Month: March 2026

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Spurs match reports

Liverpool 1-1 Spurs: Five Tottenham Talking Points

1. Better

AANP opted to mute the commentary on this one. Charming, well-informed and objective though Jamie Carragher undoubtedly always is, I have long held a preference to gargle with broken glass than listen to his input for an uninterrupted 90. He’ll understand in time.

Thusly did it transpire that I watched this afternoon’s number with nothing more than the humming and whirring of the AANP Towers central heating for audio accompaniment, and frankly it’s the restorative sort of practice I’d recommend. Irrespective of whichever voice is behind the mic (and credit where due, in my fledgling commentary career The Drury has been most amiable towards me), watching without sound provides an intriguing new perspective on things.

Principally, I’ve no idea what the media narrative was for this one. With that in mind, as the game inched towards what seemed a 1-0 defeat, I found myself reflecting that I hadn’t expected a point, but had at least hoped for a spot of fight, don’t you know? And in that respect, this seemed a marked improvement on just about anything our heroes have peddled so far this year. Pausing to check that it is indeed March, and letting out a gentle sigh, the conclusion drawn is that whereas in previous weeks I simply saw zero evidence that we would win again this season – or, perhaps, ever – today at least suggested that there might be a win or two lurking in there somewhere.

Starting at the beginning, I’m not sure whether Our Glorious Leader noted – presumably with jaw on the floor in astonishment – that he had a bevvy of fit strikers at his disposal, and therefore opted for a 4-4-2, or whether he simply threw all his formation ideas into a sack, rummaged around and pulled one out, but that’s how we started.

Now my cheeks turn a damning shade of crimson as I admit that in recent weeks I’ve wondered if formations even matter, the gist being that no setup in the world could bring about improvement amongst our troops. And perhaps even today the formation had little to do with our gentle upturn. However, for whatever reason, it seemed to work a little better than in recent weeks (as not for the first time in 2026, the phrase “Low bar” politely clears its throat, acknowledges all present, and quietly slips back into the shadows).

To conceded just the single goal already represents progress, and beyond that there were not many clear-cut chances I can remember the other lot unpicking (at least not until the game became a little stretched in the latter stages, as we committed bodies forward and were caught on the counter).

And while I’m not sure that a 4-4-2 formation can take any credit for our heroes rolling up the sleeves and committing their souls to the gods every time a 50-50 hove into the view, as the game wore on our lot upped the tenacity notch by notch.

2. Danso and Dragusin

It made a rather pleasant change, frankly, to witness a pair of Tottenham centre-backs simply mooch about doing what ordinary, sound-minded centre-backs do these days.

There were no attempts to play extravagant through-balls; nor any 50-yard dribbles; nor were there any ill-advised charges into enemy territory to aim a thigh-high clobbering at an opponent. Dragusin and Danso simply perambulated the centre of defence, and blocked, tackled and headed as appropriate. As remarked above, Liverpool went home with precious few tales of clear-cut chances to relate. In fact, I fancy that we created more, and better, chances than they did.

Dragusin almost undid it all by indulging in an ill-timed daydream towards the end. Having just about taken charge of a situation inside his own area, rather than blasting the ball off into the atmosphere, or at least gambling on a pass back to Vicario, he seemed to forget he was playing football and drifted off to a different period of his life. Not the smartest option with Mo Salah lurking about 6 inches behind him, and there was a mighty sharp intake of AANP breath as Salah got his shot away; but that aside Messrs D. and D. seemed possessed of all the right sort of ideas.

3. Souza

That Souza nib deserves the subtlest tip of the hat. For a start, being only 17 years old, he’s probably never heard of a 4-4-2, so that would have boggled his mind. Progressive thinking, he no doubt muttered to himself, as the magnets were placed on the tactics board.

On top of which, by virtue of everyone else in N17 wandering around with arms in slings and feet in bandages, this young squirt, who presumably has been diligently left-backing his way through life since he was in nappies, was asked to make the best of life as a right midfielder.

Entertainingly, he reacted to the request by scurrying off to the left flank just about every time we advanced over halfway. Fans of symmetry would presumably have been fainting in the galleries as we ended up in a several-on-the-left-and-none-on-the-right format on multiple occasions. However, to his credit young Master S. displayed a sound understanding of the intricacies involved in flying up the left flank, and but for an inch or two in either direction he might have been involved in a goal before half-time.

He and Pedro Porro were up against a tricky little blighter in Liverpool red, and frankly neither emerged from those particular sit-downs with flying colours, but Souza did at least have the good grace to pump his defensive pistons as required. All told, his is a jib I shall hang in the gallery entitled “Cuts Of Which I Like”.

4. Tel

Tel, in common with the entire collective come to think of it (at one point Sarr turned into Maradona, dash it), was one who grew into the game considerably.

In the first half, The Tel Saga was one of a willing young bean whose repeated attempts to scamper past his man met with a constant stream of failure. However, the willing he showed did not go unnoticed, and looked a dashed sight better than the slumped shoulders and accusatory glares of his chums in recent weeks. Tel, to cut a long story short, brimmed full of willing in that first half.

In the second half, he was switched to the right, presumably to accommodate the left feet of Souza and then Xavi. While I assumed that being stationed in such an easterly post would negate the fellow’s prime weapons, it turned out that his juices were flowing to the extent that concepts such as ‘left’ and ‘right’ were mere detail. Instead, the thrust of the Tel approach by this point was to make himself a nuisance to whomever approached him clad in red.

Put another way, Tel seemed in that second half to have begun adding a spot of end-product to his first half willing. In fact, such was his liking for it all that when his number went up with about 15 to go, I rather drooped with disappointment. “Can’t see what Kolo Muani will do that will improve upon Tel’s performance”, was the gist of my complaint, neatly showing how much I know about it all.

5. Richarlison

As possibly the only member of the cast who actually has any experience of a relegation scrap, I suppose one should expect Richarlison to be prominent in games like this.

Now, as has been well documented, the chap’s love of a scrap is as great as his technical ability is small, and it was all on display today. Like Tel and most others, Richarlison grew and grew into the game, to the extent that he merited his own theme music and highlights show by the time he was hooked at the end.

Evidently tasked with filling the role of “Nuisance”, he set about things with his usual gusto, popping up multiple times in the Liverpool area to apply the finishing touch to our best moves. All errant finishing touches, but finishing touches nevertheless. And here, I suppose, lies the great conundrum of Richarlison, for he simply is not a great footballer, in the technical sense.

Take his goal, as a prime example. It was a pretty straightforward chance. Meat and drink to your standard, 6-out-of-10 striker. A square pass along the floor, unmarked from 6 yards out – there’s not too much additional detail needed in margins for that sort of opportunity. And yet Richarlison managed to mis-hit with his principal foot, thereby bashing it into his standing foot, in a technique one might describe as ‘Kinsky-esque’.

Anyway, it did the trick, mercifully. A mis-hit it might have been, but it had enough dingo on it to bobble its way past the ‘keeper, and it was a rich reward for the young bimbo for fighting the good fight throughout.

As an aside, there is probably an entire thesis to be written on Vicario; at least a sizeable chapter of which would focus on his performance today; several pages of which would zoom in on his flap-handed nonsense from the free-kick; but these good moods come around so rarely when watching our lot these days that I’ll give it a pass. By no means are we out of the woods yet, but for the first time in aeons I can at least see a green shoot of recovery. One simply hopes that our lot don’t take a flamethrower to it next time out, what?

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Spurs match reports

Athletic Madrid 5-2 Spurs: Three Tottenham Talking Points

1. The Kinsky Episode

‘All action, no plot’ barely covers it, which is saying something. After the succession of fresh disasters that were Newcastle, and then Woolwich, and then Fulham, and then Palace, each somehow a lower ebb than the previous one, even the finest creative minds in the land would have struggled to magic up some new depths for our lot to plumb.

However, if four decades of disbelieving shakes of the head and rubs of the eyes have taught me anything it’s that Tottenham Hotspur’s capacity for disaster should never be under-estimated. Accordingly, just when it seemed the barmiest, most bonkers plot-lines had been exhausted, we somehow dredged up this nonsense with Kinsky, resulting in the substitution of a goalkeeper after 16 minutes having already shipped three goals. Only at Spurs, what?

First up, a few brutal home truths. Of course, supporting Spurs is not for the faint-hearted anyway, but nevertheless, it’s probably best at the point to insert one of those parental warnings that one sometimes sees paraded before a particularly edgy announcement.

And with that in mind, 3-0 down after 15 minutes is pretty first-rate bilge in anyone’s books. No PR company in the world can shove a positive spin on that and expect it to land without a few raised eyebrows about the place. Moreover, it creates a rather awkward narrative for whichever poor lemon happened to be between the sticks at the time. Concession of three of the finest in the opening quarter of an hour is not the bullet point anyone wants on their CV.

However, once this latest debacle had been digested, and on observing poor old Kinsky being yanked into an early departure, AANP donned the monocle and gave the whole thing a spot of scrutiny.

The first goal, it seemed to me, came about because Kinsky lost his footing. Not a great look, of course; but equally, not an event brought about by a particular level of ineptitude. To add a bit of meat to this argument, I direct you towards the second goal, for which VDV similarly lost his footing. Again, one no doubt turns the air blue at witnessing it, but it hardly goes down as a mistake on the chap’s part. Nobody suggested removing the chap from the premises.

Of course, the third goal was entirely on Kinsky, as he became all left feet and somehow tackled himself, in what will go down as one of the great adverts for the fate that will befall a man who takes his eye off the ball at the crucial juncture.

Nevertheless, by my count, that amounts to one mistake. An absolute rip-snorter of a mistake it was, granted; and one that compounded already farcical matters, no doubt; but only the one mistake nevertheless. Kinsky slipped; and then VDV slipped; and then Kinsky made a bona fide clanger – but I don’t particularly see how that one mistake merited a substitution of the chap.

At best it seemed an odd managerial decision, and it worst it lay somewhere between rash and petulant. Having brought the young whelp into the XI – and without uttering a word of explanation why, dash it – the decision to hook him was tactically rather rummy. Whether Tudor was admitting not to know the quality of his players, or admitting that he made a gamble and decided after just 15 minutes that it had failed, or was simply over-reacting, he doesn’t seem to emerge particularly well from this latest lilywhite farce.

By the by, I heard one of the bods on the tellybox burble about the substitution being disrespectful. This AANP does not give too many hoots about. Substitutions should not be paused for fear of hurting the feelings of the squadron, dash it. Take the hit and get on with life is just about the sum of the AANP take on that, and if they still feel disrespected then they count every last pound coin in their enormous salary envelope for distraction.

But as tactical, managerial moves go, I thought Tudor worked himself into a jolly squiffy corner with that substitution.

2. Porro

A little leftfield perhaps, on a night when there were all manner of larger problems over which to stew, but far more than the glut of early goals pinging in from all angles, the issue that grated to the core over here was the ongoing nonsense from Pedro Porro.

Yes, yes, the chap scored one and created another – and credit where due, he executed both with a dash of quality.

But Porro is first and foremost a defender, and just once I would like to head back to base with praise for his defensive contributions falling from my lips. Instead, we were treated to the usual display of Porro’s defensives negligence. Wing-back or not, his repeated insistence on shrugging off his defensive duties, and leaving the Madrid forward to enjoy the freedom of the left wing was maddening.

The biscuit was then well and truly taken by that astonishing sputtering of the Porro motor en route to the Madrid fifth, when he entered into a solid foot-race with Alvarez from halfway, gradually ran out of steam and then completely gave up altogether, dash it all. He simply abandoned the chase! It was left to Spence to motor along from a completely different postcode to try to add some respectability to the scene, but by golly, to see an international footballer puff and wheeze his way across the turf as if treading quicksand, was enough to drive one to distraction.

I noted too, that as soon as Alvarez had deposited the thing in the net, Porro immediately started devoting his energies to spinning around and waving his arms at anyone who caught his eye, as if to suggest that the fault for all this lay elsewhere. Honestly, if I’d been anywhere near the blighter I’d have wrung his neck and happily taken a stretch in a Madrid cell for the privilege.

And all this followed similar nonsense against Palace, when he again gave up the ghost when supposedly chasing down a forward before berating Vicario after the concession of one of the goals. There are a few rotten eggs about the place, on and off the pitch, but Porro cheeses me off no end.

3. What Might Have Been

As an afterthought, another irritation about the whole bally spectacle was that once the initial three-goal lead had been gifted to the other lot, our heroes actually plugged away with an element of decency for the remainder.

The obvious caveat here is that having given us a thrashing inside 15 minutes, the Atletic players were clearly laughing their heads off. One can listen to all the post-match interviews in the world about doing a professional job and whatnot, but AANP knows a team taking its foot off the gas when it sees one, and last night’s tormentors were a doing exactly that.

Nevertheless, I was actually taken aback by quite how many half-decent opportunities our heroes carved out. In addition to a couple of goals, we hit a post and had a pretty straightforward point-blank header saved, in addition to one or two other vaguely presentable opportunities. As ever, the bar is low, but this was a damned sight better haul than we’ve been used to in recent months.

It makes the opening 15-minute car-crash all the more galling. No knowing how things might have turned out if our lot could just have been normal for the opening stretch, and we might well have been hammered even without the slips and slides at the back. But having made a fist of things over the remaining 75 minutes, it is a wistful AANP who wonders “What if?” on this occasion.

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 1-3 Palace: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. Actually Less Bad Than Most Other Weeks

AANP took a deepish breath and drained a snooterful before settling down to pen this one, because last night struck me as a bit of a muddle.

The headline, of course, is the ongoing circling of the drain that leads down to the Championship, with barely anyone involved with the club trying to prevent this. And if one were to skim over the grizzly facts of last night, they might swiftly conclude that it fits the ongoing narrative – a red card, three goals conceded before half-time, a home defeat. “Spineless they were on Sunday at Fulham,” might be the murmured conclusion, “spineless they will continue to be next time out.”

But I actually thought that until the grey matter between the Van de Ven ears suddenly melted, our lot were making a vaguely presentable fist of things. Now the key here is probably to establish context. Whereas a couple of years ago a “vaguely presentable fist of things” would have involved monopolising possession but only winning by one, for the current vintage it broadly means not getting hammered.

And following the usual beginning to proceedings in which each of our heroes treated the ball as if it might suddenly explode in their faces, and forlornly chased Palace around our own half, I’ll be dashed if we didn’t actually start to edge into their half of the pitch.

Young Tel, rather charmingly still surging on the adrenaline of his cameo on Sunday, actually instigated the change in mood, by deciding, reasonably enough, to get his head down and dribble straight through the massed Palace ranks. This being Spurs it came to naught, but it did at least cause a bit of a ripple amongst his scattered chums, who suddenly seemed struck by the realisation that they could wander into the Palace half without bursting into flames.

One disallowed Palace goal later and our lot even had a lead, which is not something I remember saying for a few months now. And at that point, while one could hardly say that a sunny optimism descended on AANP Towers, I did at least get the sense that our heroes were, in laboured fashion, stumbling their way around a corner.

Then came the VDV moment, and somehow within the blink of an eye we had shipped three, which even for our lot took some doing, but there we go and here we are.

Again, at the start of the second half, while it is easy to bat it away within the wider narrative of doom and gloom, there was an unusual degree of punch about the lilywhite corp. Even though down to ten, trailing by two goals and in the midst of a 12-game freefall, our heroes seemed oddly possessed of the notion that a goal or two might shake things up. Credit where due, and while Palace admittedly seemed to observe this with curiosity rather than concern, I was all for it, if only because it punctuated the torture.

Anyway, that fizzled out within twenty minutes or so, and the remainder was spent resuming the gentle sleepwalk towards relegation, but the point is that as these soul-destroying, incessant defeats go, this was actually amongst the less abject.

2. Alas, Van de Ven

Of course, it’s no good bleating that if such and such hadn’t happened then everything would have turned out tickety-boo. Instead of a cheeful jig up the High Road, it was the usual tortuous nonsense. This sinking into oblivion is, of course, very much a collective effort, but last night at least one could probably point an accusing finger at VDV.

I suppose one can imagine a title-chasing team having that same incident scrutinised and then waved away by the VAR intelligentsia, but nobody of sound mind is quibbling with the call.

One probably ought not to be too harsh on young Master Van de Ven, a chap who has managed to accumulate an enormous amount of credit here at N17, for deeds at both ends. Nevertheless, it was a stinker of a moment on his part, from its genesis in which he gummed up his clearance, to the dubious realisation that he was stationed at the wrong coordinates to go about his duties, to the entirely unsubtle wrenching of the Sarr upper limb.

He may, perhaps, have reasoned that if he began the arm-yanking outside the area then nothing more sinister than a direct free-kick would accrue; on the other hand, he may not have done. Either way, he forgot to let go, and by the time the protagonists had collapsed in their heap, the whole thing was reminiscent of a toddler being caught with their hand in the jar and chocolate smears around the face.

On top of conceding the penalty and really dropping last night’s operation into the woodchipper, the daft chestnut has also absented himself for presumably the next three outings, which will hardly assist Mission: For Goodness’ Sake.

3. Archie Gray

AANP has been pretty hesitant to sing the praises of young Master Gray so far this season. Last season I was most impressed by his ability to adapt to life as a centre-back, not least because he seemed to recognise that since his paper-like frame would not serve much purpose in physical combat he would be better off dining on interceptions and blocks.

This season, however, when asked to operate elsewhere, my overriding impression has been of a boy being trampled underfoot in a man’s world. Not his fault, of course. The young pipsqueak ought not to be near the first team at this stage. Five minutes here and fifteen minutes there, from the bench, would be a vastly more appropriate way to dripfeed him his Premier League education.

Instead we’ve been treated to the sight of him being shoved out of the way by Gyokeres a couple of weeks back, which struck me as summing up the current state of his career.

Last night, however, while his spindly appearance remained very much part of his makeup, young Gray bobbed and weaved about the place like a chappie willing to fight tooth and nail for the thing, and as such he earned himself a free shot or two at this particular bar.

His work to create the Solanke goal in particular was worth a pretty rousing ovation, not least because it seemed to involve defiance of the very laws of physics. Being hounded like nobody’s business by no fewer than two Palace rotters, and finding his only route was that towards the corner flag, I don’t mind admitting that I’d allowed the eyes to glaze over in expectation of matters gently extinguishing into a goal-kick.

I therefore cannot advise on what specific sorcery he used, but by some means or other young Gray somehow left both Palace bounders in his wake, just about kept the ball in play and even had the presence of mind to cherry-on-the-cake his work by laying it on a plate for Solanke. It was as startling a piece of nift as it was out of keeping with everything that has preceded it this calendar year.

Add that to his work on Sunday in creating Richarlison’s goal, and frankly AANP has found himself having to pen a letter of apology for all the criticism I’ve lobbed his way this season. Things might have been better yet, had one of his second half forays into the Palace area brought a richer harvest than a mere blocked shot. In general, young Gray seemed the most likely to prompt the unlikely comeback, so full marks to the young bean.  

4. Relegation, Dash It

So while the other mobs around us occasionally pick up a point hither or thither, one rather struggles to see quite how our lot will do likewise. Admittedly last night, until the red card, we were better than in recent weeks – a low bar and so on, but certainly not quite as bad – but even so, we’ve reached rather awkward territory. Relegation now seems inevitable.

Which would be bad enough, but given our season thus far has been characterized by a toothless, spineless and brainless slant, I don’t give our lot much hope of coming back up any time soon either. When thinking of relegation fodder, one generally closes the eyes and imagines a bunch who gamely battle away each week, but simply lack the quality. The concern amongst our lot is the complete absence of battling. I don’t give these poor lambs too much hope in the Championship.

Cursed by having been assembled by around half a dozen managers each peddling distinct philosophies, ours is a squad with no particular character, and a little too heavy on fairly average sorts who presumably were lured to N17 by the number of zeros on the pay-slip rather than any affinity to Bruce Castle Park and the surrounding environs. On top of which, none of them have been their particularly long, so can hardly be expected to have any genuine affinity for the club. One has yet to see them fight for the badge this season, so I do not count on it in 26/7.  

All rather ominous, what?

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Spurs match reports

Fulham 1-2 Spurs: Three Tottenham Talking Points

1. The New Manager Slump

Just to prove that it’s not all whiskey-odoured spillages and cantankerous grumblings from the armchair, AANP had the jolly dubious ‘pleasure’ – a term not so much being misused in this sentence as straightforwardly butchered – of commentating on the latest debacle of the Good Ship Hotspur this afternoon, live and from a near-enough front row seat at Craven Cottage. Couldn’t have buried my head in my hands if I’d wanted to.

Needless to say, this being 2026 and all, our lot stank the place out for nigh-on the majority. Whiffling a goal out of thin air on the hour mark at least lent an air of respectability in the record books I suppose, and as is their wont our heroes will probably pat themselves on the back for applying a spot of added-time pressure, creating the illusion of a close-run thing.

Don’t be fooled, however. At half-time, a bunch of stats were thrust in my face, providing a bit of the old ammo for listeners, including the frankly astonishing record that at that point we’d had more shots on goal than the other lot.

Be that as it may (and closer inspection revealed that this included those speculative jobs from 30 yards that were charged down immediately upon leaving the lilywhite boot, without ever getting anywhere near the oppo goal), our lot were a rotten old mess. A sprinkling of Too-Little-Too-Late back and forthing around their area at the death hardly changes that.

None of which is particularly surprising, as we’ve watched this nonsense for nigh on two seasons without interruption now, but the concern here is that this Episode 2 of the Tudor era, and, well… not to be indelicate, but isn’t something supposed to happen at this point? ‘New Manager Bounce’ and all that hokum? Ought it not to have kicked in about now? Or, as my Spurs-supporting chum Dave so pithily put it, are we the only club in history who bring in a new manager and immediately become worse?

I suppose an optimist might argue that we are no worse, simply at the same level; but when Vicario, supposedly one of the few leaders of this inept pack, took aim and blasted a free kick from halfway straight out for a goal kick at the other end of the pitch, the words did slightly stick in my throat rather than spilling freely into the microphone. If nothing else, I suppose, we have ourselves a red-hot favourite in the race to be the clip that sums up the current management reign.

Returning to the New Manager Bounce, I scratch the old loaf a bit because one simply expects a reaction to the new chappie. Admittedly this Tudor fellow has been dealt a pretty duff hand in terms of personnel, and injuries, and so on. And as for formations, there are only so many positions into which diehard 6 out of 10ers like Dragusin and Gallagher can be shunted.

But I had expected a dash more purpose and vim about our play, a general sense of bullishness and enthusiasm. We might not necessarily have dizzied Fulham with an array of scorching one-touch passes, but I had rather hoped that we might simply overwhelm them with a relentless energy bordering on the violent.

Instead, there seemed to be a lot of the usual mediocre fluff that has been shoved down our gullets for the last year or so. Kolo Muani flinging up his hands, and Porro dedicating energies to writhing on the ground. Dragusin blooting the ball into no man’s land and Gallagher scurrying this way and that like an ownerless wind-up toy. One almost wonders if Tudor’s arrival actually has inspired the troops after all.

Sitting in on the press conference afterwards for an earwig, I got the impression that Tudor is the sort of soul whose default setting is to stomp moodily about any room in which he finds himself. He barked a fair bit about the VAR shout for the first goal (in his defence, in answer to a question); glared around as if trying to decide at whom to throw a chair; and ultimately resorted to answers of the curt variety before rising to his feet and stomping off again. I suppose one might paint him as the sort of character to strike the fear of God into some of the more nervous squad members, but frankly an inspirational sort of chump he did not seem.  

2. Sliver Linings. Well, Not Really, But The Least Dreadful Performances

Young Monsieur Tel bounded around like a garçon with a point to prove after his arrival, so that was nice. On one or two occasions, for a glorious couple of seconds, he looked like he might be about to Ginola his way in and out of the entire Fulham defence. It didn’t quite work, but even on a good day it’s rather cheering to see a fellow put his head down and slalom through opposition defence, so with so little else to raise the spirits his was a welcome contribution.

Our goal was a bit of a curio, by virtue of being entirely out of keeping with what had gone on in the preceding hour or so. For our heroes actually to open up the Fulham defence was a bit of an event, so well done to Messrs Tel and Gray for having the bright idea.

I also send a shrug of acknowledgement the way of Richarlison, for having the good sense to direct his free header into the net, before, naturally, picking up another of those Richarlison yellow cards that we can file under ‘Ludicrous and Unnecessary’.

It’s hardly a national secret that AANP is no huge fan of the chap, he being more likely to trip over his own feet and then start a fight with his shadow than actually produce moments of Brazilian magic in the lilywhite of Spurs. However, this afternoon, once introduced, he prowled and bumped and buffeted his way through proceedings, seemingly adopting the view that if he could not best Fulham with flair he would instead start fights of both the subtle and unsubtle varieties. I was glad to see someone in lilywhite (or, rather, natty black) care quite so much.

And I think that’s about as far as the praise extends today. The rest of them can pretty much go and boil their heads.

3. The VAR Shout

I’m rather reluctant to give this airtime, because, as last week, doing so creates the utterly false impression that if the decision had gone our way then the outcome might have been different. I think nothing of the sort. Our lot stank the place out inf the first half, and VAR call or no VAR call, we were good value for a 2-0 half-time deficit. Immediately prior to our goal, Smith-Rowe ought really to have dinked the game to bed. This was a well-earned defeat.

Nevertheless, one does rather wave the arms in frustration in seeing a replica of last week’s Kolo Muani shove go unpunished when executed against us this week. No doubt someone or other with a flair for these things will adjust their spectacles, bury their head in the minutiae of the game and insist something about on-field decisions that means that actually, everything was carried out to a ‘t’. But from the AANP vantage point it was a pretty rummy turn of events, what with one week’s two-handed push to the back receiving the finger-wag, and another week’s two-handed p. being gaily waved away.

Barely worth arguing about, however; we lost this one by virtue of being second-best rather than because of a refereeing call.