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Spurs 1-2 Ipswich: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. Neither Good Nor Dreadful

AANP is one of those peculiar coves who is happiest when things are put in their proper place. I always like to put a label on a thing, if possible. Just find it makes life a bit simpler. And armed with that inside info you may well imagine me brooding away like nobody’s business as I trudged my way up the White Hart Lane station steps yesterday, because this performance seemed neither one thing nor another.

Our finest hour it most definitely was not. No doubt on that front. A home defeat to the team bottom of the pile will automatically be classified as a clanger, no matter how much one dresses it up. Three points lost in the wind. (I’m rather astonished to note, if anyone needed a dash more salt rubbed into the wound, that victory would somehow have sent us up to third over the international break.)

However, as I pored over the performance minute by minute, I was hardly the exasperated ball of frustration that one can often be in these instances. This was not one of those afternoons the majority of which our heroes spent rather gormlessly switching play from left to right and back again, ad infinitum, pausing only to scratch their heads and shrug their shoulders. Admittedly this was not a procession of clear-cut opportunities either, but our lot did work their way into the area on a fairly regular basis.

In the first half this tended to take the form of overly intricate little one-twos, which, let’s face it, are always a bit of an ask. Solanke would eye-of-a-needle it through to Kulusevski, who duly tried to e-o-a-n it straight back to him, and all the while Ipswich legs appeared in every available space, making the whole thing play out like one of those zombie shows one sees on the tellybox, in which the undead crowd around in ever-increasing numbers until there’s nowhere left to turn and one finds oneself in quite the pickle.

Even so, with a bit more of the sniper’s eye we might have had some winnings, with Sonny setting up Johnson for a straightforward chance in the opening minutes, Sonny himself having a ping after having taken the mazy route, and then Solanke’s turn and shot drawing a save, all in that first half. Not clear-cut stuff by any means, but I was at least heartened that we were finding routes to goal by various means.

The main issue, particularly in that first half, seemed to be that the final pass was inadvertently bisecting the relevant souls in lilywhite – which, depending on your point of view was rotten luck or careless distribution – but either way, it suggested that the problem was not any particular lack of imagination.

And similarly in the second half, while there was still an imbalance in the old perspiration-inspiration ratio, I thought our lot nevertheless at least looked interested. One got the sense that if you were to wander onto the pitch and tap one of them on the shoulder, they would have waved you away with some irritation, perhaps calling out as they raced off, “Not now Rupert, or Helga, or whatever your name is, I’m trying to dig out a goal from somewhere.”

The point I’m driving at is that while I’ve certainly seem more lip-smacking fare peddled at the shiny new stadium, this at least was not one of those numbers in which everyone looked thoroughly bored and uninterested. This was not Palace away.

2. Dragusin

After his midweek heroics the AANP eye was inextricably drawn towards Radu Dragusin’s every move yesterday, a morbid fascination seizing me. And when he opened his account by losing his bearings in the opening minute, mistiming a header and then seeming to forget where he was or what he was supposed to be doing, I clenched every muscle and withheld breath.

Fortunately, however, thereafter he gave evidence that those around him had had a quiet word in the ear, because of his atrocious attempts to dribble out from defence there was not a whiff. “Just give a simple pass, Radu, and keep your head down,” was evidently the instruction hammered home to him non-stop since Thursday night. In terms of playing out from the back, he did at least avoid any seismic catastrophe.

One might even suggest that his was a performance worthy of a third-choice centre-back. He loosely adopted the correct coordinates, and did not go to ground or hack at a limb or make any other species of appalling and unnecessary defensive howler.

I’m even happy to exonerate him for the second goal, a routine that many of his detractors might have seized upon and gleefully labelled Exhibit A. As far as I can see Dragusin adopted a sensible enough position to block a square pass, and was just unfortunate that Vicario shoved the ball at him from a yard away. Not much any sizeable Romanian can do about that sort of circumstance. (If anything, I chide Romero, for having pulled his usual party-trick of abandoning his post to charge 5 yards upfield and try to win a tackle, leaving a gap behind him into which Ipswich duly trotted.)

Dragusin, however, was far from blameless throughout. For the opening goal he took a leaf out of the Romero book and went wandering off to the left flank. One dishes out a generous dollop of understanding here, as this was the little mini-passage of play into which he’d been sucked, so it made some sense for him to trust his colleagues to cover behind him while he tried to tie down an end.

However, as Ipswich then readied a cross from their right, it was Dragusin’s responsibility to block off this route, and here his efforts rather fell off a cliff. Instead of charging at the man lining up the cross, his gigantic frame extending in all directions, he merely stood where he was and half-turned his body. ‘Perfunctory’ might be the term to describe his input. A token gesture at best. Certainly not the action of a man whose life depends upon preventing a cross.

And lest he think onlookers consider this the only blot on his escutcheon, he has another think coming, because when Ipswich twice came within a whisker of taking the lead in the early stages, on both occasions one could grab the nearest spotlight and swivel it in Dragusin’s direction. The save Vicario had to make inside the first minute was prompted by a Dragusin mistake up by halfway on the left; and a few minutes later when one of their bimbos looped a header against the bar from a corner, he did so having shuffled far too easily goal-side of Dragusin.

Individual defensive ability is hardly the forte of any of our back-four, so one cannot exactly lock him in a cell and throw away the key; but equally he has done little so far to suggest that in him we have stumbled upon a rock-steady reserve.

3. Porro

A curious little blighter young Porro, if ever I saw one. I banged a drum on these pages a few weeks back (after the Brighton match, if memory serves) about how our defenders seem to be more concerned with – and adept at – attacking, rather than defending. Yesterday, Porro set about his business as if determined to take every going opportunity to reinforce that particular point.

Of his attacking prowess the examples were plentiful and strong. Most notably, he won the corner from which we scored, with a little burst that was a decent cocktail of enterprise and skill. He received the ball from a throw, which admittedly was not much to write home about, but then nutmegged his man, accelerated away from him to emphasise the point and then sent in the sort of cross for which any half-decent striker yearns, all pace and curl.

This raid was duly headed behind for a corner, but Porro then continued his good work by delivering this into a cracking spot, on the corner of the six-yard box at the near post, and with enough pace and height for Bentancur simply to have to angle his neck in order to score.

Porro was similarly sprightly in other offensive raids, either in swinging in crosses, playing through-balls or on one occasion volleying with pinpoint accuracy from right to left, to switch play with an almighty diagonal. Nothing but fat ticks against his name in an attacking sense, then.

However, inevitably, at the back Porro gave every impression of being the young cad who skipped class on Defence Lesson Day. Every time Ipswich sought to sally forward they were well-advised to target our right, because if anyone were in the market for crosses you could bet a tidy sum that Porro would do little to prevent them. For Porro, it seemed sufficient to run alongside his opposing winger, and if a little additional window dressing were required, he might even be persuaded to extend an unthreatening leg. That, however, was clearly his limit. Run alongside and stick out a purely symbolic leg, and thereafter he could clock off, and assume the role of spectator with the best seat in the house.

Neither has it escaped AANP’s attention quite how many goals we concede from blighters left to their own devices in what one might term the Porro area of the six-yard box, when a cross comes in from the other side. Yesterday was a case in point, other examples this season abound.

Johnson can be hauled in at this juncture for a bit of a lashing, he failing to prevent Ipswich’s opener with a timid reluctance to engage that was the most quintessentially Spurs-like challenge imaginable; but Porro rarely seems to offer much value in those scenarios. Not for the first time yesterday, one sunk one’s head into one’s hands and yearned for defenders who can actually defend.

4. Werner

In closing, a brief word on Herr Werner, for a cameo of which I had not thought him capable. His performances, and specifically his one-on-one misses, so far this season, have rather forcefully created the impression that here is a left-winger not quite fit for purpose. Hear the name Timo Werner, and the Pavlovian reaction has been to groan.

I’m full of willing for the chap to succeed of course, and dutifully gave him the polite hand when he wobbled on with 20 or so left yesterday, but to say the heart leapt at the sight of him would be embellishing things somewhat.

Werner, however, seemed to approach matters yesterday like a man if not quite transformed then certainly pretty invigorated. It helped, I suppose, that he was not presented with a straightforward chance and an age in which to convert it. Instead, his afternoon primarily consisted of wing play on the left, and in this respect he was pretty impressive just about every time he received the ball. I was mightily bucked by the whole thing.

Specifically, he seemed capable of beating his man for pace every time the urge gripped him; and these successes were typically followed up by a selection of pretty impressive crosses into the six-yard sort of vicinity. Pedro Porro no doubt looked on admiringly.

Moreover, Werner even had the gumption to cut infield and unleash a solid shot or two. These in particular had me rubbing the eyes, but I suppose it just goes to show what one neat and tidy goal against Man City will do to a man. Just a shame that he leant back and skied his big opportunity near the end, after linking up with Sonny on the left, but, perhaps because the bar of expectation was so low, his seemed a surprisingly positive contribution.

Of course, a few good crosses from Timo Werner does little to soften the broader blow. Not for the first time this season our heroes have followed a mightily impressive win with a pretty exasperating loss, the sum of which is a fair old amount of head-scratching, punctuated by some wistful looks at the league table.

AANP is a big fan of the notion that goal difference is a handy indicator of how a team plays, and by that metric our attacking, in general, is pretty hot stuff once we’re up and running. The simplicity with which we ship in goals at the other end, however, will have a frown etched over the dial for the coming weeks, make no mistake.

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9 replies on “Spurs 1-2 Ipswich: Four Tottenham Talking Points”

Daniel Levy may be many things–a brilliant architect and a protean marketer and manager–but as a club owner he’s capable of delivering only one product: a pub team, best viewed horizontally. You made the mistake of viewing the Ipswich match vertically, old bean, failing to realize that Ange is now in Nuno territory.

Re the Nuno territory thing: on points maybe (haven’t checked, no intention of checking), but the difference in performances is night and day.

Dead even, more or less. Naturally, I have no clear memory of the game but vis a vis this night and day scenario of which you speak, it did seem a bit nightmarish to me.

TBH I thought we put in a good shift but, like many “lesser” teams before, Ipswich did their research and knew exactly how to roll us over. We don’t have a plan B for these types of games. At times I was praying for the ball to get booted up the pitch but we just kept trying to play around our own penalty area and Ipswich were well prepared for that. If it’s any consolation we’ll probably beat Man City.

By no plan b you mean a totally inability to absorb any kind of pressure or perform basic defensive duties?

Yes, that Johnson ‘challenge’ for their forst goal was pretty pathetic. I also detected a slightly timid freeze on his part up front when the cross came over that the defenders failed to clear, but maybe I’m being a bit harsh on him there. Son also pulled out of a challenge on the edge of our own area that lead to danger.

Played Leicester, Palace and Ipswich. All close-to-bottom clubs.

ONE POINT.

This is the stuff of relegation battles. The excuses are evaporating faster than poor Maddison’s confidence.

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