All Action, No Plot

Tottenham Hotspur – latest news, opinion, reports, previews, transfers, gossip, rants… from one bewildered fan
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Spurs 2-1 Watford:

1. The Many Twists and Turns of the Llorente Soap Opera

If Fernando Llorente had been hoping for one of those quiet, drama-free nights that flits swiftly from the memory, he was in for quite the shock.

When the incorrigible old bean contrived to knee the ball over the bar from practically underneath it, the hills were alive with the sound of groans, curses and around thirty thousand palms simultaneously slapping foreheads.

For his own part Llorente did the honourable thing and duly adopted the pose of a man doing his level best to be swallowed up by the earth. More broadly, the omens were not particularly cheery, our heroes still being one goal in debit. The thought began to crystallise that if we were going to escape from this particular hole the odds appeared heavily stacked in favour of us doing so despite rather than because of the gangly fellow.

And yet, fast forward fifteen minutes or so and the chap was galloping off to the touchline in celebration, face contorted and fist clenched. He may have cut a pretty calamitous figure for much of his Tottenham career, but loft the ball towards his upper regions and Llorente will tend to find a way to plant a header into the net.

The curiosity in amongst all of this is that the ten lilywhites around him, while presumably having met him at some point, nevertheless seem utterly oblivious to the fact that Lorente is not, never has been and never will be Harry Kane, and just continue to play as if he is. They ignore his limitations – namely his stunning lack of mobility – and indeed his strengths – all that aerial muck – and instead whizz around the pitch as normal, and tell him to keep up if he can. Which he can’t.

The net sum of all this is that for much of the binge we play almost as if a man short. When a cross finally was lobbed onto his head, the blighter scored. Makes one think a bit, what?

2. Poch’s Changes

Going back to the beginning, it was another one of those dirge-like first half knocks, which suggests that some of the wiring is not quite right at HQ. Bar young Sonny, whose effervescence from the off was rather eye-catching, there was a distinct lack of movement and general urgency in that first half.

Not for the first time in recent weeks, Our Glorious Leader therefore took a sip or two from the chalice of half-time tinkerings, and with Lucas Moura introduced, and Sissoko drawing the short straw of right wing-back, things pretty immediately assumed a much rosier hue.

In truth, Sissoko hardly looks at ease in any position on the pitch, so right wing-back was as reasonable a shout as any other, and the chap did all that was necessary, including delivering the perfectly serviceable cross that resulted in Llorente’s one-yard moment of horror.

Further credit to Poch for recognising that there was more to be gained from introducing a more bona fide crosser onto the right, and accordingly shoving Trippier into action; and even his gambit of Lamela-for-Vertonghen was surprisingly – and pleasingly – proactive, for a man who has spent several years carefully cultivating his image as one firmly welded to the laissez-faire principle of letting matters take their own course during play without dreaming of injecting any tactical interference.

The changes ultimately worked, but if one were to quibble – and let’s face it, the interweb exists for precious little other reason – one might politely opine that we would have been better off by beginning in such manner rather than falling behind and adjusting like the dickens.

3. Moura

For all the nuanced alterations, it was Moura’s introduction that really turned the thing on its head and blew all our skirts up.

Where Son had previously ploughed an effervescent but pretty lonely furrow, Moura’s direct running noticeably achieved the double-whammy of shoving fresh handfuls of problems at a Watford defence used to the markedly less mobile threat of Llorente, whilst simultaneously giving our lot a wealth of fresh options, either in the penalty area or attacking from rather deeper districts.

He might not have scored or directly created a goal, but there were certainly hints of the early-season Moura who merrily ran riot at Old Trafford, and with Messrs Kane and Alli still some distance away from being fully paid-up members of the parish, his was a welcome return.

4. Rose, The Useful Alternative Attacking Option

The ever-feisty Danny Rose also caught the eye, as he often does. In the second half in particular he seemed rather to enjoy the self-assigned task of trying to dribble past as many yellow shirts as he could spot, at one point beating a man and then re-tracing his steps purely for the purpose of finding the same man and beating him again.

All of which would have served little purpose, but he did at least have the courtesy to sail in a few crosses at the end of it all, or at least attempt to do so. More often than not they brought corners, but in the final throes it brought Llorente’s goal, and as such he did precisely that for which he was put on God’s green earth.

Aside from such direct involvement, it was also notable how often we resort to the diagonal switch of play, from the right or centre to the feet of Rose stationed wide left, when the well of creative ideas runs dry and all in lilywhite simply mooch around with gormless faces and shrugging shoulders. Where Walker-Peters is forced to cut back onto his right, and Davies’ attacking talents are somewhat limited, Rose time and again offers a viable alternative against the deep-lying defensive units.

5. Late Comebacks: Becoming A Habit, Would You Believe?

Mercifully our persistence paid off, and not for the first time. Time and again our heroes are finding ways to drag themselves back into games and produce late wins when the outlook has been decidedly gloomy but five or ten minutes earlier. It will not win us a trophy any time soon, nor can we be considered credible title challengers, but one does get the impression that another box is being ticked this season.

Like what you read? AANP’s own book, Spurs’ Cult Heroes is available on Amazon…

Palace 2-0 Spurs: Four Tottenham Observations

1. Different Cup Tie, Same Pattern

I’m not sure where the viewing public stand on this, but personally I’m not a fan of our recent trend of turning in pretty rotten first half performance and giving ourselves two-goal deficits and whatnot. Something about the whole approach strikes me as rummy, and few would argue that it mades life a dashed sight more complicated than it needs to be.

Nevertheless, our heroes were at it again this afternoon. Admittedly this first half was a step up from that against Chelsea on Thursday, as on this occasion we did actually acquaint ourselves with the ball. Near-monopolised the thing in fact.

But with Dier and Skipp sitting in front of the back three, the well of creativity through the middle was absolutely bone dry. Those in lilywhite having therefore been instructed that the route to salvation lay in the form of young Walker-Peters on the left, the ball was obligingly shoved over to the lad on regular occasions in the
first half, to do with as he pleased.

Alas, nature has decreed that Walker-Peters’ left foot is predominantly for balance and aesthetics, so crosses to the head of Llorente were at a premium, as he simply cut back onto his right foot and pottered around in that little corner of the pitch, and for all our huff and puff, chances were at a premium.

2. The Life And Increasingly Trying Times of Kieran Trippier

These are odd times to be Kieran Trippier. Cast the mind back to the halcyon summer of 2018, and the fellow was starting to emerge as something of a national treasure.

A personal highlight at AANP Towers, was the focus with which he stepped up to take his penalty vs Colombia, marching up to the spot with the look of a man whose head was about to explode due to the intensity of his concentration levels, before slapping the ball with military precision into the top corner and marching back again, cranial explosion still very much on the cards.

The whole glorious episode gave the impression that if one’s life were to depend on a man burying a penalty, Trippier’s name would be up there on the list, not far behind the likes of Messrs A. Shearer and H. Kane.

Fast forward six or so months and the chap’s stock has taken something of a tumble, no doubt about it. Aberrations both in and out of possession have become distressingly commonplace. And now, as if to emphasise the point to any kindly onlooker still inclined to give the poor bean the benefit of the doubt, he even makes a complete pig’s ear of a penalty that one suspects would have made quite the difference to things.

Nobody misses these things on purpose, of course, but that moment was of the utterly avoidable ilk that has one slapping one’s thigh and wondering what the dickens else might go wrong.

3. Lamela

Since returning from his latest injury Lamela has been rather heavy on bluster while delivering precious little in the way of end-product – bar a neatly taken penalty, which I suppose ought not to be underestimated in these troubled times. Today however the bouncy young imp received the message loud and clear, and entered the fray choc full of strut and tricks, injecting a hitherto unseen energy into our activities from a central position of which he clearly approved.

Whereas in the first half those in possession tended to pause, and stroke chins, and ponder a handful of life’s great mysteries before doing anything with it – and even then doing little more than passing sideways – Lamela’s compass was pointing very decidedly northwards, and every time he received possession he hared off towards the Palace goal.

The effect was invigorating. Whether directly from Lamela’s size nines, or just taken by the general principle he brought with him, the team as a collective upped their zest and urgency.

The combo work between Lamela and Trippier out on the right was also pretty niftily done, but alas, as with everything we tried, it all come to nought.

4. Foyth

There are some situations in life one would rather shift to the poor unfortunate standing at one’s side. Being chased around town by a shape-shifting cyborg killer, for example, or idling one’s way down a path only to realise and enormous boulder is rolling along in hot pursuit.

And to that list I think I would add having the slippery eel Zaha racing towards you, with nothing in the way of a safety net other than a vast expense of greenery.

In such circumstances I was rather impressed with the young man, for caught on the counter a couple of times, as we inevitably were, I was rather inclined to fling my hands skywards and accept the worst. Foyth, however, took the opportunities to display that he is made of sterner stuff, and kept his eye on the ball, stopped Zaha in his tracks and got on with things.

Admittedly it amounts to barely a shimmer of light behind the pretty stormy-looking clouds that gather about the place, but it made for a pleasant surprise, particularly given Foyth’s general penchant for occasional defensive clangers.

So a chastening few days, littered with bad luck, individual mistakes and injuries littered in every dashed corner you care to look, but such is the nature of the beast. Three winnable games approach, nine points from which would be one heck of a fillip.

Like what you read? AANP’s own book, Spurs’ Cult Heroes is available on Amazon…

Everton 2-6 Spurs: Six Tottenham Observations

1. Our Glorious Front Four

If you are anything like me you might have tucked into your pre-match reviver with a nervous frown on your lips, because “Everton (away)”, as the first of four bashes in ten days, while not exactly having us barricading the doors and praying for divine intervention, nevertheless seemed a fruity prospect. Local intelligence dictated that a stern test awaited.

But then what does local intelligence know? Even when Everton went ahead, our rapier-like attacking thrusts had already been dropping hints like the dickens that our front four were in the mood for running amok, and at a hefty lick too.

Options wait eagerly in the wings – Lamela looked his usual rather arrogant, niggly self when unveiled in the second half, and Lucas, lest we forget, was talk of the town in the early weeks of the season – but there is little point arguing with the notion that Kane, Alli, Eriksen and Son are about as irresistible an attacking quartet as one might find if languidly spinning a globe, closing one’s eyes and jabbing one’s finger at it to compare the options from some other part of the world. Best simply to let the notion wash over oneself and embrace it. Those four, when on song, are as close as one gets these days to unstoppable.

It was as much the case at 0-0 and 1-0 down as it was when 1-3 up and beyond.

It certainly helped that Everton opted to fight fire with all manner of flammable material, essentially opening up the double doors, laying down a red carpet and inviting our attacking quartet to make merry as they pleased, with great yawning expanses all over the midfield and precious little protection for a pair of centre-backs faced with both Son and Kane in attack.

2. A Cautionary Note on Winks

Before tucking into the main course, a cautionary word about young Winks, who by and large admittedly had a whale of a time in the centre, but who is beginning to display a worrying tendency to bite off a darned sight more than he can chew.

Every now and then he seems possessed by the urge when collecting the ball to put his head down and wriggle away from approaching swarms as if it’s all just one sunny jamboree in the local park. I’m all for encouraging the chap’s inner Modric, but there a few delicate steps to be taken by the young muskrat before he can consider himself anywhere near that sort of celebrated level, and he would do well to keep things a dashed sight simpler for now.

Taking leaf out of the book of young Skipp might not be the worst move at the current juncture, Skipp bounding on for a brief cameo in which he did not put a foot wrong either in possession or out.

3. Sonny’s Goals

But back to the fun stuff. Specifically Son’s first goal, which boasted two constituent parts of considerable swash and buckle.

In the first place, the first time pass from Kane was the swivel-and-ping of a man having an absolute blast, and not really caring who knows it. As against Arsenal in midweek, he demonstrated how there is so much more to his game than simply planting ball into net, with both awareness and execution at the top of the dial.

Everton at this point continued their theme of seasonal generosity, with Zouma and Pickford making balloon animals and firing each other out of cannons before bumping into each other, tumbling into a clown-like heap and daring Sonny to shoot into an open goal from a fast-diminishing angle.

But by heck how well he finished. Sprinting in the wrong direction and with daylight seeping away by the millisecond, it was a brilliant effort.

4. Dele’s Goal

On another occasion I would have rattled away about the technique deployed by Dele to keep low his shot when the ball was bobbing and bouncing at him like an over-animated yo-yo, but when there are five other goals to choose from, Dele’s finish merits little more than a shrug and a polite ripple of applause, before we all excitedly chatter about the Eriksen volley or passing move for Kane or whatnot.

Mind you, the build-up to Dele’s goal had a hefty swig of punch to it. Sissoko’s one-two was fairly pleasing on the eye, and like a broken clock surprising us twice a day the big man also managed to nail a perfectly weighted pass, into the path of Son. The rest is history, but that build-up neatly encapsulated much that was sublime about our forward play today – swift, incisive passing, aided by intelligent, buzzy movement.

5. Eriksen’s Goal

Oh to have in any walk of life the ability that Eriksen has when striking a football. I suppose such things are a little easier to attempt at 3-1 up – the shoulders are less hunched, the spirit runs a little freer, the whole soul sways this way and that with a casual air as if to say “Well it doesn’t really matter either way, does it, whether I make a pig’s ear of this or the sweetest connection imaginable?”

And of course, this being Eriksen, he went down the route of a connection so sweet I pledged my undying love to it, there and then. Watch the replay closely and you’ll notice the ball itself is smiling as it flies in.

6. Kane’s Second

If you’ll excuse the disservice done to Trippier’s free-kick-taking abilities, I will coast blithely past Kane’s first, and instead cut straight to the business of ogling and salivating and stamping my feet at the second.

The numbers bods counted precisely umpteen passes in the build-up to this one, which I’m pretty sure automatically qualifies it for some sort of award for Services to Aesthetics. In fact, at the outset of the move, when our back-four and Lloris were carefully slipping the ball this way and that around our own area, my old man AANP Senior, whose lifetime of Spurs-supporting has understandably imbued him with a certain cynicism when watching, grumpily opined that he was not the most ardent supporter of the policy of playing out time in such joyless fashion.

Hush, aged one, I might have replied – but didn’t – because within approximately a dozen more glorious first-time passes in neat triangles around the hapless Everton mob, we were breaking away down the left like a bunch of escaped convicts breathing in glorious freedom.

Davies, in a rare moment of not-incurring-the-wrath-of-AANP, fed Son first-time, who whizzed it across to Kane first-time, who did what Kane does; and the whole thing had me purring away like a cat who stumbles upon a whole vat of the semi-skimmed good stuff.

So of the 4 games in 10 days, the least winnable one has been won. Traditionally I would sullenly mutter that we will probably undo all that good work in the next game or two, but this Spurs team repeatedly and pointedly demonstrates the stern stuff of which it is made, so shoots of festive optimism pop forth. Have a merry and blessed Christmas.

Like what you read? AANP’s own book, Spurs’ Cult Heroes is available on Amazon…

Leicester 0-2 Spurs: Four Tottenham Observations

I’m not sure how public opinion will come down once the votes are in, but by my estimation this ranked amongst the best results of our season.

Before you gather your rotten tomatoes and start flexing your throwing arm, consider the evidence. Leicester, though not world-beaters, are no slouches, and had been in pretty rare fettle prior to last night’s events. On top of which, this rather cruel habit of the Fixture Gods, of scheduling a game every five minutes or so, continues unabated. Barcelona await on Tuesday, and to that end, most crucially, we entered battle with our two key weapons safely ensconced in training gear on the bench.

Throw in the usual raft of injuries – Dembele, Sanchez, Trippier, Lamela, Wanyama – and by the time the preliminaries were done I was fully expecting our heroes to drop a couple of points at the minimum.

1. Life Without Kane and Eriksen

After his disastrous Foyth-For-Toby gambit around this time last week, I don’t mind telling you that AANP was in unforgiving mood when the teamsheet went up in lights, revealing both Kane and Eriksen to be surplus to requirements. The eyebrow shimmered upwards with displeasure, make no mistake.

Now admittedly, ever since the World Cup, yours truly has been near the front of the queue of those yowling that Harry Kane needs to be given the occasional night off with his feet up and a mug of something warming in his hands. Pretty rich, you might therefore say, of me to yowl with equal displeasure when that very same wish is granted. And you would in fact have a fairly watertight point.

But the nub of the thing is that to drop one key player at a time might seem like common sense, but to drop two in one go, dash it, is really taking one heck of a chance.

Or so the argument ran pre-match.

As things transpired, Our Glorious Leader played his hand to perfection, keeping our star men about as fresh as a particularly buoyant couple of daisies ahead of the date with Barcelona, whilst maintaining league form that, if not quite relentless, feels like it’s about seven eighths of the way there. A mumbled apology duly falls from the AANP lips and wings its way Pochwards.

That said, for around 45 of 46 first half minutes we did scuttle around with a distinct absence of cut and thrust.
Kane’s absence, while hardly something for which one can compensate with an insouciant shrug of the shoulders and a carefree whistle on the lips, is nevertheless one of those trials in life with which one learns to cope. Not even Sonny’s own parents would suggest that he has the bulk and build to hold up the ball like Kane, and indeed the chap seemed to present all the physical presence upfront of a particularly wet piece of card, but with his pace and trickery he is at least capable of posing a threat as a striker. Lucas similarly has enough about him to make an opposing defender scratch his head and curl a lip or two.

Eriksen’s absence, however, is an altogether thornier subject to broach over post-prandial coffee. Nobody else in the team can pick and execute his brand of scything chances, and while we can tinker with formation and personnel until blue in the face, we look a darned sight more ordinary without him. That we ultimately won at such a cigar-puffing canter is a credit to Sonny for his quite marvellous opener, and Dele for a fabulous all-round performance.

2. Dele

Dele has never quite blown my skirt up as one would expect of a 50-goal midfielder, but by the time the curtain came down on proceedings yesterday I was one of the first out of my seat strewing the stage with flowers and yelling for an encore.

Eriksen he might not be when it comes to unpicking a lock with minimal fuss and a hefty dollop of suaveness, but the young imp still has a heck of a lot of technique and good-old fashioned schoolboy skill in his size eights. Last night he took the opportunity to rattle through a back-catalogue of his Greatest Hits, doing a passable impression of a young Gascoigne in the process.

What really made the world a sunnier place was that his dribbling and flicks were integrated within a pretty sound all-round display of decision-making. Whereas previously he has simply hogged the ball for the heck of it, ignoring the imploring pleas of better-placed colleagues, last night he seemed surprisingly alert to the fact that passing the thing was a real and credible option, and he hit a healthy balance between solo dribbles and well-judged distribution.

One still gets the impression that he would rather gnaw off his own arm than dish out a pass, but he mixed it up to good effect. In the absence of Kane and Eriksen, he seemed quite happy to take the lead, and his goal – though marginally the wrong side of the law, if we quibble about these things – was as richly deserved by the individual as by the team.

3. Full-Backs: No Longer A Forte

I saw this point made in one of last week’s evening papers, so if you already caught it yourself you might want to potter off and pour yourself a cheeky whiskey at this juncture, and rejoin the action in a couple of paragraphs’ time.

It’s the old gag about the current vintage of full-backs vs the circa 2015/16 vintage. Back then, Walker and Rose struck the fear of God into just about any opposing wide-men and managers you cared to name. They genuinely were amongst the best in Europe, and in a team full of assets and prized individuals had made a pretty solid stab at being the pick of the bunch.

But, as the cliché so neatly puts it, what a difference a couple of seasons, a huge transfer fee and personal ambition in a right-back, and a bout of depression, homesickness and injuries in a left-back makes. Walker is off dancing with the stars, Rose is a puzzlingly neutered version of his old self, and whichever personnel we use these days one’s instinct as an onlooker is to hold the breath and fear the worst.

Trippier, for all his whipped crosses onto the ample Kane forehead, sits rather awkwardly within a back-four as opposed to outside a back-three, as if itching for someone else to do the defensive stuff so that he can motor on into attack.

Aurier, while having generally cut the wild and reckless horizontal lunges from his game, is still neither one thing nor another, being both average at defending his patch and middling at attacking another’s.

As for Davies, the blighter would have my hair going a rich and glistening shade of grey if he had not already caused me to yank out great clumps of it in sheer frustration. His defending, as with the aforementioned, is generally no more than adequate – and quite often a few shades short of even that.

And as for his attacking, I can barely remember the last time one of his crosses hit the sweet spot in the heart of an opponent’s area. The Data Analysts amongst you will I’m sure report that the majority of his crosses bounce harmlessly off the nearest opponent. Even his less adventurous distribution seems oddly ill-executed, with misplaced passes and frequent instances of his being dispossessed seeming to litter the highlights reel.

To his credit, his infield pass ultimately set up our second goal yesterday, but this struck me very much as one to be filed under ‘Exception’ rather than ‘Rule’. The young sore’s calling in life may well be within the safety-netted no-man’s-land that is the left side of a back three.

In general however, whomever one picks from the models on offer, our full-back selection is no longer a thing of menace and threat.

4. Doing Remarkably Well – Despite Evidence To The Contrary

Getting back to the specifics, Leicester were oddly obliging about things once Sonny had struck oil right on the half-time gong, and the second half was about as serene as I’ve witnessed Spurs in seeing out one of these away wins.

Lloris did eventually have to make a couple of saves, but nothing of the ilk to have one clutching feverishly at the nearest friend for support. Toby and Jan were unruffled at the back, which bodes well for Tuesday and makes one yet again rue the team selection vs Arsenal, and while young Winks does often opt to for the safety-first option of a backwards pass when something a little more adventurous would not go amiss, his was a very secure performance, laced with an occasional forwards surge.

One cannot really go into the Barcelona game with any sentiment further north of hope, but even should the worst happen and we fall into the doom-laden pit of despair that is the Europa League, we still find ourselves in remarkably fine health. This despite playing 10 of 16 games away from home; despite ‘home’ itself now emitting a decidedly unwelcome whiff; despite muscle injuries for 9 of our 12 World Cup Semi-Finalists; and despite the fact that aside from one (vs Chelsea) and a half (vs Man Utd) games we have yet to play genuinely well, in the truest sense of the word, all season.

Start actually playing consistently well and good knows where we might end up.

Need a Christmas present for the Spurs fan in your life? AANP’s own book, Spurs’ Cult Heroes is available on Amazon…

Spurs 0-1 Man City: Three Tottenham Observations

1. Sissoko

Where else to start but the flailing blur of limbs that is Moussa Sissoko?

Make no mistake, the chap was our Man-of-Match by a country mile. (Mind you, without wanting to damn the honest mucker with faint praise, technically speaking that is pretty faint praise, because when it came to identifying volunteers for said Man-of-Matchery not many of our mob were thrusting up their hands and yelping “Me! Me! Me!”)

Back to Sissoko, and a performance so extraordinary it seemed like some sort of well-pitched tribute act. In one sense he was absolutely terrific, bounding across the turf with all the limitless energy of a young pup being unleashed into a field to chase whatever the heck caught his eye.

Such non-stop to-and-fro-ing was of particular benefit to young Master Trippier, whose knickers were in a fiendish twist from the off, in the face of the evil genius Raheem Sterling and his rasping box of tricks.

So far, so good, in Sissoko-ville.

Alas, all the bounding and energy makes him quite the man you want at your side if it’s shuttle runs or beep tests, but stick a ball at his feet – as unavoidably will happen in an event of this category – and things start to go a mite squiffy.

Nobody faults his willing, but his technical ability and technique have never really been his strong suits, and when he went charging down the right into acres of space, with three team-mates galloping relatively unopposed into the penalty area, there was a morbid inevitability about the fact that his final ball would not strike oil.

Such is the nature of the beast. That whole £30 million price tag still makes one scratch the head and goggle in disbelief, but Sissoko did pretty much as instructed yesterday, and was, on the whole, pretty darned effective.

2. A Bad Night For Our Full-Backs

From the AANP vantage point this was terrifically underwhelming fare from our two full-backs.

As alluded to earlier, Trippier had his hands full throughout, and did a rather stodgy job of things. The assistance of Sissoko certainly helped, but whenever City attacked down their inside left channel the AANP pulse quickened and brow moistened, sure-fire signs that all was not well with the observed world.

Trippier’s two glaring errors for the City goal fairly inevitably colour the assessment of his night’s work. When viewed in terms of Return On Investment, the decision to try flicking his initial header back to the goalkeeper can be adjudged a dashed ropey call. The leaden-footedness he then showed in lurching Stage Right while Sterling skipped away Stage Left merely compounded things.

I suppose Ben Davies deserves some credit for putting in a fairly forgettable display as an act of solidarity towards his fellow full-back. The Welshman had pretty much one job to carry out as Sterling was busy making space for himself, namely to mark his man. There was no other City player in the vicinity to cloud the issue, and yet when Mahrez arrived to prod home Davies was a good couple of yards behind the action.

Neither a particular threat going forward, nor watertight defensively, by the famous AANP “Who Would Buy Him?” metric I’m not convinced that Master Davies is Top Four quality.

3. Missed Chances

It is difficult to begrudge City their win – they having been the better team and scored more goals, which just about hits on the head the nail that is Winning Football Matches – but had we taken but one of the gentle smattering of chances that fell our way I’m not sure too many onlookers would have beaten their chests at the injustice of it either.

There, however, is the rub. Not for the first time in recent weeks (and, indeed, seasons) we have failed to take our chances, and paid wretchedly for the crime.

Lamela was the most obvious miscreant, blasting into the night sky when he might well have taken a touch, lit a cigarette and pondered one or two of life’s mysteries before slapping the thing into the net. Kane also deserves a moody glare in his direction, for a first touch that was a mite too heavy when bearing down on goal in the first half. As earlier lamented, Sissoko’s final ball ought really to have set up a straightforward finish; and so on.

It is little wonder that we turned over the relatively small-fry of West Ham, Cardiff etc because in such games if you miss one chance another will, in all likelihood, sunnily approach on the horizon fairly rapidly.

But squander these things against any team plying its trade in the Champions League and the day will dashed well go down in history as one to be rued. We simply have to be more clinical. But such is the life of a Tottenham fan.

Like what you read? AANP’s own book, Spurs’ Cult Heroes is available on Amazon…

Spurs 2-4 Barcelona: Three Tottenham Observations

1. Lloris’ Latest Clanger

Well I don’t know about you but I needed one heck of a lie-down after watching all that. It was 90 minutes absolutely bursting at the seams with all sorts of goings-on, from opening toot to final curtain.

And on the subject of opening toot, what the dickens was going on in the mind of Monsieur Lloris is anyone’s guess. On an occasion on which one would have shot some pretty unmistakable glances towards the elder statesmen to lead by example, the sight of Lloris completely losing his mind and sprinting off his line like he was allergic to it, within the opening sixty seconds, was about as far removed from the use of experience and nous as is imaginable.

This is not to say that had wiser counsels prevailed in the committee meeting going on in Lloris’ head in Minute One we would had have proceeded to demolish Barcelona. But on a night on which we needed all the help going, top-notch daftness from our captain as soon as the starter’s pistol sounded did not really chivvy matters along.

Worryingly, this is hardly an isolated incident. For both club and country Lloris’ errors of judgement are becoming something of a running theme, and one really does scratch the head and wonder. In goalkeeping years – which makes him sound a bit like a dog – he isn’t that old, and his actual shot-stopping still ranks amongst the best in the business. But no matter how much we bleat about his assets, such positive sentiments pretty much die on the lips if he keeps gifting goals like this.

(The chap didn’t cover himself in glory for the final goal either, which robbed us of another five minutes at 2-3.) (Nor for that attempt to start poking the ball past onrushing forwards midway through the second half.)

2. Absentees – and Transfer Policy Ramifications

Giving Messi and chums an immediate free goal was all the more galling in view of the fact that we were very much Tottenham Hotspur Lite. Even when at full strength the whole machine has rather sputtered along this season, central midfield in particular not really doing all that one would hope and dream.

Nevertheless, one might have optimistically opined that a full-strength Hotspur, under the lights at Wembley, might do the unthinkable – but alas, full-strength this was most decidedly not.

Jan Vertonghen’s was an absence sorely felt. Sanchez is an honest soul, but undoubtedly a little green behind the ears, and while he did a passable job of keeping a beady eye on Suarez, he was caught the wrong side more than once. If ever one wanted the Toby-Vertonghen axis to chug away at the rear it was last night.

The absence of Eriksen’s vision and guile was also to be lamented in odes and wails and whatnot. The three behind Kane beavered assiduously, but Eriksen would have added a liberal sprinkling of subtlety, and in truth Barcelona’s rearguard looked susceptible to the well-judged through ball throughout.

Personally I am of the opinion that we are better off without Dele in the ranks at present – his absence seems to encourage Kane to dip his toes into water further forward, and Dele’s style hinders the quick one-touch game, which is meant in exactly as pointed a manner as it sounds.

Demebele’s absence I felt more keenly, even allowing for the fact that the chap has his flaws, and occasionally does over-elaborate and lose possession.

Whatever one’s opinions on the aforementioned, the little slew of injuries shone a rather glaring light on our summer transfer policy. The central midfield could undoubtedly be stronger. Capable reserves for Eriksen and Kane are undoubtedly needed. Looking around at other teams who have this season strengthened with chappies like Arthur, Jorginho and Keiter in midfield hammers home that players are available, but we cannot continue to run a club on a Top Six budget and expect to be Top Four, dash it all.

3. Bright Notes

Back to matters at hand, and despite approaching the thing with one hand tied behind back, shoelaces tied together and a blindfold in situ around the eyes, our lot made a passable stab at it.

The gung-ho approach straight from kick-off may have spectacularly backfired pretty instantly, and Barcelona may have casually passed a thousand triangles around us in the first half, but to their credit our heroes charged around throughout as if utterly affronted by unfolding events.

Young Winks was certainly not flawless, but showed in flashes that that he has various strings to his bow, even if there were something about him that reminded one of a puppy snapping at the feet of an elephant.

Toby fought the good fight in noble fashion, and Trippier combined several threatening attacking forays with the sort of earnest, whole-hearted defending that makes him very much the short of chap with whom would want to sip a drink and chew over some of life’s problems.

Kane, it seems, selected his goal as the rest of us mere mortals select which shirt to wear. Rumours of the chap’s imminent demise seem quieter by the week.

And the lilywhite star of the show, from this vantage point at least, was Lamela, who really does currently look the sort of chap who would be a nightmare to play against at present. He sprinted around until his little legs would carry him no further, was as indefatigable off the ball as he was direct on it, and maintained his pretty impressive scoring record for the season as much through sheer will as any high degree of quality.

Sobering though it ultimately was, I don’t think there’s any need to be hot-footing it to the nearest cliff and hurling ourselves off quite just yet. As mentioned in dispatches, a solid handful of lilywhites made a jolly good fist of things.

Moreover, having been absolutely played off the park in the first act, and having twice trailed by two goals, the attitude of our lot was pretty breast-thumping fare, much like those black and white war films one occasionally sees on a Sunday afternoon, in which a doomed squadron face certain death with a zesty yell or two and some noble, if ultimately futile, acts of bravery. We could have given up the thing completely, but instead kept fighting away against one of the best teams around, is about the gist of it. And that’s something.

Like what you read? AANP’s own book, Spurs’ Cult Heroes is available on Amazon…

Inter 2-1 Spurs: Five Tottenham Observations

1. Absolute Gut-Wrenching Frustration, Dash It

Back in the mid-90s, if you had suggested that there is no shame in losing away to Inter, I’d have yelled “Gollazo”, thrust my false ID in your general direction and agreed vigorously. However, things – as sometimes happens – have changed. Inter’s stripey ensemble might retain a certain appeal, but their 2018 on-pitch vintage is pretty crushingly average.

Accordingly, most of the trouble we faced was overwhelmingly of our own doing – and more grumbles on that particular topic below – while our hosts did little more than huff, puff and complain about this and that.
In fact, by around the 70-minute mark Inter had fairly unashamedly thrown in the towel, and simply mooched around the place, killing time until the post-match snifters at the nearest Milanese watering-hole. Our heroes were required to do little more than light cigars and apologetically keep possession as the game and all around it drifted towards a happy conclusion.

In a group like this, three points away from home would have swung the odds pretty handily in our favour. Even one point would have been accepted, albeit sniffily in the cirucmstances. But to have the larder so completely raided, barely ten minutes after having been in complete control, was about as rotten a conclusion as one can imagine.

2. The Morbidly Fascinating Tactic of Repeatedly Trying to Pass Out From The Back

Mind you, it was a good 30 or 40 minutes before one cottoned on to the fact that Inter were not quite the prowling behemoth of yore. In the opening thrusts, we seemed to have our work cut out to keep them at bay, and it is no exaggeration to say that one pursed the lips with concern.

On closer inspection however, it became pretty evident that the nub of all these problems were our own dashed heroes – and in particular the ludicrous tactic of repeatedly trying to pass the ball out from the area at goal kicks.

To say that the plan had a mild flaw or two in its mechanics is to make a pretty fruity bid for Understatement of the Year. Time and again the ball was passed to one or other of the centre-backs, who promptly staggered around it like men who had been drinking in the city centre since mid-morning.

On the rare occasions that they managed to dispense with the thing, it only bobbed around ten yards further up the field, where either Davies or Aurier were on hand to pass it straight to an opponent or trip over themselves while the ball gently rolled out of play. Precious little assistance came from midfield either, where every lilywhite in sight was determined to add their own glaring miscontrol or errant pass to the collection, and the whole thing made football look like the most complex operation imaginable.

It was mind-boggling to behold. Our heroes peddled a solid demonstration of the definition of madness, wondering why a different outcome was not materialising, and seemingly oblivious to the presence of alternatives – the concept of simply blasting the ball into the half being pretty firmly off the agenda. I’m not sure we managed serene progress to the halfway line from a single one of around a dozen first half attempts to pass our way out from the back.

These persistent, determined attempts to stuff the same square pegs into round holes, and the consequent bother they caused us in conceding possession on the edge of our own area, rather distracted from the fact that going forward our front four or so were quietly burrowing their way into the Inter ranks.

Nothing too blistering, heaven forbid, but the little dink from Eriksen to Kane; the occasional over-elaboration from Lamela; the odd dribble from Dembele over halfway – one started to get the impression that Inter were actually there for the taking, if we just applied ourselves. And cleared the lines from goal-kicks, of course.

3. Moura The Impact Sub

Lucas Moura seems not to have received the club-wide memo that all in lilywhite must trudge about the premises looking like they have been flogged half to death all summer. Sprightly whenever he has started a game so far this season, he hit upon the terrific idea of displaying precisely the same degree of spright when introduced as a substitute, and it produced exceptional results.

Credit to the manager were due – and he has a sizeable portion of blame heading his way soon enough – it was a decision that could not have been better timed if he had been rehearsing it for weeks. We led by a goal, Inter were beginning to over-commit and their general energy levels were sapping away like nobody’s business.

Enter Moura, and every Inter defender in sight began queuing up to have the dickens twisted out of them. The only shame was that it did not bring about the second goal that it merited.

4. Aurier Turns In A Half-Decent Display

Frequent visitors to this parish – and indeed, any man, woman or child alive, who has ever cast the merest glance in our direction over the past season – will be well aware that Serge Aurier is a man of questionable defensive prowess.

“Liability” has generally been the mot juste, as the blighter has conceded penalties, earned red cards, sliced clearances and misplaced passes in a pretty determined attempt to establish himself as a dashed nuisance, and raise the blood pressure of approximately half the population of North London.

He started proceedings in typical fashion yesterday – albeit in common with most of his defensive chums. A miscontrol to concede a throw, a wayward header to concede a corner – so far, so Aurier.

Come the second half however, the chap got his act together like a man possessed. Filling in behind the centre-backs like a seasoned sweeper, he cleared up the occasional mess at the back, whilst also channelling his inner Kyle Walker by bombing up the back as if wing-backing were his specialist subject.

All in vain ultimately, and a genuine shame that he was the AWOL marker for the winning goal, but having taken every opportunity to hammer the chap over the past year, it is only fair to applaud him when he remembers his p’s and q’s, so to speak.

5. Poch Decisions

If one were to spot a gentleman going about his business with an umbrella tucked underneath his arm, and then cast a glance skywards and spot cloud formations of the murky variety – well, while one would hardly burst into spontaneous applause, one would nevertheless understand the chap’s rationale, and accept that decision as acceptable enough.

Thus did the replacement of Lamela with Winks strike me. I don’t mind admitting that I eyed the progress of Messrs Son, Eriksen and Lamela with an enthusiastic eye every time they broke over halfway to sniff out glory, and when Lamela was hooked a gentle sadness struck me. Not one of those deep, sighing sadnesses; more of a mildly disappointed shrug. Nevertheless, like the gentleman preparing for rain, one followed the thought process – we led away from home, and Winks, on paper at least, was the sort of egg who could offer a little more protection as the clock ticked down.

However, one can only judge these things in hindsight, and on results. We did lose a sliver of that attacking thrust of the previous twenty minutes, and – while neither goal had much to do with young Winks – we did concede twice. As if Our Glorious Leader did not have enough on his plate, he now has AANP raising a disapproving eyebrow at his mid-game switches.

To say nothing of his pre-game choices. The omissions of both Toby and Trippier rank amongst the most deeply suspicious of our time. Rather like one of those young brides one reads about who convinces her new octogenarian spouse to alter his will and leave her the whole dashed inheritance mere days before his death, this was a fishy move. And once again, hindsight and the result ultimately points to Poch making the wrong calls. Heaven help him if he engages in a game of Scissors-Paper-Stone, for every choice he makes this week, while honest and well-intentioned, ultimately brings about a soggy ending.

Like what you read? AANP’s own book, Spurs’ Cult Heroes is pretty reasonably priced on Amazon…

Spurs 3-1 Fulham: Four Tottenham Observations

1. The Return of Toby Alderweireld

Quite the unexpected bonus to hoop up and see Toby’s name on the teamsheet, what? Rather like turning up to school expecting the usual six hours of drudgery, and being told instead that all lessons are off as a visiting circus has popped in to entertain the dickens out of everyone.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that, and there was something terrifically reassuring about seeing Toby and his immaculate hair pop himself on the right of the back three and get to work.

Not that there was much work to be done in truth. Bar that awkward fifteen minutes or so when Fulham scored, one got the feeling that our defensive bods spent most of the afternoon simply swapping stories about their World Cup adventures.

So if you want a blow by blow account of the young imp’s performance it might make for pretty dreary reading. Suffice to say he did little wrong, and if blame should be apportioned anywhere for the goal conceded Messrs Sanchez and Davies ought probably to have fingers wagged in their direction.

What the future might hold for Toby is presumably known only by Levy, Poch, Toby himself and one or two select others, who communicate via knowing nods and mysterious handshakes. This whole episode might simply have been a cunning plan to scrape off the rust and give the chap a glossy sheen with which to preen in the transfer window. Hope nevertheless springs like nobody’s business here at AANP Towers that the chap will still be in situ for the coming season’s rigours.

2. Lucas Moura-Watch

For those amongst you who are not up to date on these things, I can assure you that one or two nibs have been quite beside themselves at the fact that our Commander-in-Chief kept the wallet firmly out of view all summer, with not a single signing made. That particular barrel of fish is worth an entire thesis in itself, with rights, wrongs and nuances in every dashed direction – but the upshot of it all is that the nearest thing we have a to a new signing this season is a fully-acclimatised Lucas Moura.

As the mathematically-talented will have noted, it’s two starts in two games for the chap now. I don’t mind admitting that the fleeting glimpses of him last season had set my hopes sky-rocketing, for here appeared to be a chap who’s great thrill in life was to put his head down and run at pace at terrified defences, rather like a Brazilian version of our own tearaway Prime Minister.

Curiously enough, this season has seen precious little of those mazy, pacy dribbles. There is a sense in which I wanted to dig out the receipt and check the T’s and C’s of the Moura purchase, because I was very much of the opinion that we were sold the chap precisely on that proviso, but in fairness it turns out that he has various other strings to his bow.

Most impressive to me was his out-of-possession workrate. This should not surprise, I suppose, because Poch has long been an evangelist of that sort of muck, so it would have made little sense to sign the blighter unless he were fully on board. Nevertheless, like one of those chappies at school who would spend every spare minute with his head down, beavering away at his geography homework, Lucas seemed to determine to impress the man in charge, and the Fulham back-line were barely given a moment’s peace.

End-product was a rather mixed bag. He overran an early chance (and might have had a penalty for his troubles), missed a jolly straightforward header and then scored an absolute peach of a goal. For the second consecutive week I consider that we have not yet seen the best of the blighter, but nevertheless there was a decent amount in there to encourage.

3. A Loving Ode to Kieran Trippier

Unlikely thought it might have sounded a year or two ago, Kieran Trippier is fast establishing himself as one of the most well-loved cherubs in our ranks.

For a start he has the distinct advantage of not being Serge Aurier, and this talent manifested itself in abundance on Saturday, in the first half in particular, when Trippier time and again made himself available as the de facto right winger, and was duly handed the ball and invited to make merry. Be it a delicate dink from Eriksen or a cross-field ping from Kane or Dele, the ball was repeatedly churned out to him and he made pretty nifty use of it.
Blessed with the ability to deliver crosses whipped or half-volleyed, he was pretty much our main attacking outlet.

When the opener did eventually come it was sparked by neither a whip nor a half-volley, but a cute dink to the byline where Eriksen was chasing. Quite how Fulham overlooked Trippier’s threat after the summer he’s had is a little perplexing, but thus did the cookie crumble.

And then to top things off, that free-kick was positively Beckham-esque. Hard-working and blessed with a wand of a right-foot, Trippier is fast establishing himself as the sort of egg I would like a daughter to bring home.

4. In-Game Changes

As frequenters to these parts will know, I worship fairly committedly at the altar of Our Glorious Leader, but being an honest sort I am equally unafraid to point out his flaws, with all the expert knowledge of a seasoned armchair critic. And chief amongst these is his typical inability to affect a game in good time. Throw a mid-game crisis Poch’s way and his tendency is to wait until the clock ticks beyond 80+ before swapping a full-back, and maybe throwing on Llorente for injury-time. Hardly the zenith of innovation (and a textbook from which Gareth Southgate appears similarly to operate).

On Saturday however, Pochettino was flinging around game-changing inputs like a chap with a sports almanac in one hand and the keys to a DeLorean in the other. With Fulham level and threatening to lead, Dier was hooked, the back-three dispensed with and a diamond introduced, with Dembele at its base. The balance of power gradually eased back our way, and an admiring glass could be raised in the direction of the grand fromage.

Lamela’s introduction followed soon after, and again the impact was pretty prompt. Lamela did what I had rather expected Lucas to do, and hared straight through the middle, to set up Kane.

There was even time to re-introduce young Master Winks from the bench, giving us what might be our last ever glimpse of the Winks-Dembele midfield axis, for around 45 glorious seconds.

All told, it was a smart few minutes between the Pochettino ears, and having buried the chap often enough on these grounds it is only right to praise him now.

Like what you read? AANP’s own book, Spurs’ Cult Heroes is pretty reasonably priced on Amazon…

Newcastle 1-2 Spurs: Five Lilywhite Observations

1. A Result to Remember Come May ‘19

The pedant may mutter that it was a mite reckless to use up an entire season’s worth of good fortune in the opening game; and the purist may well grumble that this fare will have few at the top table quivering in their boots; but given the circumstances this win was pretty valuable stuff, two bonus points for May ‘19.

With United already having won, City likely to set off like a train and Liverpool fans rather unusually suggesting that this might actually be their year, the last thing we needed was to fall off the pace with a stodgy result in our opener.

Moreover, half of our heroes arrived at the ground still wearing flip-flops and smeared in Factor 30, their post-World Cup jollies having been rather rudely interrupted by the day-job. For before you could say “How terrific that nine of our players feature in the World Cup Semi-Finals!” the realisation dawned that those same nine would be in no fit state for a full 90 minutes huff and puff come mid-August.

And on this front the doom-mongers had a point. Aside from some sporadic passages of possession, there was little to suggest that our lot were anything more than half-cooked. Blameless enough, given the circumstances, but most assuredly not the stuff of which dreams are made. In possession we were pretty slack, misplacing passes rather casually, and for various nerve-shredding periods when not in possession we were teetering on the edge of last-ditch defending. It all looked decidedly wobbly as the clock ticked down – making this every bit more a win to cherish.

(A word of consolation towards our vanquished hosts –which I’m sure will mean the world to them – for having rattled the woodwork twice, missed some eminently presentable one-on-ones and conceded a goal by a matter of literally millimetres, they are presumably wondering what more they needed to do to earn a point. Conversely, we did not so much flirt with Lady Luck as whisk her away for a no-expenses spared weekend of her life in some exotic location.)

2. Vertonghen Gets The AANP Nod

The fellows who know these things awarded the Man of the Match brick to Dele Alli, and the eagle-eyed will follow the logic of that one, young Dele having delivered the coup de grâce, channelled his inner Platt/Scholes/Lampard for various bursts from deep and also embellished proceedings with a quite marvellous passive nutmeg of Yedlin. So far, so Man of the Match.

That said, however, the AANP vote went to Jan Vertonghen. Much of the game was played on the back foot, and Vertonghen needed his wits about him a few times to intercept passes of the more cunning variety, as well as doing a spot of good, honest out-muscling.

On top of which, he poached the opening goal, with an opportunism that seemed to fly completely under the radar of the bods paid to commentate on such matters.

The perplexing status of Toby (on the payroll yet regarded with that same disgust one normally reserves for those who grab axe and go on rampage) and the occasional youthful indiscretion of Sanchez (guilty of daydreaming while the Newcastle egg wandered in behind to score) means that Vertonghen is very much the robust sort of block upon which a heck of a lot ought to be built.

3. The Rest of the Post-World Cup Mob: Trippier, Lloris, Kane, Dembele

The AANP eye was keenly trained upon those of World Cup Semi-Final ilk. As noted, Dele pottered around usefully and Vertonghen was obliged to tick boxes left, right and centre.

Our glorious leader, recognising that Kieran Trippier has taken his rightful spot alongside Mbappe, Modric et al as one of the stars of the global game, evidently felt that St James’ Park is beneath Kieran Trippier. And quite rightly so. It meant that the marvellous young fish was spared the indignity of Newcastle away.

Monsieur Lloris, our resident World Cup-winning captain, was mercifully spared the torture of having to handle too many back-passes. He stuck gamely to the essentials of the thing – catching and punching like a man who emerged from the womb in such fashion – and his dive at the feet of Kenedy in the second half may well have earned us two points, so a great big “Très bien” against his name.

As for our resident World Cup Golden Boot-winner, this was one of those outings pretty heavy on perspiration but with little to blow up anyone’s skirt. For a chap who’s a proven dab-hand at goalscoring he was forced to spend a lot of his working day ploughing that furrow that spans around ten yards either side of the halfway line. A dashed good job he did of it too, shielding the ball and laying things off as we all know he can do. Nearer the goal, however, his mechanics were not quite right, the rather worrying truth being that he looked like a man in need of a rest. Little chance he’ll get one mind, until, perhaps, Summer 2019.

And finally, a few adoring words for Mousa Dembele. By all accounts the Dembele limbs have handed in their notice, and the chap is not much longer for this sceptre isle – but cometh the nervous final fifteen minutes, cometh one heck of a cameo.

A common concern from AANP Towers during the Pochettino Years has been our lack of an experience head amongst the frivolous youths, to help see out games. Yesterday, Dembele filled that void with aplomb, fulfilling very duty laid out in the Job Spec. Strength to hold off all-comers, technique to protect the ball like a newborn – nothing we haven’t seen before of course, but massively effective, and alongside the yellow-carded Dier and earnest-but-average Sissoko he played a pretty prominent role in steering the good ship Hotspur to port.

4. Sissoko and Aurier – Plus ça Change

Much has been made of the fact that the status quo has been maintained when it comes to playing personnel, and accordingly, with a rather damning inevitability, on the opening day of the season we were treated to the sight of Messieurs Sissoko and Aurier weaving their own unique brand of wizardry on the right flank.

Sissoko is certainly an earnest chappie, and rather brings to mind the old cricketing mantra that nobody drops a catch on purpose. Time after time his forward passes seemed perfectly well-intentioned but just didn’t quite hit their mark.

To his credit, his sideways and backwards stuff admirably evaded danger, and on one or two occasions he also used his brute force to good effect, in winning possession. A thought occasionally springs to the AANP mind that the blighter might be better employed as a centre-back, but that’s more one for idle dinner-party conversation. Sissoko is here to stay, since, as the official party line so correctly indicates, there is nobody available who might improve our starting eleven…

Meanwhile there was something strangely comforting in seeing Aurier ceding possession and letting onrushing attackers glide past him unnoticed. That old feeling of familiarity returned, like a beloved friend not encountered for some time.

And then, to give the blighter his undoubted due, he delivered the cross of the season to date, an absolute peach, the like of which mini-Auriers will whisper of in hushed and wide-eyed tones for generations to come. It would have been rude of Dele to miss.

5. Frustrations of Lucas & Son

I don’t mind admitting that the AANP pulse quickened pleasingly at the sight of Lucas’ name on the teamsheet, and when the chap took an early opportunity to tear at the Newcastle defence I positively squawked my approval.

That, alas, was about as good as it got in Moura Towers, because the chap did little more than flit around the periphery thereafter. I suppose his crack legal team will have a pretty lengthy defence prepared for him along the lines of the fact that if he is not given the ball he can hardly be expected to race around with the dashed thing, and one would see their point. Nevertheless, I am inclined to politely clear the throat and mention that he might have done a little more in the line of scavenging himself.

One suspects that at some point he will deliver an absolutely blistering performance, running rings around just about everyone in the vicinity, scoring two and making a few more – but today was not that day.

And finally, young Sonny. Given the much-vaunted lack of preparation of Dele and Kane, and the fact that Son himself imminently has to do the honourable thing for his country, I was jolly taken aback to see the chap withheld from proceedings both at the outset and later on. Once introduced he tore around as if his coiled spring had just been released, so it was a shame we had to wait so long, and odd that we did not utilise him while we could.

Still, those called upon just about did what was necessary, and given how easy it would have been for all concerned to have made excuses if we did not stagger over the line this is a win to be lauded.

Like what you read? AANP’s own book, Spurs’ Cult Heroes is pretty reasonably priced on Amazon…

Spurs 2-0 Watford: Four Tottenham Observations

Slightly stodgy stuff all round, but these routine 2-0 home wins are necessary fare. That I could only really muster three and a half observations tells its own slightly damning story really, what?

1. Lloris

Monsieur Lloris has found his head shoved in the stocks and pelted from several angles with fruit of questionable freshness in recent weeks, due to some fairly high-profile in-play choices made, but yesterday he was back doing the du pain et du beurre for which he earns the weekly packet, and it was a gentle reminder of why we fell in love with the chap in the first place.

There were three or four saves that jolly well needed to be made, at least one of which was probably worth a goal. The hecklers will no doubt mutter that extending a palm here and leaping horizontally there hardly makes up for the wild flaps and ill-judged lunges of recent weeks, but this at least was one for the credit rather than debit column.

2. Trippier – The Least Average

This was pretty perfunctory stuff from our heroes, a bit like watching a factory machine whirr, hum and dutifully churn out goods. Amidst this slew of 6 out of 10 performances I am willing to propose that young Master Trippier puffed out his chest just a little further than most.

This was not the second coming of Pele by any means, but the young nib beavered away pretty tirelessly throughout. He generally kept the back-door locked as necessary, but more eye-catchingly, at the faintest whiff of action in the Watford half he was disappearing over halfway in a puff of smoke.

In contrast to the oddly anonymous Davies on the other side of the land, Trippier was a pretty constant outlet on the right, and generally seemed to be in and around the vicinity whenever any mischief was perpetuated. Took one or two kicks to the shins and whatnot as well, and bounced back without too many tears, which is always pleasing to observe.

While his crosses did not always hit the mark, he did at least sling a merry half dozen into useful areas, and also assisted Kane for our second. Add that to the fact that he simply isn’t Serge Aurier and this was a pretty useful contribution from the well-inked scamp.

3. Vertonghen, Relatively Unsung Hero

My public may be unaware that Jan Vertonghen and I are practically bosom buddies these days, our paths having crossed on a pet project around Christmas, since when he has always meant to message me before, during and after each game, but presumably has never quite found the time.

When his heart skipped a beat at being named in the PFA Team of the Year, I’m pretty sure his first thought was to share his joy with his old mucker AANP – again, he just did not quite find the time, being an in-demand sort of egg.

It was an accolade well-deserved by my BFF, because while those around him might have whinged about their contracts, or thrown in occasional wobbly on-field moments, Jan (I’d like to think we’ll be on first-name terms) has generally mopped up with minimal fuss, and taken every opportunity going to bring the ball out of defence like a modern-day Beckenbauer.

That the chap has not scored for Spurs in several years is pretty mind-boggling, as he’s up for every set-piece and has decent enough technique. Last night he had a couple of six-yard thrashes in the first half, and then nodded one against the upright, which seemed pretty rotten luck (although as my old man, AANP Senior is perennially fond of piping up, one only deserves credit for hitting the post if aiming for it, which rather makes a point).

For good measure, and seemingly on something of a personal vendetta against the Watford goal, he then went charging forward late on and showed pretty immaculate control to pluck the ball out of the air and lay it off for Kane’s offside ‘goal’. The poor blighter may not have got his goal, but he deserves credit for a season’s worth of pretty topping performances, and when he does eventually get in touch I’ll be sure to mention it.

3.5: Substitute Cameos

I rather enjoyed the little cameo off the bench from Lamela, full of unnecessary stepovers and whatnot. He has a delightfully languid air about him at times, as if determined to give the impression that this football lark is simply too easy for him, and simply being summoned to perform is beneath him. One or two Gallic types of yesteryear would not with approval that sort of arrogance. If he could just add the occasional end-product he would be one heck of a player.

There was also a rare sighting of Sissoko, who promptly bundled over someone illegally and then blazed over when clean through from inside the area. It was all rather comforting to behold, in a plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose sort of way.

With three clones of this fixture to come, we just need to wrap up the Top Four spot and give Kane a leg-up to the Golden Boot, before preparing for Russia.

Like what you read? AANP’s own book, Spurs’ Cult Heroes is pretty reasonably priced on Amazon…

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