Blast, and other unseemly vituperations. Apparently armed with a game-plan to avoid, at all costs, ever stringing together more than three passes, our heroes stuck to the drill fairly resolutely throughout, and it’s two points a-begging, faster than you can say “someone track that Ba fellow, he’s making a late run into the area”.Admittedly all t’s were crossed and i’s dotted in the first ten minutes or so, with pressure applied and short passes passed as standard; but thereafter the four walls of AANP Towers resounded repeatedly to the sounds of groans and curses, as far too many in lurid purple picked the wrong option, or just displayed a rather wild sense of geography with their passing. And dash it all (if you pardon my French) even despite this blistering second-ratedness we could – and probably should – nevertheless have still won the bally thing. Two-one up in the last ten minutes, with possession and rather tasty chances in tow – it was jolly winnable in the final furlong, and yet we unwon it.
First Gear (Or Lack Thereof)
For whatever reason, our heroes never really found first gear. The central core of Livermore-Parker understandably enough had their dials set to “Destroy” rather than “Create”, while out on the right in the first half, Bale generally had the doleful air of a man who had recently watched his national rugby side suffer an injustice or two, and consequently failed to deliver a performance that would blow up anyone’s skirt, even when dutifully taking up his natural left-hand abode. Modders showed sporadic flashes of invention, particularly in the second half, but when the media bigwigs put together a compilation for his Watch the Little Fella Bossing the Game With Footballing Alchemy In His Tiny Boots dvd, this particularly afternoon jaunt is unlikely to feature too prominently.
Nevertheless, there are some certificates of merit to be dished out when the players next convene at school assembly. Young Livermore’s impression of Sandro was laudable, the tackle that helped create the penalty a notable highlight; and out yonder on the right Master Walker generally seemed to have understood the various dos and don’ts in defence. Mind you, if memory serves he might have done more to prevent the first goal (as might Livermore), and for all his spunk and brio on the charge, one suspects he is ill-served by the little grey cells when given time to think, around the opposition area.
Cracking finish from Defoe, although it will do little to settle the debate that occasionally surrounds him – the lovers will continue to point to his single-minded and darned effective approach to the game (blast the thing low and on target), while the haters will ask what he adds to the team when he fails to score. (AANP has pitched its tent, unfurled its sleeping bag and cracked open the Thermos flask in the former camp, since you ask). A pat across the sturdy back of Kaboul too.
Not Looking Quite So Bionic
I suppose four games and 30 minutes was about as much as I was expecting from Ledley until Christmas, so to have been treated to all this (and the victories that inevitably accompany his presence) by mid-October has been something of a bonus. It is hardly most jaw-droppingly controversial statement of the millennium to suggest that Bassong is not quite a replacement of similar ilk – the lad chugged away earnestly enough, but if you can judge a man by the company he keeps, it is worth noting that Bassong was but one swish of a fountain pen away from calling the good folk of QPR his team-mates, at the end of the summer transfer window.
In a parallel universe Ledley played the full 90 and our lot hung on for three points, but having not been at our best an away point is probably acceptable, and on balance ‘twas a fair enough result. The next handful of games looks winnable. On y va.