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?