All Action, No Plot

Boy: Viene la tormenta
Sarah Connor: What did he just say?
Attendant: He said there’s a storm coming.
Sarah Connor: I know.

She wasn’t wrong either. There’s a storm coming alright – no less than L’Arse, Chelski and Man Utd, as well as Man City away in the final week of the season. Our heroes won’t quite have to go galloping around town on the run from an indestructible shape-changing policeman with ruddy great big knives for hands, but the task awaiting them next month is still mighty daunting. Even the greatest optimists amongst us might concede that a point or two could be dropped in that run-in. (The upbeat AANP projection is that we’ll actually take seven points from those four games – but that’s a story for another day).

So if there is a time to be amassing points, it is the next eight days or so: up at Stoke tomorrow, and at home to Pompey a week hence. We have taken nine points from our last nine, and could feasibly extend this to 15 from 15, which would amount to jolly handy preparation for the forthcoming tormenta. First things first however, and Stoke away will be testing– we imploded there last year (two red cards and a near-death experience for Corluka) and were frustratingly snuffed out by them at the Lane earlier in the season, when they stuck every man and his dog behind the ball, launched a few long throws and mugged us in the final few minutes. However, where there is Bale there is hope…

Defoe Crocked

Well the good news is that nobody in the treatment room will be feeling lonely. Lennon, Ledley, Bentley, Jenas, Woodgate, Cudicini and Hudd have some new company, as Defoe has pulled a muscle, while the boy Rose and Kyle Walker also amongst the walking-wounded. Crouch will presumably line up alongside Pav, while Gudjohnsen will be on high alert and we might even resort to dragging back Keane, kicking and screaming - and pointing - from his latest boyhood idols.

All a bit threadbare then, although our starting eleven still looks strong enough. However, one more sprained ankle or chipped fingernail and we will be turning to Younes Kaboul to carry the midfield through the final few crunch games of the season.

Hudd Contracted

He may not be available tomorrow, but Hudd has been in the news this week, having inked a brand spanking new deal to keep him at the club for a few more years, the lucky devil. Footballers’ contracts do not seem to be worth much these days, and if (hypothetically) Man Utd came sniffing in a year or two it seems a mite unlikely that the big man would resolutely refuse to listen to their overtures, and insist that he honour the remaining few years of his deal at the Lane. Still, even as a fully-qualified cynic I can appreciate that a new contract represents a more positive scrap of paper than a transfer request.

Other tittle-tattle suggests that that Sandro lad is on his way in, while Adel Taraabt may well have talked his way out. In a couple of months, these and other more pressing concerns will have been concluded. ‘Arry reckons another 16 points will do the trick this season. I cannot be bothered to check the veracity of this claim, but given his “Two-points-eight-games” mantra I will assume he knows his numbers. A point tomorrow would not be bad, but if we want to make the Champions League we ought to target three.

AANP’s first book, Spurs’ Cult Heroes, is now available in the Spurs shop, all good bookshops and online (at Tottenhamhotspur.com, as well as WHSmith, Amazon , Tesco, Waterstones and Play).

All are most welcome to leave memories - and browse those of others - regarding the players featured in 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, Jürgen Klinsmann here, David Ginola here, Paul Gascoigne here. Also featured in the book are Sandy Brown and the late, great Bill Nicholson.

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Still reeling from the shock revelation that the word “gullible” had been removed from the dictionary, we at AANP Towers were sent scrambling to our official panic stations yesterday as news of ‘Arry’s alleged departure spread like wildfire. The panic button was hit, the lights flashed and the stern lady kept announcing “This is not a drill”.

Except it was. The irony of being strung along by an ultimately vacuous internet phenomenon is not lost on us at allactionnoplot.com.

Once we’d settled down and poured ourselves a few whiskies someone piped up to ask if this week’s episode of the surreal THFC All Action No Plot soap opera was going to feature a football match at any point. And as luck would have it…

Bolton May Chop Off Our Heads

Bolton away has traditionally been a worrying sight on the fixture-list. Always reminds me of that scene at the start of Gladiator when the messenger chap prances off on his horse with a message of goodwill to the uncouth barbarians – who respond by chucking his dismembered head back at Russell Crowe. I’ve always worried that we’ll try the fancy thing and they’ll hack us to pieces.

Fortunately however, the new improved Spurs circa 2009 has rather more fire in its belly, and has shown on a couple of occasions this season an ability to dig in and fight when the chips are down. Another win today would be further evidence of our ever-improving all-round game, and would reiniforce the growing belief that we belong amongst the loose pack of six or so atop the table. A win should be our target today.

Keane’s Critics, Defoe’s Mangled Hand

As always, the forward line provides the primary food for thought. Someone probably ought to break the news to Robbie Keane that rather than silence the doubters his four-goal haul seems only to have enraged them further. “By jiminy, why doesn’t he do it every week, and against better opposition, and without all that infernal pointing and shouting?” seems to have been the gist of the grumblings. If last Saturday was the first day in the rest of his Spurs career, then today is – well, it’s the eighth I suppose, but the point is that it’s a chance for him to consolidate last week’s good work.

Good heavens, exactly how hard was Defoe’s shot against Brian Jensen last week? He hit the ruddy thing with such force that after bouncing off the ‘keeper it flew back to complete mangle his hand, dislocating two fingers and breaking bones for good measure. I once had my wrist broken by a shot from a football, but that was a direct shot; this had rebounded off someone else yet was evidently still travelling. Couldn’t help wincing at the news that the Spurs staff were unable to pop his fingers back in at the time, the suggestion being that they tried and failed. Still, Defoe trained yesterday, which suggests that he’s in contention for today.

’Arry likes to select his forwards on a horses-for-courses basis, opting for the diddy-men last week to counter the big immobile Burnley centre-backs, so eyes are duly peeled for the approach adopted today.

Elsewhere

Elsewhere, Dawson may slot back into defence, with Hudd restored to midfield; and ‘Arry again has to decide between Gomes and Cudicini as the last line of defence. There are also fresh rumblings in a foreign, consonant-heavy language, to the effect that the rarely-sighted Pav will be out the exit door in a flash come January. And who could blame him?

A draw (remember them?) would not be a bad result, but we ought to set our sights higher today.

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

Curiously, our most emphatic win in recent years was achieved without us ever really hitting top gear. There were some moments at the end of the first half when we played true champagne football, and Defoe might have finished off a couple of moves so pleasing on the eye they ought to have been put on canvass and stuck in a gallery. Aside from that however, it was generally a little sloppy and lacking in fluency. You know the sort of thing – mis-placed passes and lack of movement. It was most noticeable in the slightly lethargic start to the second half, which might have been punished by better teams.

Ah, who else but a Spurs fan could find room for complaint after a second five-goal salvo in a week? We may not have hit top gear, but there was no real need. While Jenas’ goal had a touch of fortune about it, we scored four others and created plenty more chances besides. The third goal effectively ended the contest, but I suspect we would have raised our game if it had been necessary to do so. Winning 5-0 when playing within ourselves is quite an achievement.

Keane Silences The Bloke Behind Me Who Was Laying Into Him In The First Half

Robbie Keane’s doubters have been given some food for thought. Scepticism about his finishing ability – much of which has emanated from AANP Towers, I must confess – was fairly emphatically addressed today, albeit after he had had saved a first half one-on-one. Another concern since he rejoined us has been that he spends too much time dropping into midfield, where he mixes industry with incessant moaning at anyone in his line of vision, rather than operating as one of a pair in attack. Indeed, at times in the first half he was at it again, buzzing dementedly around midfield areas; but this seemed to change once Defoe went off. Thereafter we were treated to the welcome sight of the Irishman rolling back the years and scampering straight up the middle at the head of the attack whenever we broke forward.

Fear not however, all ye Keane critics – while I’m not sure of the extent of Defoe’s injury, it can be assumed that he will retain his place in the team when fit, meaning that Keane will presumably revert back to his slightly deeper role, and there will be opportunities anew to moan, grumble and raucously curse the man. Hopefully though, he’ll never be stuck out on the left again.

First Impressions of Kranjcar

Our first chance to cast beady eyes on the boy Kranjcar. First impressions are that he is decent enough, without threatening ever to blow up anyone’s skirt. More Corluka than Modric, notably in that lumbering running style of a man attempting to get around while a rope around his waist drags behind him a set of tyres. He certainly seems happy enough to get forward, but his phobia of the touchline might need to be addressed, and his right-footedness leaves the team still looking a little lop-sided sans Modric.

Elsewhere On The Pitch…

I was pleasantly surprised to see Bassong start at the back. When he was stretchered off last week he looked so badly beaten up he seemed for all the world a man about to be euthanized – yet he was full of beans today, and from my vantage-point did not appear to put a foot wrong. Nor did Assou-Ekotto, although it was disappointing to see there was no foundation to rumours that he was once again sporting the ‘fro.

The Hudd just about coped with the rigours of central defence. Although culpable for the disallowed Burnley goal in the first half, he rather appeared to enjoy himself in the latter stages, bringing the ball out of defence with aplomb. I hesitate to suggest that he would handle the likes of Drogba and Torres with any comfort, but for the next few weeks he ought to do the job.

Cudicini had a rather wobbly moment however, his loss of concentration almost gifting Burnley a goal. With Gomes back to fitness, Cudicini’s every move will be under the microscope now. That said, ‘tis pleasing to note our first clean-sheet of the season.

By the closing stages it had turned into something of an exhibition match. Hudd started rolling out his Beckenbauer impressions. Bale was brought on to break his non-winning Premiership hoodoo. Dawson was ushered back into the fold. (Bentley was nowhere to be seen). Chas’n’Dave were honoured in fittingly unmelodic fashion. News of the Chelski result prompted another celebratory cheer. It may not have been a bravura performance, but we natives departed contentedly enough.

How The Blazes Did Burnely Beat Man Utd A Few Weeks Back?

Finally, a word or two on our vanquished opponents. A couple of weeks ago Man Utd came to town and were sublime; Burnely were ruddy awful. Quite how they beat the champions last month is beyond me, because at times they displayed basic technique so bad they resembled a pub team. If there was an opportunity to mis-kick they mis-kicked; if a pass could be mis-placed they duly pinged it miles off target. Presumably they are a much better team than they showed today, and we can expect a much tougher test at Turf Moor later in the season, but their efforts did much today to lull us into a quite appropriate sense of security. Still, our players had to trot out there and beat them, and did so with plenty to spare. Top-six form, at least.

Your memories are still welcomed here on Ossie Ardiles and Ricky Villa, the latest to be featured in forthcoming book Spurs’ Cult Heroes. Feel free to contribute your memories – or browse those of others - on Jimmy Greaves here, Clive Allen here, Jurgen Klinsmann here, Gary Mabbutt here or Graham Roberts here

And it had all begun quite encouragingly. Sitting back away from home and soaking up the pressure just isn’t the Tottenham way, so right from the off we took the game to that lot, giving as good as we got in the first half. Jenas, Hudd and Palacios weren’t far off with their long-range efforts, and there was a gorgeous through-ball from Sergeant Wilson to free up Defoe in the early stages. By stages however, everything that could go wrong did go wrong. It was loosely reminiscent of one of those action films in which everything starts off serenely enough, before one by one the characters are all killed off and by the end it’s complete carnage.

Interestingly, ‘Arry opted to replace Modric by pretending the problem wasn’t there and doing away with the concept of a left-winger. To be honest I’m not entirely sure precisely what formation it was – a lop-sided 4-4-2, or maybe a variant on 4-3-3. The players did not make it abundantly clear, and either way there was not much of a presence on the left. Whether or not the deployment of a winger on the left would have at least helped to keep a lid on the Chelski full-backs will go down as one of life’s hypotheticals. Our formation actually worked to an extent in the first half - fluid if a little shapeless, and benefiting from Keane dropping back from attack – but ultimately, irrespective of the formation, we missed Modric’s guile. Jenas and Palacios had their moments, but we lacked a cutting-edge.

Pointing the Finger

Not one of Corluka’s best days. At fault for the first, he laboured so heavily to keep up with Drogba for the third I wanted to grab a rifle and put the poor blighter out of his misery. He generally compensates for his lack of pace at full-back by intelligent positioning and use of his body, but at centre-back, in a mano e mano sprint from halfway, there was no hiding place. Not entirely encouraging, given that he is likely to be emergency centre-back in the coming weeks – with that fellow speed-demon, the Hudd, alongside him.

And on the subject of the centre-backs, I’m really not quite sure what happened in the latter stages, as Stamford Bridge started to resemble the opening scene of Saving Private Ryan. Bodies dropping everywhere, stretcher-bearers working over-time, and the Chelski groundstaff having to sweep bloodied limbs off the pitch at full-time. I doubt that anyone else will want to play centre-back for us now, as the position is clearly cursed.

Penalty Shout

“I never comment on referees and I’m not going to break the habit of a lifetime on that prat”
– Ron Atkinson

The company line here at AANP is generally to avoid poking at the ref, as there tend to be 22 other chaps out there each game who make more mistakes. Had the penalty been awarded, at 1-0, Carvalho might also have been sent off, but Howard Webb proved to his legions of worshippers that he is in fact human, and Chelski went up the other end and scored. Que sera sera. It did give Keane an opportunity to send the pointing-shouting routine into overdrive, and with good reason – if not a penalty it ought to have been a caution for diving, but neither were awarded. We will get the rub of the green at times later on this season, maybe even from Mr Webb, but the 3-0 defeat to that lot will remain forever etched in the annals.

The hullaballoo over the penalty also glosses over the fact that the second goal was a poor one to concede, as once Cudicini had shovelled the ball sideways two Chelksi players reacted faster than any of our lot. That whole sequence of events – the penalty shout, followed by the strength of Drogba and the sight of our boys casually rocking on their heels as the Chelski forwards gobbled up the scraps – summed things up. Bad luck, bad defending, clinical finishing from the other lot.

No-one does fickle quite like we do at Tottenham, yet despite this, the reaction to last week’s defeat has by and large retained a sense of perspective. 12 points from 5 games still represents a ruddy good start to proceedings, and with forthcoming fixtures involving Burnley, Bolton, Portsmouth and Stoke we ought to be chugging along nicely by the time the clocks go back.

Before all that it’s Chelski away today, where the conundrum for us, as ever, is how to replace Modric on the left. ‘Arry has generally made all the right moves since taking over at the Lane, but his selection of Robbie Keane in left midfield against Man Utd was about as close as we’ve seen so far to an unmitigated disaster. The smart money is on Keane returning to attack, giving the option of dropping back to midfield to cast his beady eye over things when the going gets tough.

Contenders for Left Midfield

All of which has presumably turned the Spurs training ground into the scene of a reality tv-style audition this week, with a spot in the Tottenham midfield up for grabs. Calls for the inclusion of Giovani have evolved from whisper to restless murmur amongst the faithful. The lad has done some sterling work for Mexico in recent weeks, to add a couple of neat shoulder-dips and Cruyff turns against Doncaster last month. However, AANP couldn’t help overhearing from where it was eavesdropping last weekend, on the train up to White Hart Lane, a couple of sages wondering whether the clamour for Giovani would be quite so notable if he were not foreign.

The other main contender for the left-midfield role is Niko Kranjcar, supposedly bought in first place as a replacement for Modric. A brief cameo against Man Utd did not reveal much, so a lot will presumably hinge on the impact made at Spurs Lodge these last seven days. An outside shout for the role is David Bentley, possibly alternating wings with Lennon – but ‘Arry has his favourites, and it therefore seems far likelier that Bentley, along with Pav, will disappear quietly into the background of the substitutes’ bench once proceedings begin this afternoon.

Anyone fancying a punt on a dark horse for the role could do worse than sticking a monkey on Gareth Bale (boom boom). The lad put in a 90-minute shift in a midweek friendly, so is presumably primed and ready for action. What better place for him to extend his record of never appearing in a winning League game for Spurs than away to Chelski, where we haven’t won since short shorts were cool?

So a big game for Spurs, and a massive game for whomever is selected on left midfield – a decent showing today could do wonders for the long-term future at the Lane of one of the aforementioned.

A Big Game For Hudd. Again…

At the risk of sounding like a broken record, it’s yet another important test for the Hudd in central midfield. After a wholesome start to the season, his outclassing by the Man Utd midfield last week was rather a blot on his escutcheon. He gets a chance to redeem himself today against another top-four outfit, but failure to impose himself yet again vs the best the league has to offer may well prompt fresh debate as to whether he’s good enough to help us close the gap long-term. Indeed, ‘Arry might even be tempted to start with Jenas today, after he at least began sprightly as a substitute last week.

Elsewhere Gomes may come in for Cudicini, but the rest of the team ought to pick itself. Mouth-watering stuff in prospect.

Before beginning the gruesome business of the post-mortem I think it’s worth doffing my cap towards Man Utd – they were a quality act yesterday. I demonstrated in my preview that mathematics is hardly the academic subject of choice at AANP Towers, but nevertheless it really did seem that being reduced to 10 men made them play as if they had 12.

The Luka-Shaped Hole

If absence makes the heart grow fonder my feelings for Luka Modric had turned into a complete man-crush by the end of yesterday’s game. The problems caused by his absence were two-fold. For a start - and admittedly it’s not rocket-science - we massively missed his contribution on the left. Robbie Keane was a square peg in a Luka-shaped hole, and came nowhere near replicating the class of the Modmeister, for which he can hardly be blamed I suppose. Curiously, by the second half it seemed that ‘Arry simply dispensed altogether with the whacky idea of deploying someone on left midfield, and left BAE to attack, defend, bat, bowl and keep wicket all on his own up and down the left-hand patch. Keane took up permanent residence in the centre, and even his replacement Kranjcar seemed only to station himself towards the left with reluctance.

The other problem caused by Luka’s absence was the very fact that Keane was removed from attack in order to play on the left. To date this season, Keane as a striker has been able to drop back as necessary to create a temporary five-man midfield. We could have done with that at times yesterday, as the Man Utd midfield bossed things. In fact they themselves made use of an attacker dropping deep, with the dastardly Berba occasionally sticking out a languid leg here and there in midfield. Our own attacking pair, of Crouch and Defoe, did not really offer that flexibility. Conclusion? This was all Modric’s fault.

The Second-Best Midfield

Anti-climactic stuff from Lennon, who could not have been more thoroughly shackled if he had been trussed up in a straitjacket with a ball-and-chain on his ankle for good measure.

The Hudd started fairly anonymously, and his influence waned thereafter. If the big lad wants to know the sort of standard he should be striving to emulate he need only look at the man whose shadow he chased for an hour yesterday. Scholes gave a masterclass in how to keep things ticking over in midfield. Tackling aside, mind.

I actually thought that Sergeant Wilson began the game in encouragingly bright and breezy fashion – as typified by the tackle that led to our goal – but once he received his yellow card his options were rather limited, and his half-time withdrawal was understandable.

And so, for the first time this season, to your hero and mine, Jermaine “Sideways! Backwards!” Jenas. Believe it or not I was rather impressed by the entrance he made, taking the fight to United as soon as he entered the fray and very nearly scoring a peach of an equaliser. However, that was about as good as it got. We’ve waited about four months to lay into Jenas, and had to wait another 20 minutes or so after his introduction yesterday, but once the poor blighter made a mistake by golly White Hart Lane let him know about it.

Discrimination at White Hart Lane. Despicable, In This Day And Age.

There was one curious incident in the second half when Crouch and his marker (I forget who) prepared to challenge for a header inside the penalty area, and the marker did his level best to yank the shirt off Crouch’s back in a most sordid manner. In hope rather than expectation I glanced towards the ref – and saw him put the whistle to his lips. Scarcely able to believe it I let out a celebratory yelp, only to see the ref award the free-kick to Man Utd. It’s a phenomenon that unfortunately follows Crouch wherever he goes, and one to which we will all have to become accustomed in future weeks and months.

That aside Crouch did what he is paid to do, and can hardly be blamed for his team-mates’ propensity to belt the ball at his head and yell “Go fetch”. I prefer him coming off the bench as an impact sub, and yestrerday’s evidence did not alter that opinion, despite the first-minute assist.

Elsewhere on the Pitch…

Nicely taken goal from Defoe, on just about the only occasion he touched the ball. Another good shift from BAE. Unfortunately the best player in lilywhite was possibly the one in green, Cudicini making two or three very good saves.

We had our chances, notably in that little 20-minute second half spell, and were only a couple of inches away from equalising through Jenas or Crouch. In the final analysis however, the scoreline did not flatter United. The sending-off of Scholes presented the perfect platform for us, but rather than relentlessly batter down the United door we knocked a couple of times and politely waited for them to open up. We have certainly not become a bad team overnight, but there was proof, lest it were needed, that we remain a work in progress. And a poorer one for the loss of Modric.

Graham Roberts is one of the players featuring in Spurs’ Cult Heroes, a forthcoming book looking at players who achieved legendary status amongst us fans for what they did at the club. Feel free to share your favourite memories of the man – or browse those of others – right here, while memories are warmly welcomed on players already featured in Spurs’ Cult Heroes – Jimmy Greaves here, Clive Allen here, Jurgen Klinsmann here

We would have settled for a win by hook or by crook or by penalties, but another five-goal salvo does no harm. For some curious reason, I also beam with a vaguely paternal sort of pride at the fact that five different names were scrawled across the scoresheet. It’s strangely wholesome.

It all went smoothly enough in the end, although that might have been a different story had Carlo Cudicini not been alert and sprightly from the off. Concession of a goal within the first two minutes would have made for a fun night out, and seen a few oaths escape the lips of the great and good in the Tottenham dugout. However, the moment passed and things went pretty much according to plan thereafter.

Midfield Goodness

It’s a good day to be a Tottenham midfielder who is fighting for a regular starting spot and who happens to be perusing AANP, as I’m in liberal-compliment mode. The Hudd-O’ Hara central midfield combo looked impressive. All action, but complemented by a decent grasp of the plot.

Not for the first time this season, it struck me that Hudd is showing a willingness to get stuck in, and long may that continue. It ought only to be communicated by a quizzical look than by words, or at best by a sotto voce whisper, but is the Hudd… well, you know… adding to his all-round game? Too early to tell, but the concept keeps gnawing away at me.

Wide on the right there was a good attitude from the brylcreem boy, who looked suitably chastened following his misdeeds of recent weeks. His rare appearances in a Tottenham shirt seem to have been typified by a desperation to become Pele every time he touches the ball, but he worked hard and effectively yesterday. He still hasn’t exactly purged the show-boating from his system. It is like a fancy form of tourette’s – sometimes, he just can’t help himself. Nevertheless, yesterday’s was certainly one of his better performances in a Tottenham shirt.

Giovani also gave a few glimpses of what he can do. Personally I would love to see him remain at the club and be given a few chances on the left, as last night served as a reminder that he’s full to bursting with talent. If you happen to be up a tree, George McFly style, eyeing me through binoculars while I type – well first of all I’d be pretty disturbed, but after you’ve explained yourself to the police you’ll pause and reflect that I typed that bit about Giovani with a rather distant look on my face, indicating a temporary removal from reality. Back on planet earth the truth is that tricks and party-pieces are fine against Doncaster, but cutting it regularly in the Premiership will be a different kettle of fish; to say nothing of the murky rumours about his attitude, tardiness, etc; or indeed how he is supposed to fit in when Modric is the left-midfield incumbent.

Still, I’m not paid to solve such a conundrum. I just slip effortlessly into my role as armchair critic, from which vantage point it would be great to see Giovani somehow given greater involvement with the first team. Someone else can sort out the details.

Onwards

So the midfielders get the AANP limelight today, but there were decent showings all round. Not spectacular, nor flawless, but more than enough to see us through.

Good to see Crouch get his first for the club. Might that have been Pav’s last goal in lilywhite (yes, yes, I’m aware it was yellow, you pedants)? I hope not. Generally pleasing to see that we’ve got genuinely capable understudies in just about every position. Onwards.

A win against a top-four team; a win away in a potential banana-skin of a game against relegation fodder; now a London derby - one way or another we are certainly having our credentials rigorously tested in these early days.

I desperately hope we win tomorrow. This has nothing to do with the whole issue of enmity with West Ham - as I have previously confessed, I am neither here nor there on that issue. Rather, it’s the notion of what sort of standard we are setting ourselves for this campaign. The first week of the season is no time to make any prediction, and six or seven points from a possible nine would still represent a decent start – but a win, a third consecutive win, would again hint that we are pushing on, looking to establish ourselves firmly as part of the chasing pack of teams snapping at the top four, rather than a slightly faceless mid-table outfit. West Ham away is a tricky one, but not impossible – and I would give one of my less essential limbs to see us consistently win these tricky-but-not-impossible matches. It would represent progress, and raise the bar slightly.

Selection Posers

When we hit a run of form in the latter half of last season ‘Arry kept team changes (and indeed substitutions) to a minimum, so we largely know what to expect tomorrow, but despite two very convincing wins the team does not necessarily pick itself.

Some changes seem pretty straightforward – Cudicini in goal, Ledley slotting effortlessly back into defence. I was particularly impressed by West Ham’s Carlton Cole in the England friendly v Holland a couple of weeks back. Not someone to whom I had paid much attention previously, he showed good strength and some nifty footwork that night. He ought to keep Ledley and Bassong on their toes.

Ledley’s return is beyond debate, but raises the question of who will be right-back. Hutton made a decent fist of it against Hull, showing good pace and attacking intent, as well as that will to win that borders on the psychotic. However, we have all witnessed the telepathic understanding between Lennon and Corluka down the right, and the big Croat seems to be ‘Arry’s preferred choice.

The Hudd will presumably retain the central midfield spot, having generally impressed so far this season. An all-action midfield dynamo he is not, and never will be, but I think most fans are accepting of this and happy enough to see him play to the strengths he does possess. On which note - he has shown impressive judgement when opting between long and short balls, and has got stuck in as the situation has demanded. Another opportunity to cement his place in the starting line-up beckons.

Wednesday’s goal-fest is as close as Keane and Defoe will ever come to combining well together. Defoe certainly benefited from the work-rate and intelligent use of the ball shown by Keane (as well as the general string-pulling of Modric and Hudd). We may not have had a big man to hold onto possession up-top against Hull, but we did not particularly need one.

It could be a different kettle of fish tomorrow however, if our glorious leader decides that we require a physical presence in attack, rather than a link-up man sashaying between midfield and attack. ‘Arry is yet to drop Keane, and appears at times to be holding out until the end of time itself before he does so. After two decent performances the odds are that Keane will retain his place, but it is no certainty. Either way, I hope that Pav gets more than a five-minute cameo, having displayed sharpness and a generally laudable attitude in pre-season.

Well first up I think it’s only right to indulge in a moment of smugness from this lofty perch atop the country’s pile. While I don’t think any of us are daft enough to make fanciful predictions after four days of the season, the cockerel is crowing, and the morning-after smugness in the office has proved particularly gratifying. Top of the league; most points; most goals; best goal difference; top goalscorer. Mwahahaha.

The early goals helped, as they removed from Hull’s game the option of playing a patient game and putting men behind the ball to frustrate us. Instead, the onus was on them to chase the game, and Modders, Hudd and Keane duly gorged themselves upon the wide open spaces left behind. It was barnstorming stuff from Tottenham, lovely slick interplay, short-passing and movement. Joyous to behold.

Hindsight tends to be 20-20, but the concerns voiced at AANP Towers yesterday, prior to the game, were handled with consummate ease, leaving me to wonder why I had worried so. I confess to having grumbled and carped away on seeing Keane line up again alongside Defoe, but an attack spawning five goals was a fairly emphatic response. I still would not suggest that they work together particularly exquisitely, but in their own individual ways my goodness they thrived. It seemed that every couple of minutes we were treated to the sight of Keane breaking with the ball into the Hull half, with space all around him and options left and right. I cannot imagine that the pattern of the game would have been the same if Crouch had started in partnership with Defoe. It is easy to gloss over the fact that for all our dominance yesterday we kept the ball on the ground, carving Hull open along the turf, with barely an ugly long ball in sight.

AANP Loves Defoe; Defoe No Doubt Loves AANP

The AANP love-in with Defoe continues. How sweetly did he strike that third goal? Looking carefully at the replay I did detect that the ball itself was beaming with pleasure at it hit the net. As well as which his first was on his weaker left foot, and the little flick and turn to create his second was indicative of a man brimming with confidence. Defoe may not have the all-round game of, say, Keane, but few other strikers in the Premiership have such a ruthlessly greedy attitude towards goalscoring. It’s a jolly handy weapon to have in the team.

High-Five

High-fives also to Hutton, Palacios and Lennon. Hutton did not have his greatest ever game, and does not combine with Lennon as well as Corluka, but he fought tooth and nail last night, offered a threat going forward, and made a fantastic saving tackle in the first-half, when the score was 2-1 and we threatened to wobble. Had he not done that we might have gone into half-time at 2-2 rather than 3-1, and goodness knows how things might have turned out. We might not be top of the table today, which is unthinkable.

Palacios did what he does best, and it was particularly good to see him open his lilywhite account. Easy to forget that for a man whose role in the team is essentially defensive, he enjoys a gallop into shooting range. Lennon’s well-documented weakness is his final ball, so he earns some positive noises for the assist for Keane’s goal. Elsewhere the Corluka-Bassong partnership coped. In truth they were rarely troubled. And Modric, though he did not exactly run the show, was as sublime as ever when he did enjoy possession.

Grumbles. Well, Not Really

I feel a little unclean if I don’t have a grumble about something or other, but even I can appreciate that it would be pedantic to offer criticism after a 5-1 away win, so consider these observations rather than accusations. In the comfy latter stages the Hudd kept trying to play the killer-ball, when sometimes there were easier options - but, by and large, he has picked the correct option just about every time over these first two games, and he set the ball rolling with the assist for Defoe’s opener. Good movement around him helped – and conversely, lack thereof makes him look bad – but nevertheless, the little voice in his head has been dictating to him wisely so far this season.

Other grumbles? The defending for their goal was curiously negligible, but I suspect organisation at the back will be a little better when Ledley returns. If Cudicini erred for their goal, he redeemed himself with an acrobatic save in the second half. To be honest, my biggest gripe of the night was with the little Tottenham fixture booklet, which erroneously advertised last night’s game as kicking off at 8pm. Mercifully, events later in the evening served to soften this blow. Top of the league. Marvellous stuff.

The invitation is still open to share your memories of White Hart Lane legends, in anticipation of Spurs’ Cult Heroes, a forthcoming book that rather does what it says on the tin. Memories of Jimmy Greaves here and of Jurgen Klinsmann here…

What a curious three-point haul. It was neither outstandingly good nor egregiously bad, just blisteringly average. Once upon a time Spurs played in an all-action-no-plot style, attacking with free-flowing, gay abandon, scoring four and shipping in three. In a parallel universe this probably continues. Last night I had duly sharpened a knife with which to attack the team and performance etc, but ended up repeatedly stabbing myself in the eye just to keep myself entertained.

Such a strange game, a million miles away from the hyperactive entertainment of recent years. Hull would string two passes together, then one of their players would trip on his own laces, then Keane would have a moan, then the camera would cut to Dawson warming up and then we’d win a corner. And the process would begin all over again.  After 15 minutes I became distracted by the sight of some paint drying in the corner of the room. Glancing up I saw some huffing and puffing, players falling over, Bent giving that “Soooo-close” look and then we’d win a corner.

Each of the players seemed strangely hindered by their own particular demon, which prevented them, try as they might, from escaping the bog of gentle mediocrity and attaining something a little more eye-catching. Corluka’s demon, as ever, was the inability to find a different gear from “lumber”. Like a slowly falling oak he plodded up and down the right flank, and at the crucial moment, when nimbleness was required, he succeeded only in getting his entire torso in the way of the ball and conceding a needless corner. From which they scored.

Keane’s demon was an obsession with twisting and turning until he found himself surrounded by three or more opponents. I closed my eyes and saw the annoying kid in the playground, resolutely refusing to look up, instead just spinning around in little circles of three yards’ circumference, until swamped, like Hudson being dragged to his death in Aliens.

Bent’s demon, was the lack of talent, or a lucky break, or anything, to elevate him above his perennial in-built mediocrity. He’s earnest, by goodness he is earnest, and out of the blue he almost delivered a most un-Bent moment of brilliance - controlling, spinning and volleying like some sort of Berbatov. But realistically, it was never going to happen. It was not that sort of game, and he certainly is not the sort of footballer.  When everything else clicks into place the footballing gods simply won’t allow him to be amazing, as long as he’s a Spurs player.

Cudicin’s demon appeared to be gallons of oil smeared all over his gloves. Quite why he had an attack of Gomes-itis and resolutely refused to catch anything was baffling. He flapped and he slapped but he appeared determined that he would chop off his own head before he took the bold step of grabbing the round thing. In his defence he was not aided by the strangely liberal attitude of the referee towards attempted on-field-rape-of-goalkeeper by the Hull forwards, but nevertheless, it was the sort of unconvincing performance which makes the heart skip a beat whenever a set-piece is conceded.

Jenas’ demon was that he is Jermaine Jenas, and that his life is therefore full of Jermaine Jenas moments. A curious zen-like attitude has seeped into me in my old-age, to the extent that I no longer swear and curse and bludgeon to death with their own walking-sticks passing-by old ladies whenever Jenas goes anywhere near the ball. No, these days I roll my eyes as soon as he obtains possession, and scan the pitch for Palacios or Woodgate or someone to rectify the damage he’s about to cause. It’s very beneficial, you should try it.

There were the occasional, all too fleeting moments of style, flair and élan, which suggested that deep beneath the surface there does still lie a champagne football outfit. The glorious first goal for a start. Peach. The burst of pace from Ledley in the second half, to make a recovery tackle, rolling back the years. The early cross from Ass-Ek, and Woody’s swift rise up an invisible ladder to a height of around 18 feet, in order to head our second. And then there was that effort from Palacios, scientifically proven to be the hardest a football has ever been struck in the history of mankind. Fleeting moments, but just about enough to keep a flicker of optimism burning.

This is not meant to be particularly critical. I screeched like a chicken that had had his beak wrenched off when we scored the second, and will build a little cot in my bedroom to look after the three points we earned. All season we’ve played like that and then lost late on, so the players deserve credit for reversing that trend. Had Man Utd won in similarly scrappy style, observers would have trotted out clichés about the sort of performances that win titles.

It was all just strangely dour and scratchy. Ultimately I think we won because we were playing Hull. Back in the day, Marney and Gardner weren’t fit to wipe the excrement from the training boots of Ledley, Keane et al. Inevitably, the Tottenham rejects seemed to match our lot stride for stride for much of the game, but in the end they succumbed to the fact that they are Hull, and as such just not particularly remarkable. Cousin’s random volley was classy, but that aside they did little that had me running for the hills and cowering in fear. Much to the chagrin of their manager Phil Brown, whose blood swiftly boiled until he began to resemble a rabid dwarf.

I guess at the start of the season it would not have taken Einstein to pinpoint Hull away as a potentially scrappy game. One to be consigned to the annals, under lock and key, immediately after the final whistle, never to be spoken of again. Let’s keep it that way.

Bravo boys, now let’s bring home that tropy. And the Carling Cup (boom boom).