Tag: Younes Kaboul

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Spurs 1-3 Man Utd: Tardy Musings on Proximity Minus Cigars

Apologies for the tardiness…

Speculating about what might have happened had Parker, Bale and/or VDV been fit is the very living, breathing embodiment of pointlessness (although it has not stopped yours truly moping on a near-daily basis about what might have been had Gazza tapped in against the Germans in Euro 96), but for the purposes of perspective following our SECOND CONSECUTIVE DEFEAT (gasp) it might be salutary to note that with the aforementioned gentlemen on board our lot probably would have prevailed. Having effected a mighty convincing impression of being the superior team in general, the addition of any of those three might also have impacted upon some of the crucial specifics of proceedings. Par example, ‘tis hard to imagine Parker or even Bale switching off to fiddle with their hair as Modders did for the second goal, while Parker again might have made a difference when Kaboul backed off for the third. Moreover, all our possession and dominance could feasibly have translated into something infinitely more satisfying than swooshy Sky Sports graphics had Bale or VDV been gambolling across the turf. Desperately frustrating to have to play a game of this magnitude missing such key personnel, but with human cloning technology still liable to misfire we simply have to accept such absences.

The Reshuffled Pack

Such is Parker’s unadulterated magnificence that it literally takes two men to replace him, but Sandro and Livermore performed admirably. Alas, this reshuffling meant that Modric’s myriad talents were not fully exploited, as he struggled to make sense of a job description loosely pertaining to activity on the left, but we nevertheless displayed various shades of wholesome attacking brio. Lennon’s final ball, as ever, lacks a certain refinement, but all the preceding scuttling tends to prompt the ringing of alarm bells and panicked swinging of legs amongst opposition ranks. With Adebayor and Saha again doing plenty to keep United occupied, at the apex of an old-fashioned 4-4-2, we were jolly close to hammering home our advantage.

However, the rather cruel lesson from all of this was that against the elite there is precious little margin for error. By somehow hanging on through the use of assorted fingernails and teethskins, and then taking advantage of the slightest lilywhite lapses, United fairly pointedly illustrated to our heroes what needs to be done to take the next step, from majestic Top Four glory-blazers to actual ruddy champions. The very best teams tend to do eke out such outcomes, having spent all game scrambling to survive. As the resident agriculturalists of AANP Towers have pointed out, thus is the wheat separated from the chaff.

That Cursed Horrible Wench, Lady Luck

That said, the gentlest soupcon of luck would not go amiss just once in a while for our lot. He being Adebayor and they being United it was thoroughly unsurprising that our first half “goal” was disallowed, but in a more lenient mood the ref may have noted that there was precious little means of avoiding a handling of the ball at full speed. (That said, had it been the other way round the howls of protest from AANP Towers would have lingered long in the air). Further ill luck was the decision by United’s part-time clown and resident 8 year-old goalkeeper De Gea to punctuate his season of general amateurishness with an absolutely blinding save from Livermore’s deflected shot in the second half. And while I’m having a whinge, how the dickens did a standard, fairy harmless foul by Sandro earn him a yellow card?

General grumpiness therefore pervades the air around these parts, but this whole sequence of frustrations ought not to derail the third-place push. Our football remains perky, we have outstanding players due to return and our remaining fixtures appear thoroughly winnable each and every one.

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Dreadfully Tardy Musings on Liverpool 0-0 Spurs

It was all slightly akin to a chess game, n’est ce pas? And not one of those awesome chess games either, in which one lad loses his rag somewhat, dashes the pieces across the board and clobbers his opponent with the clock, leading to a mass brawl involving spectators and allsorts. This was one of those chess games in which white thoughtfully strokes his chin for a good seven or eight minutes, before moving his bishop a few diagonals backwards whence he came, prompting black to ponder for four minutes himself, hover his hand over his queen, retract hand, ponder some more, and then move his knight back into its starting position.

It is a tad difficult to remember the last time our lilywhite heroes set out so determinedly to defend, but as the game wore on it became increasingly evident that the principal aim was not to wow the Merseyside mob with all manner of singing and dancing entertainment, but simply to grab that point, shove a chloroformed handkerchief in its mouth, wait for it to keel over and then lock it in a cage and drag it all the way home.

Pragmatic stuff, but something of a shame, as it evinced more than just a whiff of satisfaction with a Top-Four finish, rather than a straining of every sinew for the Title.

High-Fives and Celebratory Cigar Puffs

In terms of the ancient art of point-snaffling, few snaffled with more laudable prominence than Daws and (inevitably) Scott Parker. Such has been the rise of Kaboul’s star this season that I was a mite tremulous pre kick-off on learning that Daws was to deputise – for shame, AANP, for shame. Up against the far from accommodating hirsute hulk that is Andy Carroll, Dawson gave every bead of sweat, bless him, and really ought to be allowed to frame the clean sheet and hang it from his wall.

As for Parker, by the closing stages it appeared that he had been successfully cloned and scattered across the Anfield turf. The poor blighter is presumably still glugging lucozade, scoffing energy bars and gingerly applying TCP to the scrapes across his frame, but such is the price to be paid for giving every ounce of energy for the cause.

Less Favourably…

We be lucky folk, no doubt, for being treated weekly to the multi-faceted talents of Gareth Bale. However, the denizens of AANP Towers are old-fashioned purveyors of good, honest values, and the traditional distinction between right and wrong. On which note, I would implore someone with a degree of authority to have a pretty blunt word or ten with the handsome young Welshman, and tell him in no uncertain terms to cut out the histrionics. In general he goes down far too easily, and it sullies the good name of Tottenham Hotspur. When Scott Parker collapses with a wince I hold my breath. When Bale goes down and waves his arm for assistance I roll my eyes. For sure he does receive some pretty outrageous treatment – Agger (I think?) ought to have seen red for the shin-high challenge on Monday night – but generally Bale has begun to look for free-kicks when no foul has been remotely committed, and that is cheating. Not that he had much company, up there at the apex, but even that cat seemed to have a bit more spunk about him.

Alas, the distinction between “disinterested” and “uninterested” is not one I have ever truly mastered, but Adebayor was oozing one of them from many a pore.

All things considered (and by “all things” I principally mean the absences of VDV and Lennon) a point away from home to a loosely in-form team is eminently acceptable for a team looking to consolidate a Top Four finish, but that is rather the nub of the thing – I rather wish we had set our sights a little higher. Going 4-4-2 and pushing for victory may well have seen us become a little too open at the back, but having had a dashed good fist of attacking in almost every other game so far this season, we have positioned ourselves six inches from a title challenge. Could we not keep that pretence going a few weeks longer?

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Man City – SpursPreview: Adebayor´s Philosophical Quandary

So here we go, without doubt the biggest game since our last eye-catching fixture for which three points were at stake. While the win over a pretty inept Everton had all and sundry proclaiming this lilywhite vintage the greatest thing since Danny Blanchflower sliced a loaf, the draw with uber-negative Wolves had Hansen imploring all Spurs-supporting MoTD viewers to find their nearest cliff-top and hurl themselves in anguish – so whatever the outcome against table-topping City the reaction will presumably border on the apocalyptic. Win, lose or draw, somebody somewhere will explode in a cloud of uncontainable hyperbole.

In truth however, “phlegmatic” is the word of choice at AANP Towers ahead of this one. Winning the title would be quite a bonus (never, ever in my wildest dreams did I anticipate writing those eight words), but we are third favourites for a reason, and defeat on Sunday would make that whole jamboree far less likely. What seems absolutely paramount is that we finish in the Top Four (preferably the Top Three), and this is ours to throw away. For that reason my uncontrollable shivers break out at the prospect of the impending games with l’Arse, Chelski, Liverpool and Newcastle. “Six-pointers”, as the sages knowingly intone, and if they speak thus then it must be so.

That said, if the closing rounds of the Rocky Balboa – Ivan Drago clash taught me anything it was that the best time to play a well-financed foreign giant is when he is sweating buckets and he’s taken such a hammering that his eye is beginning to swell. City are without the gloriously named Yaya chap, which should make Modders’ life a tad easier, and my spies tell me that they’re also missing a handy centre-back. Time to charge into battle with a cry of “Adriaaaan” methinks.

Being owned by one team whilst playing for another could potentially lead to quite the philosophical quandary on the halfway line when the two outfits meet, but alas we will be spared the sight of Adebayor slowly degenerating into madness on the centre-spot as he ponders his obligations and liberty, for he is ineligible. This may mean ‘Arry takes a punt on Pav producing his standard 1 minute of magic amidst 89 of standing about whingeing, or, as is the AANP preference, he lets Defoe off the leash to shoot from all angles and then look in disbelief as he is flagged offside.

Otherwise, for better or worse, our lot pick themselves. Dawson, Kaboul, Ledley, Sandro, Parker – jumble them up, name a few injuries and you get the gist. We are underdogs for this one, but in a season in which we just keep doing the unexpected by golly this would be some feather in the lilywhite cap. Fingers crossed

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Spurs – Everton Preview: Fare Thee Well, Game In Hand

So finally this much-vaunted “Game in Hand” is upon us. Truth be told, I will be a little sad to see it go. It has practically become part of the family, like a scruffy, uncouth urchin discovered in the wreckage of the summer riots, and adopted by the cheery folk of White Hart Lane. And let’s face it, this Game in Hand has proved more useful than the Sword of Omens when it comes to pointless bickering with fans of l’Arse, Chelski, Liverpool and the like. Whatever they say, I have smugly bleated “Game in Hand! Game in Hand!”, occasionally pointing to a copy of the Premiership table, and repeated this process ad nauseum until they storm off in a fit of pique to count their injured full-backs.

But alas, today is the day. Fond though I am of Game in Hand, ‘tis time to lead it unwittingly to the altar of Three Valuable Points For Our Ongoing Top-Four Push (Or Even – Whisper It – Title Challenge). Tonight, Game in Hand, shall ye be sacrificed, never to be seen again; but be proud to note that ye shall not die in vain. Unless we lose, I suppose.

Boo, Hiss

Irritatingly, when Game in Hand does finally depart this mortal sphere for the great Premiership table in the sky, he shall be bade farewell by a midfield disturbingly lacking in bite. Sandro is out, and Parker is not far behind him, if ‘Arry’s gloomy murmurings are to be believed (although that is quite a sizeable conditional, I acknowledge). This may leave us with a central midfield combo of Modders and VDV, or possibly even Krancjar, chaps who might as well just form a guard of honour through which Everton can bear down on our goal whenever they pick up possession in the midfield. Should young Livermore be thrust into the fold, much would be expected.

Huzzah!

On a cheerier note One Aaron Lennon is primed to return, and it turns out that both Cameroon and Togo somehow failed to qualify for the African Cup of Nations, so Adebayor will continue to stick his derrière into opposing defenders, and BAE will continue to perform shoulder-drops and Cruyff-turns in thoroughly inappropriate areas.

Elsewhere Michael Dawson is set to ease himself into the Ledley-shaped hole alongside Kaboul, while our resident blond with no knowledge of the offside rule may begin glancing towards the transfer window, if demoted to the bench again.

And that ought to be that. We have waited half the season for this – for goodness’ sake let’s make it worthwhile.

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Norwich 0-2 Spurs: Introducing Our Newest Centre-Forward…?

Many a time and oft my Spurs-supporting chum Ian has peddled the theory that Gareth Bale should be shoved right up the top, through the middle, and play as an out-and-out centre-forward. Outlandish it may be, but last night actually provided a glimpse of how the world would be run if Ian were King.

The Lennon Right-Wing Problem was solved by the novel solution of asking Kyle Walker to do the jobs of two men, and pretending it was not a problem at all – a solution that proved spookily effective, and left us at AANP Towers wondering how many more roles Walker could simultaneously adopt for the good of the team.

Meanwhile, VDV, Bale and Modders did whatever they jolly well pleased – which meant that Bale got to treat us to his Cristiano Ronaldo impression. He’s certainly got the attributes of a central attacking type – pace, power, control (if you pardon the lapse into Alan Hansenisms), as well as heading and shooting. For now it seems one best kept for special occasions, but a delightful little sub-plot may have been born.

Adebayor’s Phantom InjuryAdebayor’s quick feet in setting up Bale left me wondering how we ever tolerated all those interminable years of Crouch. There then followed a most curious medical phenomenon, as the hearts of just about every lilywhite in Christendom simultaneously skipped a beat at around 9pm GMT when Adebayor appeared to twang his hamstring and be out for the season. Oh how the walls of AANP Towers resounded with wails of despair. The denizens of this abode formed an orderly queue by the fifteenth floor window and prepared to hurl themselves out in despair, rather than face a second half the season minus the grinning Togolese – only for Adebayor mysteriously to un-twang himself and carry on just tickety-boo. Mighty queer.

 

Elsewhere On The PitchThe usual roll-call of excellence applies, with gold stars liberally distributed throughout the team. Sandro and Parker snuffed out every first hint of a Norwich attack, while Modders and VDV passed their midfield to death.

 

Kaboul

Bad-ass.

The Good Time Just Keep RollingThird place, and jolly well merited too. Keep playing this way and chances will continue to flow, wins will continue to accumulate. The occasional anomalous result will occur when the fates conspire against us, as at Stoke, but at the halfway stage a Top Four finish is ours to throw away.

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Norwich – Spurs Preview: Taking Advantage of Festive Gifts

Just when I had considered giving up on Father Christmas altogether, he fills my stocking with dropped points by all of Chelski, l’Arse, Liverpool and even Man City. And – and – he even un-twinges VDV’s hamstring. I’m not sure there has ever been a Christmas quite like it.

No reason not to expect another high-class performance, missed chances a-plenty and ultimately three more points tonight. Of course one can never really account for refereeing idiocy, opposition goalkeepers being possessed by the ghost of Lev Yashin past, or the general workings of Heurelho Gomes’ brain, but aside from such phenomena as wildly unpredictable and utterly impossible to prepare for, the Tottenham of the last dozen or so games ought to outscore Delia’s lot tonight.

Apart from VDV’s dainty upper legs, we may have  a central defence crisis on our hands, with Ledley surely unable to churn out another 90 minutes so soon, and Kaboul apparently also tight of the hammie. All of which points towards the Close-Your-Eyes-And-Clasp-Your-Hands option that is Bassong. Defoe is also out, and quite how we deal with the Lennon absence tonight is anyone’s guess, but otherwise it’s the usual mob. It should be enough, which means that daylight between us and the chasing pack tantalisingly beckons.

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Spurs – Chelsea Preview: ‘Arry’s Conundrum On The Wings

Crunch time. This one could not be much bigger if it were written in size 72 font, stretched in a rack and then injected with muscle-steroid-type-things by that Russian giant of a chap David Haye beat a couple of years back. It’s not just the three points, which would give us a five-point platform from which to wave down at Chelski, with a game in hand. Winning this one would hint at a rather symbolic shifting of power within London and beyond, like the passing of the Olympic flame, but with a bit more blood and thunder and complaining from John Terry.

Beating that ‘orrible lot from down the road earlier this season hinted at a shift in power in Norf London, and while time will tell on that front, the panicky ramblings of l’Arse ‘keeper Szeszecnezcsnzy earlier this week, that their priority this season was to finish above our lot (ha!), signalled that times may indeed be a-changing. Send Chelski packing tonight, and we may be able to display a freshly bloodied scalp on the mantelpiece.

Bale and Lennon

Alas, the gods have amused themselves by flinging down injury bolts left, right and centre. Well certainly left and right at least. Lennon is definitely out, and Bale has chosen a curious time to impersonate AANP by spraining his ankle (wear a strap at all times lad, makes the world of difference). Good news for all those who pick inopportune moments to blink, and thereby miss a sprint of half the pitch by one of these two; but bad news for all lilywhite fans of the counter-attack. Or indeed attacks of a more generic sort. The pace and width of these chaps has been crucial in our merry march upwards. By the pricking of my thumbs a conundrum this way comes.

On Sunday ‘Arry responded to the absence of Bale by sticking Modders on the left; the withdrawal of Lennon then saw VDV switched to the right. Alas, for VDV in particular, “pace” sits well down the list of notable attributes, somewhere in between “magic tricks” and “intermediate Excel capabilities”. Whichever honest blighters are asked to deputise – and Kranjcar and Pienaar are also nominees – our style will undoubtedly alter tonight, and a lot more traffic will be diverted through the middle.

A Gentle “Keep Modders In The Centre” Petition

Here at AANP Towers we are pretty keen to see Modders deployed in the centre rather than the left. It may be harsh on Sandro, following his all-singing, all-dancing, all-conquering display alongside Parker, in centre-midfield on Sunday, but particularly in the absence of Bale-Lennon, Modders’ ingenuity is crucial for the orchestration of all things inventive. Whatever his choice, one hopes that ‘Arry has enlisted his finest team of monkeys to pore over the permutations and select wisely.

Other Injury Footnotes

Further selection frivolities are provided by Ledley’s knee, which presumably is the size of an unbraided Benny afro at present, after his 90-minute stint on Sunday. The return of Kaboul should at least help out there, whilst the official Spurs website has done little for the good of calm and order up and down the High Road by noting that Adebayor has hurt his foot.

In truth I suspect that Adebayor will be fine, nor would I be entirely surprised if Bale gambolled across the turf at some point tonight either. At full strength I would back our lot to the hilt, but given a few crucial absentees this looks less straightforward. Friedel, Gallas, Kaboul, Parker, Modders, Adebayor – this lot need to rise to the occasion tonight. Go get ‘em chaps.

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Spurs – Sunderland Preview: Resumption of Normal Service Please Chaps

“The measure of greatness is not how many you win, but how you react to defeat”. Or something along those lines. In fact, AANP may have invented that just now.

Anyway, the point is that the epithet has been fairly redundant  for as far back as I can remember, as we would generally fail to win in the first place, and then react to defeat with another defeat, or a two-goal lead thrown away late on, or whatever. A changed beast these days however, to be sure. Win follows win, and all delivered with an élan unmatched by anyone else in the country.

Today however we need to react to defeat – simply by resuming normal service. In defeat at Stoke, at least in the second half, we did our usual thing and looked absolutely ruddy marvellous. Play our natural game, and even allowing for the New Manager Effect at Sunderland, we should dominate and overwhelm our opponents today.

Defoe Begins Chuntering

We are presumably without Kaboul today, following last week’s very deserved red card, so the return of Ledley would help; while the handy showings by Messrs Pienaar and Kranjcar in midweek won’t help them make the starting line-up, so they might as well give up on that dream now.

The inevitable murmurings of discontent have emanated from the frustrated mouth of Defoe, and one rather sympathises. When he has played this season he has scored – and then been dropped. Following the fairly ineffective showing of VDV last week, another omission at the expense of the Dutchman again today would not improve the mood at Casa Defoe. Over to you ‘Arry.

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West Brom 1-3 Spurs: One Of Our Best – M.H.E.P.L.G.W.T.S.

Desperately sad news about Gary Speed – RIP

Within a day or two it will inevitably be swallowed within the black hole of wondrous statistics about just how darned good the current crop are (best start to a season since the ’61 Double-winners, since you ask), but the win at West Brom has muscled its way into AANP’s exalted list of Most Hard-Earned and Pleasing Little Gaggle of Wins This Season, or “MHEPLGWTS” as we like to call it for ease of reference.

To win 3-1 away is one thing, but to do so having gone behind and been largely out-played and out-muscled in the first half, by something resembling a team of Scott Parkers, is quite another. Moreover, in the absences of both Modders and VDV this whole bally thing was achieved in the absence of half of the heartbeat of our team, if you excuse the invocation of a tenuous and frankly impossible medical metaphor. A quite sterling effort, rewarded not only by three points but also by the dropping of points by Man Utd, Newcastle and l’Arse. A fine weekend’s work indeed.

First Half Struggles

As noted, our vanquished opponents deserve some credit or making life quite so awkward. Rather than kick and hack their way through proceedings, or lasso all eleven back to the edge of their own area, they had quite a pop at our heroes in the first 45, pinning us back and making life jolly uncomfortable. ‘Twas noted with a raised eyebrow at AANP Towers that Ledley looked a little less than his usual stately self at the back, and the defence in general seemed to exude more than just a whiff of general panic in the first half. Mind you, the struggles of Ledley were suitably expiated for by the performance of Kaboul, fast maturing from reckless man-child with weirdly sculpted eyebrows into full-blown colossus, and not just because he can head the ball further than I can kick it. The odd mistake still creeps in – ball-watching, needless fouls – but these days he waves that “Thou Shalt Not Pass, You Swine” placard in convincing manner.

Life Without Modders and VDV

Things perked up after the break. Scott Parker continues to charge around as if playing each game in the knowledge that his parents are watching him for the very first time; while Sandro displays an infectiously boyish enthusiasm for things (albeit an enthusiasm that very nearly earned him a second booking). Sandro has a bit more to offer in terms of moving forward, and the pair generally seemed to take it in turns to supplement attack, with Parker even eschewing the safety-first sideways/backwards keep-ball approach that usually constitutes his ball-playing diet in its entirety. However, despite the best efforts of these two we did lack the je ne sais quoi that Modders and VDV typically offer.

In the absence of these two particular talisman, our heroes made hay through the aesthetically sublime approach of moving the ball quickly. It may have lacked a little of the cutting-edge provided by Modders/VDV, but by pinging the ball around quickly we got ourselves back into the game, patiently it hither and thither until the spaces appeared, and the little legs of Walker, Lennon, Bale and Defoe sped blurrily into the great big swathes of greenery in front of them. It is a credit to the on-ball technique and off-the-ball movement of our lot that the man in possession always has a couple of options.

Cutting-Edge in Attack

Ultimately however, the difference was probably that, as against Blackburn, QPR and Fulham in recent weeks, our attacking types have that little bit more quality than the opposition. Whereas previously it has been VDV, Bale or Lennon, yesterday it was the finishing of Defoe that was a class above. Where West Brom were profligate, we were clinical. As has been discussed ad nauseam, he has his critics, of whom AANP is not one, but no matter how selfish, one-dimensional or ignorant of the offside law one considers him to be, he is one heck of a finisher. (Curiously for one who has now scored four goals in a week, I still think that Adebayor needs to work on his finishing, but his overall contribution remains immense.)

And so it continues. There remain a good two third of the season left to play – but who amongst us would not have taken this situation back in August, when City were thumping their fifth past us?

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Spurs 2-0 Villa: Bafflingly Easy

Oh that life were always that simple. Villa’s scouting network appear to have concluded that any attempt to disrupt the Tottenham modus operandi would result in a riot, and consequently they spent the entire night carefully keeping a safe distance from us, allowing our heroes to do whatever they jolly well pleased. Still, objective achieved, and boxes ticked left, right and centre., but if I may be so bold I would dare to suggest that when in such utter dominance they could do worse than display an attitude of bloody-minded ruthlessness. There were moments when Lennon tried a flick in his own half, or VDV dabbled in unnecessary ornateness, when at 2-0 the fait was not necessarily accompli. When in complete control let’s go crazy and score until it’s a tad embarrassing for all concerned. Plenty of time for own half fancy flicks when the scoreboard has hit double figures.

Our lot certainly deserve credit, for alternating between sensible bouts of keep-ball and occasionally knife-through-butter thrusts

However, I digress rather wildly from the point that this is the best Tottenham side in living memory, and that without breaking sweat they stomped all over those poor little Villa lambs. Bale, Modders, Parker and Kaboul no doubt sipped their celebratory bourbon with relish last night, after performances of particular majesty, while BAE threatened to steal the show simply by unbraiding his quite sensational mop.

Oh Dear…

Word reaches me that the chatter amongst the more excitable members of the lilywhite fraternity is of title-winning frolics. To each their own I suppose, and our juggernaut is certainly trundling along most merrily at present, but I do feel rather inclined to point out that it is but November. Top Four is the aim; top three is pleasingly realistic; yet we still remain but three points above seventh. These are wondrous times at N17, with cracking stuff from our mob on a weekly basis now, so rather than pore over the possibilities of May 2012 I plan to spend the coming days donning slippers and gown, and contentedly puffing upon a pipe.