments later came his wild clearance that led to Foden’s point-blank volley and Vicario’s save. As I recall, Hojbjerg had to effect an airborne clearance, the ball having looped backwards towards him, facing his own goal and under pretty minimal pressure. Not the most straightforward job on the To-Do list by any means, the ball having a dash of spin on it, and dropping from the heavens over his shoulder, which adds a layer of complication.

Nevertheless, however, to have kept one’s eye on the thing and effected an almighty thwack ought to have been a fairly routine exercise for one paid professionally to apply lower appendage to ball on a daily basis. Clear the thing and re-organise, would have appeared to have been the order of the day.

Hojbjerg, though, was to give us one final reminder of just how maddening a soul he can be, by completely slicing his clearance, applying no distance to it whatsoever but instead sending it spinning sideways, and into the path of a chap who last week was crowned Player of the Year by his fellow professionals.

Of course, circumstances being what they were yesterday, many received this intervention with hearty applause, but whatever one’s inclinations yesterday, the whole episode just seemed to rubber-stamp, at the likely end of his Tottenham career, that Hojbjerg really has been a most peculiar sort of egg.

4. Playing Out From The Back

Now this is a weekly gripe, albeit not one I tend to record too often for posterity in this particular newsletter, but if there’s one thing guaranteed to put the bird about me it’s this business of playing out from the back.

For clarity, this is not even something that irritates specifically when espoused by our heroes. When I watch any blasted game and the team preparing a goal-kick opt for those daft short passes across their own area, it sets me muttering away and waving an occasional, grumpy hand.

Some data for your digestion first. I read on a pretty reputable source last week, that on average this season our lot concede possession from this approach seven times per game. Seven times! On average it leads to the opposition taking one shot per game, and in total we have conceded seven goals this season, from trying to play out from the back.

If you’re anything like me you’ll have missed the second half of the previous paragraph because your eyes will have glazed over and a cold chill spread down your spine, at the revelation that this madcap tomfoolery results in us losing possession seven times per game. I was reminded of this abomination last night, when City’s first two decent attempts resulted precisely from them winning the ball on the edge of our area when we tried unsuccessfully to pass our way out (the Foden shot saved, and de Bruyne, I think, having a shot at the start of the second half, also producing a flying Vicario intervention).

What grates is that the return on this investment is negligible. If every other time we did it we ended up bearing down on the opposition goal within a hop and a skip, I’d be much more inclined to support it. “Why not?” I would rather rhetorically remark, “The odds are reasonable enough.” But the point is precisely that the odds are not reasonable. I don’t see the value of the dashed thing at all, truth be told. At best we make it to halfway or so, at which point Sonny runs the ball out of play or Maddison gets crowded out or Kulusevski fouls his man, and it is all for naught anyway.

I presume the theory is that, if done well, a spot of zig-zagging from six-yard box onwards can bypass a good four or five opposition attackers. Even this seems a pretty measly reward if you ask me, and hardly worth the risk. If it bypassed nine or ten opponents my attention would be gripped; but it doesn’t. Frankly, if one wants to bypass four or five attackers, a gently lofted pass out wide along the halfway line, from the size nines of Vicario, will do just as well, and without the risk of conceding possession on the edge of our own area.

It’s here to stay, so, as with so much in the life of a Spurs supporter it’s all pretty futile anyway, but next time you see our heroes concede possession in this absurd fashion in or around our own area, cup a hand to your ear and see if you can make out the well-articulated curse in the distance, for that will be AANP having dashed well had enough.

5. Our Glorious Leader’s Post-Match Rant

If you had cupped a hand to your ear last night, however, an hour or so after the curtain came down, the cursing you’d have heard would have had much of the Antipodean twang about it, because Our Glorious Leader added a most peculiar coda to proceedings.

For those whom this whole episode innocently bypassed, the gist is that in his post-match ramblings, Ange made clear – with some pretty sharp and testy retorts, and a few choice glares – that he was unhappy with the fan-base. He may have been unhappy with others too, his words were a tad cryptic and difficult to interpret in truth, but at one point he clearly indicated irritation that bellowing from the four stands of our lovely arena, which has previously acted as the soundtrack to a last-minute escape or two, was conspicuous by its absence yesterday, and that this irked.

The whole business of fan sentiment before and during yesterday’s production has been well-documented, and AANP being an accepting sort was quite happy for each man, woman and child to make their own choice. Indeed, it should be noted that our Big Cheese has himself previously been at pains to insist that he is not one for prescribing to fans how they should think or feel.

This seemed to go out the window last night. As it happens, I’m fully in favour of anyone grabbing by the shoulders each of our mob and shaking a bit of winning mentality into them. If four decades of watching has taught me anything it’s that one Spurs team after another is all too willing to accept being second-best, or worst.

What jarred a little last night, however, was seeing quite how angry Ange became, seemingly at the fan-base, when in recent weeks he has looked a lot less hot under the collar after a series of frankly dreadful performances by the players. The players’ performances in defeats to Fulham, Newcastle, Chelsea and Woolwich themselves, each very reasonably earned a spot of Postecoglou gruffling and varying degrees of displeasure – but nothing like the volcanic stuff that simmered away last night.

One doesn’t really know the full story, I suppose, and he might have woken this morning feeling a lot bonnier about life, with his airways having been cleared and bright new dawns ahead. Last night’s whingeing however, and the direction in which it was aimed, seem to have chipped away a bit of the goodwill that he has generally amassed over the last nine months or so. For avoidance of doubt, AANP is still whole-heartedly supportive of Team Ange, and pretty confident that a few key signings (and sales), and a willingness occasionally to tweak tactics (as last night), will see us faring better next time out than this – but the head honcho might be advised to direct his evil eye and scything commentary elsewhere for a while.

Tags Ange Postecoglou, Brennan Johnson, Dejan Kulusevski, Guglielmo Vicario, Hojbjerg, James Maddison, Man City, Micky Van de Ven, Pape Matar Sarr, Premier League, Rodrigo Bentancur, Son Heung Min

Spurs match reports

Chelsea 2-0 Spurs: Four Tottenham Talking Points

Post author By AANP
Post date May 3, 2024
11 Comments on Chelsea 2-0 Spurs: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. Set-Pieces

Those who know AANP best would describe him as a cheery fellow at all times (actually that might represent a slight mangling of the truth, Ms AANP tending to use terms like ‘grumpy’ and ‘stubborn’ and so forth), but the point is that I’m the sort of cove who, even after last night’s disaster, will tiptoe about the wreckage looking for the green shoots of positivity.

And as such it was with a spring in the step that I bounded out of bed at the crack of dawn this morning to rejoice in the couple of forward steps taken by our lot when defending corners. Over the last month or two this particular newsletter has turned into one long and bile-filled diatribe on the subject, so when the first early corner was conceded the eye with which I viewed proceedings was hardly forgiving.

What transpired, however, was actually vaguely encouraging. For a start, young Signor Vicario seemed determined at least to give the pretence of being a man of brawn and authority, dispensing a two-handed shove, no less, to the nearest trouble-making Chelsea imp. Admittedy it hardly carried the intimidation level of peak Mike Tyson, but much like one of those creative deities, AANP saw that it was good. It had taken a couple of months, but Vicario had received the memo. Rather than waving an outraged arm or two and pleading to the ref, he was at least giving the appearance of one who was master of his own kingdom.

That alone would probably have been insufficient, Vicario still numbering amongst those within our ranks who need a few steaks and raw eggs shoved down his gullet, followed by some six-hour gym sessions, but the situation improved even further when Pedro Porro toddled on stage and into the thick of things, it swiftly becoming evident that he had been employed in a temporarily role as hired muscle for Vicario.

This pleased me immensely. I recall a few months back, when this weakness at corners was first exposed, that James Maddison was drafted in as personal security for Vicario. ‘Spirit willing, flesh weak’, was pretty much the AANP take on events at that point, for while the idea of assigning a bit of help was a well-meaning one, Maddison’s is not the physique to strike fear into the typical, solid physical specimen that constitutes the modern-day Premier League footballer.

Porro, however, seems a densely-construct sort of unit, boasting a barrel-like chest and a neck of the form of a small but sturdy tree trunk. Dropping him into the thick of front-line action seemed a good idea, and so it proved. He duly attached himself to the Chelsea pest, providing a pretty decent buffer between the latter and Vicario, and also allowing Vicario licence to perform that slapstick manoeuvre only seen in penalty areas at corners, whereby the goalkeeper can bestow a mighty shove upon his own teammate, which flows much like an electric current directly through to the opponent on t’other side of the teammate.

Anyway, the plan worked – at least until Vicario tried to reach the ball under pressure from Richarlison of all people, and duly found himself outmuscled, Lord help us all – and the stress levels, which had previously shot through the roof and off into orbit each time we conceded a corner, came down a few welcome notches.

However, this being Tottenham, no sooner had we seemingly cleared up one set-piece misadventure than another two shot out from nowhere to ruin the evening. When the ref peeped his whistle for a right-sided free-kick to Chelsea, the danger levels seemed relatively low. All eleven of our lot were behind the ball, the ball was over 40 yards from goal and the assorted protaganists and antagonists had assembled for battle along the edge of our area, hardly a critical zone in which one flick is impossible to defend.

Closer inspection, however, revealed a most baffling approach to the problem by our heroes. Of the seven lined up along the edge of the area, six had eyes fixed upon two Chelsea forwards in front of them – leaving the solitary figure of Brennan Johnson at the back post single-handedly to cover no fewer than three other Chelsea forwards. Three! Covered by just one of ours! When another six of ours were assigned to two forwards! I mean, really. ‘Rummy’ does not cover it. What the deuces they were thinking is utterly beyond me, but pretty unsurprisingly Chelsea bypassed the half-dozen flexing their muscles at the front and centre, and sought out their three-on-one advantage at the back post.

Now admittedly Chelsea also benefitted here from one heck of a header, but nevertheless. Another man or two to help out Johnson might at least have put the header under some pressure.

As for the second, it’s almightily tempting to lay into Sonny and Hojbjerg for first independently reaching the same conclusion that challenging for the header was not really within their remit; and then laying on the slapstick in their attempts to prevent the ball looping gently into the net, entangling their limbs in some sort of will-they-won’t-they embrace, undecided whether polite negotiation or brute force were the appropriate approach to take to clear the other from their path, before seemingly realising simultaneously that as teammates some collaborative approach might well resolve things – by which point the net was rippling and the game done.

Whether or not the job might have been done perfectly well by just one of them, unencumbered by the other, we’ll never know, but the half-hearted nature of their efforts summed up our lot quite neatly.

2. Brennan Johnson

If asked by a well-meaning chum who amongst our number stood out, I’d probably shrug the shoulders, a distant sort of look of despair in the eyes, and mumble that Brennan Johnson looked alright in the first half I suppose, before he disappeared into a void.

Qualifying the above, it was not so much that he played particularly well, as that he looked like at any second he was about to start playing particularly well. For whatever reason, a decent proportion of our attacks were funnelled through his size nines, our breaks from the left typically culminating in a diagonal that found him running onto the ball with a bit of space to attack.

Johnson vs Cucurella appeared to be simmering nicely as a sub-plot to the overall drama. Occasionally Cucurella stuck out a meaningful foot, but equally often Johnson found a route around him and slung in a low delivery. With Son seemingly not caring too much whether he was involved or not on the other side, Johnson’s seemed the route to success.

But then, the first act tension having been established and the platform for great things created, things rather fizzled out. I remain a fan of the chap – more so than of Werner or Kulusevski in the wide positions – but while it seemed as though Johnson’s breakthrough would soon arrive if he kept running at Cucurella, that whole battle just dissipated into the net sky.

For ten or so minutes at the start of the second half our lot collectively upped the urgency levels of their pottering about, but after that it all faded away. The 60^th-minute changes saw Johnson shunted off to the left, from where he did not achieve much either, after which he was replaced by Bryan Gil, whose cameo panned out exactly as we all expected, and exactly as every Bryan Gil cameo will ever pan out, unless he plays against a team of schoolboys yet to hit their physical development straps.

3. Richarlison

Another one I mention by default, because everyone else was so utterly forgettable. Those compiling their detailed and chart-illustrated post-match reports would be struggling a bit when it came to forensic analysis of his outputs, because he barely touched the ball in any meaningful areas – one shot drilled wide in the second half, from close range, under pressure and at a bit of an angle is all I can remember.

However, on two occasions in the first half, Richarlison did receive the ball with back to goal – admittedly in nondescript areas – and perform with aplomb the duties of first holding up the ball and then tumbling to the deck in order to win a free-kick. These caught the eye and earned the approving nod simply because they are a couple of the arts with which Sonny is thoroughly unfamiliar, and they therefore constitute aspects of the game we have completely lacked in our forward play, over the last month or two.

And if that’s the best that can be said about our lot, it really is time to give one another nervous glances, what?

4. What The Dickens Is Going On?

Not to get too fruity with the old vocab, but it’s all rather fallen off a cliff, what?

Some point to the disallowed Son goal in the home game against Chelsea; some point to the red cards for Romero and Udogie in the same game; some point to the VDV and Maddison injuries that night; and others rather apoplectically interrupt to say that they’re all missing the point, because all of the above are now fit again, and have been for months, and we have not had any European or Cup distractions, but teams have pretty swiftly realised that Angeball can be countered by simply letting us have possession safe in the knowledge that a) we lack the craft and guile to break them down, and b) we’ll push up our full-backs and be left wide open on the counter, particularly on the wings.

Seemingly the only thing on which we can all agree is that our heads are soon all about to explode with exasperation and rage, so I suppose there’s at least some common ground there.

I’ve also noted, by the by, that various amongst us are stamping the feet and insisting that this guff would not be happening under Conte or Jose (nobody’s really calling for Nuno, mind, so there’s more common ground).

To this argument I would urge caution, and a clearer memory. Under Jose the tactic increasingly became to defend with nine or ten across our own penalty area, and then try to steam forward on the counter – an approach that resulted in various last-minute defeats that brought howls of derision, the complaint that our eyes bled and the rationale that if we were going to lose we might as well do so entertainingly.

Under Conte the approach was similarly joyless, defensive and increasingly reliant upon deep defending and counter-attacking, reaching its nadir with the thrown away two-goal lead against Southampton (which brought about Conte’s peculiar rant and dismissal).

One doesn’t really want to revisit the specifics and argue about the exact number of highs and lows and whatnot, but the broad point is that under neither regime were we particularly watertight in defence, or brimming with intensity in general play, nor was there much joy to be had drinking it all in each week – and, if you don’t mind me clearing the throat and drawing a spot of attention to the obvious, under both regimes we were blessed with arguably the most complete striker in the world to bail us out each week. So that helped lighten some of the darker days.

No doubt Our Glorious Leader (the current incarnation) needs to do some prime un-muddling on the training pitch. Tactically, the inability to break down deep defences and vulnerability to counter-attacks make one pull out the hair and hold the breath respectively, far more than is really healthy. Worryingly last night (and against Newcastle and Fulham and so on), there has also been a bit of a sense about the place that those involved find it is all a bit too much and would rather be elsewhere, so there’s another one for the Postecoglou inbox.

If anyone is seriously calling for the head of the manager at this stage, I would probably pat them gently on the shoulder and offer them a snifter from the cabinet; the AANP take is to take a deep breath or three, dip into the well of patience so fabled amongst Spurs fans and watch with interest what tweaks are effected in Season 2. On a valedictory note, I draw attention to a selection of choice vitriol being aimed at the chap by Celtic fans during his first season in those sunny climes, the mood there and then being uncannily similar to that here and now (and while at it you might as well hop aboard the AANP Tweeting Machine, which occasionally sputters into life). I’m not quite sure of the specifics of what he did thereafter, in terms of tactics and other such cerebral matters, but things seemed to buck up a smidge under his tutelage, so hope springs eternal, what?

Tags Ange Postecoglou, Antonio Conte, Brennan Johnson, Chelsea, Guglielmo Vicario, Hojbjerg, Jose Mourinho, Nuno Espirito Santo, Pedro Porro, Premier League, Richarlison, Son Heung Min

Spurs match reports

Newcastle 4-0 Spurs: Five Tottenham Talking Points

Post author By AANP
Post date April 14, 2024
14 Comments on Newcastle 4-0 Spurs: Five Tottenham Talking Points

1. Our Defending for the First Goal

Odd to say now, or course – hindsight and all that – but for a third or so of the game (the first of them, in case you were wondering) I thought our lot looked pretty sharp. Newcastle started the game bursting at the seams with vim and vigour, which was understandable enough, and in such instances history tells us that Spurs are as likely to wilt as to respond in kind. It was therefore a most pleasant surprise to note that our lot had signed up for the former rather than the latter, and were doing a solid line in giving as good as they got.

Newcastle hounded away with their high press; our lot craftily dodged their hounding and high pressing, specifically by skipping away from challenges and firing out passes with a becoming crispness. When Newcastle nabbed possession from us and countered at a healthy lick, our lot raced back at a lick of equal velocity, and nascent flames were duly extinguished. We even fashioned the best chance of that opening half hour, and the AANP verdict at the 30-or-so-minute mark was that, if not necessarily of the highest quality, this was nevertheless close-run and fun-filed cuisine.

Of course the whole bally thing turned on and its head and disappeared down the drain with those first two goals. At which point I pause to air a grievance, because a two-goal deficit, while undoubtedly representing the deuce of an incline up which to go trudging, was nevertheless far from insurmountable. Two-nil, I rather fancy, is one of those score-lines possessed of devilish quality, in that whomever nabs the next goal tends to load up on momentum for the remainder. As such, had our heroes applied themselves sufficiently to fashion a presentable chance between approximately minutes 30 and 50, I’d have fancied us to make a decent stab of things thereafter. To see them instead simply meander through, rather than putting their backs into it, and then give up altogether dash it, after conceding the third, set the blood boiling like nobody’s business.

Back to those two goals conceded, and if you were to ask at whom the finger of blame ought to be directed, I would ask how many digits you had going spare. Those on telly-box duty seemed determined to lay it pretty thick all over Van de Ven. One understood the gist of course, the fellow’s curious but futile struggles against gravity being particularly eye-catching, but I was inclined to wave him an excusing hand. Perhaps I am too generous here, but it seems to that falling over is a bit of an occupational hazard in his line of work, rather than indicative of any major footballing deficiency.

I suppose one might argue that VDV brought it upon himself by racing back to his post too quickly, thereby quite literally setting himself up for a fall should a swift change in direction be needed, but I still bat it away as one of those things.

More culpable to the AANP eye were Messrs Udogie and Romero. Taken in order, Udogie had a preliminary bout to sink his teeth into, as the ball was hoicked up to halfway, and he and Gordon exchanged a few pleasantries. Frankly, at this point, with the ball bobbling up to head height and three of lilywhite (or skin-coloured atrocity) persuasion covering two attackers, one’s eyes would have popped out of the head if informed that within ten seconds the ball would have been in our net. And in fact, Udogie seemed to have got to the root of the matter and emerged triumphant, placing self between ball and Gordon, and looking to the future with sunny optimism – only to then take a tumble to earth for no good reason and under minimal contact.

This glaring error having been brandished for the watching world, the situation had darkened, for sure, but was hardly forlorn. Romero and VDV were left staring at the whites of the eyes of Gordon and Isak, and one would have fancied the chances of the former duo. It was not necessary for our pair to make off with the ball and dash up t’other end to score; the remit was simply to prevent any immediate danger from flaring.

Why, then, Romero went charging towards VDV’s man absolutely maddens me. There was really no need. VDV’s man, as the label suggests, was being closely monitored by VDV; but off charged Romero, and it was the work of an instant for Gordon (for thus do the documents of ‘VDV’s man’ state his legal name) to slip the ball into Isak. At this this point VDV recovered the ground and then fell, prompting that chorus of censure from the television studio; but to my mind those around him were equally complicit.

2. Our Defending for the Second Goal

As for the second, VDV’s ongoing to-dust-thou-shalt-return routine understandably reinforced him as the poster-boy of our defensive failings, but the real villain of the piece was undoubtedly Pedro Porro whose bizarre intervention set the blasted thing in motion.

If the early chapters of that particular scandal have slipped your mind they dashed well haven’t slipped mine, the gist being that a wayward clearance from Vicario towards our right was nodded back in our direction by a Newcastle head, presenting Master Porro with what might reasonably be described as a task for the to-do list, but hardly anything more demanding than that. In short, he had to reach a ball bouncing near the right-wing before an incoming Newcastle chappie, which task he accomplished without issue. All that remained was to deposit the ball into a location of minimal risk.

As such, the world was his oyster. Pretty much everywhere was an option, and pretty much anywhere would have sufficed. The stands, the atmosphere, over his head and back up the line – even booting it further in front of him and out for a corner would have been an odd, but low-risk choice. The one thing he needed to avoid doing was fashion a way to deliver the ball towards his own goal and into the lap of an opposing forward; but given the abundance of better and easier choices available, such an eventuality hardly seemed worth mentioning.

And yet. For reasons that a crack team of psychologists would struggle to fathom, Porro looped the ball back over the head of not only the oncoming Newcastle johnnie but also of Cristian Romero, who had quietly snuck up to the action to keep an eye on things. If Porro were attempting to lob the ball directly to Romero, he deserves to have the offending limb amputated and tossed into a river for such woeful technique, for instead of dinking the ball he put such mileage upon it that Romero atop a step-ladder would have struggled to reach it. If Porro were attempting to lob the ball back to Vicario, he needs his brain removed and given a pretty thorough examination, because it was pretty obviously a route steeped in danger and lit by flashing lights and blaring sirens.

Whatever his rationale, the ball then landed in the path of that Gordon blighter, after which VDV promptly rolled out his new party-trick and hit the deck once more, and in the blink of an eye, and the delivery of three glaring defensive faux pas, we were two down.

3. Vicario’s Distribution

You may have noticed that in narrating the genesis of that second goal, I made mention of Vicario’s dubious distribution, and while such things as isolated incidents can be excused with little more than an arched eyebrow and gentle reprimand, with the acknowledgement that even Homer nods, their occurrence in every blasted passage of play seems to merit a less forgiving once-over.

For this was not Vicario’s finest hour and a half with ball at feet. Even acknowledging that Newcastle made things difficult, by virtue of their high, collective press, our resident last-line spent pretty much the entirety of the game pinging the ball exclusively to opponents, stationed at different coordinates on the pitch, whenever he looked beyond his own penalty area.

My eyes may deceive, I suppose, for I did not observe with pen and pad in hand, diligently noting each successful and unsuccessful pass; but then one does not need pen and pad to detect a certain rumminess manifesting. And the sense that Vicario’s distribution was stinking the place out emerged at some point relatively early during proceedings and lingered until the conclusion.

In mitigation, as mentioned, Newcastle pressed, and whenever one of our lot misplace a pass I am always inclined to subject his teammates to an enquiring eye, to ask whether they might have done more to make space; but as a man whose strength is supposed to lie in the art of picking passes from within his own penalty area and facilitating this play-from-the-back gubbins, Vicario seemed to go about it with the air of one completely new to the past-time.

4. Our Defending at Corners

Not for the first time – and if any other Premier League manager has their wits about them it dashed well won’t be the last time either – our defending at corners represented not so much a chink in the armour as an absolutely enormous gaping hole through which absolutely anyone was welcome to wander, make themselves at home and have a free pop at our goal, safe in the knowledge that their exploits would remain entirely unimpeded for the duration of their visit.

Remarkably, when we defend corners we often do so with literally every member of the squadron pulled back into the penalty area; and yet despite this, every single Newcastle corner swung into that same, densely-populated penalty area seemed to be met by an unchallenged Newcastle head. The laws of physics should simply not allow this happen, and yet it did so repeatedly.

It suggests that there is a pretty critical flaw at the heart of our zonal marking system, for if all ten of the outfield mob, plus goalkeeper, are failing, under the zonal system, to get their heads to the deliveries first, then some different zones ought to be explored and pronto.

The only surprise in all this was that it took Newcastle so long to score from a corner – they had racked up well over a dozen by the time they did. It was bad enough yesterday, but augurs appallingly for the future, our complete inability to deal with corners suggesting that the only solution will be to try not to concede any more of them between now and the end of the season.

5. Werner’s Finishing

It’s possible that none of the above would have been an issue if Timo Werner knew how to finish. But I suppose that’s akin to suggesting that we would have won if we’d been allowed twelve players and were facing a team of children, some of whom were blindfolded (no doubt they would still have posed a threat at corners). The reality is that Timo Werner is very much part of the fabric, and by virtue of his position, remit and willing, as often as not will pop up in key goalscoring positions, to unfurl new and scarcely believable ways to mangle perfectly presentable chances.

It should be repeated and with a spot of emphasis that he pops up in goalscoring positions. This is to be applauded, and probably would be, and with some feeling, if he didn’t then appear quite so incapable of controlling his limbs at the vital juncture. But inviting crosses require arriving forwards, and Werner has some talent in that regard, arriving on the end of crosses like the best of them.

However, his treatment of Brennan Johnson’s early cross summed up better than a whole multi-tome thesis ever could quite how aberrant his finishing is. With the ball arriving at head-height, and no opposing defender blotting the horizon with their presence, Werner somehow managed so splay his limbs in every conceivable direction – an arm pointing here, a leg over there, his head doing its best to wobble from its moorings – and tumbling into view in this fashion it is hardly surprising that he failed to apply the delicate touch needed. As if to hammer home quite what a tangle he had got himself into, he concluded the operation by blasting the ball so high that it may have travelled vertically rather than diagonally or horizontally.

Later on in the piece, while the game was still goalless, our lot produced a lovely slick move on the left (a move that contributed to my thinking, at 0-0, that this was one in which we were capable of getting our noses in front), which culminated in Maddison beating his man and cutting the ball back into the six-yard box. And there, again to his credit, lurked Werner, demonstrating once again that admirable ability to sniff out goalscoring opportunity.

Alas, once again, as sure as summer follows spring, Werner’s sniffing of opportunity was followed by Werner missing a presentable chance, and while it was probably more difficult than the earlier opportunity, one can nevertheless make the case that a chap who’s spent his whole life being drilled in the art of kicking a ball into the precise spot of his choosing ought to have steered the blasted thing on target.

Make no mistake, however, this defeat was not down to Timo Werner and his finishing. The whole lot were rotten to the core. For all its virtues and for whatever talent lurks within the constituent parts, the Postecoglou Operation is evidently one that requires a considerable amount of further work.

Tags Ange Postecoglou, Brennan Johnson, Cristian Romero, Destiny Udogie, Guglielmo Vicario, Micky Van de Ven, Newcastle United, Pedro Porro, Premier League, Timo Werner

Spurs match reports

West Ham 1-1 Spurs: Two Tottenham Talking Points

Post author By AANP
Post date April 3, 2024
7 Comments on West Ham 1-1 Spurs: Two Tottenham Talking Points

1. Winger to Winger

It only took eight months, but with Our Glorious Leader reasoning that right-footed chaps on the right and left-footed chaps on the left might be a ruse with something about it, within five minutes we had drawn blood.

Bentancur, Bissouma and Maddison as a midfield three might have attracted a murmur or two of respectful query, having possibly a little too mich of the neat and tidy, on an evening on which I imagined more of a need for blood and thunder, but as it turned out in the opening exchanges the trio were keen to showcase their very best. They simply passed their way around the other lot, and lilywhite eyes about the place promptly lit up.

Young Herr Werner was the early recipient of their impressive output, and here was where Ange’s masterplan really kicked in. He’s mumbled a few times about the value of one winger finishing a cross from t’other winger, but with someone like Kulusevski skulking about on the right one just had to sigh a long-suffering one and let the imagination do the rest.

Yesterday, however, was different. In Brennan Johnson we have a cove with the standard distribution of strengths and weaknesses; but crucially, in the former category falls the inclination to scurry into the penalty area towards the far post and have a nosey about the place. Why Kulusevski can never motivate himself to do this too is an odd one. Seems an easy win to me. Either the cross from afar never arrives, in which case no real harm done; or it does arrive, in which case one can lick the lips and treat oneself to one of the simpler moments of glory.

Anyway, Kulusevski may not be in the market for the all-you-can-eat buffet, strange chap, but young Johnson has demonstrated a few times this season an eagerness to be first in the queue. Last night, once Werner had taken possession on the right, Johnson was bobbing about the penalty area with all the childlike excitement of one about to be let loose in a sweetshop.

Werner’s cross was sufficient, and Johnson, having the presence of mind to rearrange his feet – a skill that ought not to be underrated when observing the troubles Sonny had in controlling the watered ball all night – was able to pop the treasured orb the requisite yard or two into the empty net.

A highly promising start we can all agree, and I saw no need to ration the stuff. If Werner and Johnson had spent the rest of the night squaring the ball across the goal for the other to tap in, I’d have applauded long into the night. In fairness, Johnson seemed game, and actually appeared set on repeating the routine every time he got hold of the ball – possibly overdoing it, the loveable young rascal – but out on the right Werner’s wings were strangely clipped, and he instead seemed content to keep to himself for the rest of the evening.

His prerogative I suppose, but it didn’t really benefit the cause, what? And irritatingly, with West Ham pulling back into the penalty area every man, woman and child, we struggled to find any other routes to goal.

2. Defending Corners

This being a school night, and AANP being a man of all sorts of solemn oaths and promises these days, there are but two bullet points on the agenda. This business of corners, however, and specifically the wild and petrified horror with which our entire collective greet them, is one worthy of a bit of contemplation and debate.

For a start, someone at base camp ought to sit the players down and explain to them clearly and slowly that when we concede a corner, what is subsequently lobbed into the area is not some sort of laser-guided missile but still the same old toy that they’ve so merrily been knocking around amongst themselves all game.

Which is to say that any one of the troupe would be perfectly within their rights to extend their frame and try to stick a head on it. Such behaviour, the instruction ought to continue, is allowed, and in fact heartily encouraged. Whether or not such quiet and soothing instruction would do the trick is debatable, but it strikes me as worth trying.

I’m also rather perturbed by the positional approach adopted by our lot. ‘Zonal’ I suppose one would call it. The priority appears to be adopt a spot of turf and dashed well stick to it, no matter where the opposition blighters scuttle off to. One admires their discipline of course. Come hell or high water, our heroes will not be moved. But if a West Ham body positions himself a yard in front of one of our lot, one would think that common sense might kick in, and they’d consider it the sort of exceptional circumstance in which a spot of deviation would be just the thing.

On top of which, young Vicario still fails to instil any confidence in these situations. Mightily accomplished in the art of shot-stopping, and supremely confident in passing out from the back, he withers and shrivels once the ball is placed on the corner quadrant, routinely finding himself bullied by great lumbering opposition oafs, and flapping at the incoming cross with all the timidity of a newborn foal. I was rather shocked when right at the death last night he actually emerged from the crowd to make decent contact on an incoming corner, and fist it beyond the area.

It was maddening stuff, because corners (and our mistakes) aside West Ham offered nothing going forward, yet each corner they were awarded felt like a moment of impending doom. Nor is it the first time we’ve had to sit through this rot, and one can bet every last penny that there will be more of it to come. One doubts that the personnel will change too drastically from one game to the next, or even from this season into next, which means that somehow or other the current lot will have to magic up some solutions, and pronto.

Tags Ange Postecoglou, Brennan Johnson, Dejan Kulusevski, Guglielmo Vicario, James Maddison, Premier League, Rodrigo Bentancur, Timo Werner, West Ham, Yves Bissouma

Spurs match reports

Spurs 2-1 Luton: Three Tottenham Talking Points

Post author By AANP
Post date March 31, 2024
10 Comments on Spurs 2-1 Luton: Three Tottenham Talking Points

1. Kulusevski On The Right…

That AANP reacts to Kulusevski’s deployment on the left by burying his head in his hands and noiselessly weeping is a well-known truth, and just to hammer home its salient points the Swede kindly offered a live-action example of precisely its ills, within the first two minutes on Saturday.

He picked up the ball on the right and went a-galloping, at a steady lick if not exactly breakneck speed, and by the time he reached the right-hand corner of the area all observers of lilywhite persuasion were fairly united in the view that here was a position of some promise.

At this point, as sure as night follows day, Kulusevski could be relied upon to cut inside on his left foot and make a hash of the main course, and he duly obliged. The cut-back brought a sigh, accepted as just one of those crosses one has to bear, but it need not necessarily have liquidated the attack. What happened next, however, absolutely stamped as a certainty the misdeeds that are brought by Kulusevski on the right.

Not only did he aim a pass to precisely no-one in lilywhite, using his position of opportunity to place the ball behind rather than into the path of the advancing Son, but the resulting loss of possession – as Sonny scrambled unsuccessfully to redeem things and Luton hared away with it – led of all things to a goal for the other lot. Townsend scuttled up the right, and before one could mutter, “But a moment ago this was our goalscoring opportunity, dash it!” Luton had the ball in our net.

This is not to suggest that the goal conceded was down to Kulusevski (although if The Brains Trust were to recommend ‘Nipping Things In The Bud’ as his bedtime reading for this week they’d have my vote), but more to emphasise that a fellow of his undoubted substance is frittering away his talents out on the right.

And frankly the man himself seemed to be at pains to emphasise that he is rather wasted on the right, by doing all his best work when he cut infield. Cast the mind back to the presentable one-on-one that Havertz put wide midway through the first half, and the glorious pass that released him emanated from Kulusevski wandering infield towards more central regions.

2. …vs Johnson On The right

Of course one hesitates to suggest that Big Ange asked himself at half-time what might AANP be thinking, and acted accordingly – modesty forbidding and all that – but the evidence is pretty overwhelming. Come the second 45 the concept of Kulusevski on the right had disappeared into the North London atmosphere, and Brennan Johnson was added to the cast list. Had an interested observer looked carefully they would surely have noted A.P. desperately trying to catch the AANP eye for approval.

The switch was made to considerable effect. Being an old-fashioned sort, AANP considers that a little too much fuss is made about the concept of Assists, there being a heck of a lot more to any half-decent attacker than his Assist count; but nevertheless, Johnson topped off a pretty sprightly 45 minutes with assists for both goals. That he did so was as a result of his repeated ability to hare off down the right in a puff of smoke, leaving Luton’s left-sided pack scrambling in his wake (credit here to supporting cast members, notably Pedro Porro, for doing much of the spadework that sprung Johnson from his traps).

Having been thusly unshackled Johnson did not waste too much time dwelling upon his options, adopting the principle that straight lines have a lot going for them and accordingly sprinting the shortest distance between two points before smacking the ball towards the far post. And thereafter, the second principle adopted by Johnson seemed to be that if it worked once it was worth trying again, and Luton seemed pretty powerless to stop him.

Hardly rocket science, but it’s worth noting that a pretty integral element of Johnson’s success was the fact that having sprinted free he didn’t go in for any of that meandering fluff about cutting back onto his left, instead just blasting in a low right-footed cross while Luton players were still rushing back to their posts. Put another way, at the crucial juncture Johnson opted for an approach that was about as far removed from Kulusevski as one could be, and it was markedly more successful.

On top of which, I’m rather a fan of Johnson’s predilection for tiptoeing into the area when attacks emanate down the left, with a view to flying in for a far-post tap-in – another element oddly lacking from Kulusevski’s game.

None of which is to suggest that Johnson is necessarily a better player than Kulusevski, or a nicer chap about the place or anything like that; but yesterday at least, the deployment of a pacy right-footer on the right wing was far more effective than the use of Kulusevski and his adored left foot. The question of where Our Glorious Leader goes from here, in selecting his next XI, and particularly his right-sided attacker, adds a gentle frisson of excitement to the coming days.

3. Classic Timo Werner

No doubt about it, Timo Werner is as curious a little eel as they come. He somehow managed to cram all his classic elements into one single performance yesterday, and I rather fancy that when he tucked into his post-match sauerkraut last night he himself would have been scratching the old loaf wondering whether his performance went down as a Yay or a Nay.

In the early stage I was impressed by his willingness to cut inside and worm his way into the heart of the Luton back-line, a spirit of adventure that I thought boded well, and had me looking forward to an afternoon of inroads on the left. I was a little disappointed therefore to note that thereafter he rather lost interest in that particular route, opting for the vastly more conventional approach of trying to outpace his man down the wing, and finding himself up against a pretty stubborn sort in that Kabore chap.

In Werner’s defence, our complete absence of any useful build-up play in the first half didn’t help his cause. Any good we produced in the first 45 seemed to come from pressing high and winning the ball in the final third, rather than any particular ingenuity from deep. An exception was the pass from deep from Kulusevski, alluded to earlier, which set Werner free to have a run at the Luton goal. I suspect that when he blew out the candles on his last birthday, Werner wished for someone to play the ball into his path from deep, allowing him to sprint onto it from the halfway line, because few situations better showcase his standout talent.

This, of course, is the talent for covering 20 yards in a blur of movement. Putting aside for the moment, the issue of what happens once the sprinting is done and life’s serious decisions creep up, when what is required is transiting from halfway to the penalty area with minimal fuss, Werner is up there with the best of them. I would hand over a decent portion of the weekly packet to see Werner, Van de Ven and Johnson duke it out over 60 metres or so.

And in fact, having ticked the ‘Sprint’ box in exemplary fashion, Werner then negotiated the second chapter with admirable skill, sending that Kabore chap this way and that, thereby creating room for his shot.

However, as has been well documented, this is where Werner really ought to have been directing those birthday wishes, because he somehow makes the job of manoeuvring the ball from his feet to the net look like the most complex operation in human history. Needless to say, after careful consideration, he deposited the ball a few inches wide of the target, and one just didn’t really see much point in chiding the fellow because he seems so pathologically incapable of depositing the ball anywhere else.

Which is not to say that he adds no value; far from it. As mentioned, this was a 90-minute package of every element of Werner’s game, and his role in our equaliser ought not to be understated. Johnson and Porro deserve tidy salutes for fashioning the chance, but when the ball was whizzed across the face of goal there arose a legal obligation for someone in lilywhite to come piling in at the far post, and Werner clearly knew his onions. Fortunately, however, he was spared the indignity of blasting the ball over from about two yards by that Kabore chap, upon whom Werner’s close attentions and whispered promises proved irresistible, forcing him to pop the ball home in a manner that Werner can presumably only dream of.

It’s not the first time our heroes have profited by one winger crossing for another, and even though the minutes of the occasion record it as an own goal, the value of Werner was there for all to see.

And to round things off he also played a critical role in the winner, providing assistance to Sonny on the counter-attack to great effect, first in carrying the ball from halfway to penalty area, as Luton backtracked furiously from their own corner, before getting his cross past good old Kabore and into the thick of things in the area, from which vicinity Johnson and Son tidied up.

So his usual mixed bag, but Werner certainly fits the system and contributes to the fun, in his own unique and loveable way. Another of Big Ange’s decisions in the coming weeks will presumably be whether to continue with him out on the left, or shove Sonny there instead, with Richarlison up top.

On a final note, I’m not sure I’ve ever witnessed two efforts in the same game roll across the goal-line without crossing it; but any inclination to bemoan our luck in those instances was neatly offset by the fact that both our goals featured generous dollops of luck the other way, comprising as they did an own goal and a hefty deflection. All such gifts gratefully accepted.

Tags Ange Postecoglou, Brennan Johnson, Dejan Kulusevski, Luton Town, Pedro Porro, Premier League, Son Heung Min, Timo Werner

Spurs match reports

Villa 0-4 Spurs: Four Tottenham Talking Points

Post author By AANP
Post date March 10, 2024
7 Comments on Villa 0-4 Spurs: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. Kulusevski: The Bad

AANP pens a spot of fiction, don’t you know, and a key piece of advice that the experts like to hammer home in that area is to make sure the characters have a bit about them to make you think. Both positives and negatives, I mean. Elements of good, elements of bad. Stops the reader dozing off apparently – and if I ever need a spot of inspiration for this sort of thing, I would need to look no further than Dejan Kulusevski’s 98 or so this afternoon, he managing to mingle the positives with the negatives like an absolute pro.

If you’ve passed this way before you’ll know that the AANP opinion of Kulusevski, while not exactly having plummeted, has entered something of a troubling downward trajectory in recent weeks. Broadly, I remain a fan – all things being equal, one would rather a world in which the honest soul were part of the lilywhite fabric than not – but poke around beneath the headlines and really get into the meat of the thing, and, no doubt about it, the eyebrow starts to twitch in a northerly direction.

The issue, as I’ve blathered on about interminably in recent weeks, is his output in the final third. Receive the ball on or around the right-hand corner of the area, and up there with death and taxes is the fellow’s propensity to chop back onto his left. Which would be an absolute triumph, and the sort of manoeuvre I’d laud to the heavens, if it were a guaranteed winner. As it was in his first six months or so after joining, in fact. Back in those halcyon days the chap couldn’t set foot on the pitch without following up the chop-back-onto-left routine by curling a shot into the far corner or picking out an onrushing striker.

These days, however, Kulusevski chopping back onto his left foot is the cue, as sure as night follows day, either for a shot to waft off amongst the paying public in the lower tiers, or some specimen of output – cross or shot, they blend into one – to thud against an opposing limb and bounce away harmlessly. It happened a couple of times in the first half, and the air at AANP Towers was thick with the deepest exasperation.

However, to dismiss Kulusevski solely on the grounds of his activity when just outside the penalty area would be to do him something of a disservice. Granted, in that vicinity he’ll elicit in the onlooker the urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until his insides jangle; but station him as the attacking outlet inside his own half and on the right, and his value suddenly soars.

2. Kulusevski: The Good

Essentially, when it comes to playing out from the back, if the first stage of the campaign has been delivered – viz., transferring the precious cargo from Vicario to one or other of the Back Four through some slick first-time passing – then when Porro or whomever plant the ball at Kulusevski’s feet, still inside his own half, the energetic young cad suddenly comes alive.

And evidence of this was provided in our pretty critical opening goal. Kulusevski was shoved the ball by Romero, and, after a spot of admin, played a neat one-two with Porro, receiving the ball back from PP with his head up and the old compass pointing north. At this point, for clarity, he was still inside his own half. What followed was what I like to think of as the principal value that Kulusevski adds to the entire operation: he ran forward five yards to the halfway line with ball at feet, and then biffed it past a couple of Villa sorts and into the path of Sarr, in a great swathe of open greenery.

Now I appreciate that it might not sound much in practical terms, but the effect of this sort of input is to transform what you might call A Spot Of Bother (i.e. trying to play out from the back while under pressure from the opposition, facing one’s own goal and whatnot) into A Sudden Attacking Burst. In particular, Kulusevski’s knack for knocking the ball past a defender both near halfway and facing the wrong way has a solid history of bringing home the bacon. Whether he himself runs onto his own forward thrust, or a teammate takes up the baton, it’s a pretty reliable means of our heroes suddenly springing into life and, essentially, counter-attacking.

This is, of course, a very specific skillset, and accordingly requires a pretty specific set of conditions, not least that the opposition happen to be defending high up the pitch, around halfway, attempting to press our lot. And I suppose this is partly why Kulusevski has appeared so toothless in recent weeks. Most recent opponents have defended near their own area, thereby negating his particular adeptness in the field of springing a counter-attack from inside his own half. The circumstance just doesn’t arise.

Anyway, Sarr ran onto Kulusevski’s pass and effected the rest with the same outstanding quality that was sprinkled on his every contribution throughout; and AANP rather grudgingly admitted the value of Kulusevski’s input.

And wouldn’t you know it, barely had the cheers died in our throats than Kulusevski was at it again. Whether it was specifically to make a mockery of my first half critique, or whether it was simply because he saw an opportunity to nab possession from a Villa man high up the pitch I guess we’ll never know; but nab he did, like the very best of them, leaping into action while the Villa chap miscontrolled and gawped.

Not only did Kulusevski nab, but in doing so he also rather neatly managed to pop the ball straight to the waiting Sonny. I suspect that when he lies on his deathbed several decades hence and spills the beans on his deepest secrets, Kulusevski might admit that the pass to Son was actually unintended, if serendipitous, and that all he had meant was a spot of high-class nabbing. It mattered not. The sum of the thing was that Sonny collected it, and rolled it along to young Johnson, who was pleasingly clinical.

Again, being the humble and gracious sort, AANP dished out some of that grudging applause; but, unbelievably, the Kulusevski masterclass wasn’t finished there, as in injury time he popped up to set up Sonny for his goal.

I think the records really ought to show that Kulusevski did, in the intervening period, also pickle a few pretty promising situations – in the final third, inevitably – but nevertheless, come added time he absolutely nailed his delivery. I noted with interest that he did not actually bother with the old chop-back-onto-his-left-clog routine, breaking the habit of a lifetime perhaps because we were two up against ten men in added time, and if one cannot let one’s hair down in that circumstance than when can one?

Controversially, he instead fired in his pass with his right foot, and in what I hope will be a moment that is analysed and pored over for hours by The Brains Trust, the decision to do so, before the defence had themselves organised, immediately struck oil. Son hit it like a tracer bullet, and off we romped.

3. Johnson

Ahead of kick-off, on casting the critical eye over the teamsheet I had actually wondered if Kulusevski might start on the left and young Johnson on the right. Call me old-fashioned, but I rather like the idea of wingers being stationed on the side that allows them to stay on their stronger foot, and plough ahead to the byline.

Such decades-old thinking was obviously laughed out of town by Our Glorious Leader, who instead stuck to the terribly new-fangled way of things and popped the right-footed Johnson on the left. On observing this, I chuntered away a bit, envisaging countless scenarios in which Johnson did the hard work, beat his man, created an opportunity – and then cut back onto his right.

As it happened, however, Johnson was rather lively, in the first half in particular, when the general way of things was so moribund that any hint of liveliness stood out for miles like a beacon. To his credit, he did not give the impression of being overly inhibited by his new station, admittedly having to check onto his right foot more often than not, but seeing these moments as opportunities rather than challenges, and doing a solid job of keeping momentum ticking over by finding chums infield, rather than giving it one-eighty degrees and rolling the ball backwards.

He did, on occasion, also try his luck on the outside and using his left foot, although perhaps more to keep Matty Cash Booo on his toes rather than for guarantee of success.

It was the sort of performance that would elicit a polite ripple of applause, and I was rather pleased for the young egg when he tucked away his goal, given that the knives have been out for him at various points this season. (A propos his goal, a word of commendation to Sonny, who had the presence of his mind to roll the pass slightly behind Johnson, so as to allow the latter to shoot with his favoured right, rather than rolling the pass into his path, as convention might have dictated, which would have forced Johnson to roll the dice somewhat and swing with his left.)

4. Angeball vs Ten Men

If the final half hour taught us anything it was that Angeball is quite a lark when pinged about against ten men. When I put this theory to my Spurs-supporting chum Mark, he made the fairly reasonable point that few teams are likely to oblige us by taking to the pitch with ten, but nevertheless, the whole system of running ~~rings~~ zippy little triangles around the opposition is evidently a tad easier when there is one fewer amongst the opposition number. Angeball against a team with a two-goal deficit leaves the odds stacked in our favour, as they leave gaps behind them; Angeball against all of the above and with an additional pair of legs is pretty much a fait accompli.

Dave, another of the Spurs-supporting fraternity, made another valid point when he drew attention to the nasty jar received each time Villa attacked, for even when two up against ten men, once our lot lost possession one was inclined to descend into blind panic at the fact that our heroes still somehow left themselves 2 vs 2 at the back.

In general, however, it was a pretty serene half hour, once the opening goals had gone in and that thuggish Villa sort had gone off. Our lot kept possession well, slowing things down as appropriate, but also picking judiciously their moments to burst into life.

It was not really an outcome I’d have envisaged after the first half, in which Villa oddly descended into some pretty agricultural stuff – sitting deep and punting long – and our heroes laboured away with precious little reward. Moreover, I suspect was not the only lilyhwhite fearing the worst at the sight of poor old VDV hobbling off, having yet again demonstrated his value as a blur of legs covering for others’ mistakes. (A brief tip of the cap to young Dragusin, who dealt with everything thrown his way with minimal fuss.)

So it was to the credit of all involved that in a game upon which so much was riding, our lot absolutely cantered home. Fourth is of course far from a done deal, but the ominous prospect of an eight-point gap to Villa has been swatted aside, and for good measure a goal difference deficit of six has turned into an advantage of two, in the blink of an eye.

Tags Ange Postecoglou, Brennan Johnson, Dejan Kulusevski, Micky Van de Ven, Pape Matar Sarr, Premier League, Radu Dragusin, Son Heung Min

Spurs match reports

Spurs 3-1 Palace: Four Tottenham Talking Points

Post author By AANP
Post date March 3, 2024
9 Comments on Spurs 3-1 Palace: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. Vicario’s Error

A chiding is due of young Signor Vicario. This is quite the rarity, as the loveable imp tends to do far more right than wrong in the cause, but I fancy he dropped a rather large one yesterday, for the Palace goal.

It was the way in which he set up the wall – or, more specifically, the location in which he set up the wall. Put squarely, he popped the damn thing in the wrong place. Or perhaps he put the wall in the right place but then positioned himself in the wrong place. Either way, neither he nor wall were covering the great big yawning gap to the left (as he looked) of his goal.

It was awfully rummy stuff. Akin, it seemed to me, to a builder constructing a roof but leaving a hole of considerable diameter in one corner of it, possibly on the grounds that he didn’t anticipate any rain falling in that spot.

Anyway, whatever the reason, that lad Eze’s eyes almost popped out of his head, and he simply drilled the ball into the vacant spot. I read variously on some of the media outlets that he scored a ‘terrific’ free-kick and other such rot. This, to be clear, is tosh. It was not a terrific free-kick, the fellow did not even not to curl the dashed thing, or bother with lifting it up over the wall and back down again, or any of the other intricacies and technicalities that tend to make well-taken free-kicks stand out as things of beauty. Eze simply needed to kick the ball in a straight line, which for a professional footballer is many things, but certainly not ‘terrific’.

For Vicario, however, it was a moment of ignominy, and might have cost us pretty dearly. Whatever the Italian is for ‘Tut tut’, this needs to be communicated to the fellow as a matter of absolute urgency.

2. Werner

That Werner fellow makes one scratch the head a bit, what? Difficult to know what to make of him at times, I mean. He has my full backing, of course, and never shirks his duties, and is no slouch over ten yards, and so on. Crucially, however, he also makes me tear my hair out, howling to the sky and cursing his entire lineage. So two sides to the coin, you might say.

The standout moments yesterday involved a goal not scored and a goal scored. There was all the other usual Werner guff of course, for those of us playing Werner Bingo – the straightforward ability to outpace his full-back even with ball at feet; the occasional cross that sailed into the stands; the tendency to suck momentum out of an attack by turning backwards to receive the ball and then passing it backwards instead of gathering it and galloping – but there were two particular highlights to his 1^st March showreel.

Firstly, the miss, which, within the category of the things was rather a corker. Too much time, I suspect was his problem, given that he actually began the operation inside his own half. It all started pretty promisingly, the fact that he set off from inside his own half meaning that one could wave a derisory hand at the linesman and yell, ‘Fie to offside!’ while scuttling off towards goal. This Werner achieved with minimal fuss.

And on the matter of relocating from halfway line to shooting distance, the young cove seemed similarly inclined to dispense with pomp and ceremony, and more in the mood for getting down to brass tacks. “The penalty area, and schnell!” appeared to be his logic, and I was all in favour.

At this point most neutral onlookers would have observed that all was going pretty swimmingly. The decision to take a touch that sent him on a more central route, rather than maintaining his inside-left course, struck me as intrepid, and possibly a little unnecessary, but I was inclined to defer to his superior experience in such matters. “He knows what he’s doing,” muttered the AANP internal voice, in an attempt at self-reassurance. “Probably a right-footed gambit.”

At that point, however, Werner started to stray from the script, and without really knowing where he was going to end up. A spot of improv is all well and good, as long as one has a vague idea of what one wants to achieve by the time the curtain comes down. Unfortunately, one started to get the idea that Werner was instead banking on the notion that things would probably take care of themselves and he could just tag along for the ride. He took another touch to the right, and what had looked like a pretty straightforward shooting opportunity now adopted a rather unnecessary layer of complication. Where a moment earlier all options were on the table, the clueless nib had now backed himself into something of a corner, with only one real option: round the ‘keeper.

The problem with this was that the ‘keeper was by now also privy to the masterplan. In fact, all of us were. Werner knew he had to round the ‘keeper, but the ‘keeper also knew that Werner had to round the ‘keeper, and in those sorts of situations – well, everyone just sort of cancels out everyone else, and the whole thing becomes a bit of a damp squib.

Which was exactly what happened, leaving us all to recall those grim warnings upon his arrival that for all his many talents, Timo Werner cannot score.

The truth of this statement seemed pretty undeniable, but the second half brought to our attention the caveat, penned in the tiniest font imaginable, that actually Timo Werner can score – if given an open goal from about five yards and without the luxury of time to overthink the bally thing.

Johnson squared it, Werner banged it in and a solution duly presented itself: Werner can score by the hatful, as long as his chances are presented at point-blank range and requiring only one touch.

(By the by, I suspect I was not the only one who chortled gaily to themselves on witnessing how Sonny dealt with his Werner-esque chance, just banging the ball home as if it were the easiest thing in the world).

3. Van de Ven

Slightly odd to say in a match in which our goal was under pretty minimal pressure, but Van de Ven struck me as head and shoulders above the rest yesterday. Although perhaps the very fact that our goal was under minimal pressure could itself be deemed Exhibit A in the case for VDV’s outstanding contributions, for the magnificent young squirt managed to extinguish every Palace attack at source and single-handedly.

Any sort of dubious circumstance, whether caused by him, by a teammate or landed upon us by a spot of Palace counter-attacking, was instantly quelled by VDV putting his head down and absolutely storming out of the blocks. As such, Palace attacks barely merited the name, they being cut short by VDV typically before they had advanced to within 40 yards of our goal.

These heroics appear not to come without a price, as at least once a game – and two or three times yesterday – he seems to go to ground with an anguished yelp and the crestfallen look of a man realising that a valued limb is about to fall off. If such moments cause him pain he should spare a thought for his legions of onlookers, because each time he collapses in such fashion the AANP heart skips a good beat or two.

He got through proceedings relatively unscathed, however, and while his presence alone hardly guarantees our imperviousness to counter-attacking danger, he does a jolly good job of things on that front.

4. Another Slog

The three points were vital, and the 3-1 scoreline looks straightforward enough – and indeed, it was peculiarly comfortable to see out the final ten or so plus stoppage time with relative ease, rather than clinging on for dear life or – worse – desperately trying to magic a goal out of thin air.

Nevertheless, whichever bright spark came up with that “All’s well that ends well” gag was rather stealing a living in my book, because the first half was another illustration of a certain bluntness in our play. The only chances we created stemmed from pinching possession in our own half and counter-attacking. Of chances created against the defensive 11 there were none.

A slight improvement came about in the second half at least, although I confess to lacking the technical nous to understand whether this was due to an improvement on our part or a more advanced setup on Palace’s, which perhaps left more room behind them.

Either way, in the second half Werner seemed to have more joy against his full-back, and Maddison started to show the odd glimpse of a return to his pre-injury form, one or two shrewd diagonals missing their mark by a whisker. (Good also to see his quick thinking and impeccable technique in creating our second, for Romero.)

I confess to giving the forehead a few extra creases when Johnson was introduced. I have no problem with the chap himself, but he was deployed seemingly to act as a second right-winger, in addition to Kulusevski, a tactical innovation that threatened to make my head explode. As it happened, however, whatever the hell it was it worked a treat, as it was Johnson’s honest beavering on the right that created our long-awaited first goal, so I suppose Our Glorious Leader is due the approving nod for that one.

All told, however, that joyless first half continues to eat away at me. The challenge of sides that sit deep en masse is not one we will have to face every week – Villa away next week, for example, will be a pretty different kettle of fish – but the moments of attacking inspiration for games such as these still seem a little thin on the ground.

Tags Ange Postecoglou, Brennan Johnson, Crystal Palace, Dejan Kulusevski, Guglielmo Vicario, James Maddison, Micky Van de Ven, Premier League, Son Heung Min, Timo Werner

Spurs match reports

Spurs 2-1 Brighton: Four Tottenham Talking Points

Post author By AANP
Post date February 11, 2024
9 Comments on Spurs 2-1 Brighton: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. Maddison as Vicario’s Bodyguard

Easy to forget amidst all the joyous bedlam of full-time, but one of the burning questions going into this one was around the thorny issue of Vicario receiving more of the rough stuff at corners, and the ploy devised by Our Glorious Leader to negate such dastardly acts.

We didn’t have to wait too long to see the fruits of such planning, with Vicario being assigned his own personal bodyguard at corners, evidently tasked with inserting self in between goalkeeper and opposing, interfering forward. In a world in which meaty specimens such as Romero and Udogie and Richarlison lurk about the premises, I have to confess to raising a slightly alarmed eyebrow upon discovering that the identity of Vicario’s saviour was to be one J. Maddison Esq.

Now in a sense this added up. Heavyweights such as the aforementioned presumably already had their own important duties to carry out at corners; while Maddison comes across as the willing sort, always happy to take on an additional task that will help the collective, and even more so if it’s a high-profile little number.

On the other hand, however, there’s the delicate issue of what one might politely term ‘Suitability for the Role’. Putting it delicately, Maddison’s is not a physique of pure, unadulterated brawn and sinew. If I were to request, from an agency that handled such things, the services of a bit of muscle to protect me from harm of an evening, I’d be pretty cheesed off if they sent James Maddison my way, and would probably send him straight back and demand a refund. Of the entire squad, I imagine that only the wisp-like Bryan Gil would have any difficulty in shoving aside Maddison in any form of physical combat.

Nevertheless, it was better than the alternative, of simply allowing whichever forward (Welbeck yesterday, I think) an unhindered run at Vicario to flap in his face and barge him around as he pleased. And one might reasonably argue that the proof of the pudding was in the fact that Vicario being forced into errors at corners simply was not an issue yesterday, as it had been in previous games. (Although the caveat here is that Brighton’s delivery from corners was not so accurate as to put him under proper scrutiny.) Certainly, Maddison got into the spirit of the thing, all bravado and tugging and pulling each time the principals set themselves for a corner.

So a solution of sorts, but I do consider that a more rigorous test of this scheme, and Maddison’s abilities in the area of personal security, could be yet to come.

2. Not Quite At The Races

Is it just me or does every outing of the Good Ship Hotspur end in some dramatic stoppage-time goal, one way or the other? It certainly feels that way, to the extent that if one of our games finished 5-3 but with all scoring wrapped up by the 80th minute, I’d probably slope away in a bit of a mood, grumbling about not having received my money’s worth.

Anyway, whichever soul launched the gag about all being well that ends well certainly hit the bullseye yesterday, and I blush to admit that I rather lost my sense of propriety when Johnson popped up at the end, bounding about the place like one possessed, truth be told. All of which was well and good, and pretty much captures why we make the weekly pilgrimage in the first place; but it did also paper over the fact that this was a slightly squiffy sort of showing from our heroes.

The dubious tone was set within the first 30 second when young VDV, normally the sort of egg upon whom you’d bet your mortgage as well as the life of your least-favoured child, oddly floundered, losing his bearings, his sight of the ball and his understanding of gravity. Under minimal pressure he tripped over himself and into a little heap, allowing Welbeck to race off and send an early greeting Vicario’s way.

VDV was at it again for the penalty, dipping a foot into a spot he ought to have avoided; an episode that had its genesis in Bentancur miscalculating pretty significantly and being hustled off the ball on the edge of his own area. Bentancur was perhaps the poster-boy for the day’s travails, occasionally delivering his trademark wriggle from trouble, but too often caught dwelling in possession and failing to provide the steady hand to which we’ve become accustomed.

To be clear, however, this was not a case of VDV and Bentancur alone being at the heart of our troubles. Most in lilywhite seemed a little undercooked. Take Udogie, for example. Strangely muted, no? Vicario at one point ill-advisedly underarmed the ball to Bentancur in a most precarious spot; and so on.

Being a gracious sort, I can grudgingly admit that a lot of our under-performing was down to Brighton, whose high-press was pretty snappy, and whose short passing was at times terrific. In fact, the whole thing struck me as what would happen if our heroes played against themselves in one of those shiny computer games with fancy graphics.

Whatever the reason, for the first twenty or so, our lot were comfortably second best; and while we got back on top in the latter part of the first half, this owed as much to pressing high and turning over possession as to any particular guile in our build-up play. Following ingestion of the half-time victuals, our lot hit first gear for a good 25 minutes or so, which looked like it would bring a lot more that just the equaliser, and I confess that at that point I settled back into my seat with a rather smug sense of anticipation; only for our lot to lose their way again, and end up rather clinging on as the clock struck 90. A strange old knocking from our heroes, then.

3. Richarlison

Richarlison was another who didn’t quite hit the right notes, until he eventually did circa minute 96.

His first half miss when clean through (doff of the cap to Maddison for the pass, by the by) was pretty unforgiveable. One can bleat away all day about the goalkeeper spreading himself and whatever else, but that was about as straightforward as chances come, and a chap in his current form ought to have crossed t’s and dotted i’s with minimal fuss.

He delivered similar rot when given the opportunity to tee up Maddison for a straightforward finish, again before half-time. Admittedly that was a pass that required a tad more timing and weighting, but nevertheless it ought not to have been beyond a fellow whose juices have been flowing like his in the last six weeks or so.

It was a curious performance from Richarlison, because it was not one of those in which he skulked about the place like a moody teen, or wobbled unconvincingly, beset by a critical absence of confidence. He seemed right as rain in matters of the head, full of confidence and positivity. He just failed to deliver at the critical moments – until the finale.

At that point, he did a cracking job, delivering his lines to perfection. His pass for Son looked simple enough, but had he played it with any greater or lesser force Sonny would probably have had to break his stride – or strayed offside – and we’d all be grumbling about another drawn game we should have won. Instead, Richarlison (having been involved in the earlier build-up too), picked his moment and weighted his pass, and AANP duly forgave his earlier transgressions.

4. The Winning Goal

While Richarlison’s minor but critical role receives a light ovation from these parts, I’m inclined to shove the Best Supporting Actor trophy towards Sonny. One can take it for granted, but there aren’t too many nibs around who can go flying off at that sort of pace. His timing had to be on the money too, to stay onside, but mercifully the chap was fully alert to the situation, and crammed the best of all worlds into one single package – staying onside whilst building up a sufficient head of steam to outpace his opposing defender pretty comfortably.

There then followed the most critical part of the operation, viz. delivery of the pass. We could all see it, of course – and being the helpful sort, AANP took the opportunity to scream at the blighter a pithy but accurate instruction as to what was needed at this juncture – but it’s one thing seeing, and a different kettle of fish actually doing.

Mercifully, Son delivered to the millimetre. There was no messing around with additional touches, or considerations of taking it on himself, or any such nonsense. Son pinged the pass first-time, with a spot of curl to evade the stretching Estupinan, leaving Johnson with a pretty straightforward mission from 5 yards.

Johnson, as is well known, has attracted a decent amount of opprobrium over the months, principally for his delivery of a final ball, but if he excels in one area it is in understanding the value of arriving at the back post when potential is bubbling away on the opposite flank. He does it better than most of the others in our ranks, and there is something particularly pleasing about seeing a goal created by one wide attacker to be executed the other. If Son deserves credit for his burst of pace on the left, Johnson ought also to be lauded for acting similarly on the right – for all his attributes I’m not sure Kulusevski would have eaten up those yards.

For one horrific moment I did actually think that Johnson had managed to blast the ball over the bar, but the lad had the good sense not to lash at the thing, and the happy ending was safely tucked away.

Tags Brennan Johnson, Brighton, Destiny Udogie, Guglielmo Vicario, James Maddison, Micky Van de Ven, Premier League, Richarlison, Rodrigo Bentancur, Son Heung Min

Spurs match reports

Spurs 3-2 Brentford: Three Tottenham Talking Points

Post author By AANP
Post date February 1, 2024
2 Comments on Spurs 3-2 Brentford: Three Tottenham Talking Points

1. Udogie

Not unusually for our lot this was a performance high on action and low on plot, the chaotic whole perhaps best represented by the various triumphs and misadventures of Destiny Udogie.

Taking things on a scale of Ripping to Ghastly, Udogie’s attacking inputs were productive and bountiful. There was more to it than just his goals: in the opening fifteen minutes or so, when we looked a good bet for the usual early salvo, Udogie was one of those at the forefront of the intricate pass-and-move stuff being furiously marketed.

Naturally, however, his role in our goals attracts the eye, and for both our first and third he was front and centre, albeit slightly off to the left.

Having laboured for so much of the first half against a deep-set and heavily fortified Brentford defence, I’m not quite sure how it came to pass in the first ten minutes of the second half that we kept catching them out of position, undermanned and generally disorganised and tripping over one another, but there we were. Gift-horses and all that.

And given this situation Udogie set about them with the relish of one who had elbowed his way to the front of the queue and could barely wait to be let loose. Udogie on the charge really is one of the finer sights in nature, a terrific combination of pace, technique, awareness, muscle and other wholesome stuff. When the call goes out for volunteers to stop the man in his tracks I can assure you that AANP would keep his head down and surreptitiously shuffle off into the background, and the Brentford mob similarly seemed not really to relish the fight.

For both our first and third goals, the marvellous specimen collected the ball around halfway and motored off towards the penalty area. For the first, having got this far and popped the thing off to Werner, he did not ease off with the air of one content with his night’s work and ready for a spot of refreshment, but treated the job as very much half-done and carried on sprinting. No doubt he benefited from a spot of bright and breezy fortune at that point – Brentford legs converging and the ball rebounding pretty kindly for him – but when one exhibits so many of the critical traits of an unstoppable force of nature, I tend to think that one earns a spot of luck.

And then, being one of those eggs who lives by the principle that if a thing works once it might as well be milked for a few more helpings of the good stuff, seven minutes later he set off on the charge again, sticking to the same geographical route – halfway line, left off centre – and opting to release the ball at pretty much the same moment.

At this point he did deviate from the blueprint, but it proved a strong choice, opting not to pass left to Werner but instead threading a pretty precise little number into Maddison in the penalty area, where further riches were to follow.

So three cheers for Udogie when gripped by the urge to make merry in the Brentford half; but by golly he did leave a trail of catastrophe behind him. In the first place the Brentford opener had at its genesis his misdirected pass on halfway. Under no pressure and with pretty much the entire cast list to aim at, it was careless in the extreme, what the racket-wielding folk refer to as an unforced error.

There is a sense in which that mistake for the first was considerably worse than that for the second, as the first was the sort you’d file under ‘Poor Play’, while the second seemed more along the lines of ‘Failing to Spot A Camouflaged Opponent’, which let’s face it, is one of the more unique categories around and not the sort of eventuality for which one trains.

Anyway, fail to spot him he did, and what ought to have been a bit of a cakewalk turned into the classic Nervous Final 20 At The Tottenham Hotspur Stadium. All’s well that ends well of course, and young Signor Udogie remains a particular favourite around these parts, but the urge to load up, take careful aim and fire into our own feet remains bizarrely strong around the on-field practitioners of N17.

2. The Defence in General

Udogie may have stolen the limelight when it came to knuckle-headed decisions, but watching Brentford repeatedly stroll unaccompanied through our half of the pitch and right up into our penalty area, in the first half, did reiterate that nagging sensation at AANP Towers that something might not be quite right with our defence.

As individuals, each of VDV, Romero, Porro and Udogie are top-notch, bursting at the seams with all manner of qualities. However, shove them together and instruct them to Angeball for an hour and a half, and they pretty swiftly degenerate into a quartet of drunks unclear what sport they are playing.

I suppose part of the challenge is Our Glorious Leader’s instructions, which seem to be along the lines that when one of the quartet is in possession, at least two of the others ought to leave their designated posts and go find some space elsewhere. To call this laden with risk is to understate the thing. It only takes one casually misplaced pass, a la Udogie last night and the opposition is away, with half a pitch to gallop into unopposed.

Brentford had clearly not just received the memo but had put in a fair amount of time studying it and turning it into a complete thesis, and as a result pressed our back-four at every opportunity. In turn, our back-four, diligently sticking to the values of Angeball, kept dicing with death – trying to pirouette around the opponent and so forth – achieving a success rate of approximately 50%.

As well as this business of losing possession on halfway and sprinting back to try saving the day in the nick of time, I also noted the pretty dubious behaviour of Cristian Romero in Brentford’s first goal. Having done the hard work of keeping pace with – and indeed gaining some ground on – Toney, rather than finish the job by steaming across and executing some form of meaty block, Romero opted to hold his line and give Toney a free hit at goal, which seemed unnecessarily generous.

In Romero’s defence, I understood the rationale – he presumably wanting to prevent a square pass to the onrushing Maupay, and banking on VDV’s pace take care of Toney. Nevertheless, it did strike me that he slathered on the business of backing off a bit too heavily. The key to the manoeuvre ought to have been subtlety, in edging towards Toney whilst keeping a watchful eye on Maupay, thereby keeping Toney in two minds. Instead, he might as well have hired one of those planes to fly over the stadium with a banner proclaiming that he was going to back right off Toney and block the pass, so if Toney wanted to get his shot off then the floor was his. I did not approve.

And my mood darkened further after Vicario saved the shot, as Romero simply slackened the shoulders and downed tools, evidently of the opinion that he had played his part in the scene, and the leftovers could be taken care of by those around him. It was quite the dereliction of duty, and an odd one coming from a chappie who does not seem himself unless flying full-blooded into some challenge or other, but off he clocked and Maupay seized the moment.

The curious lapses from Romero and Udogie can, I suppose, be excused as human error; but this business of being caught on halfway and then duking it out in a sprint to goal is rather more structural. It appears that we are stuck with it, however, as just one of those consequences of Angeball, the only remedy for which is simply to keep scoring more than the other lot, which should be a wheeze.

3. Werner

Fair to say it’s been a slightly underwhelming start to life in lilywhite for Herr Werner. He seems enthusiastic enough, and is obviously blessed with the ability to motor from A to B at a fair old lick, but once he’s got himself into a dangerous position he seems not quite to know what do next (or, in the case of shooting, how to do it). The general impression is of one whose northernmost tip simply cannot keep up with his southernmost base, those whirring little legs outpacing his brain each time.

The vexing trend continued in the first half yesterday. Presumably under instruction, both he and Kulusevski tucked inside, to relatively narrow positions, which seemed right up Brentford’s street, and in general he seemed to pick wrong options.

However, life improved considerably in the second half. In the build-up to our first goal he pulled his usual trick of racing off into the distance in a puff of smoke, but where previously he has stuttered, and paused, and had a bit of a think, and then a bit of an overthink, this time he was a bit more committed in his conclusion, cutting back, sidestepping a couple of defenders and feeding young Udogie.

This seemed to do the chap a world of good. When released again a minute or so later he took it as his cue to deliver his finest moment yet in our colours, racing off again as is his preference, but then eschewing the usual option of slowing things down to pick through his options, and instead firing the ball across goal with a note pinned to it on which was scrawled the invitation ‘Tap me into the empty net, bitte’. Young Master Johnson duly licked his lips in the centre.

That particular sequence earned Werner a spontaneous ovation from AANP Towers. The obsession with inverted wingers, forever cutting inside to deliver their produce, has its value no doubt, but given that Werner’s pace will generally position him a yard ahead of his man, it does madden me somewhat that he repeatedly sacrifices that yard in order to cut back onto his right foot. There was no such rot last night for the second goal – once Werner was away, he evidenced a show of faith in his lesser-spotted left foot and it worked out splendidly for all concerned.

As with Kulusevski when stationed on the right, I yearn for him to display a bit more confidence in his weaker foot – and I do scratch the head and wonder how an elite-level player can get by in life with such reluctance to use it – but last night’s rich harvest ought to give him a spot of the old oil on this front.

And as a valedictory note, marvellous to observe that the resurgence of Richarlison continues apace, his goal arguably the least emphatic contribution of a night that included a decent repertoire of hold-up and link-up play.

Tags Ange Postecoglou, Brennan Johnson, Brentford, Cristian Romero, Dejan Kulusevski, Destiny Udogie, Micky Van de Ven, Pedro Porro, Premier League, Richarlison, Timo Werner