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Bournemouth 0-0 Spurs: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. Jose’s Masterplan

Being the trusting sort – the sort who, when a friend says they’re popping out for a minute, will dutifully count to sixty before wondering whether to call the police – I’ve always been inclined to trust that my elders and betters have a pretty panoramic view of things and know exactly what they’re up to.

It would happen under Sven, when, like an obedient dog wagging the tail at its master, I’d ignore the evidence of every previous knockout game in which we clung on to a one-goal lead for dear life before losing on penalties, and assume that this time the chap had learnt from mistakes and hatched a more nuanced plan.

So when Jose breezed through the front door, despite having yowled beforehand that he wasn’t the AANP choice, I sucked up the theory that here was a chap who by hook or by crook – or by downright negativity – ground out results, and duly toddled over to present him with the benefit of the doubt.

Alas, that innocence of youth has now been ground into the dust, and replaced by the sort of cynical and weary scowl generally reserved for Dickensian undertakers who go around startling folk in the shadows. Where previously I would have stuck up for the blighter in charge, match after match, this time I’ve seen enough, and I sneer at the man who claims he hasn’t.

The bods who know about these sort of things define “despair” as “the absence of hope”, and if that’s the case then it exists by the sackload within these four walls. There is nothing to offer a semblance of hope at present. To a man, not one of our lot seem to be playing above themselves; as a team there is no sense of a plan. Regarding the former, it would be a handy bonus if Jose could coax a little individual improvement here or there; but in terms of the latter the chap ought to take full responsibility, and this absence of a plan has seen AANP fly through all seven stages of grief within the space of 90 minutes while observing our heroes impotently flail away.

I now watch our lot out of a sense of duty, rather than any sliver of hope, excitement or enjoyment – and if that isn’t a nadir I don’t know what is.

This season is now a write-off. Much therefore hinges on how well – or otherwise – we begin 20/21.

The hope is that, irrespective of results, we start playing with some flair or, at the very least, some semblance of a strategy (beyond soak up and hope to counter). If Jose has a masterplan, it absolutely has to be unveiled this summer.

Likelier, and presumably the subject of Daniel Levy’s bedtime prayers, is that the turgid style of play remains in situ but results at least improve. This strikes me as the worst of all worlds, as it would mean this bizarre brand of anti-football remains without a cat in hell’s chance of shifting the man at the helm.

The other potential scenario is that even after a pre-season and a signing or two, we start next season peddling this same garbage, and results remain no better than mid-table fare, or worse. If CL qualification next season appears unlikely from the autumn, Paymaster Levy’s trigger finger would presumably itch. By virtue of including the most welcome by-product of the sacking of Jose, this is numero uno on the AANP wishlist, scrawled in block capitals and double-underlined.

2. Lo Celso: Counter-Attacking vs Static

When one can witter away about the manager for so long and still struggle for comment about the game itself, you know it’s been a stinker, and this, yet again, was another contender for “Worst We’ve Witnessed.”

For the second time in a week, Lo Celso, having slightly desperately been heralded over here as the great hope for our future, was given the luxury of a couple of more defensive-minded sorts behind him. As such, he appeared to have a licence to slink forward and do his darnedest – and while the awfulness of recent weeks has tempered excitement levels, there was still a little hope here at AANP Towers that this might be the moment for the lad to puff out his chest and take on the responsibility of string-puller-in-chief.

No such luck. Whatever malaise is infecting our heroes, Lo Celso is not immune, and he pottered around no more or less toothless than anyone around him.

It currently appears that he is at his best when taking the reins as we counter-attack. When everything is a blur of limbs, and everyone is on the gallop towards the opposition goal, Lo Celso sparks into life. He seems to be blessed with the knack of spotting a pretty smart pass whilst on the run, as well as the ability to weight it just so.

By contrast, when the game stodgily meanders, with the opposition in defensive position and our lot endlessly knocking the ball sideways, Lo Celso seems no better informed than anyone else on how to put an end to the dreadful torpor.

3. Important Save From Lloris

The stock of our World Cup-winning captain has just about fallen off a cliff in the last season or two, as needless clanger has followed needless clanger, but yesterday he earned his weekly envelope in pretty smart fashion, on the one occasion on which some quick thinking was required.

It was towards the end of proceedings, when a Bournemouth chappie randomly scampered into our area, his progress completely unimpeded by anyone in light blue. A disastrous finale appeared imminent, but Lloris displayed a hitherto unseen sprinkling of common sense by dashing from his line, spreading himself in the manner of one attempting to frighten a small child and generally doing enough to smother the incoming shot before the attacker had a chance properly to weigh his options and do anything decisive.

It was worth a goal, and having stocked up on rotten tomatoes with which to pelt Lloris for errors in previous weeks, decorum dictates that I tip the cap in his direction for this.

4. Toby and Jan

It might not necessarily be a popular view, but I was far from disappointed to hear that Eric Dier was to be marched off the premises and locked in a dungeon for the next couple of weeks. Weighing the chap’s pros and cons, I find little to recommend his presence amongst the troupe.

His principle asset appears to be that aggressive, no-nonsense outlook he has on life, which typically translates into crunching tackles, the like of which, admittedly, are not usually a feature of Team Lilywhite. However, such challenges are of little value when mistimed, which his seem to be as often as not. Rather than keeping a lid on things they tend to result in free kicks and yellow cards.

Neither is he blessed with blistering pace, and when stationed in central defence, the notion of him being one of life’s natural leaders and organisers is not necessarily supported by the evidence of recent weeks, in which our defence has shown all the organisation of a gaggle of toddlers on a sugar rush.

In contrast to the shambles of recent weeks, for which Dier was not the only culprit but certainly amongst them, yesterday we were treated to the restoration of the Jan-Toby axis, and life at the rear of the team immediately appeared more serene.

Blistering pace they might not boast, but both Belgians know their eggs and position themselves adroitly, and their performances were notable for the general absence of drama throughout. No Dier-esque mistimed challenges, no Sanchez-esque misjudgements of flighted balls. Two appearances by Toby have brought two consecutive clean sheets. All set for Sunday then.

Spurs 1-0 Everton: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. The Fight!

Fling around the words “fight” and “football match” in the same sentence and the chances are that the images conjured will be of burly sun-kissed sorts greeting one another through the crashing of plastic seats against skulls, the flailing of muscled limbs and the spraying of blood like nobody’s business, prompting the nearest politician to remind us how disgraceful it all is.

So if news had reached the uninitiated of the unchecked melee that was yesterday’s Lloris-Son confrontation, over-protective parents would no doubt have forbidden their offspring from ever again watching Spurs in action, for fear of uncontrollable violence breaking out on our screens at any given moment.

As it happened however, this was just about the most Spurs “fight” imaginable, with all the vicious thuggery of a token attempt at a tackle by Glenn Hoddle. Lloris’ scent for blood was so wild that he was moved to give a gentle push not to Son himself but to the chap standing in between him and Son; while Son for his part, looked like he was about to burst into tears, and wanted the solace of a hug from his mother, and pronto.

Nevertheless, it ranks as one of the highlights of Jose’s reign to date. Admittedly there’s hardly stiff competition on that front, but the sight of someone in lilywhite actually caring enough to do anything other than cruise through the game on autopilot was just about the most encouraging development of the resumption so far. And if some uncouth blasphemies were uttered in the process then so much the better. “All for a greater good”, was the motto on AANP’s lips.

With performances as bad as they’ve been since the 90s, and the good work of five consecutive seasons fairly thoroughly undone over the last 12 months, our mob have been typified by lack of urgency in attack, lack of organisation in defence – and, crucially, underpinning the whole sorry saga has been a general level of fight throughout the team that rarely extends beyond an unconcerned shrug of the shoulders. The sort of shrug that says “Things aren’t ideal old sport, granted, but one can’t expect me personally to do much to change things around here, and if you ask me mid-table obscurity is not such a bad thing”. In short, not the sort of shrug one wants to see from our brightest and best.

So to witness the captain come haring halfway up the pitch to have a yelp at a teammate (over what was actually a fairly minor indiscretion) was a most welcome departure from the norm. Whisper it, but if that attitude spreads then standards around the premises might even rise a notch or three.

Like or loathe them, young bucks like Kyle Walker and Benny Assou-Ekotto at least played the game as if their lives depended upon winning their individual on-pitch duals, and Lloris’ peculiar meltdown suggested that maybe an echo of that mentality lingers.

Some might make stern clucking noises, and point to Eric Dier’s attempt to clobber someone in the stands, various players whingeing about their contract situation and now a push-and-shove between teammates, and pontificate that if this isn’t the end of days then they don’t know what is. In these parts, however, Lloris’ little huff was most welcome, and it is fervently to be hoped that the attitude spreads.

2. The Return of Toby

Before the distraction of seeing peers and teammates attack each other with wild abandon, the highlight of what was, even by our recent standards, some pretty stodgy fare, was the return to honest employment of Toby Alderweireld.

To say that I reacted to news of his return like a child glimpsing a long-absent father-figure and promptly dropping everything in order to dash into his arms and receive a comforting embrace would be overstating it, but only just.

If the previous week’s game vs Sheffield Utd had taught us anything, it was that our defence was an utter shambles, light on organisation and communication, and pretty much inviting all-comers to gambol within and do as they pleased. I mention this because in the areas of organisation, communication and giving the stern eye to all-comers hoping to gambol, Toby ranks amongst the best. He certainly strikes me as the best in our current ranks. Probably not scaling the peaks of yesteryear, when “Think again, laddie” seemed to be the catchphrase delivered to any opposing attacker who wanted to try their luck, but reports of his descent into immobility and redundancy seem pretty wildly off the mark.

And so, the quiet removal of the Dier-Sanchez axis, and return of Toby, immediately injected a sense of composure where previously it had been open season on panic. He might not be the fleetest of foot, but Toby immediately transmits an aura of calmness in defence – and given the cluelessness of last week we needed all the defensive calmness we get could our hands on.

The official party line was that Toby was back because he is better at playing the ball out from defence than Sanchez. This arguably is true, but it also rather kindly overlooks the fact that Toby is still a dashed sight better at judging flighted balls, intercepting, man-marking and organising.

As it happened, he was not tested too rigorously – but neither did he suddenly make himself noticeable by producing a horrendous misjudgement out of nowhere.

3. Lo Celso Underwhelms

Pre-match, I actually went as far as to look forward with some excitement to what the following 90 minutes would bring, because the teamsheet suggested that Lo Celso might be deployed in the sort of advanced position that would provide the perfect platform for one of his vision and technique to run the entire performance.

The stage was certainly set, with Winks behind him to do the tidying, and Sissoko available to do the legwork.

Alas, Lo Celso himself gave the air of one who had had an early look at what was on offer and decided that it was not for him. In the latter stages he picked one or two well-weighted passes, but by and large this was one of those games in which he seemed content simply to mooch along in fairly inconspicuous fashion.

I still retain confidence that he will be the chap around whom our team will be built, but yesterday was good opportunity for him to peddle some of those creative wares, and when the hour cometh, the man largely faded into the background.

4. Sonny: Man of the Match By Default?

During the dying embers of the game my Spurs-supporting chum Dave noted in socially-distanced fashion that one would have the dickens of a job trying to name a Man of the Match, and in this respect he spoke sooth. Even by our recent standards, this was about as turgid as it gets.

Mercifully, in Everton we played opponents even more devoid of inspiration than we are, which I would not have thought possible beforehand, but there you go, what?

I struggle to think of any clear chances created, nor many slick passing moves, beyond one in the first half involving Kane, Lo Celso and Son. Slim pickings, and it was entirely in keeping with a game in which moments of skill barely registered on the meter that the only goal was a deflection on a shot that was flying well wide of the mark.

Young Winks, I thought, buzzed around busily and tidily without ever doing anything remotely threatening in possession, but only Son really looked like he would give the Everton defence any cause for concern. There was rarely any end product, as the other lot got wise pretty swiftly to his trick of shifting onto his right foot and curling, but nevertheless, every time he got the ball he at least showed some urgency. (Albeit not enough to keep happy Monsier Lloris.)

And that was that. Another Spurs-supporting chum asked at full-time whether I would accept every game being like that if it meant winning a trophy, and I rather gagged a little at the prospect. Even in the short-term, we are faced with the ignominy of finishing in the Europa League position, which seems like the worst of all worlds. A thousand times better, of course, to have won last night than lost, but I rather sense that we’ll have to wait until next season to get a sense of Jose’s big grand plan.

Burnley 1-1 Spurs: Six Tottenham Talking Points

I hesitate to say it goes from bad to worse, because we went into this one on the back of a home defeat to relegation fodder after which one of our number waded in to throttle a ‘fan’. So strictly speaking this was a marked improvement, given that no defeat was recorded and relationships between players and fans appeared to be in perfect harmony.

Nevertheless, it does not require particularly forensic analysis to identify that this was again pretty limp stuff.

1. Ndombele (And Jose’s Treatment Of The Chap)

As is often the case, Our Glorious Leader appeared to have given more thought to his post-match narrative than to righting the multiple wrongs on the pitch, with few left in doubt about the identify of the latest scapegoat de jour.

Monsieur Ndombele was the unlucky punter, suffering the twin ignominies of being hooked at half-time and then given both barrels by Jose at the press conference.

One understands the frustration. When we bought the young egg last summer the trailers advertised a pretty dominating sort, capable of muscling his way onto the ball, weaving past all-comers and then splitting defences as if shelling peas.

And rather gallingly, the evidence has actually hinted that the young man’s locker does indeed contain all of the aforementioned. It’s all just packed away so tightly that he seems to require special dispensation to access it, if you get my drift.

Each appearance will feature a few choice flashes of his talents, as if to tease seasoned watchers into thinking the reincarnation of Mousa Dembele walks amongst us, but it all occurs in such fitful manner that invariably we depart murmuring frustrations at his inability to produce his act on something close to a 24-7 basis.

Yesterday was a particularly egregious example. Ndombele was sound if unspectacular in his passing, and on a couple of occasions attempted that neat trick of wriggling out of pretty confined spaces, but in the area of busting a gut to win possession from the Burnley midfield he was notably absent, and his removal from proceedings, if maybe a tad extreme, was certainly understandable.

The chap’s fitness – or lack thereof – continues to startle, a good six months after he joined, but then these millionaire professional athletes will move in mysterious ways their wonders to perform. And a distinctive feature of the mysterious way in which Ndombele moves is that it all happens at approximately half the speed of the average footballer, and ends with him panting as if upon death’s door, which contributes in no small amount to opposing midfielders cantering away from him at will.

Here at AANP Towers we’re not entirely convinced that Jose’s repeated public castigation of the chap is quite the optimal way to manage him – but one might argue firstly that Jose has a dashed sight more experience in such matters than I; and secondly that it really doesn’t matter what I think because my influence in Jose’s behavioural choices appears strangely limited.

2. Skipp

So while Ndombele was being pelted with rotten fruit, his midfield partner of the first half walked away with not a blemish on his record.

I cannot profess to having ever been particularly awestruck by the performances of young O. Skipp Esquire. “Earnest and Nervous” about sums him up in my book, a chap who might consider himself a tad fortunate to be in the first team squad – and conducts himself as if he thinks along identical lines.

I actually thought that his midweek jolly against Norwich was one of his finest in lilywhite. Admittedly the competition in this department is hardly stiff, but we needed a midfielder who might put in a tackle or two and he did his best to oblige (albeit not to the extent that it stopped Norwich looking pretty comfortable in possession against us – a statement that pretty much sums up the state of things). On top of which Skipp is hardly one of life’s great risk-takers when it comes to demanding or using possession, striking me as more Harry Winks than Harry Winks himself.

That was against Norwich; yesterday against Burnley he seemed barely to be involved. In his defence two hours of energy exerted midweek presumably took its toll, on top of which his midfield partner, as mentioned above, was himself hardly a bundle of energy. However, Skipp’s presence yesterday appeared to be for little more than decorative value.

If this were his chance to cement a spot in the team, I suspect his argument might well be that he wasn’t actually there, and few who witnessed proceedings would be able to recall evidence to the contrary.

Jose, however, was having none of it, and exonerated the young pup of all blame. One awaits with curiosity to see whether actions match these words when it comes to future selections.

3. Dele Alli Upfront

An administrative error in each of the last umpteen transfer windows having left us short of a legally qualified striker, and Lucas Moura having been run into the ground in recent weeks, Dele Alli was the poor sap square-pegged into service atop the formation yesterday, and it was hard not to feel for him.

He went about it gamely enough, reasoning that, irrespective of his nominal position he was still Dele Alli and must therefore try to backheel and nutmeg his way through proceedings, and was only a heartbeat away from doing so to goalscoring effect as early as the first minute.

In general however he was limited by simply not having been on the roster when Mother Nature was carving out strikers. Service hardly overflowed, but whenever my best mate Jan did whip in a cross, Dele’s approach to life betrayed that of a man more accustomed to making a late burst into the box rather than being the focal point of attack.

He, Lamela and Bergwijn did their best to one-two their way to glory, but it was all rather narrow and intricate, and in the first half at least, Burnley were not unduly threatened.

4. Second Half Improvement

Mercifully things improved after half-time. Whether this was due to the change in personnel or formation is debatable, and convincing cases could be made for both lines of argument.

The switch to a back four meant that our midfield population increased significantly; the presence of Lo Celso brought a hitherto unseen creative spark.

I dare not ask Eric Dier what he made of being shunted from centre-back to defensive midfield, but he made a good enough fist of it that young Skipp might have been advised to take a shorthand note or two; and if Lucas were aggrieved that his evening off had been rudely interrupted he did not show it, and in fact gave a convincing impression of a domestic dog being allowed a bonus run in the park, bounding around with energy and to pretty decent effect.

In short however, all that was good tended to emanate from Lo Celso, and the others simply followed his lead. The equaliser, on balance, was deserved, and it was just a shame that some encouraging second half attacks did not bear the fruit that seemed possible.

5. Sanchez – Something Of A Shocker

For fairly understandable reasons Our Glorious Leader began with a back three, and indeed a total of five centre backs across the width of the pitch, which rather telegraphed his expectation that we were in for an aerial joust.

One understood the logic, but unfortunately Davinson Sanchez seemed to have identified 7 March 2020 to be as good a date as any other to peddle the very worst he had to offer.

In recent weeks I have actually identified the chap as one of the brighter performers, but yesterday’s was a pretty wild deviation from this contemporary history.

His inability to judge a flighted cross seems ingrained into his DNA, so these moments, while unwelcome, at least did not surprise. However, seeing him outmuscled, dispossessed and tripping over his own feet was as unpleasant as it was unexpected, and although lines of communication generally appeared to have been cut between him and the rest of the defence, Messrs Alderweireld, Dier and Tanganga were at least sufficiently savvy to come flying in with last-ditch interceptions that maintained a level of decency.

6. Random Right-Wing Serge Aurier

With the game in the balance in the final stages, and substitute options limited, Jose stuck out his tongue at all those critics who accuse him of being out of touch with the modern game by not just thinking outside the box but removing himself from the box completely and throwing into the recycling bin, with the introduction of Serge Aurier into a right-wing role.

There is a precedent of sorts in lilywhite, as I recall Danny Rose having occasionally been stationed ahead of, say, Ben Davies, out on the left-wing, but nevertheless I would not be deceiving my public to say that the sight of Aurier galloping into position ahead of Tanganga left me momentarily stunned.

In theory however, such a move made a lot of sense. As we are all now well aware, Aurier’s impeccable sense of calamity makes him quite the liability at right-back; whereas if his compass points north he offers a handy attacking threat, being one of the better purveyors of whipped crosses on the market. Stationing him in a right-wing role for twenty minutes therefore removes the Con while retaining the Pro, so to speak.

And in practice too, as it happened, the move had much to recommend it. Lucas shuffled off into the centre, and Aurier seemed eager to get stuck in, offering decent link-up play, decent pace and one or two of those crosses.

One idly speculates what went through Gedson’s mind as all this unfolded, but the cameo was certainly innovative, and, in a way that unfortunately rather sums up how far we have sunk, was probably one of the highlights of the evening.

Calling Spurs fans from the ‘60s – I’d love you to contribute to my latest book on Tottenham fans’ favourite players. Just leave a comment below, drop me a line at aanp1999@gmail.com, or tweet @aanp_spurs

Spurs 2 – 3 Wolves: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. 60 Vaguely Encouraging Minutes

A shame we lost this one – well, it always is a shame to lose – but a particular shame to lose this one, because I thought that, at least until we went behind, our lot played fairly well.

Some qualifying context is perhaps needed here. I heard a pretty nifty gag once, which went along the lines that in a land full to the rafters with blind folk, any chap who happened to be one-eyed would as likely as not be king. And that sprang to mind today, as I watched our lot hit the front-foot pretty much straight off the bat, for it struck me that in the land of the utterly dreadful performances at home to Leipzig and away to Chelsea, today’s fare was, by comparison, something of an unexpected improvement.

Such has been the rot peddled in recent weeks that I fully expected that a match at home to Wolves would see us stuck in 30% possession territory, allowing our visitors to roll the ball around amongst themselves unchallenged and perhaps launching a desperate salvage operation in the final 20. Because let’s face it, we now have a certain recent history in this woeful regard.

So instead to be greeted by the sight of Harry Winks collecting the ball, ambling forward ten yards and then bopping a pass forward another ten yards was pretty sensational stuff.

(I single out young Winks not for any particular reason, as to a man our lot seemed to have their dials switched if not exactly to ‘Attack’ then seemingly to ‘Let’s At Least Be A Little More Progressive In Our Approach Than In Recent Weeks’. I suppose seeing Winks embody this approach was just a little eye-catching, as he’s not always been one of nature’s born forward-passers.)

And for an hour or so we looked good value for a lead – but alas, Wolves are no mugs, and as befits the non-mug ilk they’re also pretty dashed clinical in front of goal. Thus having got their noses ahead they shut up shop and that, for a mob as limited as ours, was that. Not even the inspired decision to throw on the boy Parrott for the entirety of injury-time could effect the required rescue.

Still, having seen glimpses of quick passes from middle-to-top, and the sort of level of off-the-ball movement that suggests the collective torpor might have been shaken off, I at least trudged home a notch of two up from the Pit Of Despair that had taken hold post-Leipzig and -Chelsea.

2. Lucas

For that halcyon first hour or so when we made a decent fist of things, Lucas struck me as one amongst our number who had doubled down on his spinach pre-match.

Although employed as often as not in a deep-lying position that may or may not have been part of a strikerless formation, he seemed to be at the hub of things, evidently having adopted as his word of the day ‘Scamper’. For every time he touched the ball he scampered like a man who had amassed prizes for it in a former life.

There is something particularly compelling about watching a man get his head down and dribble mazily past the despairing, hacking legs of opponents, and when on song Lucas channels his inner playground footballer like few others.

Ultimately the effect of all this was not as devastating as one would have hoped, but with Messrs Aurier, Lo Celso, Alli and Bergwijn all happy to assist, there appeared to be potential for a most welcome rise in spirits about the place.

3. Aurier

The slightly unlikely source of the mid-game hoick in spirits was Serge Aurier, who continues to flit effortlessly between sublime and ridiculous.

His finish for two-one was taken with a huge dollop of aplomb, and in the second half, with a whole chorus of angels by now stationed on one shoulder and whispering sweet nothings at him, he delivered a couple of delicious crosses of the whipped variety, that deserved better than simply to have been watched and admired from afar by panting midfielders.

However, the pack of devils stationed on his other shoulder rarely go five minutes without making their presence known, as we well know. And so it was that misplaced simple pass followed misplaced simple pass, efforts to wriggle casually free off attention ended in ceding possession, and at one point he simply picked up the ball when under the illusion that it had left the field for a throw-in – a faux pas which would have been classified as Peak Aurier were it not for the countless red cards and penalties and own goals and whatnot that seem to be part of his very fabric.

4. The Back Three

The extent of Jose’s defensive masterplan currently appears to be write all names on paper, pick them out of a hat and roll with them for the following 90, and so it was that we began with a three-man core of Dier, Sanchez and the boy Tanganga.

My sentiments on these three at the end of proceedings were decidedly mixed. Plenty of scribbles in both the Credit and Debit columns, if you follow my drift.

Take Dier, a great big log of a fellow whose star has taken a bit of a plummet in the eyes of AANP over the last few years. I actually thought he acquitted himself relatively well yesterday, exceeding expectations that were, admittedly, not far off the floor pre-match.

As often as not finding himself up against the man-mountain that is Adama Traore, a fate one wouldn’t really wish upon a loathed enemy, Dier seemed at first to have his wits about him, timing his tackles well and then bouncing back to his feet with a most serious expression etched across his face, a sure sign of knowing that a job is being done well and that admiring comment is heading one’s way.

And yet when push came to shove, the Wolves forwards ended up skipping past Dier and chums as if none of them were there (or, more accurately, as if they were certainly there but fitted with roller skates and attempting to navigate an ice rink covered in marbles). Wolves forwards sashayed one way; Dier and co flew off the way, Wolves forwards drilled the ball home. Thrice.

As such, my sentiments on Tanganga were not a million miles away from those on Dier. Lots of solid tackles, initially giving the sense that here was a chap who had arrived at the office in a mood not to be trifled with – but then suddenly undone by a pretty basic error for their first goal, followed by that roller-skate-ice-rink routine for the next goals.

Obviously Tanganga still has plenty of credit in the bank, and there really does appear to be an excellent defender waiting to emerge, but each of the three crucial moments that our lot had to defend were ultimately turned into pigs ears – and if one wanted to make the case that these cost us the game, there would be a decent stash of evidence at which to poke.

(For what it’s worth I’ve been increasingly impressed with Sanchez week by week, albeit his inability to judge the flight of airborne missiles still rankles a tad.)

So we find ourselves simultaneously on the cusp of the Top Four, in a fairly literal sense, and approximately a million miles away, on observing the dross being peddled on the turf. A run of wins would improve matters, an obvious style and identify even more so, so I suppose there is little more to do than stiffen the upper lip and hope for the best.

Calling all Spurs fans – if you like to contribute to my latest book on Tottenham fans’ favourite players, then leave a comment below, or drop me a line at aanp1999@gmail.com, or tweet @aanp_spurs

Villa 2-3 Spurs: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. Shaky Defence and Avoidable Opening Goal

Villa started like a runaway train, which was a reasonable enough stance for them to adopt, so no complaints there, but what did irk was the unnecessarily obliging fashion in which we let them rampage about the place.

The legend surrounding our newest Glorious Leader is that he is the sort of bean who likes nothing better than sitting down with a troupe and instilling the fundamentals of defending deep within their very souls. And Jose having been treated to a good ten days or so to do exactly that, my hopes of seeing some green shoots of defensive stability were, if not exactly high, at least registering on the scale.

However, the evidence paraded was pretty emphatically to the contrary, right from kick-off. In fact, we managed to begin the game looking for all the world like a team hanging on for dear life in the dying embers, which made the mind swim a bit.

Evidently swimming minds was a bit of a theme, because our back four spent those opening exchanges stumbling around as if punch drunk. The fault did not lie entirely at their door, as little was offered by our midfield by way of protection from their runners or wing-backs, but in general the phrase “Knife through butter” was the one that sprung to mind as Villa repeatedly cantered through.

Their opener neatly summed up the state of things at the back. He has generally escaped censure, but I thought Ben Davies could have done more than merely waggle a leg in the first place, allowing the Newcastle lad to gather a head of steam down their right.

The cross that followed admittedly caught a deflection that made it dip in the flight, but I still jabbed an accusatory finger at Monsieur Lloris, for taking one meaningful step towards the ball – as if to come out all guns blazing to gather it and uproot any other object in his path – and then deciding that the quiet life was for him.

And Toby similarly might have averted catastrophe if he had approached the matter with a decisive air and clouted the ball to kingdom come, but alas, between the ball’s dipping flight and Lloris’ quiet life there appeared to be too many variables for the chap to compute, and one could almost see the steam rise from his frazzled circuits as he plopped the ball into his own net.

2. The Front Four And Chances Made

Mercifully, matters improved steadily thereafter. There was still a flimsiness about our defence (although I thought Sanchez went about earning his weekly envelop with admirable composure and solidity), but further north we gradually found our bearings.

Oddly enough, we actually benefited from Villa’s bright opening, as they seemed emboldened to throw men forward, which set things up nicely for our counter-attack. A pleasing irony.

The interplay of Son, Lucas, Dele and Bergwijn acted as a pretty welcome restorative, after the shambles we had sprayed in all directions when in retreat. It appeared that all four members of the quartet were well rehearsed in their dinky passes and searing runs, and the chances duly flowed.

In fact, I cannot remember many occasions in recent times on which the chances have flowed quite so liberally. Playing a lesser light of the Premier League undoubtedly chivvies these things along, but nevertheless. It seemed that every couple of minutes one of our front four were haring into the penalty area.

The effect was admittedly spoilt by the inability of the aforementioned front four to applying the finishing touch, but they undoubtedly generated goodwill in the construction of each chance, and the mood at AANP Towers was accordingly positive. The goals will come”, whispered the voice in my head, and it had a point, for the important thing seemed to be to continue to create chances, rather than worrying too much about the fact that they every one of them seemed to be pinged straight down the gullet of the Villa ‘keeper.

Aside from the general, warm fuzziness provided by seeing our lot repeatedly carve out opportunities, perhaps the most pleasing aspect was the fact that rather than run out of ideas and pass sideways, with half-hearted shrugs as if to say “Out of ideas over here, guv,” when in possession our lot began dabbling in neat, short, diagonal passes forward, complemented by intelligent running ahead of them. Just five- and ten-yard stuff, but it was between the lines, visibly befuddled Villa and generally created a platform for one or other of our mob to have a crack.

Where previously hammering away at teams has much about it of simply banging one’s head against a wall, today, rather than scuttle up cul-de-sacs, our forwards regularly picked out sensible, short, forward passes that moved matters swiftly on. Admittedly none of the three goals were directly due to such devilry, but one could plausibly argue that the cumulative effect of our pressure had some bearing.

3. Dele Alli’s Swagger

He may have spurned chance after chance after chance, but I shall assume that when Dele Alli lights up his meditative evening pipe he will look back on his day with some satisfaction.

Stationed, in the first half at least, high up the pitch behind the main striker, he timed his forward bursts well to provide options to those around him, which we would all do well to bear in mind next time heated dispute breaks out over the whereabouts of his most effective position.

This in itself was pretty stirring stuff, and appreciative nods were therefore already the order of the day. However, what really had me nudging those nearby and murmuring that the chap looks to have returned to former glories was the general swagger with which he peddled his wares.

Not that I go in for this sort of thing in my daily rounds, but seeing him breeze around the pitch with a certain arrogance, wanting to be at the hub of things and rolling out the occasional flick and trick, made for an encouraging sight.

4. Another Breezy Showing From Bergwijn

The boy Bergwijn was another who had evidently taken it up himself pre-game to endear himself to AANP, and I am happy to report that the delivery was every bit as effective as the intent.

Where Son, Lucas and Dele seemed keen to jink inside and sniff around in central areas, as if keen to be up-to-date on all current affairs in the vicinity, Bergwijn tended to keep to himself a little more, generally stationing himself within shouting distance of the left-hand touchline and letting the others take care of things more centrally.

Which is not to say he shirks his responsibilities; far from it. Once the ball approached his sphere of influence – and in fact, pleasingly, even when it did not – he sparked into life and went tearing up the left flank.

His pace causes problems, he is not shy about taking a shot and, with the enthusiasm one would expect of a new cadet eager to please, he seems happy enough to toddle back and muck in with the less glamorous stuff. “Quietly effective” just about sums it up. In common with his attacking chums he spurned a handful of presentable chances, but he made himself a nuisance throughout, and appears to be a handy additional string to the bow.

Calling all Spurs fans – if you like to contribute to my latest book on Tottenham fans’ favourite players, then leave a comment below, or drop me a line at aanp1999@gmail.com, or tweet @aanp_spurs

Spurs 2-0 Man City: Five Tottenham Talking Points

1. Tactics

A much-needed restorative – as restoratives typically are – but I would be deceiving my public if I were to suggest that this was one of those performances bossed by Team Lilywhite throughout, with serene progress being the order of the day and barely a bead of sweat between the eleven.

Truth be told, we scored from two of our three shots, and they from none of their near-twenty, and while the outcome of proceedings is neatly summarised by the epithet “Two-nil”, the story of the thing is better encapsulated by that two-from-three-plays-nought-from-circa-twenty gag.

(Although even that doesn’t tell the half of it, as there were all manner of sub-plots and embellishments, in the form of red cards, VAR, rattling woodwork and whatnot.)

As per the shots on goal stat, this was one of those binges in which no secret was made of the fact that our lot were going to sit tight, organise themselves into “Repel” mode and close their eyes and blindly hope that the ball channeled its inner Spurs fan when deciding which way to bounce. Extraordinarily enough, each of these three critical factors were achieved, and off into the sunset we toddled, three points the precious cargo.

Now being the sort whose greatest influence in their formative years were Ossie’s 5-0-5 formation, and the 4-3 whirlwinds it generated, I can’t say that I’m particularly enamoured of seeing our heroes set up to defend for their lives and play on the counter, but on this occasion – and, one suspects, on others to come – this was a pragmatic enough approach, so one bites the tongue and silently complies. It seemed to be for the greater good.

However, we tried a similar approach a few weeks ago at home to Liverpool, and on that occasion I did not hold back, some stinging rebukes, you will no doubt recall, decorating these very pages. What has changed, you may ask? Well, the scoreline, for a start – questionable tactical approaches are always strangely more palatable when they result in victory after all.

But more than that I was taken by the fact that yesterday our counter-attacking hinged on quick, short passes from defence to midfield to attack, as if a game of pass the parcel were being played at close quarters with a particularly hot potato. It was generally five- to ten-yard stuff, and there was little dithering or standing on ceremony.

This all sat in pleasing contradistinction to the decidedly more neanderthalic counter-attacking efforts against Liverpool, which seemed purely to revolve in blasting the ball sixty yards from defence at every opportunity, and waving the forwards off into the distance with an encouraging yell of “Run, Forrest.”

Yesterday we undoubtedly benefited from the fact that City hit pretty much everything except the net at which they were aiming – and the limited intelligence of the lad Zinchenko – but nevertheless our nifty counter-attacking played a crucial role.

2. Lo Celso

And foremost amongst those executing the nifty counter-attacks – the Nifty Counter-Attacker-In-Chief, if you will – was Lo Celso, an egg whose talents in this area are fast establishing him as the most important cog in our attacking machinery.

Ever since we turned the corner and became actually half-decent at this football lark, elbowing our way into the Top Four and then retaining that spot even as it morphed into a Top Six, the hills have been alive with the sound of groans at our laboured inability to break down defensive teams, due to dwelling on the ball, taking five or six touches and the reverting to the most impotent sideways and backward passes conceivable.

Now Man City are hardly the poster boys for teams that come to the Lane to defend – quite the opposite in fact – but the tendency amongst our midfield to take far more touches than decency permits has generally remained strong.

Yesterday, however, Lo Celso was having none of it. Here was a chap who already has a picture in his head of everyone’s whereabouts long before he receives the ball, and is therefore able to shove it along with minimum fuss and maximum effectiveness as soon as it reaches him. It makes a heck of a difference.

If nothing else it obliges opponents to interrupt their slumbers and shift their own positions, and also has the pleasing side effect of encouraging fellow lilywhites similarly to ping the ball around in prompt fashion (notably Winks, who on several occasions seemed suitably emboldened to pick forward passes, to which I’d previously assumed he were allergic).

As well as a gift for delivering both simple and complex passes without hesitation, Lo Celso also comes across as the sort who did not shove his vegetables to the side of his plate as a youth, bounding around throughout with pleasing energy, and also surprisingly willing to throw himself into physical contact. Here, one gets the sense, is a bean around whom a team could be built.

3. Tanganga

Meanwhile, in the less glamorous seats, Japhet Tanganga’s mind-boggling rise continued.

Having all but silenced Sadio Mane on debut, here he made a mighty impressive fist of things against the combined might of City’s manifold and whizzy attacking sorts, generally matching them for pace and beating them for strength throughout. His judgement occasionally wavers, but this, one would imagine, will improve with experience.

Various, more vaunted luminaries around him may benefit from peering across and taking a note or two, because Tanganga at times looked the most secure of the back-four (admittedly competition in this area was not strong, with Sanchez struggling in his first half distribution to distinguish between friend and foe, and Aurier delivering his customary aberration like clockwork).

If Lo Celso is the creative hub around which a future team could be built, Tanganga has the look of a chap upon whom a solid defensive foundation could be constructed.

4. Lloris

This felt like pretty cathartic stuff for Monsieur Lloris, for all sorts of reasons.

Firstly, the recent injury would presumably have hovered over him like a malevolent imp whispering unedifying notions in his ear, as he was tested throughout in both the shot-stopping and cross-handling departments. It is indicative of how his star has fallen in recent seasons that I was pretty taken aback at quite how faultless his handling was.

A World Cup-winning captain he might be, but the mistakes have flowed pretty thick and fast, so yesterday was one heck of an occasion to churn out his A-game.

On top of which, the penalty save was worth a goal in itself, and in the context of the game probably worth several, for if City had scored first one could well imagine with a shudder quite what carnage might have followed.

Oddly enough, it was not much more than a season ago that I would quite publicly bemoan the fact that I had never seen the blighter save a penalty in his whole Tottenham career. Yet in recent memory he has done so against Woolwich, Leicester and now twice against Man City, and each time in games in which they made a match-changing difference. It just goes to show, what?

Of course, Lloris being Lloris, within two shakes of a lamb’s tail of saving the penalty he was doing his best to concede another, but VAR oddly turned a blind eye, and the reckless oeuf remained a hero.

5. Bergwijn

A passing nod also to young Master Bergwijn, who has bagged himself a decent amount of credit in the bank with that quite marvellous chest and volley. Gorgeous technique, which just illustrates how well things can go when the stars align.

The finish elevated the chap’s debut to some heady heights, when in truth his contribution had until then been limited to a couple of touches of style, and fairly minimal substance.

Early days of course, so this is not to chide him. His box of tricks evidently is evidently a pretty sizeable one, and he appears to have a burst of pace about him and does not shirk a challenge.

However, he was a relatively peripheral figure in the first half, throwing in some nifty footwork on occasions as if to remind us that he was still in residence, before disappearing from sight completely in the second half, until his goal.

One gets the impression that we will only be able to make a full assessment from next season, when he is fully up to speed – and fitness – but it was nevertheless a cracking way to begin life in these parts.

AANP would like to hear from you! I am compiling my latest book, on Spurs fan favourites – if you were a fan of the club in any era from 50s/60s through to 90s/00s, please drop me a line at aanp1999@gmail.com, or tweet @aanp_spurs

Spurs 2-1 Middlesbrough

1. Much Improved, One-Touch Performance

That puts a rosier glow on the cheeks, what? A win that that was vastly more comfy and snug than the scoreline suggests, and delivered with the sort of breezy panache that makes one wonder what all the fuss has been about.

Now at this point one probably ought to pause, scour the surroundings and dive behind the nearest, sizeable inanimate object, to shield oneself from the countless caveats being slung this way. Foremost amongst these caveats is probably the fact that Middlesbrough just didn’t put up much resistance, instead tripping over themselves to allow us a goal at the earliest possible opportunity, and thereafter sitting back and allowing us to pass triangles around them for as long as we pleased.

So be it, folk these days will have different approaches to life’s problems. It’s a consequence of democracy, apparently. However, there have been a pretty thick stack of fixtures this season against the Middlesbroughs of this world – teams that, without wanting to put too fine a point on it, simply don’t possess that much God-given quality – and we have made quite the elaborate pig’s ear of swatting them aside.

So on this occasion I am pretty content to accept that our opponents were not amongst the finest ever to grace turf, and nevertheless bask in the glory of a match deservedly won and, more to the point, a performance that hit all manner of right notes.

Crucially, for much of the game, our passing was of the one- or two-touch variety. This sort of fare is not only easy on the eye, but – and here’s the rub – has the added benefit of being the sort of stuff that can cut an opponent to ribbons before they know what has hit them.

Where it has been hiding these past few weeks I could not say. Why our heroes have opted against its use I do not know (although I could hazard a guess that better opponents do not simply step aside and wave us along with adoring eyes). But from the off we were in full Quick Passing Mode, and the suggested dosage did not disappoint.

I don’t mind admitting that our weekend approach (which, you will recall, consisted largely of trying to soak up Liverpool pressure and then blast long balls forward in the hope of sneaking a goal) made my eyes bleed and soul howl. This judgement was met with some pretty stern words from various quarters, with knives sharpened and spears pointed, as if to suggest that mine was not an opinion that would win the public vote. Democracy, once again, in action.

Despite the negative press, I stick to my words, and was therefore greatly soothed by last night’s offering. Credit to all involved, both for looking to pick an early pass at every opportunity, and for constantly buzzing around off-the-ball, in order to provide passing options for those in the hotseat.

2. Lo Celso Continues to Make The Right Noises

Foremost amongst those doing the off-ball buzzing were two of our vaunted Argentine cousins. Lo Celso has taken a little time adjust, but his various cameos have tended to include flickers of promise, and yesterday, given the platform of a starting spot against weak opposition, he looked like a chap who enjoys this sort of thing.

As mentioned, his energy levels ticked over at a healthy rate throughout. Rather like Mary’s little lamb, he was in pretty constant attendance of any of our lot who found themselves in possession, scurrying towards them with arms outstretched and no doubt wide, pleading eyes.

This in itself is a positive, because too often in recent weeks our play has been characterised by one lone chap dabbing at the ball while looking around pleadingly for a chum to avail themselves.

But on top of this movement malarkey, I also enjoy seeing the light bulb in Lo Celso’s head suddenly flicker on when he has the ball at his feet, an idea form for an incisive pass and the whole routine culminate with an attempt to pick a particularly sneaky through-ball.

Admittedly a lot of these sneaky through-ball turn out to have been a lot more exciting at the stage of being initially pitched than as an end-product, given that they were quite often intercepted in transit. But still. In a world in which Harry Winks receives the ball on the half-turn but opts to send it back south to his defenders, seeing Lo Celso instinctively look for a killer pass into the path of a forward gives one hope for a brighter future.

3. Lamela Takes His Chance

In his own unique way, Erik Lamela was also at the hub of much that was good about our lot last night.

One sympathises with whichever poor soul was once paid to teach the infant Lamela his alphabet and three-times tables, because in adulthood the chap appears to be a fidget, so goodness knows what he was like when asked to weld himself to a tiny seat and stay there.

Lamela’s engine ran permanently throughout, and given the amount of possession we had in midfield it was just as well that it did. Like Lo Celso he was pretty constantly on the move, giving our deeper-lying sorts a constant moving target, and giving the Middlesbrough defence plenty about which to mull.

His goal was delightfully finished, but it was the opening salvo that I particularly admired, featuring the young nib chasing back to pickpocket his man, before whirring off into the area. The end-product is not always there with Lamela, and he does have a tendency to dwell too long on the ball, but at a time when our general play has looked lethargic and half-hearted, his presence perks things up no end.

4. Tanganga’s Education Continues

The great and the good were pretty misty-eyed about young Tanganga by the time the curtain came down on proceedings. One understands of course, for one likes to see the local lad take his chance, and he has certainly made a good fist of things in his two games so far, going toe-to-toe with a pretty exalted opponent on Saturday and then adapting well to a tweak in position last night.

To have flung the Man of the Match wreath around his neck struck me as maybe getting a little carried away, mind. He has exceeded expectations to date, and displayed plenty of the good, honest traits that one seeks in an imposing defender, but he is also decidedly rough around the edges.

He made a few mistakes last night – leaping in to challenges with the enthusiasm of youth, when circumstances might have called for simply standing his ground, and so forth. This is not at all to chide the young bean, but simply to suggest that it seemed a stretch to consider him the best player on the pitch.

That said, with Davinson Sanchez sporadically losing all sense of spatio-temporal awareness, Father Time rather cruelly giving Jan Vertonghen a poke in the ribs and Serge Aurier having repeatedly proven that for every positive forward run he will also generate an equal and opposite defensive calamity, the emergence of Tanganga – quick, strong, willing and pretty capable either picking the right pass or on the charge with ball at feet – has been one of the most positive developments for a while.

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Spurs 2-1 Brighton: Four Tottenham Talking Points

The gist of the opening 50 or so minutes is that nothing happened, and at a pretty relentless rate.

Well, for the benefit of the pedants who like things just so, nothing positive happened. Pedantically speaking, there was plenty going on about which to slap palm to forehead and liberally scatter curses.

In fact, the tone was set straight from kick-off, when the ball was rolled back to Toby, and the ensuing opening minute was spent observing – in rather aghast fashion, I don’t mind adding – the sight of each member of our central defensive triumvirate dwelling upon the ball for half a dozen touches, before rolling it sideways to the next member of the Toby-Jan-Davinson axis to do exactly the same. Towards the concept of bright and enterprising forward progression, precious little thought was devoted.

1. Lucas Provides the Saprk

So it was that approximately 49 minutes later, Lucas Moura stumbled upon the dramatic concept of applying some urgency to proceedings. The results were both immediate and gratifying. The Brighton defence, which, until that point, to a man, had been gently dozing as our heroes scratched heads and pottered ineffectively in front of them, were suddenly forced to react to improvised attacking play, and it’s fair to opine that they preferred life the way it had been in the preceding 49-odd minutes.

Lucas, who has about him much of the naturally-talented-but-exasperatingly-selfish playground footballer, took up a position that can probably be loosely described as Central Midfield, and opted each time he received the ball to ignore his teammates and instead try dribbling past every man and his dog bedecked in Brighton black.

Ricochets abounded, and precious little in the way of clear goalscoring chances were created, but the simple act of tearing straight at the heart of the Brighton defence like a rabid beast was enough both to cause obvious discomfort to Brighton, and to rouse all around in lilywhite from their slumbers.

The paying public were invigorated – and not before time – while Lucas’ own teammates took the hint and, one by one and in stages, began to contemplate removing the handbrake.

Ultimately it was another of Lucas’ not entirely flawless slaloms that did the trick, as he ran out of space and flung his hands into the air, while the ball helpfully pinged off several Brighton limbs and into the path of Kane, who did the rest.

Until Lucas’ little display of indulgence precious little creativity had emanated from any of our heroes, so while far from perfect I am quite happy to bestow upon the chap the epithet Gamechanger-In-Chief.

2. Lo Celso’s Impressive Cameo

Every Batman needs a Robin however, and the unlikely sidekick to Lucas, in his sudden twenty-minute burst of intensity, was the rarely-sighted Giovanni Lo Celso.

A fleeting cameo it might have been, but the chap showed numerous tantalising glimpses of talent and appetite for the scrap. Not that he is one of life’s natural scrappers, but it was certainly pleasing to see that upon losing possession he fought like a wronged infant to retrieve it.

Moreover, the aesthetes amongst us could not fail to be impressed by the sight of him receiving the ball and sweetly pinging it first-time to diagonally-positioned chums. None of that six-touch nonsense being peddled so enthusiastically by the back-three in minute one. Lo Celso gave the impression of one who looks this way and that prior to receiving possession, so that as soon as the ball reaches him he can instantly send it elsewhere.

For a rather bizarre fifteen minutes or so, he and Lucas were the architects of the swing of momentum back towards N17.

3. Our Winning Goal and Its Constituent Parts

On Lucas and Lo Celso’s example, various others roused themselves to battle, and ultimately it was a win, comprising greater parts fight than beauty – which in the grand scheme of things is rare enough around N17 to be pretty satisfactory.

That said, the winning goal shone out like a beacon in a land of eternal night-time, boasting a couple of moments of gorgeous quality.

For a start there was the backspun, crossfield ball from Eriksen, over the head of a retreating Brighton bod and into the path of the northward-bound Aurier. Now Eriksen has done much in the last 12 months or so to make himself persona non grata around AANP Towers, but being a reasonable soul I can still appreciate top-notch foot-to-ball contact, and there will be few nuts struck more sweetly this Boxing Day than that particular Eriksen pass.

Credit also by the sackful to Serge Aurier. He may display much about him of the leaking pipe when asked to do the defensive thing, but stick him in and around the opposition area and his eyes seem to light up.

Admittedly he was prompted to dash towards the byline by the irresistible cross from Eriksen, but once there, he displayed a hitherto unknown delicacy in cushioning a volley backwards into the onrushing Dele. It was a pretty difficult-looking skill to execute, but one he did like one trained in the art for years.

And finally, Dele, a man transformed under Jose, had the presence of mind to whizz through the pretty long list of ways in which he might have made a pig’s ear of the finish, ignore them all and instead deliver the required coup de grace with an impressive combo of delicacy and power.

4. Winks Frustrates Again

Another curious – and largely frustrating – chapter in the life of Harry Winks. Stationed as one half of a two-man defensive barricade that barely had a defensive bone in its two bodies, the onus on Winks was largely to collect the ball from those within earshot and spray accordingly.

I suppose by the letter of the law he generally did this. He just did it in such a frustratingly defensive fashion that one was inclined to click the tongue and ask what the hell the point of it was. Time and again he received possession, swerved as if to go forwards, much to the delight of the paying public, and then checked, as if the angel on his shoulder had called an impromptu conference and was delivering some pretty stern words, and before one could yelp “Just travel forward with the ball, dash it”, he had swerved back towards his own goal, and taken the distribution option marked ‘Safety First, Safety Always’.

Watching the aforementioned Eriksen ping for our second goal did make me yearn for Winks to show a little more ambition in his passing. One suspects that the chap has such tricks lurking in his top hat, but alas, one of life’s risk-takers he is not. (Unless the risk involves scything down an opponent in bookable fashion, in which case he’s all for it.)

Gratingly, the one flash of invention he did display was such a peach of a pass that Harry Kane felt obliged to dab it into the net, only for VAR to rear its automated head. A few more of those such game-changing passes, however, would not go amiss.

Spurs 1-1 Watford: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. Lots of Tinkering, No Obvious Strategy

If ever there were a sign that a manager is not quite sure how to fix things, it is when he makes 7 changes of personnel and a switch in formation, and then switches formation again at half-time.

Not entirely the fault of Poch of course, for if the eleven on the pitch last time out had performed to their abilities no changes would have been needed at all – but nevertheless. The current approach by Our Glorious Leader smacks of a chap whose best-laid plans are but a distant memory, and who is now experimenting his little heart out, with little clear strategy in place.

By and large Our Glorious Leader retains enough credit that the masses are willing to let him untie the various knots and restore some normality. But where previously there was a fairly clear approach – such as the high press, or faith in youth – and one might have correctly named nine or ten of the starting eleven, now it is difficult to know quite what the plan will be from one game to the next.

The first half performance duly reflected the confused organisation of things, with little discernible identity amongst our lot, and we ended up seeming to rely on Toby’s long punts as our main attacking gambit. Few on the pitch seemed particularly clear on how to go about their honest work, and the outputs were suitably uninspiring.

Poch has talked a lot about “trust” and “confidence” and various other concepts that seem to the AANP ears to wander rather off-topic, but I’m none the wiser about what tactical approach he thinks is best to reverse our fortunes. At present the approach appears to be try something new every half hour or so, until we strike oil.

2. Lack of Deep-Lying Creativity

The first half provided the sort of turgid fare that various lilywhite managers of the 90s fought tooth and nail to mark their own trademark.

It seemed from my vantage point that chief amongst our ills was the absence of a deep-lying playmaker, if you get my drift. A Modric/Carrick sort of chap, who could pick up the ball from the defenders and play a pass – long or short, the finer points matter little – that would bypass one or two opponents in the blink of an eye, and make its recipient sit up and say “What ho, if I point my compass north I might have a few yards of space into which to amble and make mischief”.

Or, indeed, a Dembele type of fellow, who, rather than pass, would simply dip a shoulder or puff out a chest, and breeze past one or two opponents – similarly in the blink of an eye – carrying the ball fifteen yards and forcing friend and foe alike to view proceedings in a different way.

Instead, our central midfield pairing were Winks and Sissoko. Now the effort of these two can hardly be faulted, and both have assets that are useful and have earned the respect and affection of most right-minded fans. However, neither of these young eggs really possess in spades the sorts of talents upon which Messrs Modric, Carrick or Dembele made their careers.

Sissoko has it in him to carry the ball 30 yards – which I suppose is the net effect of a Dembele – when a cloud envelops him and he seems to be possessed by some unearthly compunction to take on all-comers. But yesterday, and this season in general, that particular party-trick has remained in his locker.

And Winks constantly appears to be on the cusp of changing the game. He seems to tick numerous boxes – availing himself when defenders have the ball, picking up possession on the half-turn, driving forward – but ultimately his final pass, nine times out of ten, goes sideways or backwards. He keeps possession and fizzes with energy, but hardly tests opposing defences with his passing range.

The causes of these two were not helped by both Lucas and Dele generally adopting positions within a couple of yards of Kane, leaving precious little in the way of link-up between midfield and attack. (On the one occasion in which Lucas did drop a little deeper, the planets aligned and we almost scored – Winks fed Lucas straight through the middle, Lucas fed Dele – still straight through the middle – and, not standing on ceremony, Dele took our one and only shot on target in the first half.)

Anyway, on the point of deep-lying playmakers – perhaps Lo Celso or Ndombele can, in time, provide the answer. Or the more attacking sorts can simply drop ten yards deeper. Either way something has to change, because watching the ball end up with Toby time and again, to punt a hopeful diagonal, made the eyes water a tad.

3. Introduction of Son

Things perked up noticeably once Sonny was introduced – which, on reflection, is the sort of statement that would ring true on just about any given day in any given circumstances.

The removal of Sanchez and reversion from 3 centre-backs to 2 made bucketloads of sense. While Watford threatened on the counter a few times, the third centre-back was by and large a wasted player, given that his most significant role tended to be simply rolling the back right or left to his neighbouring centre-back, in what was reminiscent of those pointless bureaucratic processes one sometimes encounters in life.

Watford did not present enough of a threat to merit such defensive caution; and if the idea were more of an attacking one, to allow our wing-backs to bomb forward in the manner of Walker-and-Rose-circa-2016, it fell pretty flat. I have called Serge Aurier a few choice names in my time, but “An impressive likeness to the Kyle Walker of 2016” has not been amongst them. Similarly, Danny Rose is now an angry shadow of the marauding soul who set the tone in those halcyon days.

So after the break Son moved to the right, to provide an extra body linking defence to attack, and both the changed shape and the particular individual improved things ten-fold. Sonny tore around like a puppy reunited with its owner, and others around him seemed to perk up, as if struck by the thought that his high-octane approach to life might bring about a change in fortunes.

Moreover, with Son installed on the right, where once midfield and attack had resembled strangers harbouring deep, mutual suspicions, in the second half there appeared to be consensus amongst all that collaboration would bring about a goal.

4. VAR Luck

Ultimately we were good value for the draw, having bossed possession and had the decency to show some urgency in the second half. That said, Lady Luck gave us a few admiring glances along the way, for Dele’s goal could quite reasonably have been ruled out.

I’m pretty sure that a few weeks ago Man City had a late winner against us disallowed for use of the upper arm in the build-up, so to say I was perplexed that Dele’s shoulder-nudge was waved on is to understate things.

More to the point, my best mate Jan rather forget the laws of the game in the first half, when he slid in and aimed one or two little kicks at his man. It’s not allowed, Jan! Except that in this instance, it was. The inconsistency of the thing is most puzzling, but there we go and here we are.

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Spurs 2-1 Southampton: Five Tottenham Talking Points

1. We Need to Talk About Serge

The little voices in Serge Aurier’s head seem only to whisper “Hero” or “Villain”, with little regard for the countless possibilities that lie between.

The old bean’s assets undoubtedly lie in the attacking third, with the positioning he adopts as a wide man complimented by a capacity to deliver the occasional whipped cross.

However, this modest return in the Credit column is rather blown out of the water by the numerous ills that clog up the Debit column. Since his arrival at the club he has racked up a number of utterly mindless red cards and penalty concessions, all of which are suggestive of a mass walkout by the brain cells and general dereliction of duty.

Yesterday Aurier offered precious little of value before chipping in with his usual moments of idiocy.

The first yellow card was needless in the extreme. One understands the concept of self-sacrificial yellow cards – hauling down an opposing chappie on halfway in order to stymie a counter-attack, that sort of sordid business. One does not condone such conduct, of course, but one follows the thought-process. Falling on one’s sword, and so on and so forth. Presumably in some cultures it can even have a certain nobility.

Aurier’s first yellow card however, against an opponent wandering away from goal and edging towards the side of the pitch, was rock-bottom on the list of Risks Worth Taking. It dealt with no threat, offered zero benefit to anyone and left the abysmal young fool with 65 minutes to spend tip-toeing across a tightrope.

As it happened he didn’t last 5 minutes. One might quibble – and several have – about the circumstances around the second booking, but when an old bean knows that his every move is going to be under the scrutiny of a referee with a touch of the Dolph Lundgren about him, that bean, if he has a jot of sense, reverts to his best behaviour and conducts himself impeccably.

Aurier, the poster-boy of recklessness, did enough to give Dolph a decision to make, and we – three days before facing Bayern Munich – were left to play an hour with ten men.

Credit to Sissoko, for doing a pretty flawless job of things as hastily-identified reserve right-back, but in general it is becoming something of a cursed position, and Aurier will have to do a heck of a job to win back some of that rapidly-draining goodwill.

2. We Need to Talk About Hugo

Given the circumstances surrounding the season – want-away players, thrown away leads – and the circumstances of the game, having just lost a man, one would think that the captain would have been precisely the chap to inject a modicum of calmness into proceedings.

Monsieur Lloris however, picked this of all moments to treat us to his best Benny Hill impression, and it is to the immense credit of all concerned that we managed afterward to regain the lead and then cling on to it.

Lloris’ talents (far more than Aurier’s) are pretty visible and regularly on display. His two second half saves – and in particular the instinctive one from the header – served as neat reminders of the chap’s quality when it comes to the basics of stopping the round thing from entering the rectangle.

Alas, it is impossible to ignore the bedlam that ensues every time the chap has the ball at his feet. Ever since Pep Guardiola dared every other manager in the Top Six to play out from the back, all have been too scared to refuse, with the result that even those goalkeepers who can’t pass six yards with tripping over their own feet are now expected to be modern-day Beckenbauers in their distribution.

Lloris’ short passing tends as often as not to lack sense, guile or even basic accuracy; one can see the hearts of Toby and Jan visibly sinking as the moment approaches, while Davinson Sanchez, when involved, looks every inch the man who wants to run off the pitch and disappear into obscurity; and opposition strikers, understandably enough, lick their lips and come charging into our area like kids towards the tree on Christmas morning.

Yesterday’s mistake was not the first – Lloris has done the same thing in a World Cup Final for heaven’s sake, and not learnt his lesson – but aside from whether or not such absurdity results in a goal conceded, it transmits panic throughout the defence and midfield, and invites pressure.

One understands that if operated well it can be devastatingly effective in bypassing an opposition’s press and creating counter-attack opportunities from halfway – but how often do we operate it well when Lloris is the string-puller-in-chief?

3. Cracking Second Goal

Mercifully, those further up the pitch are a darned sight better with ball at feet, and there will be few better examples of this than our second goal.

There was much to admire about it – but in the first place it was interesting to note that the genesis of the whole thing was a non-nonsense hoick up the pitch by Moussa Sissoko, a chap who could probably teach Lloris a thing or two about the art of Not Dallying Around, and in his native tongue, for added attraction.

Thereafter however, one just sat back and purred at the general magnificence that shone forth. Kane’s strength and cushioned header into Son was terrific. Son’s feet were quick, and having played in Eriksen he did not pause to admire his own handiwork but set off at a lick to avail himself further, in the process leaving behind his marker.

Eriksen similarly played an intelligent pass and then scuttled off to receive a return ball, leaving behind his own marker, and then it was up to Kane – whose first touch was actually not of the exquisite quality one has come to expect.

This mattered little however, because once in the area Kane’s eyes inevitably light up, and he inevitably finds a way. The speed of the whole thing was a delight, it reflected the quality of those involved, their awareness and technique. All that was left was for nobody else in lilywhite to decide to liven things up by gifting some advantage back to our visitors.

4. Kane’s All-Round Game

I have already gone a little misty-eyed at Kane’s involvement in the build-up for the second goal, and it served as a textbook example of how much the chap contributes all over the pitch, not just in delivering the coup de grâce.

An isolated incident it most certainly was not. In fact, look back at the early stages of our first goal and one will note that the impetus is initially injected by Kane picking the ball up deep, muscling various others out of the way and giving a sensible pass.

The chap is a veritable all-rounder, with numerous strings to his bow and all of them pretty dashed impressive.

As if to emphasise the point he also had a shot from the halfway line that missed the mark by only a foot or so.

5. Ndombele Beginning to Show Flashes

In general, our lot made an excellent fist of trying circumstances yesterday. Winks was close to immaculate; Eriksen seemed oddly buoyed by the challenge of having to wear a defensive hat; Lamela was the right substitute at the right moment.

In truth, in the second half Ndombele wandered around with the look of a man wondering what he had signed up for, and his wearying limbs were rested before the final toot. However, in the first half he showed glimpses of the chap about whom we all became so giddy with excitement in the summer.

On several occasions he received the ball on the half-turn, wriggled away from one or two challenges and either dabbed the ball to a chum or drew a foul. It was the sort of stuff that just hinted at the ghost of Mousa Dembele, that ability to turn back-foot into front-foot in the blink of an eye.

Still a work in progress no doubt, but the omens are positive. His penchant for popping in the opposition area to thwack one into the net is also something of a bonus.

AANP’s book is available online – with another in the offing – and you can follow an occasional toot on Twitter

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