Well the prophets of doom can stick that in their pipes and smoke it. Admittedly it was not exactly vintage, one-touch, rapier-like Tottenham, but then that was understandable enough - in defence of our heroes, I think if I had simply to catch a bus for £20 million I might be a little more cautious than normal. Still, while it may have lacked panache in places the performance oozed professionalism, efficiency and good old-fashioned, red-blooded desire from the off. Only one Spurs team in history has competed in Europe’s elite club competition before this season, so our heroes deserve all the accolades heaped upon them, both for last season’s efforts and the thorough negotiation of last night’s potential banana-skin.
There are a handful of phrases by which we live here at AANP Towers. You know the sort, essential pearls of wisdom fashioned by time itself. “Women – can’t live with them, can’t kill them,” and suchlike, but another such bon mot is “By jiminy, thank goodness for that early goal, ought to steady the nerves, what? (Let’s hope we don’t now sit back and invite trouble)”. And lo and behold, when Bale lobbed one in, Crouch stooped, we had ourselves the early goal and all was right with the world. I’ll never know, but I often stroke the whiskers in contemplation of what it would be like to be a good citizen of Tottenham, idly minding his own fare and wandering along the High Road at the exact moment that a goal of such magnitude is scored, and it sounds for all intents and purposes like the sky is collapsing in on itself. The perfect start, at which instant White Hart Lane became so excited it pretty much went ‘bang’ in a puff of smoke.
Life Minus Modders
Back on the green stuff (au naturale, rather than the dastardly tenth-generation macrofibres, or whatever the deuces they used out in the Wankdorf Stadium) we controlled the game in a very careful fashion. To his credit, from first whistle to last Sergeant Wilson bore his fangs like an illegally-bred fighting mutt, and this midfield bite was welcome, our heroes following his lead and pressing the Young Boys (if you pardon the phrase) high up the pitch. However, the deficiency of a midfield bereft of Modders was evident. Hudd’s passing, long and short, is joyous to behold, but neither he nor Palacios are the type to run with the ball from the centre. As a result there was a slight dearth of central creativity, and several symptoms of Crouch-itis in the team, as a number of long-balls were launched up to the gangly one (although he did a topping job of shielding the thing like a new-born babe while it was conveyed from heavens to turf), while the heart always thumps upwards against the mouth around these parts when we play those square balls across that 10-yard space just in front of our back-four. This, however, is somewhat hypercritical, for in truth, in the game of their lives our heroes were barely threatened.
Young Boys for their part adopted some curious tactics – leaving the 6’ 7” striker unmarked at corners, time-wasting when trailing 2-0, etc. I was going to commend their right-back for doing a generally sound job on Bale, in not allowing the handsome young Welshman unrestricted access throughout to the yawning wide expanses of greenery in that particular corner of the Lane – until it dawned on me that His Royal Baleness actually provided the assists for all four goals, and got the right-back sent off. And that on what, for Bale, was a relatively quiet day. For all their attacking prowess last week, Young Boys, even when 3-0 up, looked porous at the back last week, and having excelled themselves on home turf they were no match for us this time. Pot Three awaits.
Negatives
For a start, I lost my delightful, gleaming Tottenham Hotspur flag within about 30 seconds of kick-off, trampled into the dirt several rows in front of me. Of arguably equal importance on such a momentous night, Gomes hobbled off halfway through. Some need to be mown down by an Uzi before signalling for treatment; our loveable net-minder is not of that near-invincible breed. Should a butterfly sneeze in his direction Gomes signals to the bench for Florence Nightingale and 24-hour care, so when he winced and limped his way to the dressing-room at half-time I raised an eyebrow in scepticism. Time shall tell I guess, but back in the day I suspect that Gomes had a leading – and non-lupine - role in his school production of ‘The Boy Who Cried Wolf’.
Also disappointed in the boy Defoe. Bluntly, he cheated. Admittedly he had the good grace to look long, hard and incredulously at each of the numerous officials before celebrating, but I don’t like to see Spurs players deliberately breaking the rules to gain an advantage. Mind you, his curious natterings about “destiny” beforehand now seem to make a bit more sense.
However, irrespective of the officials’ call, his finish was classic Defoe. If he does require surgery, it will do him the world of good to have such a clinical finish under his belt while he twiddles his thumbs and heals.
Elsewhere On The Pitch
After last week Young Boys evidently thought that BAE was the susceptible heel within our mighty Achilles, but the headbanded one brought his A-game and did not allow them a sniff. Dawson also banished the memories of last week with an imperious display, while Hudd purred his way through the game.
Que Sera Sera, Whatever Will Be Will Be
And so to the future. ‘Arry has hinted that he has no intention of dipping into his humungous new transfer kitty, but I have my fingers firmly crossed that this is fabrication of the highest order. Now that our participation is guaranteed we are running a Mission Impossible-esque race against the clock before the transfer window is closed, bolted and has curtains pulled across it for good measure. With Gallas on board I’m not sure a centre-back is still a priority, but a top-notch striker, capable of leading the line in vacuo would be mighty handy.
The draw for the much-vaunted Group Stages also awaits, and for some reason our non-existent Champions League pedigree lands us in the third of four pots. So be it. Some are hoping to avoid the big guns and thereby ease our passage to the next phase, but here at AANP Towers we are fervently beseeching the clueless UEFA suits to hand us the cream of Europe so that we can welcome to the Lane the finest kickers of a pig’s bladder currently roving the planet. Any one or two from Barca, Milan, Inter or Real would be just dandy. Because that is the company we can now keep.
Well first of all, a history lesson: in our first ever European Cup tie, back in 1962, Blanchflower, Mackay et al travelled to Poland to play Gornik, under the auspices of Bill Nick, and promptly found themselves 4-0 down at half-time, before scoring two late goals. Back at the Lane in the return leg we won 8-1… (That and just about everything else in our history can be read about in AANP’s book Spurs’ Cult Heroes, now a tenner on Amazon, ahem).
So that, ladies and gents, is the Champions League, Tottenham style. Despite the fact that players, management, fans, pundits and just about anyone remotely connected with the club had spent the entire summer banging on about the Champions League, our lot looked to be taken completely by surprise by the whole experience. Everywhere we looked players were discovering new and exciting forms of ineptitude. Daws and Bassong spent the first half hour diligently practising their Corluka-running impressions, and by half-time had given some near-perfect examples of that running-through-quicksand look. If there is a physical opposite to Velcro, Pav appeared to have wrapped himself in it in the first half, as the ball flew several yards away from him every time he tried to control it. And so on. Giovani looked lively in the opening stages, but the rest of them ought to have worn sixes and sevens on the back of their shirts. Action in places, but not the merest semblance of plot.
And yet, even despite the sudden presence of Larry, Curly and Moe in the Tottenham defence, the feeling around these parts persisted that we would at some point sneak an away goal or two and have plenty to play for in the second leg. From the outset, although our hosts were merrily waltzing through our back line, there were some fairly straightforward indications their own defence was far from watertight, with Giovani and Defoe spurning a couple of early opportunities. A more seasoned CL outfit may well have slammed the door in our faces and lobbed the key into the Rhine; instead, for all the euphoria of their early blitz Young Boys seemed oblivious to the fact that in European competition a miserly defence at home is paramount.
We May Have Ourselves A Scapegoat…
Presumably much will be made of the plastic pitch, but from the comfort of the AANP armchair it is difficult to know quite how great an impact that had. It may have had a psychological effect, or it may have meant that any pass over 20 yards fizzed off the surface and away, but whatever the reason, the introduction of Hudd, and the short passing he brought with him, certainly seemed to aid our recovery. Passes under 10 yards looked like they were easier to control, and for a period either side of half-time the players appeared to warm to the task.
By and large however, they made it look like they were running across a minefield rather than an artificial pitch. Ought not these chaps, whose entire lives have been geared towards mastering the dark arts of a size 5 football, have been capable of adjusting to Astroturf pronto? Perhaps, but AANP is reluctant to chastise our lot on this account until I’ve walked a mile in their astro boots. Moreover, injuries sustained by Defoe and Modders suggests that beneath those artificial fibres lurked some malevolent daemon of terra firma. No doubt our heroes will be a darned sight happier on the green, green grass of home.
A Word On Our Glorious Leader
It was as big a night for ‘Arry as the rest of us, and even prior to kick-off he made a few eye-catching calls. Having confidently predicted a near-unchanged line-up from the weekend AANP’s knowledge of the beautiful game was exposed for the sham that it is, as our glorious leader omitted Hudd and Aaron Lennon, presumably for surface-related reasons. There’s nothing like an early three goal deficit to test a manager’s mettle, and after his head briefly threatened to roll right off his neck with all that twitching he made the proactive decision to replace BAE with Hudd, a smart move, and all the more so as it was done in the first half, rather than waiting for half-time.
We’ll Be Fine
An inauspicious start then, but better things should await in the second leg. No doubt we rode our luck yesterday, as Young Boys could have hit five or six but for some schoolboy (sorry, couldn’t resist) finishing. Nevertheless with Ledley quite possibly to be restored to offer some almost motherly reassurance and organisation at the back, plus Aaron Lennon waiting in the wings, and Gareth Bale yet to make an impact on the tie, I sense that our opponents have blown a good opportunity to give themselves a much more imposing lead.
So, unusually, panic is nowhere to be seen at AANP Towers. If we hit a level remotely near the standards of last season I back us to cruise through, particularly at a throbbing, floodlit White Hart Lane. It may of course all go pear-shaped again (recall ye our UEFA Quarter Final home leg to Sevilla, a few years back, when after an encouraging 2-1 away leg defeat we cunningly conceded twice in the first ten minutes at the Lane to set ourselves a Herculean task), but I personally draw inspiration from the class of ’62, and their christening of Tottenham’s European adventures with the concession of four first-half goals, before proceeding to a 10-5 aggregate victory. Gifting the opposition an early lead, and generally doing everything in our powers to complicate the uncomplicated is a peculiarly Tottenham trait, as proudly displayed today as five decades ago. One-nil may suffice next week, but I suspect that our lot will find a vastly more complicated means of progressing.
Ah, Champions League Tuesday. I could get used to this…
Admittedly it’s only the qualifier, but this is still Europe’s premier club competition. That music still blares out at the start, and the nifty, starry football logo is still sewn into the shirt sleeves. After all these years of hurt it feels like Moses finally making it to the promised land (if the Israel of biblical times were full of the best footballers in the world, and plastered with obscenely-priced advertising hoardings, and admittedly if Moses hadn’t died just beforehand).
Sunny Optimism
A principal concern since the glorious night in Manchester a few months back was that our heroes would succumb to complete amnesia over the summer break and re-emerge this season a bunch of malcoordinated halfwits, a million miles removed from the slick troupe who despatched l’Arse, Chelski and City to make the top four. Mercifully, such fears were generally assuaged on Saturday, as we picked up where we left off last season, and feeling suitably sprightly as a result, the official party line here at AANP Towers ahead of kick-off tonight is “Quietly Confident”. Our opponents will be tough little nuts to crack, but given our ability to mix it with the Premiership’s best, coupled with the fact that Young Boys presumably won’t adopt that dastardly ten-men-behind-the-ball approach that tripped us up a couple of times last season, over two legs we ought to edge it.
Team News
No Ledley, given that the delightfully-named Wankdorf Stadium boasts a plastic pitch, while fans of sanity and a universe free of physics-defying preposterousness will be pleased to know that injury denies Jermaine Jenas the chance to become a Champions League player tonight. ‘Arry may decide to tinker with the strike-force, but by and large we all ought to be able to name the team that trots out tonight. There may be a temptation to adopt a more defensive approach, dropping one of the front-men for Palacios, but our lack of a striker capable of leading the line on his own has been well-documented, and frankly 4-5-1 just isn’t ‘Arry’s style.
We ought to be quite capable, on paper and indeed on grass (or synthetic fibres, or whatever it is tonight), but with Daws’ shaky England debut last week still fresh in the memory, it seems conceivable that nerves may play a part tonight. Of our current mob Gomes and Crouch have CL experience, most of them toddled off on various UEFA Cup trips in lilywhite a few years back and just about every one of them has played internationally – but this is a different kettle of fish. Still, even if things go a little awry tonight, over two legs we ought to prevail.
Sod The Scoreline – Enjoy The Moment
While every man and his dog are aware of the importance of begging, stealing or borrowing our way into the lucrative™ group stages, I reckon I could happily die tonight just as soon as I see our lot march out to that Champions League theme tune. Given that we’re not going to win the entire competition (although after reflection last night I reckon we have a better chance of winning the Champs League than the Prem), tonight I plan just to relish the moment. Years and years of false dawns, kamikaze defending, managerial changes and incessant baiting from gooners have all been leading up to this moment. Where Blanchflower, Mackay and Greaves first went, back in the ‘60s, now it’s the turn of Dawson, Bale and Defoe. Absolutely ruddy marvellous.
Cripes, it’s upon us. No longer a blurry speck in the distance, the new campaign approacheth sharpish – and as such a wish-list for season 2010/11 is, if nothing else, rather timely…
1. Finish Fourth
Why the devil not? Admittedly nothing seems to have changed and nobody has been bought, but finishing fourth is scientifically proven to be awesome, so let’s aim for it again. Cynicism aside, having done the deed last season we presumably now need to aim at consistently hitting that level. As a one-off this our fourth-placed finish would make for an exciting old European tour, but I think the point is that we must now have a ruddy good stab at cementing our place at the top table. A heavier fixture-list, the spending of Man City and rumoured outbreak of sanity at Anfield will all make the task that much harder, but our heroes simply have to suck it up and aim for the fourth (or higher) again.
2. Gareth Bale to Keep Eating His Greens
Or swigging his isotonic drink, or running up the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art to “Eye of the Tiger” every morning, or doing whatever the devil it was he started doing from around last Christmas onwards. Having stormed through the latter half of the season like He-Man on speed the fingers are firmly crossed around these parts that that was not just some short-lived quirk of nature, but that Bale is now in fact well en route to becoming a bona fide, week-in week-out white Pele. The pre-season signs have been encouraging, but time shall tell. If he could avoid injury too, that would be marvellous.
3. Some Top-Class Signings
I had rather dreamily imagined that finishing in the Top Four would allow us to spend squillions of pounds on a handful of the best players around. (Specifically, “Cracking centre-back” and “Brick outhouse of a centre-forward, capable of leading the line on his own on those glorious European away-days” are amongst the items scribbled on the AANP shopping list.) Instead, Joe Cole ambled off up north, Luis Fabiano appears to be thumbing his nose at us, and we’ve been linked with Scott Parker, Ashley Young and even William ruddy Gallas. Which has me rather panic-strickenly wondering whether last season was but a dream, and we are in fact limbering up for a Europa League campaign. No doubt Levy and his cohorts are working all around the clock on this front, and we may well need confirmed CL group stage qualification in order to lure the top-notch types, but whatever the reason I still rather feel like throwing a tantrum. This empty summer is not what finishing fourth was meant to entail.
4. Bring In An Older Head
I was moved to stand and applaud when Eidur Gudjohnsen was signed in January, not only because of my borderline-unhealthy obsession of the Sheringham role in any given football team anywhere, but also because an older, experienced head seemed like a jolly good idea as we approached a season’s conclusion in which retaining-possession-in-the-dying-stages and general nerve-holding became increasingly important. Ours is not the most boisterous gaggle of young men, and an older head like Gudjohnsen, or indeed Davids and Naybet before him, could potentially prove a handy investment, imparting the odd morsel of wisdom on the training-pitch and in the changing-room, and adding a touch of nous on the pitch. (nb No idea what has happened on the Gudjohnsen front, but I presume, alas, that he won’t be returning to the Lane).
5. Rediscover Sergeant Wilson’s Sparkle
And by “sparkle” I don’t mean fairy-dust, I mean lust for blood. Amidst the back-slaps and jolliness of last season, one issue had the brow furrowed on nigh-on a weekly basis, for W. Palacios Esquire was most definitely not the same player as that leash-straining pitbull who arrived in early 2009. In fact by the end of the campaign his fabled on-pitch aggression was primarily resulting in the concession of clumsy penalties and he seemed incapable of successfully directing a 10-yard pass. His decline was entirely understandable, given the horrific personal circumstances of mid-2009, but he is a lesser player nonetheless. My barber’s suggestion that we cash in on him now seems a tad premature – with four competitions this season, and a possible 4-2-3-1 formation on the cards, I suspect he will be much needed – but it would be a timely fillip if the Palacios of old were to take to the field in season 2010/11 and dine on raw legs again each Saturday afternoon.
6. Continued Improvement From Daws (And Hudd)
This time last year Daws and Hudd were under the microscope somewhat. Well admittedly the Hudd’s physique does not really require a microscope for observation, but you get the point. Both players were at something of a crossroads, career-wise, either about to step up a level or fade out of the picture, Anthony Gardner-style, to a career of pleasant mediocrity elsewhere. Hudd was trusted with a starting berth, Daws did not even have that much, but both came on in leaps and bounds last season, advancing from squad players to first-team regulars and joining that orderly queue outside Mr Capello’s door. However, both have room for improvement, and as such they can perhaps strive to hit the next level (which would presumably be to establish themselves within the England set-up). Dawson’s highly wobbly 45 minutes for England this week indicates that this will be no cakewalk, but if they continue to improve at the current rate they will be cracking little nuggets by May-2011.
7. Be More Clinical In The Crunch Games
For all the 5-1s and 9-1s last season there were a few unnecessarily jumpy finales, against the likes of l’Arse and Chelski, which could really have been avoided if a number of clear-cut chances had been converted. I vaguely remembering tearing out great big clumps of my hair as Pav and Gudjohnsen missed gilt-edged chances to wrap things up in the dying stages of those games. Well aware though I am that watching Spurs will one day be the death of me, it would make a pleasant change to see us ease through the final ten minutes of such games in comfy, serene fashion.
8. More 5-1s and 9-1s
Thrashing teams is great. Let’s do it more often.
9. Nurture At Least One Of The Kids
I may as well copy and paste from last year’s wish-list – and do the same again next season, and the following season, etc – but the point remains. Names like Walker, Naughton, Rose, Livermore and Obika are becoming increasingly familiar, and it would warm the cockles to see one of these home-grown types nail down a place for himself. (And if they do go out on loan again, they could do worse than follow the lead of the boy Bostock last week, whose goal for Hull was top-notch.)
10. Hit The Ground Running
After all the blood, sweat, tears and ultimately thigh-slapping euphoria of last season, defeats to Man City and/or - more importantly - Young Boys would be the definitive slap in the face with a wet fish. No time for bedding in – our heroes will need to have their fingers on the buzzer right from the off come Saturday lunchtime, while elimination from the Champions League within 10 days of the new season will make this particular grown man weep. It may be a marathon rather than a sprint, but we need a fast start.
First up it’s the paupers of Man City. Strictly speaking it is only three points, but hark back to 16 August 2009, and victory over Liverpool was the perfect start to the season, immediately sprinkling around liberal quantities of belief that we were capable of challenging the Top Four, as well as injecting a most pleasant sense of bonhomie around N17, upon which we toddled off and sat atop the table for a few weeks. Something similar tomorrow against another key rival would be tickety-boo.
I half expect that if City’s owners find out that I write a football blog they’ll make a bid for me too, as their spending spree is verging on the ludicrous, but to be honest if some billionaire foreign sort offered to swan into White Hart Lane and invest several hundred million on new players I’m not sure too many South Stand punters would object. However, for all City’s spending they can only stick 11 on the pitch at any given time, and mano e mano our heroes are certainly capable of three points. Here we go again then…
Something for your withdrawal symptoms if, like yours truly, you have such a Tottenham-shaped hole in your life that you now spend the first half hour of your working day actually working, rather than trawling the interweb for morsels of Spurs news. Before season 2009/10 becomes but a sepia-tinged memory sending good vibrations through your very core, it is only right and proper that the second AANP End of Season Awards are dished out.
Admittedly it’s a bit late (we at AANP Towers can be lazy so-and-so’s) and there is no arguing with the fact that vastly more rational appraisals of the season’s ins and outs can be found down the road at Dear Mr Levy, at Jimmy G2’s abode and at the ever-entertaining Who Framed Ruel Fox? - but please do now pour yourself a good bourbon, stick some Julie London on the gramophone and ask a kindly neighbour to perform a suitably dramatic drumroll…
The Storm From X-Men Award For The Most Pointless Superpower in Christendom
That Halle Berry lass is quite the looker, make no mistake, but the character she plays in the X-Men trilogy is pointless in extremis, boasting the highly dubious capacity to send a gentle breeze rustling the leaves whenever her eyes go white. There are a couple at the Lane who have similarly useless calling cards – note Robbie Keane’s inimitable ability to point and flap and shout every time he loses possession, while scuttling around in circles of ever-diminishing diameter. The Hudd is also a contender in this category, possessing the most ferocious shot known to man, but all too often using it to decapitate punters in the upper reaches of the North/South Lower. However, the master of pointlessness in season 2009-10 has been Heurelho Gomes, for his occasional tendency to overarm-hurl the ball beyond the halfway line. Which is nothing that could not be achieved simply by picking it up and kicking it.
The Play-Off-Chap-Who-Chipped-It Award For Most Mental Penalty Of The Season
There’s an unhealthy obsession with that 12-yard spot over at the Lane, right from the opening day of the campaign when we conceded to Liverpool. In the latter stages of the season Sergeant Wilson confusingly made it his mission in every single game to go bundling over someone in the area, while BAE and Daws were amongst numerous others who saw fit to go hurtling in at opposition legs when all manner of wiser options were available.
On top of all that, ill-fortune also befalls our lot when penalties are awarded our way. Defoe has had several saved, and the Hudd broke the habit of a lifetime when opting to place his shot rather than leather it, in his penalty against Bolton. However, amidst the blitz of spot-kicks this season, the one stands out is Robbie Keane’s against Everton – an effort initially saved by Tim Howard, prompting a melee more akin to playground football, as Messrs Bale and Bentley went charging in for the rebounds, and Howard produced about six separate parries before Keane eventually slammed the ruddy thing in. Truly, ‘twas all-action-no-plot, in penalty form.
The David Bentley Award For The Best Speculative Punt Against l’Arse
Always worth closing your eyes and putting your foot through the ball when playing against l’Arse, and this season the gods of the better half of North London smiled upon one Danny Rose. He may have to go some to make the grade, but with one inspired swing of his left leg the chunky whippersnapper guaranteed himself immortality at the Lane.
The Bacary Sagna’s Hair Award For Fashion Faux Pas of The Season
Frankly they have been a bit thin on the ground this year. Gareth Bale’s hair-clip is long gone; Defoe has stopped messing around and settled upon a nice, smart short-back-and-sides; even the tattoo brigade have decided against emblazoning the name of their latest WAG across their foreheads and stuck with poetry on the forearm. Therefore, this season’s ignominy falls upon the good folk of Puma, for putting together quite possibly the worst home shirt in our history. It really ought not to be possible to make a mess of a plain white top, but that particular ignominy was duly achieved by the gift of random yellow streaks. I remarked before the season began, when there was nothing better to discuss, that I would not mind what we wore if we qualified for the Champions League; but having achieved that goal I actually change my mind – it would have been much nicer to have finished fourth in the ’91 Umbro kit, or even 2008-09’s straightforward white-with-blue-trim shirt. Good to see that Puma has duly made amends with a lovely shiny retro effort for next season.
The Clegg-Cameron Award For Unlikely Partnership Of The Season
For the first half of the season it appeared that Messrs Corluka and Lennon would retain their crown – two chaps who one imagines barely speak to each other on non-matchdays, but who combine to glorious effect once ambling around on the turf. However, once injury struck we had to look elsewhere for our resident odd-couple, and suspension for Sergeant Wilson duly created the opportunity, as Modders and Hudd were flung together. With each of them having demonstrated a certain reluctance throughout their careers to whisper “boo” at passing geese, one wondered quite how they would fare in the tough-tackling world of Premiership central midfield battles, but despite being outnumbered against both l’Arse and Chelski they held their own quite comfortably, creating a platform for all manner of wonderfulness on the flanks and up top. Chalk and cheese in human form they may be, but one hell of an on-field combo.
The Saving Private Ryan Award For The Most Mental, 30 Minute, All-Action-No-Plot Sequence Of The Season
While there was an astonishing all-action 30 seconds or so late on in the season, at home to Pompey (when Thudd almost snapped the woodwork in two, Crouch volleyed the rebound against the very same spot, and then tried an overhead kick from the resulting corner), the most astonishing half hour of this – and quite possibly any – season, was in the second half at home to Wigan. Jermain Defoe donned his Midas suit, and Niko Kranjcar responded to our last-minute please for “One more, we only want one more”, as a little bit of history unfolded at the Lane.
The Et Tu Brute? Award For Attacking Your Own Team-Mate
When Benoit Assou-Ekotto tried smiling, after scoring on the opening day of the season, the sight was so disturbing that small children began bawling and a watching Medusa turned to stone. The man is not one of life’s certified friendly folk, so there was a vague inevitability about the fact that he ended up turning on one of his own team-mates. Vedram Corluka was the unfortunate victim, a push and shove ensuing during the match against Stoke accompanied by language so fruity that those bastions of virtue at the BBC took the honourable step of censoring/pixellating BAE’s mouth when they showed highlights of the incident on that night’s Match of the Day. No harm was done that afternoon, but I fancy that Corluka will one day look in the mirror and see BAE standing behind him with some stabbing implement in hand and expressionless stare on his visage. Creepy.
The “Sod It – Who Else Wants A Go?” Award For Most Popular Position Of The Season
If you’re a male, aged 17-32 and in possession of the requisite number of limbs plus a pair of football boots, the chances are that ‘Arry cast an eye over you at some point this season to help out at right-back. Despite having collected them like stamps just a couple of years ago, we seem to have been desperately short this time around once Corluka hobbled off the scene, resulting in BAE, Kyle Walker, Sergeant Wilson and finally Younes Kaboul each filling in at various stages of the season. If Messrs Hutton and Naughton are recalled from loan we could seriously consider fielding an entire outfield team of right-backs.
The Geoff Hurst Award For Hat-Trick of the Season
This may annoy Jermain Defoe, after hat-tricks against Wigan, Hull and Leeds, but Heurehlo Gomes’ three saves in quick succession against l’Arse not only won us the game and gave a timely adrenaline shot towards Champions League qualification, they also created a whole new branch of science, the traditional understanding of space-time dynamics having been rendered obsolete by the chap’s quite astonishing performance.
The Teddy Sheringham Award For Moving Exceptionally Slowly For A Professional Athlete
The arrival of Eidur Gudjohnsen on loan in January made for interesting comparisons with Sheringham, not just in terms of his pace (or lack thereof) but also his general touch and positional sense on the pitch. However, when it comes to the art of ambling, Vedran Corluka remains peerless. Which is fine, because he’s got Aaron Lennon ahead of him to do all the running we need.
The Klinsmann-Dive Award For Celebration Of The Season
The bar was set pretty low here, with BAE simply not knowing what to do after he thumped in his opening day scorcher against Liverpool by running off. Further woeful celebrations were to follow, with Gareth Bale doing a really weird twisty-hand thing after scoring against l’Arse, and then treating us to a nice big heart against Chelski. Fortunately, David Bentley made up for the general lack of invention, by pouring a bucket of ice over his manager and then prancing around in his underwear on live TV, after the Man City game.
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).
You can become a Facebook fan of Spurs’ Cult Heroes and AANP here, follow on Twitter here
“If you can meet with triumph and disaster, and treat those two imposters just the same…”
So said the cake-making chap, but I make no apologies for the fact that I treat the two rather differently. Almost every Spurs-supporting day of my life has been spent meeting with disaster – cursing or stomping, or at the very least shrugging philosophically. And then for the first 80 minutes last night the priority was just to avoid throwing up, as Tottenham did what Tottenham do and the agony of it all made my stomach fold in on itself.
Today, however, it’s triumph alright, and you can spot the Spurs fans a mile off for the great big beaming grins. Here at AANP Towers it’s taken the best part of 24 hours to float gently back down to earth, a process still not quite complete.
Champions League. Where the world’s best play one-twos, and clubs are given squillions of pounds just for having a half-time break.
Champions League, baby!
Alright, there’s a qualifying whatsit in August, but let’s worry about that later (hell, let’s finish third and remove the qualifier from the equation). Lest you be waiting for some objective assessment and reasoned debate, I might as well point out that it ain’t going to happen, not round these parts. Not today. The mood at AANP Towers is still very much tip-a-bucket-of-ice-cold-water-on-your-boss-and-laugh-at-him-in-yer-underwear.
Playing For A Draw
A point would have done the trick, so ‘Arry picked a line-up that could only have been more attacking if he’d dropped Gomes and stuck Gudjohnsen in behind the front two instead. Gloriously, this Tottenham team doesn’t quite know how to play for a point. In fact I’m not quite sure they realize that they still pick up a point if the scores are level at full-time.
These are changed times I tell ye. In the last 20 years or so The Tottenham Way™ has been about salvaging ignominy from the jaws of glory, about keeping a loaded pistol close at hand in order to guarantee a means of shooting oneself in the foot at a moment’s notice. This current bunch however, is a different breed. With scant regard for the traditions forged over 20-plus years of false dawns and spectacular implosions, this lot have made a habit of delivering top-notch performances with the pressure on. Slick in possession; razor-sharp on the counter-attack; and organized throughout when not in possession – it’s so good to watch I would support us even if I didn’t support us, if you follow.
Gold Stars and Back-Slaps
As has been the case for week upon week, amazingness burst from every lilywhite shirt, one chap’s man-of-the-match nominations only scuppered because of the performance of the fellow alongside him.
Crouch’s well-meaning but often mediocre performances have had the denizens of AANP Towers howling in frustration at various points this season, but last night he ruddy well delivered. Where previously some queried how he managed to snare Abby Clancy, now every Tottenham fan - man, woman and child - openly professes their love for the gangly maestro. With a laudable sense of timing he saved his best performance in a Spurs shirt for our most important game in years, winning nigh on everything that was lobbed up at him (credit too to Defoe, for a determined stab at that whole business of puffing up the chest, sticking out the backside and holding up the ball). There is a fair amount of air-space between Crouch’s quiff and his size fifteens, so whenever he tried to bring down the ball it typically happened in a number of installments, and via various hops and skips and jabbing of his pointy limbs. Yet if a City player tried to interrupt the procedure, he managed to produce another giant appendage, and kept doing this until the ball eventually hit the deck, and one of his chums arrived in support. All that, and the most important goal we’ve scored in years. Peter Crouch, AANP salutes thee.
Modders and Hudd are fast becoming the greatest mismatched double-act since B.A. and Murdock. Neither is exactly a born tackler, but they have managed to turn us into a team that no longer needs a central midfield tackler - which at White Hart Lane is pretty much tantamount to alchemy. They just scurry back in position whenever we lose the ball, and politely refuse entry to any young upstart trying to barge their way through to our penalty area. Once the ball is back in their grasp the fun begins, these two possessing technique and passing constructed from the very DNA of Tottenham Hotspur FC.
At the back, Kaboul’s astonishing flirtation with amazingness continues, while Gomes duly delivered the now customary three world-class saves. I am a tad worried that King and Dawson will imminently be exposed by FIFA as gods, masquerading as mere mortals kicking footballs, and we will be deducted 10 points as a result; but until then I continue to watch in awe, and offer small, symbolic sacrifices by way of thanks.
Mature, disciplined, creative, confident – it sure as hell didn’t resemble many of the Spurs teams I’ve watched over the last couple of decades, and yet now it happens every week, against the best teams in the country. Last night was supposed to be our cue to choke; instead we reached the Champions League. I still can’t quite believe it. Glory Glory Tottenham Hotspur.
Talk Champions League With Gary Mabbutt!
Apologies for the shameless plug, but Saturday is the last chance to catch Gary Mabbutt signing copies of Spurs’ Cult Heroes. Previous sessions have indicated that the man is a true gent, and more than happy to stop and talk Tottenham with the fans. The session begins at 1pm, at Waterstones Walthamstow (26 Selborne Walk, London E17 7JR).
Spurs’ Cult Heroes, is now available in the Spurs shop, and online (at Tottenhamhotspur.com, as well as WHSmith, Amazon , Tesco, Waterstones and Play). You can become a Facebook fan of Spurs’ Cult Heroes and AANP here, follow on Twitter here
Tempus doesn’t half fugit when things are going swimmingly. It barely seem five minutes ago that we pitched up to the Lane for the first time this season, to offer Steven Gerrard some legal advice (“Self-defence, you’re having a laugh”) and salute BAE’s frankly mental long-range effort. Eight months on and who would have predicted that the top four we would be ours to throw away? Harking back through the yellowed pages of AANP’s archives I note that top-six was the target around these parts last August. Not that that will soften the blow should we mess things up from here…
Seeing off Bolton will hardly be a straightforward task – Kevin Davies in particular has taken rather a liking to our onion bag – but there are no excuses. Three points today (and next Sunday) are essential.
No Ledley. Not Today
If Ledley goes trotting onto the pitch at 2.55 I think I’ll personally march out there and slap a chloroformed handkerchief across his face just to prevent his participation. I fancy us to beat Bolton with Bassong and Daws bringing up the rear; vastly more important that Ledley’s knees are tickety-boo ahead of the clash with Tevez, Adebayor et al on Wednesday. The only sighting of Ledley ought to be encased from head to toe in a cocoon of cotton wool, as the players amble around for the end-of-season lap of honour at full-time.
A similar argument might also be made in favour of restricting Aaron Lennon to a cameo, with one eye on Wednesday night. Whether or not he starts, it seems likely that at some point at least we will be treated to the sight of Bale on one flank and Lennon on t’other, which would serve as a delightful end of season gift.
Elsewhere on the Pitch
It’s been debated ad infinitum, but to be honest the central midfield combo ought not to be as critical an issue today as against Man Utd. Impose our game upon the other lot and it won’t matter whether or not Sergeant Wilson is patrolling the centre-circle, or Modders starting out left. (Of course, should the players themselves adopt an attitude of complacency similar to that at AANP Towers our top four dream could be in tatters come the final whistle.)
Corluka is still out, so Kaboul/BAE/Walker will be tasked with doing the honourable thing on the right. (AANP would opt for Kaboul, to lend a hand in case of any aerial assault from our guests today). Bentley was a little isolated on the right wing last week, so a slightly more generous attitude from today’s chosen right-back would go down well.
Win-draw-win will do the trick - but when did our lot ever do things the straightforward way?
Gary Mabbutt will be signing copies of AANP book Spurs’ Cult Heroes for the masses at Waterstones Walthamstow - Saturday 8 May, 1pm
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).
You can become a Facebook fan of Spurs’ Cult Heroes and AANP here, follow on Twitter here
Someone at the club shop turn this week into a double DVD box-set with a snappy name, and pronto. Here at AANP Towers we considered our prognosis of four points from the visits of l’Arse and Chelski to be noble but sadly blinded by optimism. After last weekend’s debacle, who on God’s green earth ever envisaged a reality that saw us take six points from these two games, and with quite such élan? And all that with a team including the slightly terrifying sight of Kaboul at right-back?Performance Of The Season
The opening exchanges - in which we pinged the ball around in neat little olé-style triangles – set the tone, with our vanquished opponents notably unable to handle the link-up play of Modders, BAE and (inevitably) Bale, and in fact barely able to touch the ball. Nor was Cheslki’s anticipated second half onslaught allowed to materialise, and I’m not even sure they created a clear-cut chance until the 93rd minute, itself an astonishing testament to our injury-hit defence.
And then there was the second most glorious sight in Christendom: the lightning-quick lilywhite counter-attacks that had us outnumbering them from the halfway line. These really ought to have seen us give the scoreboard a more memorable edge, but they did at least bring about the most glorious sight in Christendom, the sending-off of the ever-likeable John Terry.
Apparently Chelski recorded around twice as many completed passes as our lot. Bravo to them. If anything this stat reinforces the incisiveness of our play, for while they passed sideways and sideways again, in their vain search for a chink in our armour, our heroes scythed through them repeatedly with lightning-quick one-touch moves. We completed fewer passes because we needed fewer passes. Such was the confidence and quality of our football that within two or three passes we were bearing down on goal.
How Do You Solve A Problem Like Palacios?
It was the worrying question on our lips last weekend, the cause of several thousand furrowed brows trooping up the High Road. Sergeant Wilson’s two-match ban loomed at seemingly the worst time conceivable – but goodness me it was a problem addressed in quite astonishing fashion. When not in possession, Modders and Hudd did not try to mimic Palacios by rushing out and harrying opponents. Instead they kept their discipline and sat, a two-man barrier in front of the back-four, through which Lampard, Cole et al struggled throughout to fashion an opening. Absolutely ruddy marvellous.
Seasoned visitors to AANP Towers will now that here have not traditionally dwelt the Hudd’s greatest admirers. Against l’Arse and Chelski however he turned in remarkably polished performances. Not one Hollywood pass in sight, he just kept things ticking over with a glorious maturity, playing first-time passes with the air of a man who had had a quick look around immediately prior to receiving possession and therefore knew exactly where the ball would go as soon as it came his way. We kept possession like a team who truly cherished the little white orb, and for that much credit is due to the Hudd, although the contributions of our wide men, as well as Pav and, latterly, the Ice Man, also merit appreciative high-fives.
Modders too has given two of his best showings of the season this week, all slick passing, tight control, intricate dribbling and a determination not to be barged off the ball that belies his paperweight frame. Our little-and-large central midfield pairing have turned themselves into a most accomplished partnership, a feat all the more impressive as it has been achieved against a pair of teams deploying three in central midfield. Unbelievably, the problem now surrounding Wilson Palacios is how to accommodate his return. (The AANP solution is to move Modders to the left and Bale to left-back – a formation which to all intents and purposes works as a five-man midfield, once Modders tucks inside and Bale overlaps).
Other Points Of Note
I’m not entirely sure what any of Bale’s goal celebrations are about, but it’s about time we started to see them. No-one is more deserving of the headlines, but goals had been rather conspicuously absent from his series of bravura performances of recent weeks. I look forward to more curious hand-gestures in coming weeks, while bracing myself for a summer of speculation about his future.
Which unknowing observer would have correctly identified the established England centre-back from the candidates on show? Michael Dawson, I salute thee, even if Don Fabio does not.
As for the penalty calls, AANP considered that there were a couple of strong shouts – Terrys shirt-tug on Defoe, and a sliding challenge (from Malouda?) on Bale - before the eventual penalty award (which, entertainingly enough, seemed from this vantage point a little harsh on Terry).
Sort out how to break down those deep-lying defensive teams and we could be aiming even higher than the top four. That is a conundrum for another day, however. Now is the time for making merry, and revelling in a quite astonishingly good couple of days.
Gary Mabbutt will be signing copies of AANP book Spurs’ Cult Heroes for the masses on the following dates:
Waterstones Stevenage - Saturday 24 April, 12 noon;
Waterstones Walthamstow - Saturday 8 May, 1pm
, is now available in the Spurs shop, all good bookshops and online (at Tottenhamhotspur.com, as well as WHSmith, Amazon , Tesco, Waterstones and Play).
Spurs’ Cult Heroes
You can become a Facebook fan of Spurs’ Cult Heroes and AANP here, follow on Twitter here
Well we had better get cracking with the inquest then. The slew of instant reactions I have overheard in the couple of hours since meltdown have included “Sack Harry”; “Sell Crouch”; “Recall Keane”; and even “Get Jenas back in the team”. Okay, I made up that last one, but some of the opinions ventured do seem possibly to have been delivered a tad hastily. Over at AANP Towers the mood is bizarrely philosophical - indeed, the primary question being ruminated upon around these parts is whether we lost because we were unlucky or generally quite bobbins.
Luck (Or Lack Thereof)
Might as well fly through these first, for administrative purposes:
Disallowed Goal – If there was a push on David James it was by his own defender (Rocha). Well might the goalkeeper have grinned afterwards, the offensively-attired rotter.
Penalty – Sergeant Wilson got the ball, dagnabbit.
First Pompey Goal – Curses upon the Wembley groundstaff, Michael Dawson’s stud manufacturers and the Gods of Soil and Turf.
And as an added bonus, ITV’s wonky-nosed analyst Andy Townsend later highlighted that the free-kick which led to the first goal was given against Dawson for the gentlest caress on the back of a Pompey forward.
On top of these there were spells when we laid siege to the Pompey net, racked up a blinking great big stack of corners, had efforts cleared off the line and saw several of our better chances fall to Corluka - a likeable enough trooper, but not one to whom the epithet “predatory finisher” is normally applied.
Nope, not much luck around these parts.
But Not Exactly Vintage Spurs Either…
And yet, despite this, we can hardly be said to have sliced to ribbons a team that has spent all season at the foot of the Premiership. Bolstered by the recovery from injury of Daws, Corluka and Hudd, we really had no excuses come kick-off. ‘Twas the moment for our heroes to prove themselves the men for the big occasion. They all beavered away fairly earnestly, but perhaps the team effort could be typified by the performance of Modders – strangely sluggish in possession, with the ball frequently sticking under his feet (the fault of the pitch?), and struggling to conjure a moment of brilliance, despite being more technically adept than his opposite numbers.
Our play would have benefited enormously from taking the lead and thereby finding some space behind Pompey, but it was not to be, and instead every foray into the Portsmouth penalty area was welcomed by a good half-dozen defenders. They came out elbows flying, and duly defended for their lives throughout. (Whatever happened to the real Ricardo Rocha is anyone’s guess, but his doppelganger, barely recognisable from the blighter who once wore lilywhite, put in a near-faultless shift). By sitting deep our conquerors denied us the space to get beyond them, and our passing game never really materialised.
They may have made it difficult for us, but a general lack of invention, coupled with the determination of our lot to avoid one-touch football, did not help the cause, and it seemed we might have played all ruddy night and not scored. Perhaps, then, this one will be filed in the AANP the folder entitled “Simultaneously Unlucky And Actually Pretty Woeful” (next to the 2001 Carling Cup Final defeat to Blackburn).
A Couple of Points of Note Regarding Personnel
“FA Cup Semi-Final” can be added to the ever-growing number of key games in which Hudd has failed to impose himself. He might not have been match-fit, and he did pick a couple of decent passes - and one delicious, controlled shot - but boss the affair he most certainly did not.
Inevitably then, we looked out left for inspiration. The threat of Bale was largely countered by Portsmouth’s deep-lying approach, but while perhaps not as effective as in previous weeks he still seemed our most creative outlet. The hour of Lennon’s return approacheth, which if nothing else will give Bale a chance to catch his breath between gallops.
Poor old Sergeant Wilson is pretty much exonerated from blame. Understandably enough he played throughout like a man already on one yellow card, and while this denied us the sight of any bone-crunching challenges he still bustled around pretty effectively (and energetically too, in a game in which I do declare I saw a Pompey player cramp up as early as the first half). It seemed pretty cruel that after all that effort he was then unjustly booked and we lost anyway. The guy must have been pure evil in his previous life, because karma seems to have it in for him.
‘Arry’s Input
Not entirely convinced by the substitutions. At nil-nil in any given game I would like Defoe at the tip of my attack, but he toddled off relatively early on in proceedings (was he injured?). In ‘Arry’s defence Pav offered a bit more height and physical presence than Defoe, but a case could have been made for the withdrawal instead of Crouch, who yet again demonstrated that for a great big ladder of a man he really is pretty mediocre when heading for goal. Down and toward the corner of the net, with the velocity of a bullet? Not on his watch. Too nice for his own good, even Crouch’s headers at goal seem to come with an extended hand of friendship.
The replacement by Krancjar of Bentley also prompted a raised eyebrow at AANP Towers. He may not have been setting the world alight, but Bentley was whipping in the occasional cross from the right, which seemed a reasonable tactic with Crouch and Pav ambling around ahead. Instead, he exited stage left, while Hudd continued to crawl around in the centre.
11th April 2010: A Pretty Rubbish Day
Thus ends the Cup dream. Man City completed a miserable day for us by racking up three points and overhauling our goal difference. Sergeant Wilson’s booking means he’ll be missing for the games at home to l’Arse and Chelski. Extra-time means that we have warmed up for the North London derby three days hence with a two-hour slog across the vast, boggy expanse of Wembley.
If the players mope around feeling sorry for themselves like we fans are doing the Premiership push will also be up in smoke this time next week. The evidence of today suggests that over the remainder of the season we will once again choke – but how nice would it be to see our lot pick themselves up and go hell for leather for fourth spot over the next few weeks?
Gary Mabbutt will be signing copies of AANP book Spurs’ Cult Heroes for the masses on the following dates:
Waterstones Stevenage - Saturday 24 April, 12 noon;
Waterstones Walthamstow - Saturday 8 May, 1pm
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).
You can become a Facebook fan of Spurs’ Cult Heroes and AANP here, follow on Twitter here
And so begins our biggest week since the last great big important week we had. Two wins from the upcoming three games? The feeling here at AANP Towers is that we’re certainly capable of winning at least one of the two home games against l’Arse and Chelski, and with one Aaron Lennon due for return at some point this week this really could tee us up for a ruddy marvellous finale to the season.
First things first however, and frankly it would take quite a monumental effort from our heroes to fail to make the FA Cup Final from this position. Admittedly Tottenham Hotspur FC has quite an eye-catching history when it comes to un-winning the most winnable of contests, and FA Cup Semi-Final complacency is not unknown around these parts (see 1995 name-on-the-Cup, Klinsmann, Everton and all that) but even at my most pessimistic I can only envisage us churning out a sloppy first half, prompting ‘Arry’s twitch to go into overdrive at the break and our lot upping their game sufficiently in the second half.
Portsmouth are falling apart at the seams, and were unable even to bring a full squad of 18 players to the Lane a couple of weeks ago. While I sympathise with their off-field plight (as Best Man to a Pompey fan that’s pretty much in my contract), today is a day for kicking them while they’re down. The official company line is that there are no easy games, and Pompey will certainly apply themselves with a darned sight more commitment than in the League meeting a couple of weeks ago, but for all their willing we should have more than enough quality, particularly going forward.
Team Selection
The usual headaches apply to selection, particularly in defence. The absences of Kaboul and Walker would hardly be lamented if we were at full-strength, but with Daws, Corluka and, most curiously, Ledley all due for late fitness tests it is still possible that the likes of Palacios or Livermore may be shunted into the back-four, with BAE switching to ad hoc right-back. Hudd (I think) is an absentee; Lennon is not yet match-fit; and Portsmouth are no doubt quaking in their boots at the news that Jenas is also undergoing a late fitness test.
The outlook is far rosier going forward. All four strikers are match-fit, and we have the usual array of string-pullers from which to choose going forward. ‘Tis this abundance of attacking riches which provides the main grounds for optimism. Cup upsets happen, but if Pompey’s ramshackle bunch of reserves and kids can repel the combined might of Defoe, Pav, Crouch, Gudjohnsen, Bale, Modders, Kranjcar and Bentley for an hour and a half then they each deserve knighthoods.
Having recently held a public training session for supporters, our heroes have no doubt been informed that failure to win today will result in them being marched out in front of supporters and publicly flogged. AANP’s wish-list is straightforward – a win, by whatever means, and no mention of Sergeant Wilson’s name in the referee’s little black book. Enjoy the day-out.
Gary Mabbutt will be signing copies of AANP book Spurs’ Cult Heroes for the masses on the following dates:
Waterstones Stevenage - Saturday 24 April, 12 noon;
Waterstones Walthamstow - Saturday 8 May, 1pm
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).
You can become a Facebook fan of Spurs’ Cult Heroes and AANP here, follow on Twitter here
