Well this is embarrassing. After all the hubbub last week about the Champions League and Inter Milan the decent thing would have been to have given Wigan a good thrashing, destroy their crops and set fire to their small children. Instead, I return from a weekend away at a wedding to find my Spurs-supporting chums refusing to make eye-contact, shuffling their feet and muttering about uncanny happenings in the cricket.
Four points from three domestic games then, on top of which there was the meltdown in the Young Boys first leg and the march of triumph in the second. When set out like that it seems that so far this season we have already covered just about every possible base from sublime to ridiculous.
CRISIS!!! (Just Kidding)
In the wake of Saturday’s debacle various members of our clan have been grabbing each other by the collars and screeching not to panic, because this is not – repeat, not – a crisis. One shoddy home defeat doth not a crisis make. Such mishaps as this occurred a couple of times last season, and were soon swallowed up by all-singing, all-dancing wizadry against the Premiership’s elite. Moreover, even this season the bright and bubbly start against Man City, hard-earned win at Stoke and jolly romp against Young Boys suggests that matters at N17 are, broadly, still tickety-boo. Somebody somewhere probably needs a good slap on the wrist after the Wigan game, but otherwise this is probably one to be glossed over before normal service is resumed.
There is, of course, the concern we dare not voice - that this sort of nonsense will follow every Champions League outing. Before we begin scrambling for places aboard that particular bandwagon it is worth recalling that the win at Stoke three days after our trip to Switzerland suggested no such malady, but time shall tell on this front. In terms of numbers and Premiership-standard personnel I would think our squad is capable of coping with a slightly bloated fixture-list, but it would nevertheless be cheery to see a little extra sprinkling of quality added to our ranks before the transfer window shuts.
Onwards
Our heroes now have a couple of weeks during which to sit in the naughty corner and think about what they have done, and the curiously alliterative glut of games (West Brom, Wolves, West Ham) that follows represents a chance to right a few wrongs and go making merry, with goals and points aplenty. Mind you, fluff our lines against that lot and I won’t be able to sleep at night for the mocking laughs from the ghosts of Gerry Francis and Christian Gross. This business, of outclassing a team in every department on paper, only to succumb with excruciating apathy on the green stuff, happened far too often back in the day for me simply to forget about it in the blink of an eye. However, bag a few consecutive wins – and it is eminently feasible – and Wigan at home will be regarded as this season’s White Hart Lane anomaly.
I miss Ledley. Some games we’re so rampant going forward that he is barely needed at the back, but on days like yesterday we cry out for someone to hold things together and be in the right place – as well as dealing with any aerial bullying meted out by opposition forwards. The lack of a commander-in-chief at the back was notable in the first half in which Spurs players competed earnestly with each other to be the most obliging to our hosts. To a collectively disbelieving shaking of heads amongst the faithful, our heroes stepped aside and ushered in the Bolton players through the gaping holes in defence, then tried all manner of cute passes and dribbles inside their own area.
Credit to Bolton, whose play (slick on the floor as well as threatening in the air) probably merited more than their one first half goal, but our lot merrily shooting round after round at their own feet really didn’t help. One first half moment in particular sent an involuntary shiver down the spine, as Bolton’s Gardner skipped his way towards our goal, while Jenas, Kranjcar and even Palacios made such dainty, half-hearted challenges that Tinkerbell herself would have blushed. For an elongated spell in the first half it looked like a return to the not-so-distant days of Francis, Gross et al, as we switched from four-four-two to sixes and sevens, with a powder-puff midfield in front of an uncertain defence, and everyone working assiduously to throw in unforced errors whenever possible.
We really ought to have been spanked out of sight by half-time, but somehow went in level. It may have been wildly against the run of play, but it was a dapper goal when it came, Kranjcar showing good technique with the finish. Thereafter I expected us to win it. While it would be an exaggeration to describe the game as one of two halves, we were certainly much improved going forward after the interval, albeit still an accident waiting to happen at the back. We made the best of the chances in the second half but it was one of those days when every attack launched by either side looked like it might result in a goal.
”Not One Of His Better Days…”
Sloppiness was rife all over the pitch. Sergeant Wilson may have set up our first goal, but defensively he mixed ill-timed challenges with some kamikaze concessions of possession in dangerous areas. The mentality, energy and positional sense he adds to the team remain invaluable, but, in common with most of his team-mates, this was not one of his better days.
Nobody covered themselves in glory, but Assou-Ekotto was guilty of a particularly egregious mistake for the second Bolton goal, attempting to clear the danger through the dubious medium of psychokinesis, rather than the infinitely more reliable method of charging to the ball and thumping it clear. Davies duly shoved him out of the way and we were losing again.
Crouch had a couple of glorious late chances, one in particular where he brought the ball down, took a touch, took another touch, made a cup of team and pored over a crossword before eventually shooting wide. The sight of Hudd looking to dictate play from central defence is always encouraging, vastly preferable to the aimless thwack favoured by most other centre-backs, but he still does not fill me with confidence as a centre-back, while Bassong was caught daydreaming more than once.
And The Positives
However, for all the grumblings and curses there were positives to be drawn from this. Coming from behind twice, away from home, is encouraging, and there even seemed to be a belief in the side, in the second half, that we had a winner in us. In days gone by we might well have returned from the Reebok empty-handed having gone behind, particularly facing the swirling wind and set-piece threats. It is also worth noting that we generally avoided over-use of the long-ball to Crouch, mixing up the occasional aerial approach with various attacks in which ball was kept on terra firma. Had the game gone to extra-time I would have backed us to outscore Bolton, but in the final analysis a point at the Reebok is no bad thing, particularly so after the ominous first half.
Glenn Hoddle is the latest Spurs great to be featured in the forthcoming book Spurs’ Cult Heroes, and you are invited to share your memories of him here. As ever, all are most welcome to leave memories - and browse those of others - regarding some of the featured players: Ossie and Ricky here, Gary Mabbutt here, Graham Roberts here, Jimmy Greaves here, Clive Allen here, Jurgen Klinsmann here
