Spurs 0-1 Arsenal: Three Tottenham Talking Points

1. Romero

One man’s meat is another man’s poison, I suppose, and generally over the last couple of years the consensus around the N17 campfire has tended to be that in Cristian Romero we are blessed with a high-quality, if hot-headed, defensive specimen. At AANP Towers, the take on Romero has been a mite less enthusiastic, generally wishing that the young nib would focus less on his own, high-profile plotlines, and a bit more on the bread and butter of defending, but by and large toeing the company line that he’s the sort of earnest young potato for whose presence we ought to be grateful.

Well, that generous and goodwill-steeped perspective is fast going the way of all flesh, because Romero has now been specifically culpable for each of the last three goals we’ve conceded. Last time out against Newcastle he went galloping about a mile out of position, leaving a hole exposed behind him from which they scored their opener; and he then adopted an entirely inappropriate body-shape to allow Newcastle to bypass him on halfway with one long pass straight down the centre, before giving up the chase and ending a good 20 yards behind play when they scored their winner.

And today, having made clear to the watching world that Gabriel was his responsibility and his alone at set-pieces, Romero allowed the wretch a free header from five yards, dash it. And this took quite some doing. In the first place I’d like a point-by-point explanation from Romero as to why he stationed himself in front of Gabriel, thereby guaranteeing that he had no sight of him at all as the ball arrived. The notion of staying goal-side of the attacker seemed not to feature in the chap’s thinking.

Now my Spurs-supporting chum Mark has communicated his displeasure that a free-kick was not awarded, for Gabriel giving Romero a little two-handed shove in the back, to eke out the necessary yard or two of space. To this, I first of all refer to the previous point, that Romero should not have been standing in front of Gabriel, in a position that allowed him to be so easily thrust out of the way (as well as losing sight of his man); and secondly I respond that basic push-and-shove is part of the rich fabric of set-piece delivery, adding that a fellow like Romero, who seems to pride himself on matters of physical interaction, ought to have returned the favour with interest and muscled Gabriel out of the way, rather than vice versa.

There are discontented mutterings in this neck of the woods, make no mistake. This was not an error-strewn Romero performance – there was a notably meaty slide challenge late on that earned a little ovation – but that’s not the point. The point is that for all his thunderous challenges and whatnot that earn a lusty roar from the crowd, he makes basic mistakes that cost chances and goals.

The young imp is unreliable. As alluded to above, he seems more concerned with generating headlines, through such manoeuvres as that aforementioned slide tackle, than with simply keeping his head down and ticking off the basics. Frankly I don’t really care if he can score at a set-piece, or upend an opposing striker on halfway; he’s in the team to defend the goal.

There’s a train of thought that our designated gatekeeper did not cover himself in glory for the goal either, Vicario rather missing the point and getting into a tangle with those immediately in front of him rather than advancing two yards and catching or clearing the corner. And it’s a valid point. But Romero’s role in the episode irked me no end.

I’ve noted previously, by the by, that such luminaries as Lionel Messi have lavished praise upon Romero, as one of the game’s finest. The more I chew this one over the more I’m led to conclude that the Romero style of defending – more brawn than brain – is one that appeals particularly to the Argentine psyche, and that this is what prompts such praise from those parts. At this point, three years into his lilywhite career, if rumours of Real Madrid interest in him have any foundation I’d pocket the cash and partner VDV with someone more focused on the basics.

2. Solanke

For clarity, in submitting young Solanke to a spot of the old grease I hardly bracket him alongside Romero, as one of the villains of the piece. Romero is culpable of repeated dereliction of duty; Solanke’s crime was simply that of failing to untangle his feet at the right moment.

It was a crucial moment though, one of the biggies, no doubt. It came fairly early on in proceedings, when Sonny and Maddison and the like were scurrying around effecting the high-press, this approach actually bearing some fruit, Son getting a toe to a Woolwich pass and the ball falling obligingly to Solanke on the edge of the area.

It was precisely the sort of output for which the high press was invented, presenting Solanke with a clear sight of goal, 15 minutes into his first ever home North London Derby. The moment absolutely screamed out for a good first touch, the sort with which our man could roll the ball a yard or two ahead of himself, thereby setting himself up for a hearty finish, a rippling net, the obligatory knee-slide and warm acclaim from all sides.

Instead, Solanke gummed things up somewhat. For a start, he picked a bad time to tread the turf as if weighed down with lead in his boots. Instead of darting toward the ball and bestowing upon it a delicate touch into his path, he stationed himself on the back foot and waited for it to arrive, giving the impression of a man keen to weigh up in its entirety all available evidence before finally making his decision regarding next steps.

That first touch, by the time it finally arrived, was a poor one, really only registering that the ball was in existence, but offering little advance on this point. Stuck under his feet, Solanke was forced to give it two further dabs, in order to wind up for a shot, and by then – well, by then the game was up, really. Woolwich sorts were all over him like a rash, and with his path to goal crowded out by ne’er-do-wells our man attempted a most convoluted approach, trying to drag the ball back and all sorts, and the moment fizzled out as quickly as it had arrived.

Perhaps if the opportunity had arrived an hour later, Solanke might have been a bit more attuned to current affairs, what? The whole incident smacked of a chappie not quite up with the pace of the day, and still adjusting to his new surroundings.

A shame, because he generally didn’t lack for effort. I quite like the fact that he stands at 6 foot 2, and fills every inch of it with muscle. That looping header in the first half may have missed the target by a whisker, but that it was attempted at all – pedalling backwards, and under pressure – was a bit of an event, we having lacked a specimen who can produce that sort of enterprise since the other fellow took off to Germany.

Solanke fought the good fight alright, dropping deep and pressing and so on, but as in his previous appearance, against Leicester, just did not quite seem to fit smoothly into the groove. One would hope that that will follow with more appearances.

3. Oddly Impotent

A rummy old day, all told. The whole thing was perhaps two parts frustrating, and three parts peculiar. The pleasant pre-kickoff surprise at the attack-minded selection (Kulusevski in the midfield three instead of Sarr) was matched by a bright and perky opening ten minutes or so, in which a couple of half-chances were made inside the area, and a couple of dangerous crosses flashed across goal.

An hour and a half later, however, and there was a fair amount of chin-stroking and exasperated tutting, at the spectacle of a healthy dose of possession unmatched by too many notable chances. Credit, I suppose, to Woolwich, for a rather rudimentary but effective game-plan of defending in numbers and looking to nick something on the counter or from a set-piece, but it was pretty vexing to observe our heroes shift from left to right and back again, looking for any available nook by which to penetrate the other mob’s defence, but failing to find any and resorting once again to the L-t-R routine.

Better than Jose- or Conte-era stuff, lest we forget, whereby we’d have sat back ourselves all game, but the absence of cut and thrust grated, particularly after that opening ten or so, when it seemed that there were all sorts of whizzy ideas for how to get in on goal.

As the first half progressed there was a peculiar reluctance to utilise young Johnson on the right, and by the second half there seemed to be a slight difference of opinion as to whether the approach of choice was a slew of crosses from out wide or the quick-and-slick short passes through the middle.

One sympathises to an extent, as it was evidently a tricky old nut to crack, and for all the sullen faces and gloom on the way home I suspect that we’ll emerge from the current rut pretty swiftly – after all, but for some pretty wasteful finishing we’d have gone into today’s match with three wins from three. Today, however, was a notably different kettle of fish from previous games this season, as for all our possession (in the second half in particular) we barely created a chance, and one would hardly suggest that the place was riddled with urgency either.

So all most unsatisfactory, and the sight of old failings at set-pieces once again hardly lighten the mood, but I suspect that against less organised and capable opponents in the coming weeks, various of the wrongs will be righted again soon enough.