Category: Spurs match reports

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 2-1 Liverpool: Three Things You’re Guaranteed From Tottenham

Ahoy-hoy. Better late than never, as Aaron Lennon may well have chuckled to himself on Monday morn, while gazing intently at the mirror and shaving those diagonals just so.Some tardy musings on the Liverpool game then. Following the final whistle one passing observer had the temerity to suggest that Spurs are becoming a tad predictable. He was promptly hurled to his doom from the top storey of AANP Towers, but on reflection I do appreciate his point. “Predictable” was a poor choice of words, but there are definitely certain recurring elements to our glorious, manic run of current form.

1. Fall Behind, Come Back And Win 

2. Huzzah – Penalty! 

Being awarded the thing always sparks an excited cheer, but thereafter, the outlook becomes rather gloomy, a phenomenon that has been baffling the amateur scientists of N17 all week. It would be nice to think that they could take a leaf out of Alan Shearer’s book, and spend all week practising the noble art of thumping the ruddy thing into the top corner, but one never knows. Off the top of my head the roll of dishonour currently includes VDV, Pav, Hudd, Keane and Defoe. Some have suggested that Modders should be next up, although I vaguely recall him missing one in Euro 2008.The fact that we miss these blinking things so frequently does detract from the fact that we seem to earn an extraordinary number of them. Nine penalties already this season (in 23 games I think). That really is an awful lot so early in the season. Some have been due to acts of complete and unprompted mentalism on the part of opponents, but a lot have been earned by drawing fouls in the area, for which I suppose our heroes ought to earn a gentle ripple of applause (or indeed yellow cards for simulation, depending on the mood of the hero in black).

3. Someone – Anyone – Gets Injured 

 

A typically open, madcap affair, one which either team could have won by three clear goals, but such is life around N17 these days.Other Points of Note

Not sure of the top comic trends in Honduras at the moment, but I rather hope that they are not imbued with a strong sense of irony, because the cheers greeting Sergeant Wilson were not to be taken too literally. The appreciation of Gallas was rather more heartfelt; while the man-love for Modders continues quite healthily at AANP Towers. No clean sheet, I think we should be grateful that we conceded only one. Another last-minute winner, another three points, and the talk of title dark-horses still cannot quite be laughed out of town just yet.

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 3-0 Werder Bremen: Have You Ever Seen Anything Like It?

How surreal. If there were a worry prior to kick-off it was that following the euphoria of Saturday our heroes might be a little too complacent, and simply stroll through this one. And in truth, they were indeed a tad complacent and most certainly did stroll through – yet it was of little consequence. Can anyone remember a match of such magnitude being so mind-bogglingly easy for Spurs?Bremen: Awful 

It made no sense, but then very little did last night. To see Spurs cruising through in such untroubled fashion was almost ineffably peculiar, and the attitude of the Germans simply added to the confusion. Only if the heavens had opened and the players been soaked to the skin could Bremen have looked more forlorn and less motivated. (Although that blonde attacking chap did a good Modric impression throughout.)

A strange old evening for sure. There have not been too many occasions on which I have lamented the fact that Jenas has been forced to depart early, yet he has been in relatively steady form in recent weeks and made an eye-catchingly positive start last night, so I rather felt for the chap when he limped off. Moreover, with Hudd off radar for a few months we can ill-afford to lose another central midfielder for any length of time.

That said, this was one of the best days Sergeant Wilson has had in months. Every tackle seemed perfectly-executed, and (almost) every pass distributed simply and accurately. Further curiosity was to be had in the serenading of William Gallas with the strains of “Yiddo! Yiddo!”, as he effortlessly outmuscled the German mob. In so many respect things are a-changing at the Lane these days.

The Cream of a Mighty Impressive Crop 

That said, it was the usual scintillating stuff from young Master Bale, who added a Cruyff-turn to his super-human repertoire. Personally I am convinced that he was actually aiming for the cross-bar with that second-half free-kick, for the very best players set themselves those sorts of challenges, and as for the penalty – well, like forearm tattoos and the pre-match huddle, missing from the spot is just a trend amongst the current crop of heroes in lilywhite. It will pass.

Crouch’s Grinning Visage 

And while I’m grumbling, perhaps this is a good opportunity to draw attention to the manner in which my heart-rate quickens whenever Benny Assou-Ekotto goes near the ball. He is not a particularly bad player, simply maddeningly lackadaisical about just about everything he does. I’m not sure there has ever been another Spurs player at whom I so constantly want to bellow “CONCENTRATE, you loon,” as he attempts shoulder-dinks and the like on the edge of his own penalty area, whilst working assiduously to pick out opposition players with every pass.

Strange Times at White Hart Lane

All things considered however this was probably as serene a Tottenham victory as I can remember. It may not prove the most thrilling of our commemorative DVDs, but it is probably worth purchasing simply for the variety of rare bonus features thrown in – a clean sheet, a sprightly Aaron Lennon, a Kranjcar cameo and, taken in its entirety, a Tottenham performance that was just about the epitome of professionalism. Admittedly Bremen were woeful, but we threw away a two-goal lead against them before, and conceding at any point until we scored our third (the 80th minute) would have made for a nervy finish. Instead we were dominant and efficient from start to finish – I frankly cannot remember the last time I ever saw that from Spurs. Whatever next?

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Spurs match reports

Arsenal 2-3 Spurs: Bang Goes The Gallas Conspiracy, & Other Agreeable Musings

“`All right,’ said the Cat; and this time it vanished quite slowly, beginning with the end of the tail, and ending with the grin, which remained some time after the rest of it had gone.”

 

And all across the lovelier half of North London, grins remain, just lingering in the air. What a marvellous weekend’s work.

 

Tactics, Tactics

 

Fully aware that we had failed to win away at the top four since the last Ice Age, ‘Arry ordered our heroes to adopt The Lazarus Approach that has served us fairly well on a couple of occasions this season on our travels in the Champions League. Accordingly, our lot just did not bother in the first half when things began at 0-0, instead opting for the challenge of overturning a multi-goal second half deficit, against a ticking clock and away from home, because it’s just much more fun that way. With the second half comeback in mind, the central midfield of Jenas and Modders diligently avoided doing anything that might be interpreted as gaining a semblance of control of the game in its opening 45 minutes, and also surreptitiously made their excuses whenever the back-four needed help in that lamentable first half.

 

All of which set things up nicely for the latest chapter in the ongoing 4-4-2 vs 4-5-1 debate. How easy it is to forget how at the start of the season ‘Arry was derided for the gung-ho 4-4-2 away to Young Boys. No two ways about it, on Saturday the half-time switch to 4-4-2 helped to prompt the about-turn. Amidst all the excitement and nerves, from my lofty perch I must confess that I rather ignored some of the subtler tactical nuances of the game, and opted instead for the more Neanderthalic approach of screaming and cursing at the TV whilst slurping beer, spearing wild animals and making fire. Nevertheless, on reflection it did seem that the addition of Defoe made the world of difference, not least by giving the l’Arse back-four reason to break sweat; while our 4-4-2 featured a distinctly narrow midfield four, which mightily effectively nullified the other lot.

 

Van Der Vaart – Huzzah!

 

VDV remains convinced that the boundaries of the pitch are marked by electric fences rather than white paint, and consequently spent his time as a right-winger ploughing straight up and down the centre of the pitch – but given that he created/scored all three of our goals, I think he earned the right to sit down on the centre-spot and smoke Amsterdam’s finest for the rest of the game if that is what he wanted. The chap’s technical mastery and love of the game was epitomised in his assist for the first goal, when I’m pretty sure he actually kissed the ball as it dropped from the sky, before letting it roll down his chest and flicking on to Bale.

 

Bale – Huzzah!

 

A propos Bale, the slick manner in which he collected the ball without breaking stride was worth a goal in itself, at least in terms of downright dreaminess. As luck would have it the equally slick manner in which he then flicked the ball past Fabianski was worth a goal in the more commonly-recognised literal manner. Aside from the magnitude of the occasion, in terms of pure quality, it was a cracking little effort – as most of his goals tend to be.

 

Gallas – Huzzah!

 

However, while VDV and Bale did the glamorous stuff, the hero of the hour and a half was back at the other end of the pitch. In recent weeks on this very corner of the interweb the commitment of Gallas to the lilywhite cause has been under great scrutiny, with suspicion rife at AANP Towers that while picking up his pay-cheque from Daniel Levy he still packs his sandwiches in an Arsenal lunch-box. Yesterday however, Gallas turned in the performance of a man possessed by the spirit of an indomitable blue and white cockerel. In the first half in particular, while his lilywhite chums fell over themselves to let l’Arse do whatever they jolly well pleased, Gallas shook a clenched fist and did his damnedest to keep those rotters at bay, with all manner of crunching tackles and dogged harrying. Whatever next?

 

Some Words on Our Vanquished Opponents

 

We tend not usually to bother with the opposition around these parts – ‘tis a Spurs blog after all – but having watched the game in the company of a couple of gooner chums the sweet smell of Schadenfreude has been wafting through the corridors of AANP Towers all weekend. Sometimes a memorable win is marked by a performance practically perfect in ever way (Inter Milan, or Chelski last season, par example). This time however, I’m happy to accept that we were awful in the first half, and hardly vintage Tottenham Hotspur in the second. It was not so much a game that had me beating my chest with pride as crying with laughter come the final whistle, for the glory glory of this occasion was to be found in the quite magnificent manner in which l’Arse imploded. Within spitting distance of the top of the table they completely lost the plot, with their handshakes and handballs and whatnot. To nab game, set and match, from two-nil down, and on their own patch – it was just too much fun.

 

Where Will It All End?

 

While our heroes no doubt charged off to Faces to celebrate, ‘Arry ensured that everyone associated with the club kept their feet on the ground by talking up our title prospects. It is possible for sure, mathematically and all that, but AANP is not going to grab its latest pay-cheque and charge down to the bookmakers quite just yet.

 

As with Saturday’s win, success this season seems likely to be aided as much by the shortcomings of others as by our own good work. One startling feature of this campaign has been the fact that every five minutes one of the genuine title-challengers is losing to a non-descript team from somewhere in that grey mid-table area. One or two good wins by any of the top five and over-excited types start making breathless noises about winning the title – which is actually a Man City reference. Opportunity certainly knocks for someone or other, and for all our dropped points against Wigan and West Ham, another top four finish remains very much within our grasp (although the return of the Champions League this week will presumably dent our league form once again).

 

Still, even if the season ends in the ignominy of failure to win the Premiership, we have already ticked off more boxes than I would have dreamed possible a few months back. Wins at home to l’Arse and Chelski last year; and sealing our top-four spot; and beating Young Boys; and beating Inter; and beating l’Arse on their own pitch – in isolation all of these are just commemorative DVDs, but add them together and our heroes are trundling along in the right direction, make no mistake.

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 4-2 Sunderland: 4-4-2 or 4-5-1?

Blessed relief. With the 4-4-2 formation, flowing pass-and-move stuff and hatful of chances throughout this was vaguely akin to the glory glory days of way back in season 2009-10. Seeing Paul Robinson look on forlornly as the ball crashed repeatedly into the net really did give the afternoon a retro feel, but after our recent run of form the priority was three points in any manner possible, and they have accordingly been lapped up most gleefully around these parts.

 

4-4-2 or 4-5-1?

 

For all the doom and gloom of poor form and lengthy injury-lists in the build-up to this one, I was thrilled to bits to see our heroes trot out in good old-fashioned 4-4-2 formation. It served us jolly well last season, both at the Lane and on our travels, but the kids these days are all peddling some variant of 4-5-1, and with VDV blazing magnificence in every direction we have duly adopted it ourselves. It is understandable enough away from home on big European nights, but at home to Blackburn ‘Arry quite rightly decided to revert to the more attacking set-up of yore.

 

It all worked fine and dandy. Jenas and Modders took turns at loitering deep, but by and large all four across the middle merrily wore their attacking hats; and with two bona fide strikers on the pitch we did not face the difficulties of previous weeks, of lacking presence in attack. Here at AANP Towers we whisper snide remarks and begin malicious hate-campaigns against one-man attacks, and stomp our feet in rage when that one-man attack consists entirely of Peter Crouch, but conversely, nothing soothes the savage beast around these parts quite like a two-pronged forward-line, and so it proved yesterday.

 

Of course, the flip-side of a 4-4-2 is that it leaves VDV homeless. Presumably he was the nominal right winger on the teamsheet, but by and large his contribution to the right flank amounted to little more than an occasional glance in its direction, as he took up residence further infield near familiar chums like Modders and Bale. By accident or design VDV’s general neglect of the right flank proved not to be a problem, as Alan Hutton seemed quite happy to do the job of two men, bombing up the flank and sprinting back to defend faster than you could say “Vedran Corluka”.

 

I can grudgingly admit that there is indeed a time and a place for 4-5-1, but not at home to colourless mid-table fare of the ilk of Blackburn. Given that we beat l’Arse, Chelski, Man City and Liverpool at the Lane last season with 4-4-2, I quietly hope that more often than not at the Lane (that is, in matches in which our heroes amble out onto the pitch as favourites) we retain this approach, and find a way to accommodate VDV accordingly.

 

Odd Stuff From Pav

 

On the subject of our two forwards, what a curious old bean our resident Russian is. He seems dashed determined not to score unless the finish involves high levels of complexity and a jolly good hammering of the laws of physics. As such straightforward penalties and one-on-ones do not interest our Pav, but the less-than-entirely-straightforward chance presented yesterday was positively gobbled up with minimal fuss. All told it was a good lively showing from the Russia, moaning and fussing about the nasty Blackburn rotters ‘tis true, but also demonstrating a laudable willingness to scurry to all four corners of the lush green turf.

 

The same could hardly be said of the gangly one, who for a 6’ 7” striker remains infuriatingly poor at shooting and heading. While he earns polite applause for his goal, in general his greatest value seemed to come in the aid he kindly offered the back-four, from set-pieces and the like. (And on the subject of his defending, it is curious to note that the exact challenges for which he is routinely penalised when attacking (arms splayed all over the torso of an opponent) go unpunished when used by the gangly one while defending.)

 

Modders and Jenas – A Startlingly Effective Central Midfield Combo

 

I would like to think that long after the game has finished and fans have departed, Modders remains out on the White Hart Lane turf simply for love of the game, continuing to control the ball immaculately, dip his shoulder and look for a pass. Not as headline-grabbing as some of his peers, but a joy to behold and currently looking like a man thoroughly enjoying life.

 

As for his central midfield partner – lo and behold. No doubt the entire global membership of The Society of All Things Sideways and Backwards watched on aghast yesterday, as their leading proponent repeatedly broke the habit of a lifetime. Jermaine Jenas has generally edged the better side of average on his appearances this season, and it was most pleasing to observe yesterday that every time he received possession he seemed determined to push forward in search of glitz and glamour. He is hardly in the same class as Messrs Modric and VDV when it comes to caressing the ball as if it were a svelte brunette in a revealing dress, but his energy and attacking intent were most impressive, and he helped give our midfield fairly healthy balance – quite a feat considering that we were without either a genuine right-sided outlet or deep-lying holding type.

 

Further Progress in Construction of The Ultimate Footballer

 

Having already proved himself adept at dribbling, crossing, shooting, as well as boasting the ability to hurl in a throw-in like a man possessed, young Master Bale has now ticked “Scoring With Head” off the list of attributes required by a bionic footballer. His questionable fashion sense remains however, the man who once sported a hair-clip pin thing (to give it its technical name) in his mop yesterday opting for bright pink tape across his thighs. Still, whatever works for him.

 

Other Points of Note

 

A bird? A plane? For those scratching their heads in utter bewilderment I can confirm that it was indeed a Tottenham goal from a corner. My oh my, whatever next?

 

We threatened to throw away a 4-0 lead, but 15 minutes proved not quite long enough for the Kaboul-Gallas comedy routine to hit top gear (I should retract that actually, as both made cracking goal-line clearances), and in truth we ought to have won by far more than a two-goal margin. With l’Arse, Liverpool and Chelski all rapidly approaching on the horizon, a win yesterday was an absolute necessity, so give yourselves a round of applause chaps. The league remains such that the current occupants of the top four positions have been dropping points with gay and fairly frequent abandon, so fret not at our current state, behind Bolton and Sunderland. Despite the mishaps of recent weeks our heroes are by no means out of the running just yet.

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 1-1 Sunderland: Someone Immortalise Them in Lego

I suppose that after Saturday’s relentless barrage of thwacks at the Self-Destruct button by the esteemed members of our back-four, we good members of the N17 public ought to have expected one more seismic defensive catastrophe on Tuesday night. Unfortunately, the Kaboul-Gallas Chuckle Brothers audition was so wince-inducingly, jaw-droppingly awful it is probably destined to join Rob Green’s summer howler by being immortalised in Lego.

 

A dashed shame too, because that aside we had looked fairly sturdy value for three points. It was by no means a performance of such riveting gung-ho that it made me want to scamper atop the Empire State Building and beat my chest with pride, but we rather rudely hogged the little round yellow thing from our visitors for most of the night, and made reasonably good use of it too. Scythe them open relentlessly we did not, but regularly prod and poke at them we did, our heroes giving their goalkeeper a good, honest work-out. It was the sort of display that ought to have secured a 1-0 win on a Tuesday night.

 

Instead it seems that if we are going to finish in the top four we are going to take the scenic route. All is not lost quite yet, for while Chelski might hit top gear soon and go motoring away from the rest, it is difficult to envisage the current top four making a clean break from the rest. L’Arse and Man City can be relied upon to drop points every few weeks – perhaps not in such belief-defying manner as our lot, but one way or t’other nonetheless – and a run of three or four successive victories at any point between now and the festive season ought to set us up nicely for a fresh implosion come spring.

 

Hudd’s Technique

 

Back to the game, and while it rather got lost in the fine print, I would happily have stayed at the Lane overnight and beyond, with eyes closed, simply replaying over and over in my mind’s eye that shot from Hudd. The technique of the young man makes me want to cure the blind, just so that they can observe, and then be blinded afresh by its magnificence.

 

I’ll give young Master Bentley a nod of approval too, for his efforts. Not a pat on the back – he wasn’t that good – but a nod of approval. A different sort of bean from Aaron Lennon, Bentley does seem to dovetail quite well with Alan Hutton (which I realise is possibly just a euphemistic way of saying that Bentley is rather slow). He knew the drill, and unencumbered by the vat of hair-gel atop his crown he did his best to whip in crosses, mixing things up with the occasional shoulder-drop and dink inside.

 

Plenty of grumblings have been grumbled about the penalty, an incident which (when viewed on a TV replay) led me wondering if it is possible both to award a spot-kick and book a player for tumbling in the same incident. Anyway, given that our nation’s finest might well have disallowed VDV’s goal for sneaky use of the arm, it seems that in this particular instance ying and yang have reached a healthy compromise.

 

Two points, four games. Mercifully the next fixture is just five minutes away, and a fine, flowing, three point-earning display on Saturday ought to paper over some of the cracks. Nevertheless, we natives are, if not quite restless, certainly discombobulated, as to how to reconcile a win over Inter with one point from games vs the combined might of Bolton and Sunderland.

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Spurs match reports

Spurs – Sunderland Preview: Consecutive Wins? Why The Devil Not?

One point, three games. Generally the solution at AANP Towers when things are not quite tickety-boo is to drink plenty of water and wait it out. In extreme circumstances we have even been known to chew on some raw garlic. However, something a little more drastic will probably be required from our heroes tonight, to shake them from the alarming torpor that characterized Saturday’s performance.

 

Things have gone so wildly awry in the league that we are now level on points with Liverpool, who I’m pretty sure were about to sack their manager and explode in a ball of flames a moment ago. There is nevertheless a salutary lesson to be gleaned from their fortunes, in providing evidence of the wholesome benefits of a string of consecutive victories. Three wins on the bounce has Liverpool back in contention for the top four; we now find ourselves playing host to Sunderland and Blackburn within the space of a week, a double-header that suggests that if we play our cards right by Saturday night we could find ourselves breathing down the necks of those rotters from l’Arse and Man City once again.

 

Team News

 

No Aaron Lennon, which suggests that Niko Kranjcar or David Bentley might be invited to watch in awe as Alan Hutton goes surging beyond them on the right. If fit, VDV and Hudd will presumably return to central midfield, while I imagine Jeans has also risen up the midfield pecking-order, simply by virtue of not being Palacios or Sandro; and Pav for Crouch is the logical but by no means certain alteration in attack.

 

It appears that Darren Bent is absent for the other lot tonight – bad news for my Fantasy League team, but good news from a lilywhite perspective, as Bent, like Kevin Davies, is one of those types who always seems rather likely to find our net one way or t’other. This means that the dashed exciting Asamoah Gyan ought to be in action for Sunderland tonight, representing another useful test for Younes Kaboul. I am beginning to grow quite fond of the boy Kaboul. He blinking well needs to iron out those lapses in concentration – sliced clearances and whatnot – but it’s nice to see someone big, strong and quick on the prowl in our defence. As that evil Emperor chap noted of Darth Vader when he was still a fiendishly annoying young whippersnapper, I shall watch his career with interest.

 

With the Champions League anthem removed from the playlist for the next week or two I have supreme confidence in our heroes tonight, and indeed on Saturday. A return to our daring, doing best ought to do the trick, for when our lot start to purr, particularly at the Lane, few sides in Christendom can live with us.

 

 

 

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Spurs match reports

Bolton 4-2 Spurs: A Unique Way of Boosting Team Morale

From sublime to ridiculous in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. How Inter Milan must have shaken their heads in bewilderment. On Saturday our heroes appeared to be running a competition amongst themselves as to who could make the most mistakes, with bonus points for any particular ineptitude that led to a Bolton goal. I suppose such little games are good for team morale – oh how the rascals must have jested with each other in the changing-rooms afterwards, as they recounted Gallas’ hilarious “clearance” and BAE’s thoroughly unsubtle shove for the third goal. For all the internal merriment however, I could not help thinking that team spirit would have been served equally well by storming to victory.

 

This was a game lost not much because of post-Europe fatigue as plain incompetence all round. While the first goal might have been disallowed for offside it made no difference to the pattern of play. Indeed, if there was a defining moment in the game I would suggest (admittedly while brazenly stretching the definition of “moment”) that it was the ten-minute spell at the start of the second half, in which, rather than fight tooth and nail to restore parity, our heroes gave a masterclass in being half-heartedly second to just about everything. It resulted in Bolton’s second goal and was swiftly followed by a shoddy third, ultimately rendering futile our late fightback.

 

The Lost Puppy in Central Midfield

 

As well as catalogue of individual moments of shoddiness, our choice of personnel in the centre also seemed to bring about our downfall. Young Master Bale often provides the most obvious goal threat, but control against Inter was provided by the unrestrained magnificence of VDV, Modders and Hudd, purring their way around central midfield with impeccable technique and lashings of élan. Although unavoidable, the absence of two of these three, as much as the general sloppiness of our lot, was a contributory to our failure to get a grip at the Reebok.

 

Sergeant Wilson and Sandro are many things, but they most dashed well are not like-for-like ball-playing replacements for Hudd and VDV, and our midfield was consequently unable to get a grip on the game. Poor old Modders hurried and scurried and twisted and turned, but all in vain, as every time he looked up for support he was greeted by the sight of general thud and blundering. The poor blighter vaguely resembled a domestic dog whose owner has died, Modders faithfully trotting around in anticipation of his rewards, but left forlornly wondering why no-one of the ilk of VDV was present to scratch his tummy or return a pass.

 

“Donde El Gringo” or Something?

 

No idea what language is best for young Sandro, but the shout of “Man on” did not seem to have the slightest effect on him, so Gallas and chums ought to settle upon a suitable warning call in the appropriate lingo, and pronto. Frankly Sandro gave a pretty good impression of a man to whom the whole concept of football was entirely novel. On the whole he passed the time gently wandering around inside his own half, carefully avoiding any scenario that might lead to him positively impacting upon the game, an approached crystallised when he was presented with a cracking chance to score from six yards but somehow contrived to flick the ball backwards. The patrons of AANP Towers are hardly about to write him off just yet, but this was spectacularly inauspicious stuff.

 

Crouch: Copy and Paste…

 

Every week Crouch is picked atop the 4-5-1, and every week he demonstrates himself to be painfully inadequate. He has his uses, particularly at European/international level (where our continental cousins remain entertainingly incapable of dealing with him), or as an impact sub, or indeed as a beanpole occasionally capable of nodding down into the path of VDV. However, in recent weeks all things bright and beautiful from our heroes have been achieved in spite of rather than because of him. The gangly one seemed stunned each time the small white orb neared him, reacting like he had never seen such an entity and was completely ignorant as to the physics of the thing. Damningly, when Bale whipped in a low first-half cross, he slid in with knees bent and legs tucked under his rear, rather than stretching out his limbs as far as they would extend.

 

Princess Pav

 

Given the respective performances of Crouch, Sergeant Wilson and Sandro, I was mightily relieved to observe the switch to 4-4-2 at half-time, and an opportunity for Pav to shine, although in truth a substitute’s appearance away to Bolton does not really fit the Russian’s grandiose dreams of personal glory. The last person you want to roll up his sleeves and fight, or track back and tackle, Pav is the sort of princess who would refuse to accept a bed at the Hilton because he would find a pea under the mattress. On he was flung on Saturday, to fairly minimal impact.However, princesses may be pampered prima donnas, but they darned well love a little splash of diamond-encrusted quality in their lives, and for all his moodiness Pav does deliver some finishes of the most incredible quality. Recall ye his awful, half-hearted performance away to Young Boys, suddenly illuminated by an absolutely blistering finish. The goal yesterday lunchtime was similarly brilliant, absolutely ruddy brilliant. He does not seem the man for a 4-5-1 either, but sometimes his finishing is quite superb.

 

 

The New Gareth Bale

 

A quite brilliant goal too from Hutton. Had either his or Pav’s goals come from the gleaming boots of Drogba, Torres or indeed Bale they would have been repeated non-stop across the tv channels. Hutton has never been backward when it comes to bombing forward from full-back, and while there are questions regarding how he links with Lennon, he adds a tasty extra threat on the right. Moreover, he struck me as the pick of our back-four on Saturday, encouraging stuff from a man hardly blessed with a reputation for defensive faultlessness.

 

Elsewhere On The Pitch

 

We at AANP Towers are sticklers for good manners and general decorum, and with that in mind we implore the Hudd to nip in the bud that tendency towards violent cynicism that has emerged in recent weeks. The elbow against Twente and stamp on an opponent yesterday both appeared fairly deliberate, and although he got away with both they hint at a most unbecoming trait.

 

Disappointing stuff from Niko Kranjcar, which will do little to end rumours of a January exit, but despite his anonymity on Saturday I sincerely hope his services are retained.

 

Conclusion? We Must Win The Champions League…

 

One point from our last three league games, and thinking back over the Everton, Man Utd and Bolton games, it is difficult to make a case for us deserving much more. The Champions League adventure is magnificent fun, make no mistake, but we need it to be the norm rather than the exception, to which end simply slacking off each weekend after a European night is not good enough. A run of consecutive wins would put us right back in contention for the top four – otherwise the best means of ensuring Champions League football next season is to win the whole bally thing in May…

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 3-1 Inter: Practically Perfect In Every Way

Well this Champions League business is turning out to be cracking fun. Never mind the tube strike, I think most of us floated home aboard Cloud 9 last night.

 

White Hart Lane’s finest hour? Those who watched Danny Blanchflower lift the League title back in the spring of ‘61 might beg to differ, and by all accounts the UEFA Cup Final win of ’84 was one heck of a night, but the denizens of AANP Towers have been up all night carefully weaving a blow-by-blow account of last night’s fun into the tapestry of The Most Blinking Marvellous Tottenham Moments of All Time.

 

If Spurs were the Predator, White Hart Lane would be our home planet, Gareth Bale would probably be that three-red-dot missile thing on the left shoulder, and our collection of skinned victims hanging upside-down with their skulls ripped out would now look mightily impressive. Having accounted for Liverpool, Man City, Chelski and l’Arse last season, we have now raised the bar just about as far as it can go, with arguably the biggest skull of them all – the European Champions. No two ways about it – we must now fancy our chances against just about anyone at the Lane. Heaven knows where it will all end.

 

ATTACK!!!

 

Eschewing traditional Champions League caginess for an approach based primarily on copious amounts of swash and buckle, our lot went at it hammer and tongs from the off. ‘Arry could have been forgiven for exercising a modicum of caution at the prospect of a visit from our illustrious opponents, given the contents of their trophy cabinet and the memory of that four-goal blitz in the San Siro. Instead, our glorious leader reasoned that soaking up the pressure is just too dull and boring, and squashed as much attacking talent as was physically possible into an eleven man outfit. Inter, one suspects, did not quite believe our temerity in adopting a formation that at times resembled 2-1-7, as Hudd stayed within shouting distance of the centre-backs, and everyone else bombed forward as often as they could.

 

Taxi For Maicon

 

Frankly there is not much I can add about Gareth Bale’s performance that has not already been spluttered in awe by someone else. (Other than to wonder what the deuces are those black tape things he sticks to his thighs.) His pace has been showcased many a time and oft; but wasn’t it heart-warming to see him whip in crosses so vicious they would make small children cry?

 

Elsewhere On The Pitch…

 

Naturally enough the handsome young Welshman takes the plaudits, but to a man those in lilywhite played to the peak of their powers. Even pre kick-off the sight of BAE finally having sorted out his hair gave a signal of quite how seriously our heroes were treating this. The philosophy of throwing absolutely everything we had at Inter from the very first whistle may have lacked a little subtlety, but it was a masterstroke from ‘Arry, and impeccably executed the players.

 

Curiously underestimating our attacking threat, Inter were ravaged from all angles. There were puffs of smoke on the flanks, where our two wingers merrily zipped back and forth, aided and abetted by the wonderfully enthusiastic two full-backs. In addition, the central midfield triumvirate gave an absolute masterclass in control, technique and creativity – all gloriously crystallised in that utterly sumptuous first goal. If VDV, Modders and Hudd can play any better as a collective unit I fear the universe will simply give up and collapse under the weight of footballing magnificence.

…And Off The Ball

Moreover, when not in possession our lot beavered away like men demented – the forwards pressing and harrying, and everyone else diligently scampering back to protect Cudicini like their lives depended on it. Inter had their moments, but with every Tottenham man and his dog working their socks off, by and large our esteemed guests could do little better than peer wishfully at our penalty area from afar

 

Even when Jenas replaced VDV – all things considered quite probably the worst substitution it is possible to make in any sport, not just football – it did not disrupt our mentality, the Lord of All Things Sideways and Backwards at least working hard to help retain the initiative. ‘Twas that sort of performance, practically perfect in every way.

 

So huzzah, huzzah and thrice I say huzzah. Goodness knows where we go from here, but rather than concern myself with the future I resolve to enjoy the present, for this quite simply was the greatest result of my Spurs-supporting life.

 

 

 

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Spurs match reports

Man Utd 2-0 Spurs: In Defence Of Mark Clattenberg

First things first – in the sprit of Mark Clattenberg’s fairly liberal definition of the term “advantage” I thought it apt to mislead the public by using the phrase “In Defence of Mark Clattenberg” when really there is no such thing. Should anyone look towards me for clarification I shall merely shrug, in an exasperating and ever so slightly arrogant manner, which really clarifies nothing for anyone. Play on!The Preceding 83 Minutes

Rather a shame that our lot collectively drifted off for the free-kick that brought about the opening goal, for that aside we traded blows fairly evenly – no mean feat at Old Trafford. Various theories have been bandied around regarding whether the blame lay with Kaboul or BAE, or whether we marked zonally or man-for-man. Whatever the conclusions, this moment, rather than the Clattenberg farce, was the crucial moment.

The Van Der Vaart Conundrum

In the first half in particular Modders and VDV were afforded more space than was entirely wise by the United mob, who came within a post’s width of paying, but life became a darned sight trickier in the second as United tightened up. The disappointing truth is that when we needed to increase our urgency levels we were simply unable to, and while we defended well enough on the whole it is difficult to remember our forward line ever actually penetrating the sacred environs of the United penalty  area. The deployment of VDV in a 4-5-1 certainly gives our midfield a healthy glow, but brings with it the problem of a lack of presence in attack, and it hardly a personal criticism of Robbie Keane to note that he is not the man for a 4-5-1.

Elsewhere On The Pitch

Lennon started fairly brightly, but diligently pinged his final ball straight into the first man in red time and time again, and retreated back into his shell thereafter. Out on the left Bale was shackled fairly effectively, although a frisson of excitement did work its magic on yours truly when the Welsh demi-god went storming forward on his right foot rather than his left, in the second half. If it turns out that the lad is actually two-footed I may just pop from the sheer excitement of it all. The counter-balance to any excitement engendered by Bale is the feeling somewhere in between apathy and rage generated by Jenas, who seemingly deployed in a holding role, was his usual fairly anonymous self.

 

It was of course all overshadowed by the farce of the final few minutes, but for all the incredulity and expletives I would much rather we receive that sort of decision away to Man Utd, in a fixture from which we never really expect much anyway, than from a fixture against rivals for fourth spot.

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 1-1 Everton: Would We Have Won Had We Not Played Midweek?

Sages the breadth of Christendom have been popping up all over the media this season to opine knowingly that our heroes would struggle to cope with the rigours of Champions League and the Premiership each week. As such I was jolly well hoping that we would emphatically destroy Everton with a loud roar of triumph (or at the very least fashion another 2-1 win) to prove the blighters wrong – but in truth we looked every inch a team jaded from the madcap doings of Wednesday night.

 

Lofting Crosses Into Orbit: The Tottenham Way?

 

The first task of the day was to negotiate the first 13 minutes without going 3-0 down. While this was successfully achieved the effort evidently took its toll, as just moments later we conceded. Still, coming from behind is very much the vogue for our heroes these days, and it was the old Crouch-VDV combo yet again.

 

This time the goal was hardly the prettiest thing we have witnessed at the Lane all season – with Tim Howard attempting to swat a passing wasp rather than bothering with the incoming cross; Crouch doing his best to let the ball roll off his stomach; and VDV seemingly convinced that if he snapped the net from its moorings he would actually be awarded two goals. It is difficult to complain about the tactic of launching balls into orbit from the flanks for the gangly one to set up VDV, as it bears fruit every week. However, here at AANP Towers we would prefer the ball to be kept on the green stuff, at least until the alarm bells clang to inform us that desperate measures are called for.

 

Aside from the goal nothing really clicked, which is always rather a shame. Last season, free from midweek exertions, I suspect we would have found a way to eke out three points; this time our lot looked a tad flat, and by the final whistle, absolutely shattered.

 

Bale and VDV: Possibly Mere Mortals After All

 

Unsurprisingly, every time the ball went anywhere near Bale Everton players swarmed all over him. He still wriggled free occasionally, but his wonderfulness was generally stymied, while VDV was also well-marshalled. (Although it is nice to see that he cares so much for the cause that he is willing to give the advertising hoarding a good kicking. Good lad.)

 

As a result of the focus upon Bale and VDV, young Modders became our default string-puller. He seemed rather to enjoy himself, in his own shy little way, but with no inclination to burst into the Everton area and scare the bejesus out of its guardians, his impact was ultimately a tad limited.

 

Right-Flank Version 2.0: Lennon and Hutton

 

Not sure if ‘Arry, Joe Jordan and chums have ever actually sat down and explained the concept to Alan Hutton, but he jolly well retains the look of a man who simply does not believe that he is a defender.

 

As he seems convinced that victory will be achieved if he sprints to the opposite by-line at a rate of knots, his interplay with Lennon on the right wing is vastly different from that of Corluka and Lennon. Back in the day the lumbering Croat would hang back and play cute little diagonal balls as Lennon whizzed forward, jazz-hands merrily a-waving; now it seems the trick is for Lennon to jink inside, while Hutton overlaps on the right. A fledgling manoeuvre, but one that in time may bear fruit.

 

Elsewhere on the Pitch

 

Kaboul was a fairly reassuring presence at the back; Palacios was decent enough without rediscovering the form of his early days in lilywhite; and right across the pitch similar adjectives of gentle-but-by-no-means-rip-roaring-praise could be dished out. Decent but unspectacular, we did not really do enough to merit a win. A draw at home to an in-form Everton is not a bad result, but is nevertheless the sort of thing that will leave us short of the top-four come May. Curses.