All Action, No Plot

A slightly tardy ha’penny’s worth – the rigours of the real world having inconsiderately interfered in the business of interweb rantings – but one advantage of this delay has been an opportunity to let the dust settle on last night’s defeat to Man Utd, take a few deep breaths and survey the wreckage.

While it was by no means an awe-inspiring display from our heroes, I am a little taken aback at the extent of the criticism being flung our way. I thought we started proceedings fairly well last night. Stop sniggering at the back. We shifted the ball around intelligently enough, attacked down the flanks and the centre, and created a few chances from close range (the sort of which were nestling merrily in the onion-bag against Wigan, I noted ruefully). To be honest, one might have been forgiven for thinking we were the home team in the early stages. I get the feeling that my former allies are now staring at their feet embarrassedly, and shuffling away from me, but I’ll dagnabbit I’ll plough on.

While we created decent chances from around six yards, at the other end we hardly carved apart – United had two pot-shots from distance, and we were two-nil down (although they did then create a presentable chance just before half-time). On balance of play, parity at half-time - or even a lead for our lot - would not have been history’s greatest injustice. Instead, I spent the half-time interval morphing into a three year-old throwing a tantrum about how unfair it all was (albeit a three year-old pausing for regular sips of whisky and coke), bemoaning the fact that we had gone two down before they had even got inside our penalty area.

However, no matter how determinedly I complained about the perceived injustice, two-nil it was. Without having done much to earn the right, United were able to indulge in a fairly fretless round of keep-ball in the second half, as we then admittedly laboured to produce anything particularly threatening. The reaction to the two-goal deficit was deflating, ‘tis true, but I thought it was jolly rotten luck to find ourselves in that position at all.

Alternatively, Maybe We Really Were That Bad, And I Watched Through Beer Goggles?

On occasion over the years I have imparted some of that unique AANP wit and badinage upon the young ladies of London, who will appear stunning of an evening, only for a later rendez-vous to reveal them to be wretchedly disfigured and, frankly, ugly as sin. The blame for such erroneous initial visual assessments can be squarely traced back to the clouding of judgement by alcohol; and perhaps such beer-goggles have interfered with my interpretation of yesterday’s game too, for I suspect I’m in a minority with my assessment.

Whatever – It’s Done. Some Closing Sentiments.

Either way – consummatum est. It is done. We have fought the good fight, the game is over, and the Carling Cup Final 2010 DVD is to be an unrealised dream.

‘Arry has made sure that the press have him down as angry about the defeat; AANP is disgusted at suggestions that this is just a ruse to make it appear, to fans who forked out last night, that he cares about the Carling Cup.

Young Master Bentley may have flicked his hair for the final time in Tottenham colours. One suspects that he did not quite do enough last night to convince management that he is a better option that Lennon on the right.

And we can all forget about the Carling Cup, just as we forgot about the Europa League last summer, and increase our focus on the battle for fourth spot in the Premiership. All competitions are equal, but some are more equal than others.

You can become a Facebook fan of Spurs’ Cult Heroes and AANP here, or follow on Twitter here

And as ever, all are most welcome to leave memories - and browse those of others - regarding some of the players to be featured in forthcoming book Spurs’ Cult Heroes: Danny Blanchflower here, Dave Mackay here, Cliff Jones here, Martin Chivers here, Alan Gilzean here, Pat Jennings here, Cyril Knowles here, Steve Perryman here, Glenn Hoddle here, Chris Waddle here, Ossie and Ricky here, Gary Mabbutt here, Graham Roberts here, Jimmy Greaves here, Clive Allen here, Jurgen Klinsmann here

Ah, Man Utd versus Spurs. Two giants of the game, under the floodlights, in a one-off knock-out contest. It reminds me of when England played Brazil in the 2002 World Cup quarter-final. Then, the meeting of two sides with so much history behind them provided a unique buzz of anticipation, and seemed to epitomise precisely what the competition was about. And now, Manchester United play Tottenham Hotspur. It’s a classic Cup tie.

Except it isn’t really. It’s the Carling Cup, by far the lowest of Alex Ferguson’s priorities, and now a sideshow at White Hart Lane.

Wellbeck and Gibson

Man Utd sent out the minions for a Champions League game last week, so a Carling Cup quarter-final is unlikely to herald the appearance of the big guns. In fact, even when we met in the Final last year, they had such household names as Wellbeck and Gibson in their starting line-up. Nevertheless, they still beat us, and their second-string tomorrow is likely to be pretty strong again. (Nor should we expect too many favours from the officials, this being Old Trafford…)

’Arry for his part has also pledged to empty the contents of the substitutes bench out onto the turf. Keane, Pav, Bentley, Bale, Jenas and Hutton could all feature – which is fine by me, to be honest. They are all capable enough, having all been first-team regulars at some point or other.

Dawson and Bassong will presumably start again in defence, which is a silver lining to the murky cloud under which Ledley and Woodgate hobble around. The Daws-Bassong combo worked well on Saturday, in only their second game together, and another 90 minutes will give them a chance to develop further. It could be the start of something beautiful.

The in-form Kranjcar is cup-tied – curses - but my main concern is that we may well start without both Defoe and Lennon, both of whose pace and sharpness in recent weeks have given us a real cutting-edge going forward. Many a time and oft these days I can be spotted gazing misty-eyed into the distance; on such occasions it is a fairly safe bet that I’m wondering what might have been if we had had these two for the visit to the Emirates last month…

The Days of Yore: Over

Plenty changes for both sides then, so yet again we can debate amongst ourselves how seriously we ought to take the competition. In the days of yore the sounds of incandescent spluttering would have emanated from AANP Towers at the mere suggestion of fielding anything less than a full-strength line-up in a quarter-final tie. As recently as the start of this season sixth place was the realistic target, so there seemed a rationale for going all guns blazing for the Carling Cup.

The lure of silverware is still strong of course, for all the usual reasons (another etching on the honours board; another reason to crow over l’Arse; and it’s just plain ruddy marvellous to win trophies), but now the situation is undoubtedly different. We are not just pushing for UEFA Cup qualification any more; the days of yore are over. They ended around the time we beat Sunderland and moved into fourth by more than just goal difference. The sentiment at AANP Towers has now altered, as we have begun to look genuine contenders for the fourth Champions League spot. It’s like leaving behind the blissful innocence of childhood – but discovering the wondrous joys of the liquor.

Not only that, but we are in the driving-seat for fourth. And this isn’t one of those anomalous late-August League tables, where we top the pile but only on goal difference from Stoke – a third of the way in, and we are as well-placed as anyone to take fourth. I have to admit, I would trade quarter-final Carling Cup elimination if it would help our Premiership campaign.

I Feel Unclean

An involuntary shudder passes down the spine as I type that, for I do feel sordid in admitting it. Out, damned spot. We are Tottenham Hotspur, and as such we have a glorious tradition. Winning the FA Cup in 1901, the first post-war team to win the Double, the first British team to win a European trophy… and so on. [**Shameless plug – our glorious tradition will be lovingly covered by AANP in forthcoming book Spurs’ Cult Heroes, out next Feb**] Preferring to finish fourth in the League over winning a trophy – my own family would struggle to recognise me. It’s selling my soul. ‘Tis a dark, dark day at AANP Towers.

Still, that’s one man’s opinion. “Judge me not by the heights to which I aspire, but by the depths from whence I’ve come” (if you pardon a little vulgarisation of the quote) – for we’ve already shown we can master the dark arts of the Carling Cup, over the last two seasons. This certainly represents firm progress from a decade ago, when our heroes seemed unable to put one foot in front of the other without stumbling over, while the other lot racked up trophies like they were going out of fashion. We are finally moving in the right direction, having won the Carling Cup and gained European experience. Now we have an opportunity to take the next step forward. Success in the Carling Cup once again would be cracking, but qualifying for the Champions League is now the target, and much though it pains me to admit it, anything else would seem a mite anti-climactic.

Still A Cracking Chance For Glory

That said, all debates about our progress and targets will melt away come kick-off. Irrespective of who is on the pitch tomorrow, they will be wearing the cockerel, and watching it unfold will produce the usual gamut of emotions. We’re only three games from Wembley (and I fancy us to take anyone in a two-legged semi-final). Our “second-string” have sufficient talent and experience to better the Man Utd counterparts. It’s a glorious chance.

You can become a Facebook fan of Spurs’ Cult Heroes and AANP here, or follow on Twitter here

And as ever, all are most welcome to leave memories - and browse those of others - regarding some of the players to be featured in forthcoming book Spurs’ Cult Heroes: Danny Blanchflower here, Dave Mackay here, Cliff Jones here, Martin Chivers here, Alan Gilzean here, Pat Jennings here, Cyril Knowles here, Steve Perryman here, Glenn Hoddle here, Chris Waddle here, Ossie and Ricky here, Gary Mabbutt here, Graham Roberts here, Jimmy Greaves here, Clive Allen here, Jurgen Klinsmann here

Well we can call off the missing person’s search. Head down to Deepdale tonight and you’re likely to be treated to rare glimpses of Giovani and David Bentley, last seen being surreptitiously airbrushed into the background as ‘Arry’s favourites went through their pre-match warm-ups. There has been some clamour for Giovani’s inclusion in recent weeks, and after the two woeful attempts by ‘Arry to compensate for the absence of Modric, it would really warm the cockles tonight to see the Mexican put in a virtuoso performance on the left.

Nevertheless, that ‘Arry has his favourites is beyond dispute, and the sentiment at AANP Towers is that Giovani could score six goals, save a penalty and discover a cure for cancer tonight, and he’d still be behind Keane in the left-midfield pecking-order. The likes of Giovani, Bentley and Pav are only likely to get a run of games – or even a cameo substitute appearance – if half the squad comes down with plague, and while we’re crying out for centre-halves, the attacking slots seem off-limits at the moment.

There will be welcome returns from injury tonight for Messrs Dawson and Gomes, while Bale may also get a chance to stretch his legs. Spare a thought for poor old Pav though, injured at the one time of the month when he seemed likely to get a game.

The usual mantra applies tonight, about warning against complacency. Spurs certainly have some pedigree when it comes to Imploding-In-Humiliating-Fashion-Against-Lower-League-Opposition-In-The-Carling-Cup, as the inhabitants of AANP Towers still break out into cold sweats at the memory of last year’s debacle away to Burnley. Want it enough however, and they’ll win it tonight.

Your memories are still welcomed on Ossie Ardiles and Ricky Villa, the latest to be featured in Spurs’ Cult Heroes, a book looking at White Hart Lane legends, due out next spring. Feel free to leave your memories – or browse those of others – here, while memories of others can also be perused/added to: Jimmy Greaves here, Clive Allen here, Jurgen Klinsmann here, Gary Mabbutt here Graham Roberts here

Hmm – I honestly think that we owed our win last night in large part to the presence of Jermaine Jenas.

Alright, alright – I’ve clearly gone mad. Too many booze-fuelled late nights, not enough sleep, not enough oxygen to the brain – these have all contributed to some severe form of dementia. I’m obviously crazy. I’m obviously talking the gibberish of a lunatic. No team on the planet can benefit from the presence in its ranks of Jermaine Jenas.

However, continuing the crazy-talk theme – I began to appreciate him once he was absent, injured. As mentioned previously on these pages, in his absence our central midfield comprised two deep-lying types, in Thudd and Zokora. Last night, Jenas was back and the midfield seemed to have a better balance. Unlike Thudd and Zokora, Jenas is happy to assume a position some 10-20 yards in advance of the halfway line, with his midfield partner sitting deeper. As such, whenever we won position we tended to have an attacking option in addition to the strikers, and this helped to drag the oppo around a bit.

Returning to sanity, Jenas’ return to the team did also remind us all of why he is so reviled by his own. Bless him, he works his socks off, makes lung-bursting runs, occasionally dribbles past midfielders, generally does the difficult part – and then always, always messes up the finish. This would also be why he doesn’t have his own song (http://www.allactionnoplot.com/?p=65). There was one notable jinking run in the first half yesterday which ended in a shot so tame you wanted to feed it berries from your hand. Then in the second half he caused panic in the oppo ranks by picking up the ball from 20 yards and determinedly burrowing towards goal – only to scuff his effort into a pathetic dribble that barely had sufficient momentum to make it into the arms of the goalkeeper. Honestly, to paraphrase from Bruce Willis’ wife in the first (and best) Die Hard, only Jermaine Jenas can make you that angry. Bizarrely, the only time he’s complemented the effort and determination of the build-up with a suitably successful end-product was away to l’arse earlier this season, when he scored an absolute peach. Any other time, that shot would have been so mis-hit and weak it would have stopped rolling out of embarrassment.

However, his presence and positioning improved the shape of the team. I assume that ‘Arry hastily read my last blog posting just prior to kick-off, because as well as addressing my concerns about the midfield balance he also addressed my point about resting key personnel, by picking a pretty darned strong starting XI.

They began with all the energy and verve of a moribund sloth, and the nightmare scenario of conceding early and away from home to a lower league team duly materialised. (The goal encapsulated our early sluggishness in a microcosm – Lennon beaten to the ball by a far hungrier opponent, Jenas and Woody wrong-footed and lumbering with the turning speed of a pleasure cruiser while the oppo striker swivelled and buried it). However, this had the pleasing side-effect of sparking us into life, and also prompted Watford to give us possession on halfway and sit back in their own half. We duly attacked, Lennon in particular looking good, O’ Hara not so, and the goals duly came. Pav, Bent, yadiyadayada, job done.