Ipswich 1-4 Spurs: Four Tottenham Talking Points

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1. The Midfield and That Opening Five Or So Minutes

A rummy old set-to, this one. Take the scoreline, for starters. Flattered our lot, no doubt – but then one might point out that there have been plenty of games this season in which we’ve given opposing mobs a bit of a battering, only to trudge off at the end credits with a decidedly underwhelming harvest.

One might also make the case that the scoreline was actually a triumph for the art of clinical finishing, arguably the most important aspect of the game. In this respect, our heroes have rarely been sharper.

Brennan Johnson may attract a fair amount of hand-wringing and naysaying for his all-round game, but as demonstrated in spadefuls yesterday he puts himself in the right position to score, time after time; while Kulusevski delivered a finish that became his signature move in the first months of his N17 career, but has been rarely sighted since.

However, the aspect of the game that indelibly inked itself over here was that ghastly opening five minutes or so. During that period Ipswich might realistically have scored thrice, if they’d finished with the sort of dead-eyed accuracy that our heroes were later to deploy. While the header that hit the woodwork from a set-piece was, I suppose, the sort of plot-twist that could occur at any point during a 90-minute binge, the fact that twice from open play they absolutely scythed through our midfield and defence does focus the mind rather.

(Interestingly, it was pointed out to me by my Spurs-supporting chum Ian that, having joined the action only after the opening five minutes or so had elapsed, he soaked up matters from a rather different perspective, finding our lot instead to have been largely dominant, bar a general wobbling of the apparatus at 2-1.)

While credit is due to our lot for riding the early storm – and their luck – and then acting with the decisive hand as soon as chances did present themselves, the circumstances of that opening spell linger uncomfortably, much like a bad taste in the mouth. The ease with which Ipswich danced around the flimsy swiping legs of Kulusevski, Bergvall and Bentancur troubles me deeply.

It happened again by the way, later in the half, in a move that came to precisely naught because Ipswich having bypassed our midfield then rather dull-headedly played the ball straight out of play, but the point remains. No matter the personnel, and frankly no matter the era, it’s far too easy for opponents to pick their way through our midfield and, set about sharpening their knives for a bash at our defence.

As it happens, Bentancur and Bergvall have rarely played better in our colours. More on Bergvall later, but Bentancur flitted about the place with the energy of a small child in a playground. He also had the good sense to read the room, as it were, judging well when to let matters unfold on their own and when to roll up his sleeves and wade in. His was an afternoon decorated with meaningful inputs into conversation – interceptions rather than tackles, but no less important for it. I still fancy he is a lot more useful as a Creator in possession, than as a Destroyer out of possession, but he did a useful job yesterday.

Nevertheless, even with both he and Bergvall playing as well as I’ve seen, the midfield was hardly a no access area restricted by high fences and barbed wire. As and when Ipswich wanted to wander through, they generally did so. While this was never more obvious than in the opening five or ten minutes, it still remained a running theme throughout.

2. Bergvall

As mentioned, Bergvall earned his beans yesterday, winning the coveted gong for being AANP’s Standout Performer and leaving no blade of grass untrod by his luminous boots.

Dancing away from opponents like a troublesome child stealing sweets from a shop in 1950s Brooklyn was the order of the day, as Bergvall gaily danced this way and that, to what I suspect was the growing irritation of the various Ipswich opponents, many of whom would have presumably shaken a fist at him and promised to bestow a good thrashing if they ever caught him.

But they never did, such was the twinkle-toed nature of his offering. In fact, at one point in the second half, he briefly morphed into Maradona, embarking on a dribble of the mazy variety, that very nearly led to a hat-trick for Johnson B.

Bergvall, like Bentancur, also peddled a solid line in well-timed nicking-of-the-ball-from-opponents’-feet, which was contributed usefully to the overall operation. It did not stop AANP grumbling that what we really needed in the centre was an aggressive ball-winner the very sight of whom would prompt opponents to gulp and think twice about venturing in that direction; but Bergvall made a decent fist of his defensive duties, given the tools at his disposal.

This rich praise being liberally scattered over the young chap might prompt a double-take from those of you who remember the AANP reaction to his first outings, on these very pages. If I recall correctly they were Europa affairs, and Bergvall’s most prominent contribution tended to be the capacity to be shoved firmly off ball and out of frame by the nearest opponent.

Not much meat on the Bergvall bones, was the damning AANP take, and if you had politely suggested to me that six months down the line this same stripling of a lad would be bossing midfield matters in the Premier League I may well have told you to go boil your head; and yet here we are.

3. Son

Our Esteemed Captain has come in for some jip from these parts in recent weeks (and I readily accept that the term “recent” is doing some heavy lifting in that sentence, the furrowed brow having been unleashed upon the fellow non-stop since the start of the season).

However, whether having benefited from a couple of midweek rests, or having been pitched against one of the Premier League’s less illustrious right-backs, Sonny got to enjoy himself again yesterday.

I would be deceiving my public if I climbed upon a soap-box and announced that he had returned to his eye-boggling best. That burst of pace upon which he rather built his reputation, and which would leave scorch marks from halfway line to penalty area, still isn’t really in evidence.

However, the buzzy approach, and dizzying stepovers, were back in evidence yesterday, and unfurled to most pleasing and useful effect. Son created both our opening two goals (drinks bought, by the way, for both Messrs Gray and Bentancur for the dreamy passes that released Son in these instances), applying stepovers, shoulder-dips and various other party tricks with the elan of a man who’d played exactly this role a few times before.

Aided by the welcome sight of a burly and restored Udogie charging about the place wherever the mood took him, our left flank caused Ipswich a succession of headaches, and by the time decisive action was taken at half-time to remedy things, by tossing their right-back to the scrapheap and shoving in some other johnnie, the damage was already done.

4. Tel

A couple of weeks ago, in the Cup game at Villa, the lilywhite world was treated, in one fleeting glimpse, to the best of young Monsieur Tel, when he briefly inhabited the ghost of Lineker and poached a finish that sat a long way up the difficulty scale. All contortions and awkward angles, he demonstrated that if a loose ball is flung into the area, he’s the sort of cheese who will dashed well worm his way to the front of the queue. AANP nodded an approving head.

Since then – and indeed, prior to then – those poachworthy opportunities have been at a premium. Which is to say, there haven’t been any at all. Instead, the poor chump has had to spend his afternoons and evenings being asked to reel off his best Dom Solanke impressions. Essentially, and rather unkindly, he’s being asked repeatedly and solely to collect the ball with back to goal and hold off burly defenders climbing all over his back, until an obliging teammate ambles into view.

Now AANP can call spades spades with the best of them, when the need arises. So it is that I suggest that Tel is not really a centre-forward in the Solanke mould. Not remotely in fact. Different species altogether.

And this is by no means a criticism of the young oeuf. AANP himself, after all, is a man of a handful of talents; but if, say, I were asked by the boss to try my hand at lion-taming, I suspect I’d be in a pickle. Onlookers with experience in the field would no doubt turn to one another with disapproving looks, and murmur, “Unconvincing. No lion-tamer, he.” It would hardly be my fault, never having dabbled, but one cannot ignore the evidence of the eyes.

And so it is with Tel. When clearing the ball up the middle third and asking him to perform a role for which neither Nature nor Nurture has particularly fitted him, he’ll put in the effort and work up a sweat, but ultimately will just end up on a heap on the floor, waving his arms in a bit of a huff as Ipswich players collect the ball and get on with their day.

All sorts of mitigating circumstances rain in from all angles here. The lad is new to the team; inexperienced; and perhaps most pertinently has yet to feature in a Tottenham side that really plays to his strengths. One suspects that if passes are rolled along the turf ahead of him and into space towards which he might charge, and we’ll see a different beast.

It is also extremely welcome simply to have in the ranks a bona fide striker with a few goals to his name, able to come in and cover for injuries, and ensure that we aren’t left scrabbling to square-peg Sonny into that lead role and so on.

Nevertheless, the contrast with that lad Delap on the other side, was pretty eye-catching. Delap made himself a nuisance from the opening toot, charging about the place like a bull in a china shop – and of those thoughtful bulls, who will not limit itself to disrupting the china but take a swipe at pretty much anything else in its eyeline. A physical presence for sure, but blessed also with a pretty graceful pair of size nines. If Levy and chums were to break the bank in order to bring him in as competition for Solanke, AANP would throw its full support behind such a move.

That, however, is for another day. The triumph yesterday was, as much as anything else, an indication of the benefits brought by having fit and healthy players and an imposing roster of reserves chomping at their respective bits on the bench.