Author: AANP

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Spurs match reports

Coventry 1-2 Spurs: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. Team Selection

I’ve always thought that Big Ange and I got on rather well. Admittedly we’ve never actually met, but skirting past that rather moot point I’ve always backed the man, and just sort of assumed that he’d do likewise as and when the situation ever arose.

Well, fair to say that after last night’s reveal of the teamsheet, A.P. and AANP might be entering the territory of a first ever lovers’ tiff. For context, the line about not changing every bally name on the list just because the opposition are lower-division is one I’ve been peddling since being dandled on my mother’s knee. Common sense stuff, if you ask me. Make eight or nine changes, and even if you’re bringing in peak Hoddle, Gascoigne and Bale amongst half a dozen others, they’ll take a while to get up to speed on the quirks and preferences of those around them.

And that’s if you’re bringing in such luminaries as G.H., P.G. and G.B. Bring in, instead, Dragusin, Gray, Werner et al, and those in attendance waiting for all protagonists to slip smoothly into gear alongside one another might be advised to bring along a pack of cards to pass the time, because the chemistry will take a while to develop.

As such, the AANP approach to Cup games vs Coventry or whomever is to maintain the spine, and bring in at most four of the less regular cast members. The challenge here, of course, is that not everyone gets a night off, and this approach might tire the limbs as the season progresses – but if all goes swimmingly then five more regulars can be hooked as the game progresses.

And more to the point, retaining a core of seven regulars ought to be enough to despatch even a highly-motivated Coventry on their own patch; whilst also helping the four newbies settle into a fairly well-oiled machine. Put another way, might we not have had a better idea of Archie Gray’s capacity for right-backery if he had regulars to the west and north of him?

Anyway, Our Glorious Leader wasn’t having any of it, and twelve months after a nine-change gambit backfired in the League Cup away to Fulham, he duly made nine changes in the League Cup away to Coventry. After a soulless first bunt in which our heroes looked, funnily enough, as if they’d never played together, things took a sharp lurch in the second half as Coventry started to give us a bit of a battering.

Established XI or not, the rest of the mob don’t seem to care much for helping out the defence, preferring to watch from a good 20 yards or so away as the back four desperately sprint back towards goal and stretch every sinew in the cause, and as a result we had the mesmeric quality in that second half of finding ever more ingenious ways to allow Coventry in on goal.

Credit where due, as in the closing stages our lot became good value for a goal or two, but I do wonder if the whole nerve-jangle could have been avoided by starting with a more recognised XI and putting the game out of reach within the first hour.

(All hypothetical, of course, but it has also been quite reasonably pointed out by my Spurs-supporting chum Dave that had we started with something like the usual XI they would arguably have been too complacent and found some other way to make a complete pie of things.)

2. Werner

Tempting though it was to headline this section “Werner: ” followed by a few choice oaths, I reasoned that decency probably ought to prevail. One never knows when the impressionable sorts are stopping by, after all. But goodness me, the earnest young Bohne was doing his damnedest to push all AANP’s buttons last night, make no mistake.

His pseudo-re-signing was not really the main headline of the summer, that honour probably being reserved for another on the long list of eggs earning full marks for effort but some pretty embarrassed looks for output, in Dominic Solanke. But back in July or so, the AANP take on Werner’s return on another loan was that all things considered it just about made sense.

The cost was minimal, it being a loan; the chap has pedigree in the Premier League, Champions League and internationally; wouldn’t need time to settle having already ticked that box last season; and while no-one in their right mind would place a starting bib over his neck for the crunch stuff, with a guaranteed glut of Europa games, plus potential domestic cups, having a few competent reserves in wide areas would be required. So, to repeat, it seemed to make sense. Note, however, the past participle: it only seemed to make sense.

The reality, as hammered home last night, is looking a dashed different state of affairs, for all of those aforementioned neat and logical arguments come absolutely crashing down when Werner scurries out onto the pitch and gets down to bricks and mortar.

Did he put a single foot right last night, at any point? I’ll answer that one myself actually, because I even made note of the exact timing of Werner’s one positive contribution, it being such a collector’s item. 59 minutes, if you want to rewind the spool and check for yourselves. At that point, having collected a short corner, Werner made for himself a yard of space and then curled in a pretty inviting right-footed cross that deserved better than to be headed clear by the first Coventry head.

That, however, was the zenith of his evening. As for the low-points, my first thought is to wonder how much space the interweb allows. His passes were misplaced; his crosses were overhit; his dribbles typically tended to result in him cycling backwards, or at best sideways. His pace – his greatest asset – was never really utilised, and it is probably for the best that he was not presented with a clear sight of goal, because I suspect the universe might have collapsed under the weight of the subsequent abuse that would have rained down on him from all sides.

I suppose The Brains Trust would argue that Werner’s style suits the system, and his work-rate and off-the-ball contributions go unnoticed. And in his defence, I did notice him track back at one point in the first half to put in a solid block on an attempted cross.

So a modicum of credit is grudgingly bestowed; but I maintain that the primary role of a winger is to wingle, in the attacking sense and with ball at feet. The defensive guff that accompanies it might well be necessary, but ought to be in addition to rapier-like thrusts that leave the opposing defence begging for mercy. In the same way that I yell and screech at Romero to get the defensive basics right before he goes trotting off on some adventure beyond halfway, I similarly give Werner a few lungfuls in the cause of adding a spot of end-product to all his forward scuttling.

Of course, one sympathises with his injury, rotten luck for any fellow no matter how bow-legged and utterly incompetent, and with Odobert also chipping a fingernail this might cause a problem for Europa engagements in the coming weeks. However, last rather hammered a nail in the coffin as far as AANP was concerned. No more, I beg of you.

3. A Quick Word on Fraser Forster

Werner was not the only one to prompt endless eye-rolls and muttered imprecations. I’m not sure Archie Gray really knew where he was supposed to be at any given point; Sarr had a bit of a stinker; Ben Davies, for all his willing, seemed to illustrate that we remain a centre-back short for the fixture slog to come; and Solanke gave his most Solanke performance yet.

A curious one for me was the enormous frame slowly ambling between the sticks at the back. Looking back at it objectively, Fraser Forster, in an admirable act of solidarity with most around him, had a pretty middling evening, put generously. Beginning with the inaccurate first-minute pass that put young Bergvall in trouble; extending to a second half flap at a corner that completely missed the ball; and capped, without doubt, by the mid-pitch collision with Dragusin that quite likely registered on the Richter scale as both behemoths tumbled to earth in slow-motion, this was hardly a low-profile, neat-and-tidy sort of showing.

And yet. For some reason, whenever the opposition had a corner, a most unusual sensation of equanimity passed through my entire being. Even as I surveyed the growing melee in the six-yard box, even as Forster demonstrated not so much rustiness as corrosion – something about the fact that it was not Vicario in goal at a corner put the AANP mind at ease. He may not have claimed every flighted cross as if picking an apple; he may have required a nearby chum to wind him up before he was able to move the limbs; but just not being Vicario at set-pieces earned Forster a huge rosette and garland from over here.

And if that’s the sentiment from the comfort of the AANP sofa, I do murmur to myself “Golly”, and wonder how the poor souls tasked with defending the penalty area at corners themselves feel about having Vicario as commander-in-chief, hopping and yelping about the place like a poorly-trained puppy.

4. The Goals, And Other Positives

For all the first half frustration, and second half panic, the arrival of the cavalry for the closing stages pepped things up a bit.

Maddison, while hardly controlling things, contributed a couple of those neat forward passes for which we’ve yearned so far this season and for much of the latter half of last season – the sort of slick pass that bisects a couple of defenders and finds a yard of space for a forward. His first-time dink around the corner in the build-up to our equaliser was one such moment, and given his contributions to date this season I am rather minded to camp outside the honest fellow’s abode with some sort of home-made banner imploring him to put to one side all the usual fluff and just deliver one or two more of those each game.

Kulusevski was even more prominent, not really bothering with polite introductions and handshakes, and instead just crashing around the place as soon as he was unleashed, and to good effect too. His contribution to the first goal was surprisingly delicate, and added neatly to an overall excellent aesthetic quality to the move, but in general one got the impression that the Coventry lot were in need of an illustrated manual on how to cope with the chap.

A congratulatory word also for Bentancur, for a glorious pass to release young Johnson for the second. Bentancur, while another who cannot really be said to have imposed himself upon the match, did, like Maddison, pick out one or two eye-of-needle passes, and the spotting, directing and weighting of that pass for Johnson could not have been better, so one can only presume he treated himself to a celebratory splash or two of the good stuff before hitting the pillow last night.

Of course, it was also pleasing to note the identity of the two goalscorers. Young Spence, I get the impression, is being powered along in each game by a surge of goodwill from the massed ranks of Spurs fans both inside the stadium and beyond, each one desperate for him to do well. He’s drawn a bit of a short straw in ending up at left-back in each appearance, and how he quite fits into the inverted full-back system makes my head swim a goodish amount, but in the simpler context of being an attacking sort I do rather like the cut of his jib. The sort whose eyes light up a bit once he’s nearing the opposition penalty area.

And as for Brennan Johnson, by golly he needed that. Worryingly, he has much about him of Timo Werner – principally in terms of repeatedly banging his delivery into the first defender – but when it comes to popping away his goalscoring opportunities, mercifully he stands head and shoulders above the German, and his finish was another that can be filed under “Pretty-Looking, As A Bonus”.

And in parting, a polite word of praise for young Bergvall, whom I made probably the pick of the first half bunch. Energetic, and in the wholesome habit of shoving the ball on quickly, I’d estimate that he did more than any other in lightish green (that completely unnecessarily clashed with the Coventry kit, for heaven’s sake) to burrow a way through the massed opposition ranks. Hardly the finished article, but he receives the approving nod nonetheless.

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 0-1 Arsenal: Three Tottenham Talking Points

1. Romero

One man’s meat is another man’s poison, I suppose, and generally over the last couple of years the consensus around the N17 campfire has tended to be that in Cristian Romero we are blessed with a high-quality, if hot-headed, defensive specimen. At AANP Towers, the take on Romero has been a mite less enthusiastic, generally wishing that the young nib would focus less on his own, high-profile plotlines, and a bit more on the bread and butter of defending, but by and large toeing the company line that he’s the sort of earnest young potato for whose presence we ought to be grateful.

Well, that generous and goodwill-steeped perspective is fast going the way of all flesh, because Romero has now been specifically culpable for each of the last three goals we’ve conceded. Last time out against Newcastle he went galloping about a mile out of position, leaving a hole exposed behind him from which they scored their opener; and he then adopted an entirely inappropriate body-shape to allow Newcastle to bypass him on halfway with one long pass straight down the centre, before giving up the chase and ending a good 20 yards behind play when they scored their winner.

And today, having made clear to the watching world that Gabriel was his responsibility and his alone at set-pieces, Romero allowed the wretch a free header from five yards, dash it. And this took quite some doing. In the first place I’d like a point-by-point explanation from Romero as to why he stationed himself in front of Gabriel, thereby guaranteeing that he had no sight of him at all as the ball arrived. The notion of staying goal-side of the attacker seemed not to feature in the chap’s thinking.

Now my Spurs-supporting chum Mark has communicated his displeasure that a free-kick was not awarded, for Gabriel giving Romero a little two-handed shove in the back, to eke out the necessary yard or two of space. To this, I first of all refer to the previous point, that Romero should not have been standing in front of Gabriel, in a position that allowed him to be so easily thrust out of the way (as well as losing sight of his man); and secondly I respond that basic push-and-shove is part of the rich fabric of set-piece delivery, adding that a fellow like Romero, who seems to pride himself on matters of physical interaction, ought to have returned the favour with interest and muscled Gabriel out of the way, rather than vice versa.

There are discontented mutterings in this neck of the woods, make no mistake. This was not an error-strewn Romero performance – there was a notably meaty slide challenge late on that earned a little ovation – but that’s not the point. The point is that for all his thunderous challenges and whatnot that earn a lusty roar from the crowd, he makes basic mistakes that cost chances and goals.

The young imp is unreliable. As alluded to above, he seems more concerned with generating headlines, through such manoeuvres as that aforementioned slide tackle, than with simply keeping his head down and ticking off the basics. Frankly I don’t really care if he can score at a set-piece, or upend an opposing striker on halfway; he’s in the team to defend the goal.

There’s a train of thought that our designated gatekeeper did not cover himself in glory for the goal either, Vicario rather missing the point and getting into a tangle with those immediately in front of him rather than advancing two yards and catching or clearing the corner. And it’s a valid point. But Romero’s role in the episode irked me no end.

I’ve noted previously, by the by, that such luminaries as Lionel Messi have lavished praise upon Romero, as one of the game’s finest. The more I chew this one over the more I’m led to conclude that the Romero style of defending – more brawn than brain – is one that appeals particularly to the Argentine psyche, and that this is what prompts such praise from those parts. At this point, three years into his lilywhite career, if rumours of Real Madrid interest in him have any foundation I’d pocket the cash and partner VDV with someone more focused on the basics.

2. Solanke

For clarity, in submitting young Solanke to a spot of the old grease I hardly bracket him alongside Romero, as one of the villains of the piece. Romero is culpable of repeated dereliction of duty; Solanke’s crime was simply that of failing to untangle his feet at the right moment.

It was a crucial moment though, one of the biggies, no doubt. It came fairly early on in proceedings, when Sonny and Maddison and the like were scurrying around effecting the high-press, this approach actually bearing some fruit, Son getting a toe to a Woolwich pass and the ball falling obligingly to Solanke on the edge of the area.

It was precisely the sort of output for which the high press was invented, presenting Solanke with a clear sight of goal, 15 minutes into his first ever home North London Derby. The moment absolutely screamed out for a good first touch, the sort with which our man could roll the ball a yard or two ahead of himself, thereby setting himself up for a hearty finish, a rippling net, the obligatory knee-slide and warm acclaim from all sides.

Instead, Solanke gummed things up somewhat. For a start, he picked a bad time to tread the turf as if weighed down with lead in his boots. Instead of darting toward the ball and bestowing upon it a delicate touch into his path, he stationed himself on the back foot and waited for it to arrive, giving the impression of a man keen to weigh up in its entirety all available evidence before finally making his decision regarding next steps.

That first touch, by the time it finally arrived, was a poor one, really only registering that the ball was in existence, but offering little advance on this point. Stuck under his feet, Solanke was forced to give it two further dabs, in order to wind up for a shot, and by then – well, by then the game was up, really. Woolwich sorts were all over him like a rash, and with his path to goal crowded out by ne’er-do-wells our man attempted a most convoluted approach, trying to drag the ball back and all sorts, and the moment fizzled out as quickly as it had arrived.

Perhaps if the opportunity had arrived an hour later, Solanke might have been a bit more attuned to current affairs, what? The whole incident smacked of a chappie not quite up with the pace of the day, and still adjusting to his new surroundings.

A shame, because he generally didn’t lack for effort. I quite like the fact that he stands at 6 foot 2, and fills every inch of it with muscle. That looping header in the first half may have missed the target by a whisker, but that it was attempted at all – pedalling backwards, and under pressure – was a bit of an event, we having lacked a specimen who can produce that sort of enterprise since the other fellow took off to Germany.

Solanke fought the good fight alright, dropping deep and pressing and so on, but as in his previous appearance, against Leicester, just did not quite seem to fit smoothly into the groove. One would hope that that will follow with more appearances.

3. Oddly Impotent

A rummy old day, all told. The whole thing was perhaps two parts frustrating, and three parts peculiar. The pleasant pre-kickoff surprise at the attack-minded selection (Kulusevski in the midfield three instead of Sarr) was matched by a bright and perky opening ten minutes or so, in which a couple of half-chances were made inside the area, and a couple of dangerous crosses flashed across goal.

An hour and a half later, however, and there was a fair amount of chin-stroking and exasperated tutting, at the spectacle of a healthy dose of possession unmatched by too many notable chances. Credit, I suppose, to Woolwich, for a rather rudimentary but effective game-plan of defending in numbers and looking to nick something on the counter or from a set-piece, but it was pretty vexing to observe our heroes shift from left to right and back again, looking for any available nook by which to penetrate the other mob’s defence, but failing to find any and resorting once again to the L-t-R routine.

Better than Jose- or Conte-era stuff, lest we forget, whereby we’d have sat back ourselves all game, but the absence of cut and thrust grated, particularly after that opening ten or so, when it seemed that there were all sorts of whizzy ideas for how to get in on goal.

As the first half progressed there was a peculiar reluctance to utilise young Johnson on the right, and by the second half there seemed to be a slight difference of opinion as to whether the approach of choice was a slew of crosses from out wide or the quick-and-slick short passes through the middle.

One sympathises to an extent, as it was evidently a tricky old nut to crack, and for all the sullen faces and gloom on the way home I suspect that we’ll emerge from the current rut pretty swiftly – after all, but for some pretty wasteful finishing we’d have gone into today’s match with three wins from three. Today, however, was a notably different kettle of fish from previous games this season, as for all our possession (in the second half in particular) we barely created a chance, and one would hardly suggest that the place was riddled with urgency either.

So all most unsatisfactory, and the sight of old failings at set-pieces once again hardly lighten the mood, but I suspect that against less organised and capable opponents in the coming weeks, various of the wrongs will be righted again soon enough.

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Spurs match reports

Newcastle 2-1 Spurs: Three Tottenham Talking Points

1. Angeball

First things first, and for avoidance of doubt the official line is that if you haven’t scored more than the opposition then, linguistically as much as anything else, you categorically cannot claim to deserve to win. Legally, it seems, it’s not allowed. Won’t stand up in court.

With that cleared up, we can rattle on in good conscience, and the first remark I’d offer is that we gave it a jolly good effort. No points for effort of course, but to pitch up on some other mob’s turf, dominate possession and rattle in shots – 20 of them apparently – is pretty good going in my book. And whereas last week one wasn’t quite sure if the Everton gang had ever played the game before, to produce a performance like that against a Newcastle side that could be objectively classified as one of the better teams around, on their patch, again seemed to paint this as a positive.

There’s a train of thought that occasionally flits to my mind, makes its presence felt and flits off again, that sometimes the national team seem to adjust their level to the quality of the opposition. One witnessed it quite a lot in the recent Euros, and in the early stages of the first half today a similar notion crossed my mind. Newcastle harassed and harried, snapping at ankles and trying to apply the high press – and our lot responded by popping the ball around with impressive alacrity, bypassing said press.

‘Zippy’ seemed to be the mot juste. It was all quick-fire stuff. There was no standing on ceremony, our lot one-touched their way out of trouble and moved the ball from south to north swiftly and efficiently, with Bissouma again doing a good job at the base of midfield.

That said, the cutting edge was certainly missing in the first half. A couple of low deliveries from the left seemed to clear their throat and yelp, “Convert me!” but those in the centre didn’t really seem to get the memo, and the closest we came was the endless stream of Pedro Porro shots whistling six inches the wrong side of the frame.

Noting at the midway point that there was limited employment for a second holding midfielder, Our Glorious Leader took the pretty punchy step of doing away with Sarr, and shoving on Johnson for a spot of extra oomph in attack.

The gambit worked pretty well. The general domination of possession continued, but was supplemented by more inclination to rain down a few shots and see what that did to the plot.

This approach having eked out an equaliser the more loose-lipped amongst us were strongly tempted to suggest that our lot deserved to go on and win the thing – but of course any such sacrilege was quickly snuffed out by the arched eyebrows and polite coughs of those eager to remind that you don’t deserve to win if you don’t score more than the other lot.

And it’s clearly a source of unquantifiable frustration, this business of monopolising the ball, trying to fashion a half-chance in the area and seeing countless shots blocked and countless crosses fly across the sweet spot and carry on flying. For all the domination and possession, not bunging the ball in the dashed net was utterly exasperating. Be not fooled by the cheery exterior presented by your humble scribe here; behind closed doors inanimate objects are being kicked and colourful oaths uttered. The absence of both Solanke and Richarlison could I suppose be classified as rotten luck, but whether or not Messrs S and R are stomping about the place there still ought to be enough fellows milling about the place capable of hitting the target – or, as pertinently, capable of availing themselves at the far post for a squared pass.

All that said, the pre-match mood at AANP Towers having been one of deep concern that we would be run ragged throughout, I was pretty pleased to see our lot on the front-foot for the majority. If this is Angeball, then I’m fully on board, it just needs someone to put away the chances.  

2. Johnson

I mentioned above that the plopping of Johnson into the melting pot augmented things a notch or two, and the earnest bean’s contributions probably merit a spot of gentle elaboration.

He does still possess the capacity to infuriate a tad, by either failing to pick the most suitable option when racing away into space on the right; or alternatively by picking the suitable option but mangling the delivery, and hitting the first defender or failing to place the thing neatly into the path of Sonny or whomever.

Nevertheless, he was decent value. His pace caused endless problems for their various Newcastle bods at left-back, and he also had the presence of mind to pop up at the far post and do the necessaries when Maddison’s shot was parried, ultimately forcing the equaliser.

However, it would be a bit of a disservice to various others about the place to yammer on about Johnson as if his were the only creative juices. I rather enjoyed the healthy habit that developed amongst the attacking mob for dispossessing Newcastle high up the pitch and creating a slew of three-on-three type opportunities, each of which we found new and exciting ways to gum up.

Bissouma, as mentioned above, was again pretty hot on the ball, in picking it up under pressure and wiggling his way clear; Maddison, while perhaps lacking a line in crafty passes that scythed open the other lot, was nevertheless busy and involved; and Kulusevski continued to hone the art of charging around like a bull in a chinashop, but one of those more strategic bulls, who knows exactly which bits of china would be suitable for smashing.

3. Dragusin (and Romero)

There was a bit of ill-concealed panic about AANP Towers when the cast list was unveiled pre-match, as tends to happen when the absence of VDV is announced. The inscrutable stare was therefore directed firmly upon young Dragusin, with the chorus ringing loudly in my ears that delivering the goods for Romania in the Euros is a different kettle of fish from the insanely high lines peddled at N17.

But to his credit, he pretty much did what one would have hoped. When one early foot-race broke out between him and a speedy Newcastle sort, Dragusin made the pretty smart move to get his sliding challenge in nice and early, thereby removing the need for any awkwardness to unfold over 20 yards. Similarly, in the second half, when Romero made a misjudgement of some sort, Dragusin it was who again raced back and stretched out the lower limbs to effect a block. It might not have been prime Ledley, but by and large it was good enough.

The problem, frankly, seemed to be Romero alongside him. As mentioned, he went missing when Isak broke early in the second half, and seemed to be on a different planet altogether when Newcastle broke for the winner, displaying a body-shape completely inappropriate for one organising a high-line and evidently not keeping up on current affairs in terms of the whereabouts of those around him.

If I really wanted to stick the knife in I could also highlight his dereliction of duty for the opener, for the culmination of which he was not amongst the five lilywhites stationed defensively across the penalty area; but in truth there were faults aplenty for that goal, just about every one of our number having dozily switched off and seemingly astounded to discover a football of all things flashing across the box.

Such things would be mere footnotes if we had converted any of the chances swished along in the second half in particular, but such is life. Grounds for optimism in the performance, for those who are that way inclined; but doubtless the streets of N17 will be lined with weeping and gnashing of teeth after this one.

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 4-0 Everton: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. Odobert

I don’t mind admitting that AANP was as surprised as the next man on casting the bleary eye over the morning headlines a few days ago and seeing one Wilson Odobert unveiled as the latest shiny new lilywhite on the shelf.

Naturally, here at AANP Towers when such seismic events occur we hot-foot it to a darkened room and embrace technology, so within moments I was dusting off the spools and watching grainy footage of Odobert’s highlights from his former incarnations. And all very impressive it looked too, when condensed into a few minutes and soundtracked by some of that modern electronic noise; but the critical question was whether or not he could peddle such wares within the cut and thrust of the THFC Starting XI.

We didn’t have to wait long, Our Glorious Leader evidently deciding within 48 hours or so that Odobert merited elevation above the pre-existing queue of wingers. Naturally one respects the privacy and confidentiality of the changing room, but I would certainly have enjoyed the opportunity to sneak a furtive look at the maps of Messrs Werner, Solomon and Richarlison upon learning that Odobert was being shunted to the front of the Left-Wing queue.

And whoever whispers pearls of wisdom in the Odobert ear earned themselves a pay-rise, because within about the opening quarter-hour the young oeuf had ticked all manner of boxes on the ‘How To Please Your New Employer and Win Raucous Applause From Your New Fans’ cribsheet.

From the off Odobert took to the attacking requirements with breezy vim and energy, immediately adopted as one of the cool kids by Messrs Maddison and Udogie, and combining with this pair to impressive effect on the left. He attacked his man at every opportunity, but was also sensible enough not to go overboard and try the same trick every time, making full use of the availability of those around him to try to eke out opportunities.

A couple of dribbles and attempted balls into the centre gave the impression of a lad who knew his onions, and with Johnson, Kulusevski and Porro forming a similar alliance on the right, we seemed well-stocked in the department of provision from the wings.
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Odobert’s diligent tracking back towards his own goal to execute a sliding challenge early on in the piece was a smart move, earning him a rousing ovation, as many a seasoned observer turned to the chum by their side to remark upon his work-rate with an approving nod, but the moment that really caught the AANP eye and elicited a pretty audible purr from the natives was when he trapped a ball falling from the sky with the a level of control that could not have been bettered had he used his hands, and for added impact threw in a neat change of direction, all in the same movement.

So all pretty whizzy stuff from the new boy, and excited chatter was very much the order of the day, but here at AANP Towers we are nothing if not curmudgeonly old cynics. As Odobert departed early to his standing ovation I therefore cleared the throat and gave tongue to the sentiment that in future performances I’d like to see a spot of end-product. We do have a certain history after all, from Bergwijn to Bentley, Nkoudou to N’jie, of bringing in wingers who look frightfully bucked and full of ideas, only to underwhelm and rather quietly exit the place a year or two hence, with nothing but a few low-key sentences on the website to record that they were ever part of the gang at all.

And watching Odobert cut back one pass into a defender, and have another attempted cross turned behind by another Everton sort, the thought did occur that the odd piece of rotten fruit has been flung at Werner and even young Johnson for the similar transgression of failing regularly to generate an end-product that really does the business. So a decent enough start from young Odobert, but room for a notch or two of improvement.

2. Bissouma’s Redemption

I suppose ‘redemption’ is rather over-egging the thing, but having spent the opening weekend of the season on the naughty step it was very much in the interests of Yves Bissouma to produce a return to the form of early last season. While Everton were amongst the more feeble opponents ever to work up a sweat in the magnificent environs of N17, Bissouma still earned himself some pretty hearty back-slaps for his efforts.

This being the sort of bash in which our heroes monopolised possession, the onus was on Bissouma not so much to perform sentry duty and prevent an onslaught from the foe, as to use possession wisely when collecting it at the base of midfield. Pleasingly, the fellow not only got that particular memo, he also had the good sense to dip into the memory bank and trot out some of his greatest hits from early 2023-24. 

As such, we were treated to such classics as Bissouma picking out – and delivering – a natty line in short forward passes that bisected opposition defenders; Bissouma effecting upper-body swerves that sent Everton players off into different postcodes and allowed him to glide forward; and Bissouma running with the ball from inside our half to inside theirs. It was sensible use of the thing, and carried out at a healthy lick too, free from dawdle and ponderousness.

As an additional bonus, when Everton did healf-hartedly string a few passes together and make some perfunctory attempts to get over halfway, Bissouma was on hand to effect a couple of handy and forceful blocks and tackles. To repeat – and it cannot be overstated – Everton were awful, but we nevertheless required a chap to collect the ball from deep and have the clarity of mind to get us onto the front-foot. Bissouma did this more, and with tasty fixtures looming it was a most timely return to form.

(As an aside, frightfully good of the bean to chip in with the opening goal, a special mention to such efforts that cannon off the underside of the bar for a spot of additional aesthetic value, what?)

3. Romero

Keep this to yourself, but prior to kick-off I was becoming rather oddly invested in an earnest argument that questioned the defensive capabilities of Cristian Romero. Before you turn on your heel, never to return, a brief precis of the argument.

Romero, I hypothesised, was being praised to the rafters by such luminaries as that Messi chap, so evidently had something about him, but a nameless irritation had nagged away at me at times last season that such commendation was on account of the more forward-thinking elements of his play – his ability to pass from the back, and chip in with goals at corners and suchlike. Regarding the bread-and-butter, of marking his man and winning defensive duels, or besting attackers who tried to sidestep him, I was giving the upper lip a concerned chew. And if the concern brewed last season, it was given a fresh shot of biff last week at Leicester.

Well on the basis of yesterday, most of the above turned out to be amongst the finest rot ever peddled by this particular quill. Romero was in barnstorming form, not just hitting right notes but giving it full Midas and delivering an absolute defensive masterclass.

After one or two early misplaced passes to make the AANP pulse spike a bit, he settled into his groove and carried out his every duty like an absolute champion. Block tackles weren’t just carried out, they were delivered with the force of a man determined to send his opponent into next week. If the ball were lobbed forward for an Everton laddie to chase, Romero matched him stride for stride and either inserted self between ball and man, muscled the opponent out of the way or, if circumstances absolutely demanded, extended enough limbs to block any attempted pass or shot.

On top of which he was dominant in the air, picked out some delightful passes (witness the chipped ball that put Maddison through on goal early in the first half) and thundered in a headed goal. He very nearly preceded all of that with a goal in the third minute, having shown technique one would scarcely have credited him with to take a pass on his chest and thump goalwards.

I suppose that, as with Bissouma above, one can point to the quality of the opposition, but that Calvert-Lewin chap can be quite handy, and Romero did not allow him a sniff. Van de Ven was also in fine fettle, in particular in matters of bursts of pace, but goodness me Romero delivered an absolute masterclass.

4. Smart Formational Thinking

It was a strong afternoon for approving nods. Sonny, filling in atop the tree, demonstrated rather pointedly the virtue of the high press, before taking clinically his second half chance; Udogie seemed much more like his old self than last week; Vicario pulled off a very smart save at 2-0 that might otherwise have given the nerves an emphatic jangle; Spence caught the eye in both penalty areas in his cameo at left-back; and so on.

In fact, right from the line-up reveal an hour before the curtain went up I felt a quiet thrill, upon seeing the formational tweak of one holding midfielder and two more attack-minded sorts alongside him. The choice of both Maddison and Kulusevski to partner Bissouma was rather punchy stuff from Our Glorious Leader, the sort of decision that yelled ‘Fie upon thee, oh opposition sorts, I sneer at your line-up and impose upon you an attacking formation that will give you the dickens of an afternoon before you even think about scoring yourselves’. And it did exactly that.

As mentioned, Maddison swum off to the left to buddy up with Udogie and Odobert, while on the right, irrespective of the pre-match scrawls on the whiteboard, Kulusevski spent half his time operating as a second winger alongside Johnson. An intriguing gambit, and I suppose strictly speaking Kulusevski was more of an inside-right, expected to occupy spaces in between the right flank and the centre, but the net result was that the left side of the Everton defence was frequently overrun, with the additional sweetener of plenty of lilywhite bodies arriving to supplement things in the penalty area.

I piped up a few terms last season to campaign for Kulusevski to play centrally rather than on the right wing, and while he also drifted wide to excellent effect yesterday, his quick-footed trickery inside the area, which created Bissouma’s goal, rather exemplified the fine produce that sits within his size nines from a more central berth.

This overly attack-minded setup, in which Romero, VDV and Bissouma sit and everyone else flies forward, might perhaps be ill-advised against the league’s elite, and with Newcastle and Woolwich to come I suppose that Kulusevski might be jettisoned for a slightly more conservative option, but in a home fixture against a relegation contender I was all for it.

Categories
Spurs match reports

Leicester 1-1 Spurs: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. Solanke

Here we are again then, and it seemed appropriate that the first order of business should be to cast the beady eye over the new lad, from stern to stem. And actually, the first thing I noticed about Solanke was that he’d been blessed by Nature with a pretty substantial frame, the sort of which my old man, AANP Senior, would approve, he being of the curious opinion that a striker’s primary purpose in life is to be substantially bigger than anyone else.

I suppose it may simply have been that Solanke had a keen awareness for the preferences of the TV director, and duly attached himself to the smallest nearby opponent whenever the camera zoomed in on him, but either way he looked a towering presence atop our tree, and the sort against whom one wouldn’t necessarily elbow one’s way to the front of the queue in order to mark at corners and suchlike.

Aside from the crucial business of being a bit of a unit, I actually thought Solanke did relatively well. Behold, I suppose, the first statement of controversy from the AANP quill this season, for this opinion is evidently in pretty sharp contradistinction to the line of thought of various others of lilywhite persuasion, not least my Spurs-supporting chum Ian, whose take on the fellow was distinctly uncomplimentary, containing as it did such choice nuggets as ‘Donkey’ and ‘Fraizer Campbell’.

However, the surgical eye to which I subjected young Solanke detected a fellow who did all the right things, until, of course, the part about sticking ball in net. But in terms of providing an obvious focal point, and finding himself a yard of space for a half-chance, I thought he ticked the boxes pretty solidly. Admittedly these may sound insignificant, but there were certainly times last season, when Richarlison was out – and even when Richarlison was in – when we seemed to lack any obvious beacon up top, at whom we could aim and around whom attacks could be structured.

Solanke was also willing to muck in and help out with the less salubrious elements of the day-job, regularly spotted dropping deep to collect and hold up the ball, and lay it off to onrushing midfield chums, as well as showing the requisite degree of enthusiasm for leading the high press.

The elephant in the room, of course, was the bread-and-butter stuff of being a striker, the actual taking of chances (at this point a less charitable soul – Ian, for example – would probably suggest that the elephant was Solanke himself). And here, Solanke did little to cover himself in glory.

No two ways about it, that diving header early in the first half should have been seen home. It was not entirely straightforward, admittedly, but having down the hard work of evading his markers and lowering the frame from the upper atmosphere down to somewhere nearer terra firma, the final but essential step was to pick a spot a good yard or two east or west of the goalkeeper, and direct the ball thusly. To plant his header straight at the doorman was a bit of a faux pas.

Less blame attached to him for his second attempt, a glancing header from a cross from the right, but I was a little underwhelmed by that effort he had early in the second half, when he again seemed to have done a lot of the hard work, in shielding the ball and wriggling into a bit of space from which to unleash, only to aim straight at the blasted goalkeeper yet again. As was remarked at the time, a more confident striker would presumably have aimed for a corner, whereas Solanke rather thrashed at the thing as if eager to get the whole business done and dusted as a matter of urgency, without too much concern for how the direction of his shot would impact the outcome.

It is not a particularly fanciful leap to suggest that the goals will come soon enough, and the rest of his game ticked boxes – just a shame for him and the collective that he didn’t nab a goal last night.

2. Maddison

It was fairly decent stuff all round in the first half, our offerings comprising not just plenty of possession but also the creation of a small bevvy of chances, both from open play and set-pieces. A two- or three-goal lead would, of course, have been welcome, and probably a better reflection of the balance of things, but one goal was the absolute minimum, so there weren’t too many concerns at the mid-point. And while various amongst our number were pottering about to good effect, I’d suggest that Maddison was probably the most prominent.

The thought nags that he could still do a mite more when it comes to opening up opposing defences, perhaps in the realm of spotting a dastardly diagonal pass that bisects a couple of defenders, if you get my drift, but nevertheless he seemed to be involved in most of the good things done, in that first half at least (and indeed the opening ten or so of the second).

Importantly, whenever we were in possession and surveying the terrain for opportunities, Maddison was not shy of waddling into view with arms waving and no doubt a few yelps vocalised, essentially demanding to be involved. And if you cast your minds back, this desire to be central to our string-pulling was the sort of thing for which I would frequently chastise a former parishioner, one C. Eriksen Esquire, who all too frequently would content himself with staying in the shadows and letting others get on with the game. Maddison, by contrast, was always eager for the limelight.

And his involvements were useful enough. As mentioned, a better eye for a defence-splitting pass along the floor might have helped, and in general he might have zipped things along a bit more quickly than he did. However, he was willing to dribble into the area and attempt pull-backs; he switched play from left to right pretty intelligently on a couple of occasions; involved himself in one-twos around the area; and as if to hammer home the point that he was the font from which decent things emanated, he created our goal with a well-flighted cross, the sort that rather invites teammates to dart towards goal and try their luck.

3. That Soft Underbelly

If you’ve bothered entering this corner of the interweb you’re presumably supported our lot long enough to be entirely unsurprised that we could dominate a match for the best part of an hour before conceding an equaliser to the opponent’s very first shot on target. No matter the personnel, it seems, or manager or kit or any other blasted element of the club, that soft underbelly will always exist, bringing with it an almost fascinating ability to fall into a blind panic at the first sign of trouble, and collapse like a pack of cards.

Being a glutton for punishment I took myself off into a darkened room and rewound the spool of last night’s match, in order to give the old forensic eye to the goal we conceded, looking in particular for a guilty individual at whom I might jab an accusatory finger. Curiously enough, however, there was no single individual obviously at fault, at least in the genesis of the goal.

Leicester were allowed to transit the ball from their own goalkeeper up to halfway a bit too easily for my liking, Udogie being bypassed in midfield, meaning that VDV had to scuttle across to left-back to cover, but as everyone raced back towards our goal the danger was hardly terminal.

Leicester swung a cross from the right towards our area, but it was one any objective observer would stamp as ‘Hopeful’, and not much transpired. At this point Messrs Maddison and Bentancur, tracking back to win a few brownie points with the management, might have put a bit more clout into their attempted clearances, but still, as Leicester tried again from their left there ought not to have been too much concern.

From here though, things took a bit of a nose-dive from a lilywhite perspective. Leicester’s cross from the left evaded everyone, but this should not excuse the fact that Decordova-Reid was gaily abandoned in the centre – Romero having gone wide to dangle a half-hearted foot at the cross, and Sarr and VDV rocking on their heels rather than marking anyone. Had Master D-R possessed a leg some four or five inches longer he’d had poked in unopposed from the edge of the 6-yard box, which reflects defensive work verging on the negligent.

Literally five second later another cross, this time from the right, exposed exactly the same failing. Romero ran straight past Vardy in order to take up a central station, and Porro, seeing everything unfold from the back post but considering decisive action to be beneath him, did not bother to pick up Vardy himself. Whether Romero ought to have delegated, or whether Porro ought to have had the good sense simply to get on with his job unprompted, is debatable, but it was the first attack worthy of the name that Leicester had created, and from it we allowed them two unmarked opportunities from six yards.

As an exasperating aside, a baffling aspect of this is that all four of Porro, Romero, VDV and Udogie are splendid players individually, but as a collective they constitute a most dysfunctional defensive unit, at whom one only has to sneeze in order to create panic, disarray and unmarked opportunities from close-range.

The next clear opportunity of the game came ten minutes later when Vardy was clean through and Vicario saved, and again Porro was a few yards behind his man. As with Udogie in the build-up to the first goal, this had the stench of full-backs pushed high up the pitch and leaving gaps behind – the alarming aspect of which is that this is hardly a new phenomenon. It was present throughout the entirety of last season, being a pretty fundamental weakness of Angeball, but evidently it is a weakness that is here to stay.

Aside from the goal itself, the complete cessation of control demonstrated thereafter was also pretty troubling. Someone or other with a bit of grey matter about them once opined that the true test of character is how one deals with setbacks in life, and by that gauge our heroes possess zero character between the entire lot of them. Conceding an equaliser in a game in which we had dominated was undoubtedly a setback, but it ought not to have led to a complete reversal in the balance of power. Ultimately the decline was only arrested by the stoppage for Bentancur’s injury, rather than by any intervention by our lot.

4. Gray and Bergvall

I suppose we had marginally the better of things in the final twenty or so, after the Bentancur injury and substitutions, but make no mistake, by that point the chuntering at AANP Towers had begun in earnest. The failure to take chances, coupled with the ease with which Leicester equalised and rounded off by the capitulation that followed, brought about all manner of grumblings from these parts.

I suppose a silver lining of sorts was injected by the youthful scurrying this way and that of Masters Gray and Bergvall. Neither seemed shy of rolling up sleeves and demanding the ball in central areas, and neither seemed content simply to ease themselves in on the periphery.

Both gave evidence that the strong technique and close control exhibited in pre-season could be replicated in competitive arenas, and while I’d probably stop short of demanding that they’re flung into the starting XI and have the team constructed around them, they appear the sorts who could be relied upon to help with the log-jam of fixtures that will doubtless descend upon us imminently enough.

There was still time for Bergvall to gum things up a bit, taking a few liberties too many in the right-back vicinity and conceding possession, resulting in yet another unmarked opportunity for Leicester and a full-body extension from Vicario to keep things level. I thought Vicario’s consequent rant at Bergvall was probably one for the cameras as much as anything else, up there alongside ostentatious celebrations for goal-line clearances, but it was probably a useful lesson for the Swede.

Silver linings and vaguely promising they may be, but it does little to disguise the fact that after the very first game of the season we’re already grumbling that, come May, we will be two points worse off than we should have been.

Categories
Spurs match reports

Sheff Utd 0-3 Spurs: Five Tottenham Talking Points

1. Dragusin and That Tweaked Back-Four

Reasonably enough, Our Glorious Leader persisted with the VDV-at-left-back-and-Dragusin-in-the-centre gambit, all concerned having performed passably well in midweek, and our opponents yesterday having already been relegated. Indeed, as with Burnley a couple of weeks back, the fact that Sheffield United were literally a Championship-standard team does skew the takings on this one, making it difficult to draw too many meaningful conclusions.

Nevertheless, should I happen to cross paths with any of Van de Ven, Dragusin or Romero in the next day or two, I’d offer them one of those silent but meaningful nods I keep in the armoury, the sort that wordlessly communicates respectful acknowledgement of a job well done without going overboard.

Dragusin comes across as a fellow who is happy simply to crack on with his job in unfussy fashion, leaving the histrionics and drama to others. I did note the chap make a mess of an early clearing header, resulting in a straightforward chance for Diaz that might have been decidedly stickier, but aside from that he generally conducted himself with a goodish amount of common sense, and intervened as circumstance required.  

With that in mind, the slightly terrifying visuals he deploys are actually a little misleading. His general bulk, not to mention that haircut and unsmiling stare, give him the air of one of those nameless henchmen who will face off with Jason Statham in the final act. By appearance alone one gets the impression that here strides a specimen who is comfortably master of all he surveys, and whom one will have the dickens of a job bypassing.

Yet in terms of his actual performance, it is all a little more low-key. Admittedly, he put that significant physical frame to pretty good use when we had corners to defend, politely introducing himself as “Vicario’s mate” to misbehaving Sheff Utd forwards, and treating them to a couple of meaningful shoves to hammer home the point, which served a welcome practical purpose, as well as making for good wholesome family entertainment.

But if, based on looks and gum-chewing alone, one expected Dragusin to spend his 90 minutes uprooting passing forwards and leaving them in crumpled heaps about the place, one was to be a little disappointed. Dragusin seemed to content himself simply with clearing whatever danger lurked, without too much fanfare or overthinking. This is not to denigrate him as agricultural or lacking in delicacy, for he showed himself capable enough with ball at feet and happy enough to muck in with the rest of them when they all started playing out from the back; but broadly he came across as not caring too much for headlines or limelight. “Keep it simple”, would appear to be the motto of the Dragusin clan.

2. Van de Ven

As mentioned, one does not really learn too much about the moral fibre and performance under pressure of one’s troops when up against the weakest mob in the division, and so as with Dragusin, one takes with a generous measure of salt the performance of Mickey Van de Ven at left-back.

Allowing for that, however, this was once again promising stuff at left-back from the earnest young bean. I would suggest that he perhaps lacks the general puff, to use the technical term, of Signor Udogie, in terms of galloping up, back and up again in the full-back role, VDV instead perhaps rationing his forward charges. But when he did venture north he did so with a few health dollops of gusto, and made sure to plant a flag or two commemorating his presence there, notably with a role in both of our first two goals.

The first was with what one might describe as a small but significant input, in winning possession for us high up the pitch – or, as AANP likes to call such things, a good old-fashioned tackle. The Sheff Utd chap had the ball at his feet in a right-back sort of spot, and was drinking it all in, and VDV simply sped over to him and effected a firm block tackle. I suppose if I were a SUFC fan I’d have waved around a pretty irate hand at my right-back at that point, for offering such meek input that he was promptly deposited on the floor, but from a lilywhite perspective it was most pleasing.

One does not see actual tackles much these days, with every contact causing someone or over to screech in agony and roll over a few times, and as often as not a standard spot of limb-to-limb contact now bringing a yellow card too. Therefore just seeing Van de Ven square up to the fellow; fly into combat with a bit of a sense that consequences could be damned; and come out on top, was a bit of an event in itself.

Thereafter, he sensibly decided that his contribution had already been memorable enough, and that it was the job of his more forward-thinking chums to chivvy things along further, so he posted the thing off to Maddison outside the area and within two passes we had the ball in the net. One can enter into rich debate, I suppose, to decide whose input had been most pertinent, but in simply winning possession in the first place, through the oft-neglected art of the block tackle, young VDV earned himself his latest free offering at the AANP Towers drinks cabinet.

Moreover, in case anyone missed it first time around, he got stuck in with another of those ‘Firm But Fair’ numbers early in the second half, in the build-up to what could be considered our decisive second goal. Again, there were various other contributory elements to be recorded before the ball eventually found its way into the net – the ricochet from VDV’s challenge forcing a full-length save from the goalkeeper, which I personally thought a little dramatic for what it was, and thereafter Brennan Johnson picking up the scraps before laying it off to Porro to finish – but VDV’s dedication to triumphing in what was, objectively, a 50-50 issue, was once again crucial.

3. Contributions to Our Goals

If AANP Towers is a regular haunt of yours you may recall that only a week or two ago I cleared the throat, surveyed the audience and then gave both barrels to that most irritating of concepts, The Assist. The case for the prosecution largely hinged on the notion that there are generally several contributory elements to any goal, and the notion that the penultimate chappie involved should merit some worthier praise than anyone else who chipped in with their tuppence worth is a tad presumptuous, what?

To illustrate what I’m wittering on about I invite you to look at our first goal yesterday, or Exhibit A, as you may wish to refer to it. As mentioned above, a pretty critical role in this was played by young Van de Ven, out on the left, by winning possession in the first place. He then fed Maddison, whose input, it seemed to me, looked suspiciously to amount to miscontrolling the thing. As luck would have it, however, the ball bounced obligingly into the path of Sonny – whose own input, one might argue, also owed a little to good fortune, he dabbing a slightly half-hearted toe at the ball, which was just about sufficient to poke it through to Kulusevski.

The point being that before the ball reached the eventual goalscorer, three others were involved, and fan clubs of each would no doubt argue passionately that their man’s was the critical contribution – and yet the only statistic that seems to merit general acclaim is that Sonny provided The Assist. Of the contributions to the goal of Maddison and, in particular, VDV, there is nary a datapoint.

Now one might argue, and with some justification, that AANP really ought to find more useful ways to spend his time, but dash it, when the awards are handed out for that first goal it just doesn’t seem cricket to overlook VDV and instead droop a garland around the neck of Sonny.

The second goal followed a fairly similar pattern, with Brennan Johnson officially receiving credit for The Assist, while the good work of Sonny, in really setting the thing in motion, with a cunning dip of the shoulder out on the left, as well as Maddison and VDV in trying to force the issue in the penalty area, will go forever ignored.

Credit where due, Maddison did an excellent job of things in setting up the third. It was an Assist worthy of the name. I doffed the cap. But what the record books will fail to show is that Sonny again started all the fun and games, with some pretty innovative use of the outside of his right foot, curling a pass off into the great swathes of greenery ahead of Maddison out on the left, from which position the latter did his thing.

I suppose the moral of the story is not so much to belittle whomever provides The Assist as to acknowledge what are often more valuable cogs in the machinery earlier in the piece.

4. Porro

All that said, the greatest acclaim most typically belongs to the goalscorer, and by golly Pedro Porro has this week made up for some lost time in that respect. If there has been something of an injustice this season it is that young P.P. has finished with only the four goals to his name, for goodness knows he threatens each week to score an absolute belter, seemingly missing almost every shot by a matter of inches. Indeed, my spies tell me that he has 36 shots to his name this season, in 35 Premier League appearances, which makes me cock a suspicious eye at the Law of Averages for granting only three League goals. It somehow strikes me that he ought, by rights, to have scored a lot more, what?

Anyway, as mentioned, he started righting that wrong last week against Burnley, building up a head of steam before putting heart and soul into the finish; and, evidently having developed a liking for the act of almost tearing the net from its moorings, he was at it again yesterday.

Received wisdom generally dictates that one’s chances of scoring are generally increased by aiming for one corner or t’other, but such a theory evidently fails to take into account the absolute leathering applied to the thing by the right foot of Porro, which is seemingly sufficient to contravene the Laws of Physics and allow the ball to travel straight through the body of the goalkeeper.

Last week the Burnley ‘keeper was beaten at his near post, understandably taken by surprise at the speed at which Porro had the ball past him, and yesterday there was a pretty similar sequence of events, with the goalkeeper only raising his paws upwards in preparation for the intervention required when the ball was already bouncing out of the net behind him.

And when invited to make a speech toasting Porro’s two goals in the last week, as I inevitably will be sooner or later, I’ll be sure to commend in particular his talent for adjusting his balance sufficiently to ensure that in pummelling the ball with every ounce of force in his being, he did not lean back the one or two degrees that would have resulted in it flying off into orbit. It is to his credit that he kept his shots low enough hit the target.

5. Kulusevski

I don’t mind admitting that when the dramatis personae were revealed pre-kick-off, I took one glance, assumed with a weary sigh that Johnson and Kulusevski were on the wings and Sonny therefore upfront, and then focused my energies on the back-four.

Our Glorious Leader evidently had other ideas, and thus it transpired that Kulusevski spent his afternoon as the closest thing we had to a central striker. And a dashed useful fist he made of it too. I will leave others to argue over whether he was officially a centre-forward, or Number 10, or advanced midfielder, or some other variation, and instead simply attest to the fact that, whatever else one says about his contribution, he did the goalscoring part pretty well.

It seems unlikely that he was actually aiming for the inside of the post with that opening goal, but nevertheless, the gist of his thought process was presumably to plant the thing beyond the ‘keeper and inside the frame, and let the Laws of Physics – at that point still firing on all cylinders, pre-Porro – take care of the rest.

Easy, too, to bang on about the finish when it’s as aesthetically satisfying as that – inside of the post and all, always merits a cheeky splash of the good stuff over here – and overlook the preceding legwork, but the fellow collected the ball with back to goal and a defender loitering within his radius. He therefore deserves a decent lump of credit for that first touch, which simultaneously achieved the twin aims of shielding the ball from that defender and setting things up just so, for a left-footed swipe.

He then took time out to remind the watching millions that he is nothing if not left-footed, spurning an arguably easier opportunity fed to him (with some elan by Maddison) on his right, five minutes later, but ensured that we could all gloss over that with some impressive forward-play in nabbing his second and our third – checking his run to come inside the defender and then angling his body to finish with that same, much-maligned right foot, in what I can only assume was a pointed rebuke to AANP.

I can’t imagine that anyone seriously considers this set-up, with D.K. in the central striking position, as The Way Forward for our heroes in 2024/25 and beyond, and this is probably as good a time as any to hammer home once again that caveat that our opponents were Championship-standard, but it’s an interesting option to have, potentially allowing a neat segue into the 4-6-0 off-the-ball arrangement that caused Man City to scratch the old bean a few times midweek.

Thus ends a season in which, all things considered, we have pootled along to an acceptable enough resting-place (or at least it will be once the bonkers Australian friendly is done). All sorts of tweaks and improvements – and signings – and indeed sales – are needed, but AANP is pretty happy with the efforts of Postecoglou and the troops.

Enjoy AANP’s ramblings? Yearn to have them neatly contained in a book, with physical pages through which you can leaf? Then watch this space, as Seasons 2023-024 is soon to be published for your delectation.

Categories
Spurs match reports

Spurs 0-2 Man City: Five Tottenham Talking Points

1. Shiny New Formation

AANP is a creature of habit. Meals at the same time each day; lights out at the same time each night; a dram of the good stuff at the same time each morning – one knows where one stands. One knows what’s coming.

And it was in this spirit of continuity and consistency that I donned the monocle to give the teamsheet the once-over last night, and duly assumed that Sarr-Bentancur-Hojbjerg would spread out their picnic blankets in midfield, while Maddison, Son and Johnson would duke it out between them for spots across the forward line – my personal assumption being that Maddison would be on the left with Sonny through the centre, but being an open-minded sort I politely listened to various chums of a Spurs-supporting bent announcing their opinion that Johnson could be central, and so on.

The point being that we all just assumed it was Our Glorious Leader’s usual 4-3-3, because if there is one thing A. Postecoglou Esquire does not do, it’s change his approach, upon pain of death. Even if the apocalypse were upon us and flaming meteors rained down from the sky, Ange would stick to his guns, muttering something to the effect that this is how his teams play, and adding his trademark “Mate” as if to put an official seal on the notion.  

As such, I’m not sure the word has yet been invented to describe quite how quizzically I arched the old eyebrow once the curtain went up last night, and everyone started getting their hands dirty, because there before our eyes, our heroes were setting about their business in, for want of a better phrase, a 4-6-0 formation.

Son and Johnson stayed out wide hither and thither, that much I clocked myself pretty sharpish; but in the midfield it appeared that Hojbjerg sat, and Bentancur, Maddison and Sarr took turns – or at certain points just ganged up and went about things in unison – as False Nines, as the experts put it (sort of midfield bobbies with licence to spring forward into the area and yell ‘Boo!’ as and when the whim grabs them).

Anyway, having a reeled a fair bit with the shock of all this, it made sense to collect one’s thoughts and subject the thing to the critical eye – and I’ll be dashed if it didn’t actually seem to work out pretty smoothly.

Caveats abound, of course, as is always the case. We lost the game for a start, so anyone clearing the throat to produce a lavish speech about the unbeatable virtues of 4-6-0 could legitimately be interrupted with a pretty solid counter-argument. One might also point out that City weren’t really for sitting deep with all eleven camped behind the ball as other less forgiving opponents have been, so one couldn’t knowingly say how 4-6-0 would fare in such a scenario; and I think that what one might delicately describe as the forgiving atmosphere about the place meant that there was a lot less pressure on our heroes to perform than is sometimes the case. There was, one might say, a pretty high tolerance threshold for mistakes and missteps last night.

Nevertheless, I could not escape the sentiment that our lot were making a jolly good fist of things – and that, by extension, the curious new formation was delivering the goods. Critically, we seemed to benefit both in and out of possession.

Out of possession, the squadron of no fewer than six pristine lilywhites strung out across the midfield caused City quite the head-scratcher when it came to their usual gambit of poking a nifty pass through the lines and setting their forwards away. In terms of basic physics, there simply was not room for them to do so. Every time they tried any such pass, a Tottenham limb extended to cut it out – and if the pass evaded one extended Tottenham limb, you could bet the life of your least cherished child that another such limb would be in close proximity to get the job done. The only real attacking outlet City had (beyond our own suicidal passing from defence, more on which below) was to play the ball ahead of Kyle Walker and watch him and VDV sprint it out.

In possession too, for what felt like the first time since that fateful night against Chelsea in November, our lot seemed inundated with passing options n, and quickly getting the hang of the thing they took to knocking the ball around rather smartly. One of the advantages of having six in midfield, I suppose, is that there is always a supporting nib hovering nearby, whom one can spot from the corner of one’s eye and sling the ball towards whenever any danger starts approaching.

And as mentioned, with Maddison, Bentancur and Sarr each seemingly having been heartily encouraged to trot forward and explore the City area, there tended always to be a few members of the cavalry ready to offer their services whenever we did break forward. Admittedly we lacked a central figure up top, the sort of bird who might hold up the ball with back to goal and do other useful things, but when it came to breaking from around halfway and racing towards goal, we were actually quite well stocked.

2. Sarr

Vicario made some good saves (the first half block from Foden at close-range in particular seemed to defy physics, our boy managing to stick out an arm faster than the naked eye could detect), and Kulusevski seemed particularly motivated when he was introduced, but if I were given the chance to pin a rosette to any of our lot I’d beeline straight for Sarr.

I’d probably take a few hours to catch him mind, because the young tyro appeared convinced yesterday that the key to a good time was never to stop running. Even though he had five teammates alongside him, and as such one could reasonably have made the case for sharing the workload, Sarr seemed to have had it drilled into him that if there were a job that needed doing there was no point in waiting for someone else to do it, not when he could break into another gallop.

Within a formation that relied so heavily upon runners from midfield to do a bit of the heavy lifting – masquerading occasionally as forwards, chasing back to clog up our own penalty area when City did sneak through – the medical anomaly that was the Sarr lungs and legs were of particular value.

The thought nags, and will presumably continue to do so for the next couple of months, that our midfield could do with a slightly clearer delegation of duties, as I still narrow the eyes and furrow the brow when trying to work out exactly what Bissouma and Bentancur are supposed to be doing, but alongside a couple of well-drilled and well-performing sorts one can safely assume that Sarr will be a pretty critical cog next season.

3. Hojbjerg

A quick note on Hojbjerg, of whom this might have been our last glimpse on the hallowed N17 turf. Those of a comic bent seemed keen to suggest last night that if anyone were going to sabotage our efforts, and ensure that Woolwich remained trophyless, it would be that man P-E.H., and true to form he spent the evening marrying the sublime and ridiculous with gay old abandon.

One five-minute spell early on in the piece neatly crystallised his entire lilywhite career. It featured in the first place an absolutely glorious cross-field spraying of the ball, from inside his own half and nearish the left flank, forward about twenty yards within the City half and out on the right flank, one of those perfectly-flighted numbers that drops with just the right parabola over the reach of the full-back and into the lap of the winger. It was a reminder of how good a player he can be, all the more so as he collected the ball in the first place when we were being harried a tad in a little midfield cul-de-sac, with Hojbjerg proving the unlikely saviour to safety.

But then moments later came his wild clearance that led to Foden’s point-blank volley and Vicario’s save. As I recall, Hojbjerg had to effect an airborne clearance, the ball having looped backwards towards him, facing his own goal and under pretty minimal pressure. Not the most straightforward job on the To-Do list by any means, the ball having a dash of spin on it, and dropping from the heavens over his shoulder, which adds a layer of complication.

Nevertheless, however, to have kept one’s eye on the thing and effected an almighty thwack ought to have been a fairly routine exercise for one paid professionally to apply lower appendage to ball on a daily basis. Clear the thing and re-organise, would have appeared to have been the order of the day.

Hojbjerg, though, was to give us one final reminder of just how maddening a soul he can be, by completely slicing his clearance, applying no distance to it whatsoever but instead sending it spinning sideways, and into the path of a chap who last week was crowned Player of the Year by his fellow professionals.

Of course, circumstances being what they were yesterday, many received this intervention with hearty applause, but whatever one’s inclinations yesterday, the whole episode just seemed to rubber-stamp, at the likely end of his Tottenham career, that Hojbjerg really has been a most peculiar sort of egg.

4. Playing Out From The Back

Now this is a weekly gripe, albeit not one I tend to record too often for posterity in this particular newsletter, but if there’s one thing guaranteed to put the bird about me it’s this business of playing out from the back.

For clarity, this is not even something that irritates specifically when espoused by our heroes. When I watch any blasted game and the team preparing a goal-kick opt for those daft short passes across their own area, it sets me muttering away and waving an occasional, grumpy hand.

Some data for your digestion first. I read on a pretty reputable source last week, that on average this season our lot concede possession from this approach seven times per game. Seven times! On average it leads to the opposition taking one shot per game, and in total we have conceded seven goals this season, from trying to play out from the back.

If you’re anything like me you’ll have missed the second half of the previous paragraph because your eyes will have glazed over and a cold chill spread down your spine, at the revelation that this madcap tomfoolery results in us losing possession seven times per game. I was reminded of this abomination last night, when City’s first two decent attempts resulted precisely from them winning the ball on the edge of our area when we tried unsuccessfully to pass our way out (the Foden shot saved, and de Bruyne, I think, having a shot at the start of the second half, also producing a flying Vicario intervention).

What grates is that the return on this investment is negligible. If every other time we did it we ended up bearing down on the opposition goal within a hop and a skip, I’d be much more inclined to support it. “Why not?” I would rather rhetorically remark, “The odds are reasonable enough.” But the point is precisely that the odds are not reasonable. I don’t see the value of the dashed thing at all, truth be told. At best we make it to halfway or so, at which point Sonny runs the ball out of play or Maddison gets crowded out or Kulusevski fouls his man, and it is all for naught anyway.

I presume the theory is that, if done well, a spot of zig-zagging from six-yard box onwards can bypass a good four or five opposition attackers. Even this seems a pretty measly reward if you ask me, and hardly worth the risk. If it bypassed nine or ten opponents my attention would be gripped; but it doesn’t. Frankly, if one wants to bypass four or five attackers, a gently lofted pass out wide along the halfway line, from the size nines of Vicario, will do just as well, and without the risk of conceding possession on the edge of our own area.

It’s here to stay, so, as with so much in the life of a Spurs supporter it’s all pretty futile anyway, but next time you see our heroes concede possession in this absurd fashion in or around our own area, cup a hand to your ear and see if you can make out the well-articulated curse in the distance, for that will be AANP having dashed well had enough.

5. Our Glorious Leader’s Post-Match Rant

If you had cupped a hand to your ear last night, however, an hour or so after the curtain came down, the cursing you’d have heard would have had much of the Antipodean twang about it, because Our Glorious Leader added a most peculiar coda to proceedings.

For those whom this whole episode innocently bypassed, the gist is that in his post-match ramblings, Ange made clear – with some pretty sharp and testy retorts, and a few choice glares – that he was unhappy with the fan-base. He may have been unhappy with others too, his words were a tad cryptic and difficult to interpret in truth, but at one point he clearly indicated irritation that bellowing from the four stands of our lovely arena, which has previously acted as the soundtrack to a last-minute escape or two, was conspicuous by its absence yesterday, and that this irked.

The whole business of fan sentiment before and during yesterday’s production has been well-documented, and AANP being an accepting sort was quite happy for each man, woman and child to make their own choice. Indeed, it should be noted that our Big Cheese has himself previously been at pains to insist that he is not one for prescribing to fans how they should think or feel.

This seemed to go out the window last night. As it happens, I’m fully in favour of anyone grabbing by the shoulders each of our mob and shaking a bit of winning mentality into them. If four decades of watching has taught me anything it’s that one Spurs team after another is all too willing to accept being second-best, or worst.

What jarred a little last night, however, was seeing quite how angry Ange became, seemingly at the fan-base, when in recent weeks he has looked a lot less hot under the collar after a series of frankly dreadful performances by the players. The players’ performances in defeats to Fulham, Newcastle, Chelsea and Woolwich themselves, each very reasonably earned a spot of Postecoglou gruffling and varying degrees of displeasure – but nothing like the volcanic stuff that simmered away last night.

One doesn’t really know the full story, I suppose, and he might have woken this morning feeling a lot bonnier about life, with his airways having been cleared and bright new dawns ahead. Last night’s whingeing however, and the direction in which it was aimed, seem to have chipped away a bit of the goodwill that he has generally amassed over the last nine months or so. For avoidance of doubt, AANP is still whole-heartedly supportive of Team Ange, and pretty confident that a few key signings (and sales), and a willingness occasionally to tweak tactics (as last night), will see us faring better next time out than this – but the head honcho might be advised to direct his evil eye and scything commentary elsewhere for a while.

Categories
Spurs match reports

Spurs 2-1 Burnley: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. Left-Back: Skipp

A penny for Emerson Royal’s thoughts, what? Truth be told, the lad seems to harbour such delusions of his own ability, genuinely convinced that no finer player than he ever trod the earth, that he probably viewed the selection of Skipp as a means of protecting him for the City game on Tuesday.

Skipp it was then, following a steady cameo at unorthodox left-back vs Liverpool. I suppose there cannot be many footballers it’s easier to tell apart than Oliver Skipp and Destiny Udogie, and these differences evidently stretch beyond merely physical appearance. Where Udogie is partial to a gallop from within halfway to the edge of the opposition penalty area – with or without the ball – Skipp is evidently a bit more reserved about the whole business.

Skipp is no doubt the sort who, when crossing a road, will look right, left and then right again – because one can never be too sure – and he brought this attitude of good common sense, with a dash of the old ‘Safety First’, with him into the arena yesterday. That is to say he seemed happy enough to venture forward over halfway and well into enemy territory, but only once sure that the back-door was locked first. More Ben Davies than Destiny Udogie, I suppose one might say – and as fourth- or fifth-choice, and still finding his feet in the role, that was no bad thing.

The one shame about his performance was that for the goal we conceded he paid rather cruelly for the briefest lapse of concentration. If any of the sticklers amongst you has ever queried precisely how long a “split-second” lasts, I’d suggest rewinding footage of yesterday’s Burnley goal and casting an eye upon young Skipp when the move is at its genesis, as for the briefest duration – a split-second, if you will – he gazes at the ball and the ball only, subconsciously taking a step or two towards it and rather letting drift from his mind the existence of that Brun Larsen fellow behind him. And that, alas, was all it took.

The B.L. nib had a yard advantage, and unlike Skipp was facing towards our goal, when the foot-race started, factors that did much to seal the deal. Ultimately, to use a sentiment that I suspect will one day be the epitaph on Skipp’s Tottenham career, while his honest endeavour could not be faulted he just did not quite make it.

As an aside, I did note something similar last week, when Skipp chased the shadow of Mo Salah for 20 yards before the latter deposited the ball in the net – but on that occasion the flag was raised. To this day it is unclear to me whether Skipp was actually in the wrong position, or whether Salah escaped him precisely because he had the unfair offside advantage. Either way, it would be understandable if our boy is yet to master some of the finer positional intricacies of the role – and let’s face it, that Skipp is even in the frame when these desperate sprints from halfway begin is something of an improvement, given that Porro and Udogie have spent the whole season being caught a good ten yards further up the pitch.

2. Left-Back: Van de Ven

So apart from his involvement in the goal conceded – or lack thereof, I suppose – Skipp’s afternoon passed without too much drama, either in terms of Emerson-esque moments to infuriate or Udogie-esque moments to take the breath away. The plot thickened like the dickens on 75 minutes however, when Skipp was replaced by Dragusin, who duly gave a Skipp-esque performance low on items of note, and the consequent re-jig saw young Van de Ven shoved over to the left.

AANP being a laid-back sort of egg, I took in this sorcery with an accepting enough nod; but for some amongst the tribe the move of VDV to left-back was evidently pretty sensational stuff. To update those who just watch the football and don’t pay too much attention to the noise, there has been a pretty rowdy minority waving placards and thrusting petitions about the place which have called for precisely this rearrangement in the absence of Udogie. “Give Dragusin a chance at centre-back,” goes the catchy refrain, “and more to the point let’s see Van de Ven at left-back, given that the chap is lightning quick, pretty comfortable on the ball and left-footed.”

So when the relevant stars aligned at minute 75 yesterday there was some pretty gleeful hand-rubbing going on about the place, as VDV At Left-Back campaigners got their wish. And lo, our newly-minted Best Performing Old Bean (and Best Performing Young Bean, to give him his full list of accolades) rose to the occasion like an absolute pro. Having provided a couple of immediate hints that he was in the mood, by gamely exploring the higher echelons of the left touchline, the manner in which he took his goal was enough to clasp the hand to the forehead and mutter a pretty meaningful “Golly.”

The fact that VDV was where he was in the first place, in order to avail himself of Maddison’s pass, spoke volumes. Maddison received the ball 10 yards north of the centre circle, and VDV was another 10 yards north of him – occupying what hearty traditionalists of good sense and sound mind might call an inside-forward sort of spot, in between Son out on the left and Scarlett in the centre.

To give it a different translation, he was in precisely the sort of position one would expect of Udogie on his more adventurous days, and as Maddison rolled the ball towards him he scuttled off in between the lines, as the knowing sorts like to say, into that space between Burnley’s midfield and defence that is guaranteed to cause looks of consternation to be passed around between them like a hot potato.

Having the gumption even to pop up in these environs I thought spoke volumes about the chap’s grasp of the role requirements and eagerness to partake of the attacking aspects of the binge; but then to collect the ball in his stride, skip past three quarters of their defence and finish the thing off was an absolute triumph, and wildly out of keeping with our laboured efforts in front of goal for something like the last six months.

In particular, I was rather taken by the dip of the shoulder that left the various Burnley sorts pirouetting on the spot like malfunctioning robots in need of instruction and direction, followed by the coup de grace, a remarkably thoughtful directioning of his shot one way when it looked for all the world as if nature was gently coaxing him to shoot the other way.

The usual caveats apply I suppose – only Burnley, only fifteen minutes – but it was a spot of quality the like of which we have sorely missed in the final third, and it poses quite the head-scratcher for Our Glorious Leader ahead of City on Tuesday. VDV at left-back is one thing, and as auditions go, this was one to file in the ‘Flying Colours’ category; but the whole issue also hinges on the delicate matter of whether that Dragusin chap would therefore be able to handle about eighteen foot of Haaland lumbering about the place.

3. Romero

Football is, of course pretty reactionary sort of guff these days. I mean to say you can’t lob a brick without hitting someone who insists that a current player is the best there’s ever been, and that there is nothing to a game beyond goals and assists, and generally peddling the slightly Orwellian line that there’s no point harking back a bit because football didn’t exist back then. And in keeping with this train of thought is the notion that the stand-out defenders are the ones who scored, because nothing else matters.

AANP does not go in for this mode of thinking, and as such will quite happily place neatly to one side the fine finishes of both Messrs VDV and Porro (who, to his credit, leathered his goal like an absolute missile – and then, fuelled by adrenaline, spent the remainder shooting at every opportunity). The standout chappie for my money was young Romero. The other pair may have each had their eye-catching moment, but Romero seemed to excel throughout.

Admittedly he did not have a great deal to do at the back, one early block being pretty much the sum of it, as Burnley pottered about fairly cluelessly throughout, but coming forward I thought he became an increasingly useful cog. He picked passes, ran with the ball and ran usefully without the ball, and generally contributed strongly to the improved second half performance of the collective.

A few inches this way or that and he might also have created a goal for Sarr and nodded one in himself, but all things considered I had him down as the pick of a pretty decent bunch. He will have sterner defensive tests to come – not least on Tuesday night – but that attacking string to his bow was put to mightily handy use yesterday.

4. A Welcome Upturn

Much-needed stuff in the end, both in terms of result and performance. No doubt it helped to play literally a Championship team, Burnley being pretty poor in every respect, but nevertheless, one can only do one’s best against the fodder placed in one’s way, and our heroes created plenty of chances in the second half in particular.

There were some much improved individual performances too. As ever one cannot escape too far from the clutches of the caveat that it was only Burnley, but it was good to see Maddison potter about the place with a dash more meaning than in recent weeks, and Bentancur similarly looked about more clued up when he trotted on, while Kulusevski improved after a dreary first half, and Johnson took up enough good positions to have scored a fairly straightforward hat-trick.

I was also impressed by young Scarlett, as much as anything else for simply giving us a bona fide focal point in attack as we pushed for the winner, even if he himself did not necessarily make too many seismic contributions.

The whole gang of them bucked up in the second half, albeit added aided throughout by Burnley’s pretty loose and liberal interpretations of playing out from the back, but as mentioned, and after a run of four defeats, one simply takes the win with a murmur of appreciation.

Categories
Spurs match reports

Liverpool 4-2 Spurs: Five Tottenham Talking Points

1. Bissouma

Being something of a glutton for punishment, and having had younger members of the clan to entertain during the live production, AANP treated himself to a repeat viewing of this one, and was actually struck by the fact that, aside from a couple of key shortcomings, this was not quite the horror-show that a 4-0 deficit inside an hour might have had one expect. Now admittedly the phrase “A couple of key shortcomings” is doing a heck of a lot of heavy lifting in that opening soliloquy, covering both the fact that for an hour our attack was utterly toothless, and the fact that throughout the entirety our defence was utterly clueless.

But nevertheless, fans of silver linings would have been spoilt for choice in seeing our midfield give as good as they got, in terms of both pressing out of possession and moving things quickly when in possession. Put another way, there was a bit of urgency about the place.  

Bissouma caught the eye in this sense, because at least in possession he had what you might call a tidy little game. More than once I tipped the hat in his direction as he collected the ball on around the halfway line, two or three Liverpool bodies converging on him, and with a dashing swivel of the hips pirouetted away out of trouble and was able to shove the problem over to someone else.

None of it really stood out in the memory because our attacks tended to fizzle out in utterly forgettable manner whenever we reached the final third, but had the forward mob been firing we might have generously thrown at Bissouma such choice compliments as ‘The foundation’ and ‘The heartbeat’ and other such knowing tokens of appreciation.

All that said, I still expect a dashed sight more from whomever is sitting in front of the back-four in a defensive sense. Handy though Bissouma’s capacity for skipping away from challenges no doubt is, at least 50% of the Job Description involves patrolling when Liverpool race forward, and in this respect one might euphemistically suggest that he did not quite manage to blunt at source every Liverpool attack, given that they kept wandering into our penalty area at will.

The feeling nags away that there is a decent defensive midfielder lurking within the Bissouma frame – on the evidence of the first few months of this season as much as anything else – capable of both winning the ball from threatening opponents and bringing it forward with the care typically reserved for a protected species, but whether ‘tis he or some other, it’s a position in which the quality needs to improve a notch or three next season.

2. The Bentancur Conundrum

While Bissouma had me muttering “6 out of 10, I suppose”, I was decidedly less convinced by Bentancur. In fact, I was downright baffled by Bentancur. Not for the first time, I found myself wondering what his purpose was in this team.

For clarity, this is not to question his dreamy, silk-like technique. If I were to be invited as a guest to the training ground, I may well spend the entirety of my visit with eyes trained on Bentancur, just to feast the eyes on that technique from close quarters for a couple of hours.

But come matchday, and yesterday in particular, I trained the eye on the honest fellow with laser-like sharpness, and was left with one of those quizzical expressions etched across the map. He is neither a tackler like Bissouma ought really to be; nor a creator like Maddison ought really to be; nor a box-to-box ball of non-stop energy who does a neat side-line in doubling up on the wings like Sarr tends to be.

To his credit Bentancur did occasionally avail himself as a passing option, but even in this capacity he tended to do so in a manner so peripheral one would often forget he was still on the pitch. Apart from anything else it seemed a dashed waste of arguably the most talented player in our squadron.

 It would not take a great leap of the imagination to paint him, for example, as a Modric-esque deep-lying creative sort, as he seems to possess the required skillset. I’ve also heard the theory bandied about the streets of N17 that he was sculpted by nature as a box-to-box sort, but that the injury earlier this year put an understandable dent in his capacity in this sense. This may be the case, and I would certainly expect a fully restored version of Bentancur to potter about the place a bit more meaningfully next season, but within the current incarnation of Angeball I’m just not sure of his specific role – and at times I’m not sure he is either.  

3. Our Defence

However, for all the honest endeavours of Bissouma, Bentancur et al in poring over the midfield small print, the really sensational stuff was going off in the two penalty areas. Or rather, in one of them, because but for a couple of inviting Johnson crosses from the left that were duly ignored by all his teammates, all goalmouth activity occurred in our penalty area.

In recent weeks I have filled the atmosphere of AANP Towers with lamentations and curses about our defending at corners, noting amongst things that we still find ways to allow opponents free headers even when all eleven are stationed in the penalty area. And watching in particular the second and fourth goals sail in (Robertson’s close-range rebound and Harvey Elliott from outside the area, for those struggling to keep track) I noted that, as at corners, we were not conceding for want of defensive numbers filling the vicinity, but rather for want of any of the assembled having the bright idea of leaping into action in order to prevent damage manifesting.

Taking the Robertson goal, our lot had four members present and correct across the six-yard as things got toasty with a cross floated to the back-post. There then followed a rapid sequence of three opportunities for Liverpool folk to shoot – for not one of which was any attempt made to prevent a shot.

Taking them in order, Robertson arrived at the back post (he actually opted to square the ball, but certainly had the opportunity to shoot); Salah shot from a central position; and Robertson then tapped in the rebound from close range. Exciting stuff, I’m sure you’ll agree, but events with which any of our four defensive attendees might have interfered had the urge arisen.

Alas, the concept of preventing opposition shots from inside the area seemed well beyond their remit. As with corners in recent weeks, our heroes seemed to be operating on the premise that simply being in the vicinity was sufficient, and represented a pretty decent day’s work. Anything beyond that was evidently considered a bit of a stretch. One can only imagine the mystified looks and furrowed brows if the suggestion were put to them to rush from their stations and actually try narrowing the angle or blocking the incoming shots, or any other such progressive manoeuvres.

With the Elliott goal similarly, various lilywhite bodies were stationed in the area as the chap readied himself for his shot, but none seemed too concerned about any eventuality that might soon follow. Bentancur admittedly earned himself one small measure of credit by springing to life to effect a tackle, but immediately lost that measure by making a pretty perfunctory effort of it, letting Elliott skip straight past him and continue as if nothing had happened. Thereafter, both Bissouma and Sarr were on strictly watching duty only, and Elliott’s shot did not have too many outstretched limbs to negotiate.

But what rankled as much as the goals themselves was the fact that this same routine seemed to play out every time Liverpool attacked, dash it, in the first half in particular. Every time they strolled forward the pretty inevitable conclusion was that within a hop or a skip one of their number would be allowed a pop at goal, unmarked and from disturbingly close range. This sort of nonsense really should not happen as a one-off, let alone on recurring occasions, and yet by half-time it had become the norm, relying upon marginal offsides, goal-line blocks, the post, the crossbar, errant finishing or any other act of God to keep the score down to two.

And meanwhile, just to twist the knife in, up the other end a completely different set of principles were in operation, our attackers being denied the time even to consider the concept of a shot, before a flurry of red-bedecked limbs were upon them to crowd out the opportunity and ensure that the moment was lost in the mists of time.

(And just to tag on one final, supplementary complaint to the main body of complaints, our obsession with defending solely within the width of the six-yard box seems utterly empty-headed. The obvious flaw in this approach is the ample space it leaves for opponents to drift into beyond the back post – witness Salah and Gakpo’s goals – as such not so much preventing the concession of goals as providing a well-lit route to them for heaven’s sake. Moreover, if the squeezing of four defenders into the width of the six-yard box were a fool-proof means of blocking shots I’d see some merit in it – but, as indicated above, most of the time the blocking of shots appeared to be the last thing on the minds of our defenders.)

4. Emerson

While the collective were at fault for that maddening reluctance to prevent shots inside the penalty area, one amongst them was, rather predictably, destined to emerge as the poster-boy for their failings.

I suppose one ought not really to criticise a man before walking a mile in his shoes, on top of which every comment on Emerson’s performance ought to be heavily caveated with the acknowledgement that the poor lamb was playing out of position, a conventional right-back being asked to play as an inverted left-back.


And yet. Even with these very reasonable, mitigating circumstances, one still cannot fight the urge to slap him about the face with a wet fish, whilst simultaneously banging one’s own head against a brick wall, such is the array of means he lands upon to gum up operations.

Take that opening goal from Salah. A right-back on the left he might be, but really, would it have killed Emerson to interrupt his dozy afternoon sesh. of absent-minded ball-watching, in order to give a few moments’ thought to the whereabouts of one of the most dangerous Premier League forwards of the last decade? Salah was hardly operating by stealth, or putting to use some strange and unfathomable sorcery – he was simply standing behind Emerson. Emerson simply had glance over his shoulder, or open up his body. “Flail an arm, dash it man,” one wanted to yelp, “do something to keep track of the forward loitering the other side of you!”

Aside from that goal, Emerson had a pretty tough time of it, and here I genuinely do in fact sympathise, because frankly most people would similarly struggle. There’s no real shame in being bested by an eel like Mo Salah. So when Emerson simply found himself outfoxed, undone or turned inside out by the better man on the day, I kept my curses to myself and instead looked this way and that for help from the arriving reinforcements. Even when Emerson shrugged his shoulders, mouthed “To hell with this,” and earned himself a yellow card for a needless spot of wrestling of his man, I gave him the benefit of the doubt. A tough old gig, you see.

But where AANP’s sympathies abruptly end is when Emerson brings fresh ills upon himself pointlessly and avoidably. Casual, high-risk passes I mean, or tumbling to ground under minimal contact in areas of the pitch in which it’s far better to stay upright and stick to the task. This tendency for taking a position of serenity and needlessly turning it into a big old vat full of hot water, seemingly driven by the bizarre, quixotic conviction that he’s the finest footballer ever to lace a boot and impervious to misdeed, is what really drives me potty.

And this sort of fat-headedness was unveiled again for the third goal, when having actually done the hard work of inserting self between the ball and Salah, Emerson settled in to have a pause and weigh up the options, oblivious to the presence of that Elliott chap once again arriving on the scene, to whip the ball from his feet and set up another goal.

The excuse about him operating out of position, while true enough, only goes so far in excusing his carelessness. Right-footed or left-footed, the dithering to allow Elliott to pilfer the ball was simply lack of concentration.

Whether or not Emerson picked up an injury I’m not sure, but the replacement of him with young Skipp was an eye-catching move, and as it turned out not the worst one. The tendency of our substitutes, whoever they may be, always to play better than the fellows they replace, whomever they may be, continues to perplex, but Skipp made a decent fist of things at left-back. He did not need too many invitations to nudge forward – even contributing to a goal – and worked hard enough in the opposite direction. The thought has previously occurred that those who have cut their teeth as midfielders might be well-suited to the rigours of inverted full-back within Angeball, so the sight of Skipp at left-back made for an interesting little experiment.

5. Sonny’s Sudden Resurgence

One ought not to become too excited about the late fightback – and frankly there is not much danger of that, just about everyone who witnessed it recognising it as something of an oddity within the context of the match, facilitated as much as anything else by Liverpool rather losing interest and changing half their personnel with the job already done. (As an aside though, I would like to have seen a head-height challenge with the studs carried out elsewhere on the pitch than inside the penalty area – to settle a private debate you understand.)

That said, it was nice to see Richarlison giving another demonstration of some of the benefits that accrue when one fields a bona fide striker in the central attacking role. But while the sudden change in atmosphere and energy levels brought about by the introduction to the cast list of a new character is understandable enough, I confess to being a little stumped as to what brought about Sonny’s sudden explosion into life when shoved out onto the left.

Quite randomly, and without any prior warning – either yesterday or in previous matches in which he’s played on the left – he absolutely tore into his full-back. Every time he received the ball he ran at him, throwing in stepovers, forcing him backwards and leaving completely unpredictable the issue of whether he would stick to the outside or cut inside. It frequently required more than two Liverpool sorts to halt his charge, and with a little more consideration to his decision-making he might have earned us more than just the two goals.

In theory, it was the sort of cameo that ought to have us rubbing the hands a goodish amount at the prospect of more to come in future weeks; however, having witnessed the chap barely lay a glove on his opposing right-back in midweek, when taking on Chelsea from the same position, I remain a little hesitant about his prospects in this regard. Yesterday’s successful half hour struck me more as a swallow than a summer, if you get my gist.

That slightly baffling half-hour from Son on the left, the rudimentary but effective adventures of Richarlison in the centre and the inviting crosses that Johnson pings in each week from the right suggest that at least in theory our lot ought to have a bit more threat about them than they have shown in recent weeks.  – but having all the constituent attacking parts click, and at a stage in the game in which contest is still alive, rather than at which we have already taken a hammering, currently seems rather too much to ask.

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Spurs match reports

Chelsea 2-0 Spurs: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. Set-Pieces

Those who know AANP best would describe him as a cheery fellow at all times (actually that might represent a slight mangling of the truth, Ms AANP tending to use terms like ‘grumpy’ and ‘stubborn’ and so forth), but the point is that I’m the sort of cove who, even after last night’s disaster, will tiptoe about the wreckage looking for the green shoots of positivity.

And as such it was with a spring in the step that I bounded out of bed at the crack of dawn this morning to rejoice in the couple of forward steps taken by our lot when defending corners. Over the last month or two this particular newsletter has turned into one long and bile-filled diatribe on the subject, so when the first early corner was conceded the eye with which I viewed proceedings was hardly forgiving.

What transpired, however, was actually vaguely encouraging. For a start, young Signor Vicario seemed determined at least to give the pretence of being a man of brawn and authority, dispensing a two-handed shove, no less, to the nearest trouble-making Chelsea imp. Admittedy it hardly carried the intimidation level of peak Mike Tyson, but much like one of those creative deities, AANP saw that it was good. It had taken a couple of months, but Vicario had received the memo. Rather than waving an outraged arm or two and pleading to the ref, he was at least giving the appearance of one who was master of his own kingdom.

That alone would probably have been insufficient, Vicario still numbering amongst those within our ranks who need a few steaks and raw eggs shoved down his gullet, followed by some six-hour gym sessions, but the situation improved even further when Pedro Porro toddled on stage and into the thick of things, it swiftly becoming evident that he had been employed in a temporarily role as hired muscle for Vicario.

This pleased me immensely. I recall a few months back, when this weakness at corners was first exposed, that James Maddison was drafted in as personal security for Vicario. ‘Spirit willing, flesh weak’, was pretty much the AANP take on events at that point, for while the idea of assigning a bit of help was a well-meaning one, Maddison’s is not the physique to strike fear into the typical, solid physical specimen that constitutes the modern-day Premier League footballer.

Porro, however, seems a densely-construct sort of unit, boasting a barrel-like chest and a neck of the form of a small but sturdy tree trunk. Dropping him into the thick of front-line action seemed a good idea, and so it proved. He duly attached himself to the Chelsea pest, providing a pretty decent buffer between the latter and Vicario, and also allowing Vicario licence to perform that slapstick manoeuvre only seen in penalty areas at corners, whereby the goalkeeper can bestow a mighty shove upon his own teammate, which flows much like an electric current directly through to the opponent on t’other side of the teammate.

Anyway, the plan worked – at least until Vicario tried to reach the ball under pressure from Richarlison of all people, and duly found himself outmuscled, Lord help us all – and the stress levels, which had previously shot through the roof and off into orbit each time we conceded a corner, came down a few welcome notches.

However, this being Tottenham, no sooner had we seemingly cleared up one set-piece misadventure than another two shot out from nowhere to ruin the evening. When the ref peeped his whistle for a right-sided free-kick to Chelsea, the danger levels seemed relatively low. All eleven of our lot were behind the ball, the ball was over 40 yards from goal and the assorted protaganists and antagonists had assembled for battle along the edge of our area, hardly a critical zone in which one flick is impossible to defend.

Closer inspection, however, revealed a most baffling approach to the problem by our heroes. Of the seven lined up along the edge of the area, six had eyes fixed upon two Chelsea forwards in front of them – leaving the solitary figure of Brennan Johnson at the back post single-handedly to cover no fewer than three other Chelsea forwards. Three! Covered by just one of ours! When another six of ours were assigned to two forwards! I mean, really. ‘Rummy’ does not cover it. What the deuces they were thinking is utterly beyond me, but pretty unsurprisingly Chelsea bypassed the half-dozen flexing their muscles at the front and centre, and sought out their three-on-one advantage at the back post.

Now admittedly Chelsea also benefitted here from one heck of a header, but nevertheless. Another man or two to help out Johnson might at least have put the header under some pressure.

As for the second, it’s almightily tempting to lay into Sonny and Hojbjerg for first independently reaching the same conclusion that challenging for the header was not really within their remit; and then laying on the slapstick in their attempts to prevent the ball looping gently into the net, entangling their limbs in some sort of will-they-won’t-they embrace, undecided whether polite negotiation or brute force were the appropriate approach to take to clear the other from their path, before seemingly realising simultaneously that as teammates some collaborative approach might well resolve things – by which point the net was rippling and the game done.

Whether or not the job might have been done perfectly well by just one of them, unencumbered by the other, we’ll never know, but the half-hearted nature of their efforts summed up our lot quite neatly.

2. Brennan Johnson

If asked by a well-meaning chum who amongst our number stood out, I’d probably shrug the shoulders, a distant sort of look of despair in the eyes, and mumble that Brennan Johnson looked alright in the first half I suppose, before he disappeared into a void.

Qualifying the above, it was not so much that he played particularly well, as that he looked like at any second he was about to start playing particularly well. For whatever reason, a decent proportion of our attacks were funnelled through his size nines, our breaks from the left typically culminating in a diagonal that found him running onto the ball with a bit of space to attack.

Johnson vs Cucurella appeared to be simmering nicely as a sub-plot to the overall drama. Occasionally Cucurella stuck out a meaningful foot, but equally often Johnson found a route around him and slung in a low delivery. With Son seemingly not caring too much whether he was involved or not on the other side, Johnson’s seemed the route to success.

But then, the first act tension having been established and the platform for great things created, things rather fizzled out. I remain a fan of the chap – more so than of Werner or Kulusevski in the wide positions – but while it seemed as though Johnson’s breakthrough would soon arrive if he kept running at Cucurella, that whole battle just dissipated into the net sky.

For ten or so minutes at the start of the second half our lot collectively upped the urgency levels of their pottering about, but after that it all faded away. The 60th-minute changes saw Johnson shunted off to the left, from where he did not achieve much either, after which he was replaced by Bryan Gil, whose cameo panned out exactly as we all expected, and exactly as every Bryan Gil cameo will ever pan out, unless he plays against a team of schoolboys yet to hit their physical development straps.

3. Richarlison

Another one I mention by default, because everyone else was so utterly forgettable. Those compiling their detailed and chart-illustrated post-match reports would be struggling a bit when it came to forensic analysis of his outputs, because he barely touched the ball in any meaningful areas – one shot drilled wide in the second half, from close range, under pressure and at a bit of an angle is all I can remember.

However, on two occasions in the first half, Richarlison did receive the ball with back to goal – admittedly in nondescript areas – and perform with aplomb the duties of first holding up the ball and then tumbling to the deck in order to win a free-kick. These caught the eye and earned the approving nod simply because they are a couple of the arts with which Sonny is thoroughly unfamiliar, and they therefore constitute aspects of the game we have completely lacked in our forward play, over the last month or two.

And if that’s the best that can be said about our lot, it really is time to give one another nervous glances, what?

4. What The Dickens Is Going On?

Not to get too fruity with the old vocab, but it’s all rather fallen off a cliff, what?

Some point to the disallowed Son goal in the home game against Chelsea; some point to the red cards for Romero and Udogie in the same game; some point to the VDV and Maddison injuries that night; and others rather apoplectically interrupt to say that they’re all missing the point, because all of the above are now fit again, and have been for months, and we have not had any European or Cup distractions, but teams have pretty swiftly realised that Angeball can be countered by simply letting us have possession safe in the knowledge that a) we lack the craft and guile to break them down, and b) we’ll push up our full-backs and be left wide open on the counter, particularly on the wings.

Seemingly the only thing on which we can all agree is that our heads are soon all about to explode with exasperation and rage, so I suppose there’s at least some common ground there.

I’ve also noted, by the by, that various amongst us are stamping the feet and insisting that this guff would not be happening under Conte or Jose (nobody’s really calling for Nuno, mind, so there’s more common ground).

To this argument I would urge caution, and a clearer memory. Under Jose the tactic increasingly became to defend with nine or ten across our own penalty area, and then try to steam forward on the counter – an approach that resulted in various last-minute defeats that brought howls of derision, the complaint that our eyes bled and the rationale that if we were going to lose we might as well do so entertainingly.

Under Conte the approach was similarly joyless, defensive and increasingly reliant upon deep defending and counter-attacking, reaching its nadir with the thrown away two-goal lead against Southampton (which brought about Conte’s peculiar rant and dismissal).

One doesn’t really want to revisit the specifics and argue about the exact number of highs and lows and whatnot, but the broad point is that under neither regime were we particularly watertight in defence, or brimming with intensity in general play, nor was there much joy to be had drinking it all in each week – and, if you don’t mind me clearing the throat and drawing a spot of attention to the obvious, under both regimes we were blessed with arguably the most complete striker in the world to bail us out each week. So that helped lighten some of the darker days.

No doubt Our Glorious Leader (the current incarnation) needs to do some prime un-muddling on the training pitch. Tactically, the inability to break down deep defences and vulnerability to counter-attacks make one pull out the hair and hold the breath respectively, far more than is really healthy. Worryingly last night (and against Newcastle and Fulham and so on), there has also been a bit of a sense about the place that those involved find it is all a bit too much and would rather be elsewhere, so there’s another one for the Postecoglou inbox.

If anyone is seriously calling for the head of the manager at this stage, I would probably pat them gently on the shoulder and offer them a snifter from the cabinet; the AANP take is to take a deep breath or three, dip into the well of patience so fabled amongst Spurs fans and watch with interest what tweaks are effected in Season 2. On a valedictory note, I draw attention to a selection of choice vitriol being aimed at the chap by Celtic fans during his first season in those sunny climes, the mood there and then being uncannily similar to that here and now (and while at it you might as well hop aboard the AANP Tweeting Machine, which occasionally sputters into life). I’m not quite sure of the specifics of what he did thereafter, in terms of tactics and other such cerebral matters, but things seemed to buck up a smidge under his tutelage, so hope springs eternal, what?