Spurs 2-0 Dortmund: Five Tottenham Talking Points

1. What The Devil Just Happened?

Spurs could be accused of many things – and goodness knows so far this season there have been all manner of unrepeatables from this particular quarter – but I certainly did not expect to sit here today scratching the head and digesting a rip-snorter of a performance (or half a performance, I suppose).

But there it was, for all the world to see. The defensive bods pottered about with a collective, calm reassurance of which few would have though them capable; and further north just about every cast member tore about the place with gusto, fully getting into the spirit of things with a whole range of slick passes, intelligent runs and, when occasion demanded, quick-footed trickery. If you rubbed your eyes, and gazed around in wonder, and ultimately poured yourself a dram because how else to react to such unexpected revelry, then you weren’t alone.

So a tip of the hat, no doubt – but towards whom, exactly? Well the players were marvellous, in that first half, so they can have all the backslaps going. Absolute blighters like Pedro Porro, who have studiously been slamming their crosses anywhere but the appropriate spot, suddenly started delivering the goods like billy-o. With every one of the ten outfield mob hitting their own respective heights (alas, my only first half memory of Vicario was his panicked little tap-dance inside his own area), the net result was that a pretty bricks-and-mortar Dortmund outfit was absolutely blown away by the shock and awe of it all.

2. Our Glorious Leader

The question I toss this way and that in my mind, therefore, regards the extent to which rose petals can be strewn in the direction of our resident Commander-in-Chief. Poor old T. Frank Esq. comes across as one of the nicest men around, which would please his parents no doubt, but in the field of Overseeing Affairs at the Great Madhouse of N17 he has to date been pretty seriously wanting, delivering on that early promise that we would definitely lose matches, and not much beyond that.

As such I’ve been scouring last night’s performance (or, more accurately, desperately trying to recall the various constituent parts) for traces of the Frank DNA.

For a start there was what looked suspiciously like a switch to three at the back, with Udogie surreptitiously tucking in alongside the more bona fide centre-back sorts, and Djed Spence running riot up the left flank, the moniker “Wing-Back” etched all over him.

And atop the tree, a spot of gravitas was added by the sight of half-man, half-machine Dominic Solanke bludgeoning aside those in front of him.

Whether or not Herre Frank can take credit for these tactical masterstrokes is subject to red-hot debate. The sight of a substitutes’ bench rammed choc-full of chappies plucked from the playground of the nearest secondary school gave a spot of hard evidence to the injury crisis about the place. As such, a lot of the decision-making conundrum was presumably removed from the Frank loaf. One might argue that as the rules stipulated he had to field eleven, and he had at his disposal only twelve recognised protagonists, the selection process rather took care of itself.

Similarly, whole dissertations could be penned on the extent to which Djed Spence’s left-wing gallops, or the immaculately timed one-two between Odobert and Porro for our second, were born of direct instruction from on high.

The official AANP verdict is titled ‘This is Not Frank’s Masterpiece Yet, Sonny Jimbo’, followed by the explanatory sub-heading, ‘One Swallow Doth Not a Summer Make’. And when a fellow sums up his thinking as well as that, I think he’s entitled to a quiet smile and a congratulatory splash of liquid gold; but lest there still be any confusion, I’ll add that I’d want to see a bit more evidence of a turnaround than one single half of top-notch football, especially as the mentality became oddly muted in the second half.

3. Spence

Depending on whose opinion you drink in, last night’s stand-out performer could have been Xavi Simons or could have been Pedro Porro, but the AANP eye was undoubtedly caught by Djed Spence and has numerous sashays down the left.

If you wear boots of different colours, and meet with triumph and disaster with the same languid shrug of the shoulders, you dashed well need to churn out left-wingery of the highest order, and Spence duly unveiled some of his finest work yet. It may be that detailed analysis reveals that the diverting runs of supporting cast members either side of him were crucial in creating space for him – but in real-time I allowed myself the pleasure of simply sitting back and being entertained, and in this respect the Spence cup overflowed splendidly.

Some of the more over-eager and enjoyment-starved amongst our number wasted little time in comparing Spence’s little left-wing recital to that of Gareth Bale a decade or so back, and while we can probably all be forgiven for a little giddiness of the head in reaction to last night,  it was nevertheless a treat to witness one of our number causing havoc in opposition ranks seemingly at will.

Whether or not Spence gets to peddle his wares again from that particular station remains to be seen (and similarly, a sliver of intrigue has been added to our weekend engagement at Burnley, to see whether the tweaked formation is cleaned, pressed and re-used), but either way, and intriguing string appears to have been added to the Spence bow.

4. Solanke

I mentioned above that Solanke gave the Dortmund defence a bit of a buffeting, and personally I was all for it. Richarlison may be our top-scorer, and Kolo Muani’s star continues to burn brighter than it probably should at AANP Towers due to that fabulous brace against PSG, but Solanke is the man who tugs at AANP’s attacking heartstrings.

When Solanke leads the press, he gives the impression of doing so with meaning. I watch him hare off towards whichever centre-back is in possession and am struck by the thought that here strides a man fully invested in his task. On top of which, on a more practical level, any defender possessed of sound mind, on seeing 6 feet and 15 stone of pure Solanke come hurtling towards him, will presumably know what’s good for him and ship out the ball elsewhere pronto.

I’ve heard it said by the sages who’ve been around a bit that the only thing better than a good manager is a lucky manager, and if that pearl of wisdom is roughly copy-pasted towards a striker one can applaud Solanke for finding a way to deposit the ball into the net last night.

Well might he have chortled in the aftermath, for it was a manoeuvre that displayed all the poise and grace of a newborn foal with a deep suspicion of its own limbs. Nevertheless, I have seen enough great strikers in lilywhite to appreciate that if one simply arrives at the appropriate coordinates and at the appointed hour, then much of the battle is already won. Who knows, with Solanke at the apex, perhaps Thomas Frank’s cross-dependent approach might have some mileage in it yet.

5. Danso

And before signing off, a gentle word of commendation for young Master Danso, who quietly slotted into defence, did everything asked of him with all the unfussy assurance of a seasoned regular, and will presumably slot back out again at the weekend.

It was the sort of performance that might easily have gone entirely unnoticed, particularly in the first half, when all the excitement was focused on matters 30 or 40 yards up the pitch.

But if Dortmund started to gain ideas above their station, and give an exploratory poke at our half of the pitch, Danso was happy to give a polite cough and step in to put an end to any dissent. He might not necessarily be blessed with VDV’s pace or Romero’s lust for high-speed collisions, but as first reserve centre-backs go, the chap is starting to win me over.

As mentioned at the outset, a collective performance like that might well prompt a whole range of fresh questions about the immediate future at N17 – but perhaps it is best for now simply to enjoy the good times while they last.

RIP AANP Senior – first-hand witness of the Double-winners, Jimmy Greaves fanboy and lifelong lilywhite.