Off and running anew then, but in various senses it was if the old season had never finished. The personnel all looked pretty familiar for a start, the sumptuous brand of football rolled out brought back sepia-tinged memories of the finer moments of season 2009/10 - and alas the profligacy of old also made an unwelcome return.
AANP’s wish-list for the new season may have been hastily scribbled at the eleventh hour on the back of an envelope, but (unnervingly) at least one point has already proved frsutratingly prescient:
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.
(AANP, Friday night)
While the blank we drew yesterday was due more to the heroics of the opposition goalkeeper than to egregiously bad finishing from our heroes, the point remains that one avenue for improvement is in increasing our ratio of gilt-edged chances created to goals scored.
A Thousand Curses Upon Inspired Opposition Goalkeepers
Tempting to search for a scapegoat, particularly after such a one-sided first half, but in truth just about all eleven of them – plus the three subs – turned in above-par performances. In such circumstances the default option here at AANP Towers is always to blame Jermaine Jenas, but, levity aside, it would be rather harsh to attribute point the finger at any of our lot. ‘Twas just one of those days. With a sprinkle of good fortune we would now be mixing it with Blackpool atop the table; alas, within the four walls of AANP Towers it is a truth universally acknowledged that if there is any luck going in North London, it goes the way of l’Arse (last-minute own-goal equaliser, the swines).
Last season, there were a number of games in which we created umpteen chances. Sometimes it seemed that just about all of them flew in (Wigan springing obviously to mind); on other occasions we came up against a goalkeeper turning in the performance of his career (Hull City, and that darned Boaz Myhill – whose obscurity since has been reflected by a headline-avoiding low-fee transfer this summer). Yesterday fell into the latter category, but we are consoling ourselves around these parts that more often than not our heroes will be rewarded for such performances with three points and shiny gold stars.
Consistency? At Tottenham Hotspur FC? Madness.
The first talking-points of the season were settled in rather straightforward manner prior to kick-off, as ‘Arry simply recycled his teamsheet from last season. Defoe started alongside he of the gangly frame, but with the potentially gruelling fixture-list ahead Messrs Keane and Pav ought to receive plenty of game time in the coming weeks. Other noteworthy selections were the omission of Sergeant Wilson, use of Bale on left midfield rather than left-back, and appearance of Giovani on the subs’ bench – each of which seemed sensible enough.
The lack of transfer activity has caused a degree of disquiet in some quarters – including these, I must confess – but the benefits of a summer bereft of transfer activity could be witnessed from the off yesterday. While the City team assembled at a cost of approximately several million billion trillion pounds looked every inch a bunch of strangers newly-introduced, as they struggled to get a touch of the ball for the first 45 minutes, our lot gave an interesting tutorial in the benefits of consistency (not an adjective bandied around these parts too often in recent years).
The starting XI bore just the one change (Charlie for Kaboul) from the team that beat City at Eastlands last May, and as Bale and Lennon set about harassing the City full-backs (if that was Micah Richards’ audition for a White Hart Lane move I’d rather we politely discontinue our interest) it really was as if last season had not ended. None of that business of new management needing to dish out name badges, or a whole platoon of new faces needing to gel – our current lot should know each other’s deepest darkest secrets by now, and they set about their business on the green stuff looking accordingly square pegs in appropriately-shaped holes.
Other Points of Notes
As BAE’s volley dipped and swerved AANP idly wondered whether an audacious brush with the spectacular is going to be an annual first-day-of-the-season offering from the lad. Further up the field, he may not have been a big-money transfer as such, but the introduction of Giovani from the bench was a reminder that recalled loanees are vaguely akin to new signings, and the sprightly Mexican is one who would have commanded a sizeable fee. May he live long and prosper at the Lane.
An honourable mention too to HRH the King. Given the urban legends about his ricekty knees it is always reassuring to see some small child stumbling out of the White Hart Lane tunnel hand-in-hand with Ledley, just prior to kick-off. Having managed three games in a week at the end of last season it is not inconceivable that he might yet be good to go again on Tuesday in the Champions League (I trust it feels as good to read those last few words as it did to write them…).
So two points dropped they may be, but after careful inspection of the liquid content, refraction of light and meniscus level, AANP ventures that the glass is half full. To spend 45 minutes fairly uninterruptedly slicing open one of our principal rivals for whatever it is at which we’re aiming this season (fourth? sixth? a trophy?) constitutes a decent start, and bodes fairly well. Even though standards were noticeably lower in the second half, we arguably created more - and better – chances. Darned frustrating stuff, but a decent start nonetheless.
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…
“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
“It’s not the despair, I can take the despair; it’s the hope that kills me…”
As a long-time Spurs-supporting chum put it to me yesterday, we’re not built for this sort of thing. Let-downs and heartbreaks we can deal with, but this business of every single blasted game coming loaded with significance is just too much to take. At any rate it’s almost upon us now, arguably the biggest showdown since Godzilla and King Kong went head to head. I’m not sure I can bear to watch.
After the season we have had I would be deeply suspicious if we went into our most crucial game with a clean bill of health, so it is only appropriate that we are sweating on the fitness of Ledley and Gomes. Without wanting to tempt fate I think the boy Bassong is a pretty able deputy at centre-back; as for the boy Alnwick… well, let’s just hope that Gomes pulls through.
Central midfield, as ever, provides a selection poser. AANP would stick with Modders and Hudd, but I presume ‘Arry will accommodate Sergeant Wilson somehow, and shove Modders wide right or left. All sorts of head-hurting permutations then follow (Bale left-back? BAE right-back?) but if nothing else we at least have the enticing prospect of Palacios giving Viera a good mauling, something which seems about 15 years overdue.
Elsewhere we just need to close our eyes and pray that nobody fluffs their lines. Kaboul (or BAE) will need to be Jekyll rather than Hyde against the dastardly Craig Bellamy; lilywhites the world over will be imploring Bale and Lennon to go forth and prosper on their respective flanks; and Defoe, Pav and chums blinking well need to adjust their radars, because tonight is not the night to roll out that everywhere-but-the-net routine.
I genuinely think that watching this game might actually kill me. Deep breath. Godspeed, fellas.
Not quite vintage Spurs, but a hugely creditable performance nonetheless. The 3-0 scoreline makes it easy to forget quite how hard our lot had to work after a testing opening, first in soaking up the early pressure, and then in moving from back-foot to front.
Kick-off had heralded what looked like an ominous 10-minute trailer for the Carlos Tevez Show, but to our credit, while City were allowed a little too much time in midfield they were resolutely kept at arm’s length – an arm in this instance being approximately 18 yards long – with the only notable first half save from Gomes coming from a long-range effort.
The last 15 minutes or so were also a little nervier than was entirely necessary, as we dropped mighty deep, the ghost of weeks past seeming to haunt the team. A two-nil lead as the clock ticks over to 80 ought not in theory to be any cause for alarm, but having recently turned implosion in such situations into an art-form, our lot seemed a little confused as to whether they ought just to allow City to score, as a standard procedure. Daws could well have been pulled up for a penalty, which would have made for a horrendous final five minutes, while Adebayor was rather generously granted the freedom of the Tottenham six-yard box. Despite all this, having shown more creativity throughout, and sufficient ruthlessness to convert periods of dominance into goals, I think it’s fair to assert that we ticked enough boxes, and were quite justified in toddling off home in good cheer.
Bargain
Against a Man City team assembled at a combined cost of approximately several trillion pounds, Niko Kranjcar looked like the bargain of the millennium last night, fully justifying his inclusion in my Fantasy League team. His two goals were prime examples of what he offers us – an eagerness to charge into the penalty area and get involved in the fun (not a trait exhibited too often by the likes of Hudd, Jenas or Palacios), and boundless inventiveness in wanting to create mischief, as evinced by the world’s greatest ever time-wasting-short-corner routine.
Lennon was something of a coiled spring for the first half hour, itching to have a run at the left-back. And once the penny dropped amongst his team-mates he was off, tearing Silvinho apart, creating a goal and drawing the obligatory booking from the hapless opponent. Would have been nice to see him go for the jugular thereafter, and work a second booking out of the lad, but hey-ho.
’Twas a good job that Lennon and Kranjcar were on form, because Hudd had an off-day. If he can show on Saturday that this was the exception rather than the norm I think we’ll excuse him, but in the first half hour in particular he did little more than puff and pant in the background.
He won’t get many headlines, and indeed his possible handball is likelier to be thrust under the microscope, but Daws was generally outstanding at the back, particularly during the rocky moments in the first half of the first half. If the rest of them showed his attitude by golly we’d have one hell of a team. Such was his Midas touch that as well as countless well-judged tackles and interceptions, even that moment in the second half, when he arrived approximately an hour late for a tackle and sent a City forward flying into touch, was greeted by little more than a shrug from the ref and a goal-kick.
Defoe and Crouch
Some curious behaviour from our forwards. Defoe seems to have adopted a festive attitude of generosity and selflessness, opting to lay off the ball and try to pick out team-mates when he’s 20 yards out, rather than have a shot at the first whiff of goal. Preferred him in his Scrooge-like days of avarice and shots-at-every-opportunity, truth be told. We were also treated to the latest instalment of Defoe’s age-old mental battle with The Offside Law, our hero showing no indication that he is any closer to unravelling its complex intricacies.
As for Crouch, towards the end of the game he suddenly appeared to throw a bit of a strop, bless, and refused to pass to anyone, opting instead to shoot from miles out or try dribbling past the entire City team. The sight of Crouch running with the ball leaves me aghast but unable to tear myself away. It’s a gangly awkward mess, which is destined inevitably to end in a giant ball of limbs, and yet holds a morbid fascination. (As do Corluka’s occasional, painfully slow step-overs.)
Generally however, the attacking duo were sound but unspectacular, combining in uncomplicated fashion for our second (the fact that the move ended in a goal diverting attention from the world’s most mal-coordinated attempt at defending in the history of the game, by Kolo Toure). No reason to change the forward line, Robbie Keane can stay where he is.
While I hesitate to suggest that our blip is over, or can even be correctly labelled a “blip” rather than something more long-term, some winnable games loom, and if we play our cards right we could still be rather handily-placed come that drunken chorus of Auld Lang Syne.
You can become a Facebook fan of Spurs’ Cult Heroes and AANP here, or follow on Twitter here
And as ever, all are most welcome to leave memories - and browse those of others - regarding some of the players to be featured in forthcoming book Spurs’ Cult Heroes: Danny Blanchflower here, Dave Mackay here, Cliff Jones here, Martin Chivers here, Alan Gilzean here, Pat Jennings here, Cyril Knowles here, Steve Perryman here, Glenn Hoddle here, Chris Waddle here, Ossie and Ricky here, Gary Mabbutt here, Graham Roberts here, Jimmy Greaves here, Clive Allen here, Jurgen Klinsmann here
It’s tempting to imagine that after the Wolves debacle, the visit of Manchester City will herald a vastly more palatable performance from our heroes. Unlike Wolves, City will not cram every man, woman and child behind the ball – they’ll come and have a stab at us, and we’ll have a bit of greenery to exploit. Marvellous.
It’s a possible – some may say probable – scenario, but I’m starting to wonder whether the identity of the opposition makes the slightest ruddy effect upon which Spurs turns up. It could be 9-1 display; or a 0-1; or a 4-4 or whatever – same players each week, but sometimes it seems the Spurs performance from one game to the next might as well be decided by the toss of a coin. If it were not so frustrating, it would be rather impressive that within the Tottenham Hotspur household the twin abilities to enthral and despair can co-habit so comfortably. Fingers crossed it’s enthralling stuff today, because while not exactly bringing back all those lost points from recent weeks, a win tonight would return some spring to the step of the great and good of White Hart Lane.
Team Selection
The Kranjcar-Modders-Lennon-Other uber-midfield combo won’t be on show tonight, at least not from the off, as young Luka is apparently a bit sore after his first game back at the weekend – “His groins, hamstrings, everything,” according to ‘Arry. Neatly sidestepping the notion that the groins/hamstrings/everything of every single player should be feeling pretty damn sore after a game for Spurs, if he’s really given it his all, I presume this means that it will be the usual midfield four, and another one of those games in which much depends on Hudd.
Upfront, it’s the usual conundrum, while this will also be the sternest test yet for the Daws-Bassong combo. Cracking game in prospect.
You can become a Facebook fan of Spurs’ Cult Heroes and AANP here, or follow on Twitter here
And as ever, all are most welcome to leave memories - and browse those of others - regarding some of the players to be featured in forthcoming book Spurs’ Cult Heroes: Danny Blanchflower here, Dave Mackay here, Cliff Jones here, Martin Chivers here, Alan Gilzean here, Pat Jennings here, Cyril Knowles here, Steve Perryman here, Glenn Hoddle here, Chris Waddle here, Ossie and Ricky here, Gary Mabbutt here, Graham Roberts here, Jimmy Greaves here, Clive Allen here, Jurgen Klinsmann here
