Well the prophets of doom can stick that in their pipes and smoke it. Admittedly it was not exactly vintage, one-touch, rapier-like Tottenham, but then that was understandable enough - in defence of our heroes, I think if I had simply to catch a bus for £20 million I might be a little more cautious than normal. Still, while it may have lacked panache in places the performance oozed professionalism, efficiency and good old-fashioned, red-blooded desire from the off. Only one Spurs team in history has competed in Europe’s elite club competition before this season, so our heroes deserve all the accolades heaped upon them, both for last season’s efforts and the thorough negotiation of last night’s potential banana-skin.
There are a handful of phrases by which we live here at AANP Towers. You know the sort, essential pearls of wisdom fashioned by time itself. “Women – can’t live with them, can’t kill them,” and suchlike, but another such bon mot is “By jiminy, thank goodness for that early goal, ought to steady the nerves, what? (Let’s hope we don’t now sit back and invite trouble)”. And lo and behold, when Bale lobbed one in, Crouch stooped, we had ourselves the early goal and all was right with the world. I’ll never know, but I often stroke the whiskers in contemplation of what it would be like to be a good citizen of Tottenham, idly minding his own fare and wandering along the High Road at the exact moment that a goal of such magnitude is scored, and it sounds for all intents and purposes like the sky is collapsing in on itself. The perfect start, at which instant White Hart Lane became so excited it pretty much went ‘bang’ in a puff of smoke.
Life Minus Modders
Back on the green stuff (au naturale, rather than the dastardly tenth-generation macrofibres, or whatever the deuces they used out in the Wankdorf Stadium) we controlled the game in a very careful fashion. To his credit, from first whistle to last Sergeant Wilson bore his fangs like an illegally-bred fighting mutt, and this midfield bite was welcome, our heroes following his lead and pressing the Young Boys (if you pardon the phrase) high up the pitch. However, the deficiency of a midfield bereft of Modders was evident. Hudd’s passing, long and short, is joyous to behold, but neither he nor Palacios are the type to run with the ball from the centre. As a result there was a slight dearth of central creativity, and several symptoms of Crouch-itis in the team, as a number of long-balls were launched up to the gangly one (although he did a topping job of shielding the thing like a new-born babe while it was conveyed from heavens to turf), while the heart always thumps upwards against the mouth around these parts when we play those square balls across that 10-yard space just in front of our back-four. This, however, is somewhat hypercritical, for in truth, in the game of their lives our heroes were barely threatened.
Young Boys for their part adopted some curious tactics – leaving the 6’ 7” striker unmarked at corners, time-wasting when trailing 2-0, etc. I was going to commend their right-back for doing a generally sound job on Bale, in not allowing the handsome young Welshman unrestricted access throughout to the yawning wide expanses of greenery in that particular corner of the Lane – until it dawned on me that His Royal Baleness actually provided the assists for all four goals, and got the right-back sent off. And that on what, for Bale, was a relatively quiet day. For all their attacking prowess last week, Young Boys, even when 3-0 up, looked porous at the back last week, and having excelled themselves on home turf they were no match for us this time. Pot Three awaits.
Negatives
For a start, I lost my delightful, gleaming Tottenham Hotspur flag within about 30 seconds of kick-off, trampled into the dirt several rows in front of me. Of arguably equal importance on such a momentous night, Gomes hobbled off halfway through. Some need to be mown down by an Uzi before signalling for treatment; our loveable net-minder is not of that near-invincible breed. Should a butterfly sneeze in his direction Gomes signals to the bench for Florence Nightingale and 24-hour care, so when he winced and limped his way to the dressing-room at half-time I raised an eyebrow in scepticism. Time shall tell I guess, but back in the day I suspect that Gomes had a leading – and non-lupine - role in his school production of ‘The Boy Who Cried Wolf’.
Also disappointed in the boy Defoe. Bluntly, he cheated. Admittedly he had the good grace to look long, hard and incredulously at each of the numerous officials before celebrating, but I don’t like to see Spurs players deliberately breaking the rules to gain an advantage. Mind you, his curious natterings about “destiny” beforehand now seem to make a bit more sense.
However, irrespective of the officials’ call, his finish was classic Defoe. If he does require surgery, it will do him the world of good to have such a clinical finish under his belt while he twiddles his thumbs and heals.
Elsewhere On The Pitch
After last week Young Boys evidently thought that BAE was the susceptible heel within our mighty Achilles, but the headbanded one brought his A-game and did not allow them a sniff. Dawson also banished the memories of last week with an imperious display, while Hudd purred his way through the game.
Que Sera Sera, Whatever Will Be Will Be
And so to the future. ‘Arry has hinted that he has no intention of dipping into his humungous new transfer kitty, but I have my fingers firmly crossed that this is fabrication of the highest order. Now that our participation is guaranteed we are running a Mission Impossible-esque race against the clock before the transfer window is closed, bolted and has curtains pulled across it for good measure. With Gallas on board I’m not sure a centre-back is still a priority, but a top-notch striker, capable of leading the line in vacuo would be mighty handy.
The draw for the much-vaunted Group Stages also awaits, and for some reason our non-existent Champions League pedigree lands us in the third of four pots. So be it. Some are hoping to avoid the big guns and thereby ease our passage to the next phase, but here at AANP Towers we are fervently beseeching the clueless UEFA suits to hand us the cream of Europe so that we can welcome to the Lane the finest kickers of a pig’s bladder currently roving the planet. Any one or two from Barca, Milan, Inter or Real would be just dandy. Because that is the company we can now keep.
Once upon a time a trip to Stoke with a depleted team would have been the cue for our lot to step back, usher in the opposition and direct them towards a three-point haul with minimal fuss. Now, however, it seems our heroes have steel, and backbone, and other clichéd, macho-sounding adjectives. They have evolved into footballing vertebrates, who stomp around the dressing-room pre kick-off making clenched fists and shouting “Grrr”. There was evidence aplenty of this trait last season, when we turned the away win into something of an art-form, but I had worried over the summer that that would prove an anomaly, for our soft underbelly had been nurtured over several years, and such old habits die hard.
How marvellous then to behold the return yesterday of squad depth and a determination not to roll over and die. Had we lost yesterday, or even conceded a late equaliser, there would have been plenty of fairly valid excuses, not least injuries and the rigours of our midweek European game. Yet despite these we instead dug in, and while we certainly rode our luck at times the win can nevertheless be considered ruddy well-earned. Forget about slick passing triangles, and glorious derby wins at the Lane – come the end of the season in order to push for fourth again we will need a great big sack of points from scrappy away days such as this, when a decimated squad faces an Alamo-style barrage.
4-5-1 and Jermaine Jenas
The backs-to-the-wall finale means that this probably deserves to be filed under the “Winning Ugly” column, but we did also churn out some eye-pleasing stuff in the first half, as exemplified by the build-up to both goals. With Crouch on his own in attack the success of our 4-5-1 depended on Lennon and Bale attacking the area, and Jenas making the occasional lollop forward in support. In the first half in particular this approach met with a degree of success, which leads me to doff my cap in the direction of J. Jenas Esquire, as tends to happen approximately once every sixth months.
With the platform of Hudd and Sergeant Wilson behind him he adopted an unusually proactive approach, eschewing the traditional urge to turn around pass backwards and instead venturing on the odd gallop towards the Stoke goal. Indeed his dash into the area just before half-time was vaguely Lampard-esque (and had he been more clinical it might have brought him a goal). I would still sell him off in the blink of an eye, but with five attacking types out injured, he served his purpose as a squad-player yesterday.
Hits And Misses From Gomes
Not entirely to which genre the performance of Heurelho Gomes belongs. The stretchy Brazilian got himself in a right pickle for the Stoke goal, made a similar mess of things from a second half corner (from which Tuncay really ought to have scored) and generally veered perilously close to becoming that butter-fingered doppelganger who flapped and spilt his way through his first few months in English football. However, aside from the set-piece mishaps he actually saved our bacon more than once, with a cracking tip-over-the-bar from a Tuncay lob, as well as a low reflex save from Fuller. A happy ending means it is all smiles, but a return to the wobbly days of yore would be unwelcome.
Bale’s Volley: Sometimes A Commentator Nails The Moment
And so to the boy Bale. His first may have been a tad unorthodox, but his second deserves to be turned into a big-budget Hollywood production. Multiple viewings have left me drooling at the technique - and actually wincing at quite how high he raises his left leg - but the first-time, real-time viewing of it stunned me for the audacity he showed in even attempting such nonsense. Hark thee back to Alan Partridge’s football commentary, from back in the day (just here, specifically around 0.50), and the rather apt exclamation on seeing one particularly eye-catching goal of: “Shit! Did you see that?” Quite the mot juste for anyone witnessing Bale’s latest. My goodness the boy still needs to work on his celebrations though.
For all the late controversy, broadly speaking it was a pleasingly determined defensive effort, while up the other end we can be grateful to have in our ranks forwards capable of producing the odd moment of match-winning quality. Glad to have ticked “Stoke, away” off the fixture-list. Onwards.
Ah, Champions League Tuesday. I could get used to this…
Admittedly it’s only the qualifier, but this is still Europe’s premier club competition. That music still blares out at the start, and the nifty, starry football logo is still sewn into the shirt sleeves. After all these years of hurt it feels like Moses finally making it to the promised land (if the Israel of biblical times were full of the best footballers in the world, and plastered with obscenely-priced advertising hoardings, and admittedly if Moses hadn’t died just beforehand).
Sunny Optimism
A principal concern since the glorious night in Manchester a few months back was that our heroes would succumb to complete amnesia over the summer break and re-emerge this season a bunch of malcoordinated halfwits, a million miles removed from the slick troupe who despatched l’Arse, Chelski and City to make the top four. Mercifully, such fears were generally assuaged on Saturday, as we picked up where we left off last season, and feeling suitably sprightly as a result, the official party line here at AANP Towers ahead of kick-off tonight is “Quietly Confident”. Our opponents will be tough little nuts to crack, but given our ability to mix it with the Premiership’s best, coupled with the fact that Young Boys presumably won’t adopt that dastardly ten-men-behind-the-ball approach that tripped us up a couple of times last season, over two legs we ought to edge it.
Team News
No Ledley, given that the delightfully-named Wankdorf Stadium boasts a plastic pitch, while fans of sanity and a universe free of physics-defying preposterousness will be pleased to know that injury denies Jermaine Jenas the chance to become a Champions League player tonight. ‘Arry may decide to tinker with the strike-force, but by and large we all ought to be able to name the team that trots out tonight. There may be a temptation to adopt a more defensive approach, dropping one of the front-men for Palacios, but our lack of a striker capable of leading the line on his own has been well-documented, and frankly 4-5-1 just isn’t ‘Arry’s style.
We ought to be quite capable, on paper and indeed on grass (or synthetic fibres, or whatever it is tonight), but with Daws’ shaky England debut last week still fresh in the memory, it seems conceivable that nerves may play a part tonight. Of our current mob Gomes and Crouch have CL experience, most of them toddled off on various UEFA Cup trips in lilywhite a few years back and just about every one of them has played internationally – but this is a different kettle of fish. Still, even if things go a little awry tonight, over two legs we ought to prevail.
Sod The Scoreline – Enjoy The Moment
While every man and his dog are aware of the importance of begging, stealing or borrowing our way into the lucrative™ group stages, I reckon I could happily die tonight just as soon as I see our lot march out to that Champions League theme tune. Given that we’re not going to win the entire competition (although after reflection last night I reckon we have a better chance of winning the Champs League than the Prem), tonight I plan just to relish the moment. Years and years of false dawns, kamikaze defending, managerial changes and incessant baiting from gooners have all been leading up to this moment. Where Blanchflower, Mackay and Greaves first went, back in the ‘60s, now it’s the turn of Dawson, Bale and Defoe. Absolutely ruddy marvellous.
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…
Something for your withdrawal symptoms if, like yours truly, you have such a Tottenham-shaped hole in your life that you now spend the first half hour of your working day actually working, rather than trawling the interweb for morsels of Spurs news. Before season 2009/10 becomes but a sepia-tinged memory sending good vibrations through your very core, it is only right and proper that the second AANP End of Season Awards are dished out.
Admittedly it’s a bit late (we at AANP Towers can be lazy so-and-so’s) and there is no arguing with the fact that vastly more rational appraisals of the season’s ins and outs can be found down the road at Dear Mr Levy, at Jimmy G2’s abode and at the ever-entertaining Who Framed Ruel Fox? - but please do now pour yourself a good bourbon, stick some Julie London on the gramophone and ask a kindly neighbour to perform a suitably dramatic drumroll…
The Storm From X-Men Award For The Most Pointless Superpower in Christendom
That Halle Berry lass is quite the looker, make no mistake, but the character she plays in the X-Men trilogy is pointless in extremis, boasting the highly dubious capacity to send a gentle breeze rustling the leaves whenever her eyes go white. There are a couple at the Lane who have similarly useless calling cards – note Robbie Keane’s inimitable ability to point and flap and shout every time he loses possession, while scuttling around in circles of ever-diminishing diameter. The Hudd is also a contender in this category, possessing the most ferocious shot known to man, but all too often using it to decapitate punters in the upper reaches of the North/South Lower. However, the master of pointlessness in season 2009-10 has been Heurelho Gomes, for his occasional tendency to overarm-hurl the ball beyond the halfway line. Which is nothing that could not be achieved simply by picking it up and kicking it.
The Play-Off-Chap-Who-Chipped-It Award For Most Mental Penalty Of The Season
There’s an unhealthy obsession with that 12-yard spot over at the Lane, right from the opening day of the campaign when we conceded to Liverpool. In the latter stages of the season Sergeant Wilson confusingly made it his mission in every single game to go bundling over someone in the area, while BAE and Daws were amongst numerous others who saw fit to go hurtling in at opposition legs when all manner of wiser options were available.
On top of all that, ill-fortune also befalls our lot when penalties are awarded our way. Defoe has had several saved, and the Hudd broke the habit of a lifetime when opting to place his shot rather than leather it, in his penalty against Bolton. However, amidst the blitz of spot-kicks this season, the one stands out is Robbie Keane’s against Everton – an effort initially saved by Tim Howard, prompting a melee more akin to playground football, as Messrs Bale and Bentley went charging in for the rebounds, and Howard produced about six separate parries before Keane eventually slammed the ruddy thing in. Truly, ‘twas all-action-no-plot, in penalty form.
The David Bentley Award For The Best Speculative Punt Against l’Arse
Always worth closing your eyes and putting your foot through the ball when playing against l’Arse, and this season the gods of the better half of North London smiled upon one Danny Rose. He may have to go some to make the grade, but with one inspired swing of his left leg the chunky whippersnapper guaranteed himself immortality at the Lane.
The Bacary Sagna’s Hair Award For Fashion Faux Pas of The Season
Frankly they have been a bit thin on the ground this year. Gareth Bale’s hair-clip is long gone; Defoe has stopped messing around and settled upon a nice, smart short-back-and-sides; even the tattoo brigade have decided against emblazoning the name of their latest WAG across their foreheads and stuck with poetry on the forearm. Therefore, this season’s ignominy falls upon the good folk of Puma, for putting together quite possibly the worst home shirt in our history. It really ought not to be possible to make a mess of a plain white top, but that particular ignominy was duly achieved by the gift of random yellow streaks. I remarked before the season began, when there was nothing better to discuss, that I would not mind what we wore if we qualified for the Champions League; but having achieved that goal I actually change my mind – it would have been much nicer to have finished fourth in the ’91 Umbro kit, or even 2008-09’s straightforward white-with-blue-trim shirt. Good to see that Puma has duly made amends with a lovely shiny retro effort for next season.
The Clegg-Cameron Award For Unlikely Partnership Of The Season
For the first half of the season it appeared that Messrs Corluka and Lennon would retain their crown – two chaps who one imagines barely speak to each other on non-matchdays, but who combine to glorious effect once ambling around on the turf. However, once injury struck we had to look elsewhere for our resident odd-couple, and suspension for Sergeant Wilson duly created the opportunity, as Modders and Hudd were flung together. With each of them having demonstrated a certain reluctance throughout their careers to whisper “boo” at passing geese, one wondered quite how they would fare in the tough-tackling world of Premiership central midfield battles, but despite being outnumbered against both l’Arse and Chelski they held their own quite comfortably, creating a platform for all manner of wonderfulness on the flanks and up top. Chalk and cheese in human form they may be, but one hell of an on-field combo.
The Saving Private Ryan Award For The Most Mental, 30 Minute, All-Action-No-Plot Sequence Of The Season
While there was an astonishing all-action 30 seconds or so late on in the season, at home to Pompey (when Thudd almost snapped the woodwork in two, Crouch volleyed the rebound against the very same spot, and then tried an overhead kick from the resulting corner), the most astonishing half hour of this – and quite possibly any – season, was in the second half at home to Wigan. Jermain Defoe donned his Midas suit, and Niko Kranjcar responded to our last-minute please for “One more, we only want one more”, as a little bit of history unfolded at the Lane.
The Et Tu Brute? Award For Attacking Your Own Team-Mate
When Benoit Assou-Ekotto tried smiling, after scoring on the opening day of the season, the sight was so disturbing that small children began bawling and a watching Medusa turned to stone. The man is not one of life’s certified friendly folk, so there was a vague inevitability about the fact that he ended up turning on one of his own team-mates. Vedram Corluka was the unfortunate victim, a push and shove ensuing during the match against Stoke accompanied by language so fruity that those bastions of virtue at the BBC took the honourable step of censoring/pixellating BAE’s mouth when they showed highlights of the incident on that night’s Match of the Day. No harm was done that afternoon, but I fancy that Corluka will one day look in the mirror and see BAE standing behind him with some stabbing implement in hand and expressionless stare on his visage. Creepy.
The “Sod It – Who Else Wants A Go?” Award For Most Popular Position Of The Season
If you’re a male, aged 17-32 and in possession of the requisite number of limbs plus a pair of football boots, the chances are that ‘Arry cast an eye over you at some point this season to help out at right-back. Despite having collected them like stamps just a couple of years ago, we seem to have been desperately short this time around once Corluka hobbled off the scene, resulting in BAE, Kyle Walker, Sergeant Wilson and finally Younes Kaboul each filling in at various stages of the season. If Messrs Hutton and Naughton are recalled from loan we could seriously consider fielding an entire outfield team of right-backs.
The Geoff Hurst Award For Hat-Trick of the Season
This may annoy Jermain Defoe, after hat-tricks against Wigan, Hull and Leeds, but Heurehlo Gomes’ three saves in quick succession against l’Arse not only won us the game and gave a timely adrenaline shot towards Champions League qualification, they also created a whole new branch of science, the traditional understanding of space-time dynamics having been rendered obsolete by the chap’s quite astonishing performance.
The Teddy Sheringham Award For Moving Exceptionally Slowly For A Professional Athlete
The arrival of Eidur Gudjohnsen on loan in January made for interesting comparisons with Sheringham, not just in terms of his pace (or lack thereof) but also his general touch and positional sense on the pitch. However, when it comes to the art of ambling, Vedran Corluka remains peerless. Which is fine, because he’s got Aaron Lennon ahead of him to do all the running we need.
The Klinsmann-Dive Award For Celebration Of The Season
The bar was set pretty low here, with BAE simply not knowing what to do after he thumped in his opening day scorcher against Liverpool by running off. Further woeful celebrations were to follow, with Gareth Bale doing a really weird twisty-hand thing after scoring against l’Arse, and then treating us to a nice big heart against Chelski. Fortunately, David Bentley made up for the general lack of invention, by pouring a bucket of ice over his manager and then prancing around in his underwear on live TV, after the Man City game.
AANP’s first book, Spurs’ Cult Heroes, is now available in the Spurs shop, all good bookshops and online (at Tottenhamhotspur.com, as well as WHSmith, Amazon , Tesco, Waterstones and Play).
You can become a Facebook fan of Spurs’ Cult Heroes and AANP here, follow on Twitter here
“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.
Why do they toy with us so? This whole business of wingers who can zip across the turf at twice the speed of light is all well and good if the counter-attacks lead to a glut of goals, but, as against Chelski a couple of weeks ago, our glorious heroes seemed determined to avoid making the game safe – anyone else get the impression that Gudjohnsen quite deliberately placed that last-minute shot at the advertising hoarding rather than the net?
Thus ends the rant. Victory by whatever means was all-important, and I’d have settled for a last-minute goal from that over-zealous ball-boy if it had guaranteed the three points. That the players had to make it quite so nail-biting is presumably just part of their contracts, to do things the Tottenham Way. Useful preparation for Wednesday night too, this nerve-shredding approach.
We ticked the necessary boxes, as we have generally done at home all season. In no particular order therefore, a handful of musings from the weekend’s goings-on.
The Romantic Hit Of The Summer
An unlikely match, but as spring has sprung it seems that romance has bloomed in N17. Well known to each other for so long, but only ever just good friends, it now appears that a more serious relationship is developing. Modders and Hudd are on the same wavelength in centre-midfield, and they want the whole world to know about it. Will the star-crossed lovers reunite in Manchester, or will ‘Arry turn it into a complicated love-triangle involving Sergeant Wilson? Probably the latter actually, but then this sort of thing never did run smooth. Anyway, in an attempt to impress the new object of his affections Hudd adopted the alpha-male approach of thumping the ball as hard as humanly possible - normally the cue for the upper tier to duck for cover, but on this occasion a perfectly-judged gesture of affection. Bless.
Younes Kaboul Does A Surprisingly Good Cafu Impression
Younes Kaboul certainly looked like a man who has been eating his greens this week. Previously a peculiarly-eyebrowed square peg in a right-back-shaped hole, he was one of the best players on the pitch on Saturday. While there is something about him that will always suggest God did not intend him as a natural right-back, he took every opportunity to haring up the flank with all the speed and power of a runaway train. And to pretty good effect too. His distribution is hardly Beckham-esque but he delivered a couple of well-judged cut-backs and one inviting cross atop the mullet of Pav, whilst also applying himself with good wholesome gusto in defence. Top marks, sir. (The slightly worrying question of how he will fare against Craig Bellamy on Wednesday can be shelved for another 24 hours.)
Ledley: Pushing The Boundaries of Language
Someone invent some more superlatives, because Ledley is exhausting the current supply. I’d take him to the World Cup, elect him Prime Minister and have him open the batting for England this summer. Aside from the usual (pace, calmness, use of the ball) his reading of the game, to intercept passes before I even had time to utter panicked profanities, was particularly eye-catching. What a boost if we could patch him up again for Wednesday.
So there endeth a jolly impressive season of home games. Bar a couple of struggles against our more negative guests, and a no-show against last season’s champions, we Lane-goers have been rather spoiled – wins against the Champions League-chasers, goal-fests against rubbish teams, and all served up on a bed of good old-fashioned champagne football. Time to take the show on the road. Fingers crossed, prayers said and small animals sacrificed for Wednesday.
Final Chance to Catch Gary Mabbutt Signing Spurs’ Cult Heroes – THIS SATURDAY
No game this Saturday – so a tidy little opportunity to pop into Walthamstow Waterstones for the final signing session by Gary Mabbutt of AANP book Spurs’ Cult Heroes - Waterstones Walthamstow - Saturday 8 May, 1pm
Spurs’ Cult Heroes, is now available in the Spurs shop, and online (at Tottenhamhotspur.com, as well as WHSmith, Amazon , Tesco, Waterstones and Play). You can become a Facebook fan of Spurs’ Cult Heroes and AANP here, follow on Twitter here
Tempus doesn’t half fugit when things are going swimmingly. It barely seem five minutes ago that we pitched up to the Lane for the first time this season, to offer Steven Gerrard some legal advice (“Self-defence, you’re having a laugh”) and salute BAE’s frankly mental long-range effort. Eight months on and who would have predicted that the top four we would be ours to throw away? Harking back through the yellowed pages of AANP’s archives I note that top-six was the target around these parts last August. Not that that will soften the blow should we mess things up from here…
Seeing off Bolton will hardly be a straightforward task – Kevin Davies in particular has taken rather a liking to our onion bag – but there are no excuses. Three points today (and next Sunday) are essential.
No Ledley. Not Today
If Ledley goes trotting onto the pitch at 2.55 I think I’ll personally march out there and slap a chloroformed handkerchief across his face just to prevent his participation. I fancy us to beat Bolton with Bassong and Daws bringing up the rear; vastly more important that Ledley’s knees are tickety-boo ahead of the clash with Tevez, Adebayor et al on Wednesday. The only sighting of Ledley ought to be encased from head to toe in a cocoon of cotton wool, as the players amble around for the end-of-season lap of honour at full-time.
A similar argument might also be made in favour of restricting Aaron Lennon to a cameo, with one eye on Wednesday night. Whether or not he starts, it seems likely that at some point at least we will be treated to the sight of Bale on one flank and Lennon on t’other, which would serve as a delightful end of season gift.
Elsewhere on the Pitch
It’s been debated ad infinitum, but to be honest the central midfield combo ought not to be as critical an issue today as against Man Utd. Impose our game upon the other lot and it won’t matter whether or not Sergeant Wilson is patrolling the centre-circle, or Modders starting out left. (Of course, should the players themselves adopt an attitude of complacency similar to that at AANP Towers our top four dream could be in tatters come the final whistle.)
Corluka is still out, so Kaboul/BAE/Walker will be tasked with doing the honourable thing on the right. (AANP would opt for Kaboul, to lend a hand in case of any aerial assault from our guests today). Bentley was a little isolated on the right wing last week, so a slightly more generous attitude from today’s chosen right-back would go down well.
Win-draw-win will do the trick - but when did our lot ever do things the straightforward way?
Gary Mabbutt will be signing copies of AANP book Spurs’ Cult Heroes for the masses at Waterstones Walthamstow - Saturday 8 May, 1pm
Spurs’ Cult Heroes, is now available in the Spurs shop, all good bookshops and online (at Tottenhamhotspur.com, as well as WHSmith, Amazon , Tesco, Waterstones and Play).
You can become a Facebook fan of Spurs’ Cult Heroes and AANP here, follow on Twitter here
Watching a game on a pub’s big screen I typically squint to make out the match clock in the top left-hand corner, a sure sign that my eyes are failing me. My hindsight however, remains 20-20, thus allowing me to tut and cluck all weekend about the wisdom – or lack thereof – of shuffling the winning pack in order to accommodate the returning Sergeant Wilson. Shamelessly glossing over the fact that AANP could not decide beforehand whether the restoration of Palacios would have been a good or bad idea, it is fairly easy to conclude that neither that change nor the shunting of Assou-Ekotto to right-back was a roaring success.
BAE – An Odd Fish
I don’t think anyone is quite sure what goes on in BAE’s head, but I get the impression that the little voices generally tell him to do some pretty sinister stuff. As such, I’m vaguely relieved that on Saturday he only went as far as the crude hack that resulted in a penalty, for that glazed expression suggests he might one day try something a darned sight scarier…
It was not his most auspicious day. He offered precious little attacking support for Bentley; and could hardly be described as “watertight” when carrying out his defensive duties. His doings at right-back are not helped by the fact has he has appears never to have been introduced to his own right foot, but whichever his preferred pedal, there was no excusing the recklessness of his penalty area foul.
After the limited success of Walker, Kaboul and now BAE as ad hoc right-backs, the worrying thought occurs to me that ‘Arry might even try Jenas in that position next. Someone slap some deep heat onto Corluka’s injury, and pronto.
Sergeant Wilson’s Off-Day
Palacios too had an off-day. After the success of the Hudd-Modric partnership in recent games, the recall of Sergeant Wilson was a big decision (my, isn’t two weeks a long time in football?) Alas. Irrespective of the alteration to tactics, Palacios individually had a weak game. He was robbed of possession a few times, misplaced straightforward passes and, taking his cue from BAE, made a pretty undignified mess of things in conceding the second penalty.
However, it is only right to note that maintaining the status quo - of a Hudd-Modders central midfield and Kaboul at right-back - would by no means have guaranteed a better result at Old Trafford. The result indicates that ‘Arry’s gamble failed, but it was an understandable move.
Palacios’ performance may have elicited a few embarrassed coughs, but elsewhere there was better news as familiar faces returned to the fray…
Ledley’s Golden Minute
Our wondrous captain was awesome again, producing one particularly golden minute, midway through the second half. It ended with his headed goal, but began with, of all things, a casual drop of the shoulder on his own six-yard box, to completely wrong-foot Berbatov and shepherd the ball back to safety. I worship the ground upon which Ledley walks, the nightclubs out of which he stumbles and the vacuum in his knee that is bereft of cartilage.
Lennon and Bale – The Time is Nigh
I cannot quite bring myself to worship Aaron Lennon’s shaved eyebrow with similar fervour, but it was jolly good to see it and its owner once again. Lennon did not really have a chance to rev up and disappear past John O’ Shea in a puff of smoke, but his arrival and the subsequent reorganisation in midfield seemed to give the team a better attacking shape. His chums in lilywhite poked and probed for a chance to set him racing away towards the byline; United duly trotted men over to snuff out the threat; so we switched play to the left, for Gareth Bale to have a gallop. Nothing came of it on this occasion, but it was a glimpse of The Land of Milk and Honey. Keep those two fit, and all hell could break loose down the flanks.
Elsewhere On The Pitch
Gomes was almost the penalty-save saviour yet again - he certainly seems to have a handy system for discerning which way they are going. Not sure if Defoe was injured, but he was certainly withdrawn fairly early in proceedings, and has looked a tad subdued in recent games. For their part, our hosts treated us to projectile vomit in HD, and a comically bad lesson in how not to guard a post at a corner.
Whatever the misgivings about the team selection and outcome, this is hardly the time for an over-reaction. Defeat away to Man Utd is far from disastrous, and in fact having somehow got to half-time on level terms, and then dragged it back to one-all with 10 minutes to go, we may well have gone on to pinch all three points.
Six points from l’Arse, Chelski and Man Utd remains a jolly impressive haul, and those two wins may yet prove to be season-defining. The showers at AANP Towers have been working overtime to wash off the general uncleanliness that came with cheering on l’Arse for 90 minutes yesterday, and while my back was turned Villa and Liverpool managed to pop up into view again, but the net result of this weekend is that fourth place is still in our hands. According to the AANP abacus, avoiding defeat to City and winning the other two would do the trick.
Gary Mabbutt will be signing copies of AANP book Spurs’ Cult Heroes for the masses at Waterstones Walthamstow - Saturday 8 May, 1pm
Spurs’ Cult Heroes, is now available in the Spurs shop, all good bookshops and online (at Tottenhamhotspur.com, as well as WHSmith, Amazon , Tesco, Waterstones and Play).
You can become a Facebook fan of Spurs’ Cult Heroes and AANP here, follow on Twitter here
