Category: Spurs match reports

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Spurs match reports

Bolton 3-2 Spurs: Ticking The Usual Boxes

It makes no difference that I’m the other side of the world, there’s no getting away from the same old Spurs. Week in, week out, the usual boxes can be ticked, just as they will be next week, and next year, and in 10 years time.Problem one. 4-5-1. Pav on his own, no support, no bite in attack – I feel like a broken record. Maybe it’s the personnel rather than the formation, but in the absence of a Drogba or a Shearer in attack, or the appropriate attacking midfielders, the infuriating 4-5-1 will not work.

Problem two. Set pieces. Yes, the element of the game perfected after a couple of 15 minute training sessions by schoolboy and amateur teams throughout the country, continues to flummox the multi-millionaires of the Lane. One can only imagine the looks of bewilderment on the players’ faces at Spurs Lodge in midweek as ‘Arry and co. attempt to outline the basic concepts involved. Furrowed brows all round, and incredulous whispers between players – “So he wants us to head the round white thing? Really? That sort of thing is really going to mess up my hair. And tell me again – the other team, it’s ok to let them get to it first, or…?” 

Problem three. Conceding the late winner. Gents, if you’ve gone ten, twenty or eighty-nine minutes without conceding a goal, you are not therefore rewarded with a two-minute break from defending as the clock ticks down to 90 and beyond. Goals conceded during these late periods do still count, no matter how pleased you are with yourselves for the good work of the preceding few minutes.

It is by no means an exhaustive list – these are simply the boxes that can be crossed off the card for last weekend’s Tottenham Bingo. Mercifully, one typical problem, which could be loosely termed “Why Can’t They Play Every Week As If They’re Playing Against Arsenal”, ought not to be an issue next week, when we entertain l’Arse and duly raise our game.

Back to the humdrum of playing the sides around us in the bottom half, and while the same problems occur each week little is done in the way of tackling them in order to prevent their recurrence. Instead, the team seems to have adopted a form of pseudo-martyrdom, whereby they gallantly accept the recurrence of such hindrances as inevitable each week. The mentality seems to be that nothing can be done to prevent goals from set-pieces, or that when adopting 4-5-1 there is no option but to leave the lone striker completely isolated and the formation completely impotent. If I were to pitch up at the training ground and suggest fighting tooth and nail to prevent conceding in the dying minutes I suspect the players would look at me as if I had grown a second head. They would shake their heads and insist that fate cannot be changed. Darwin would turn in his grave to observe such inability to evolve and improve.

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 3-1 Stoke: Fist-Pumping in Perth

Having spent the best part of the last 48 hours imitating a battery chicken in various planes, trains and automobiles, I am now officially a Spurs fan in Oz. Worth noting that the arrival policy in Australia appears significantly more stringent than at Spurs, where anyone who has previously appeared is more than welcome to return.Trying to find out the Spurs-Stoke result was similar to one of those games in which you get the feeling we could play all night and into the morrow without scoring – for all the huffing and puffing, not much was being achieved. The game kicked off with me several thousand feet in the air, and and it quickly became apparent that attempts to access to any news from England were doomed to failure, let alone the result of what must unfortunately be classified as a relegation battle from the Premiership. Such delays certainly added to the tension though, and at around 1pm the following day there was an unobserved but hearty pumping of the fist in one small corner of Perth, as thescoreline finally filtered through.

Evidently we adopted 4-4-2, but I’m not convinced that such a game can be used as evidence in the great 4-4-2 vs 4-5-1 debate (see http://www.allactionnoplot.com/?p=294). Sometimes, when Spurs are at home against weak opposition they score a couple of early goals and begin to purr. On such occasions the formation is rarely the decisive factor. Instead we are driven by a sudden confidence, which provides a conduit for flair, and is aided by the fact that the visitors need to push forward in search of goals of their own, giving us some space to exploit.

I can’t pretend to have any real idea what sort of performance we gave against Stoke, but I’ve certainly seen us become something approaching irresistible on those occasions when we’ve scored two or three early goals. However, it is an infuriating truth familiar to most Spurs fans that the exact same eleven can be almost guaranteed to produce a barely recognisable performance merely days later. Such inconsistency has been the bain of the lives of Spurs fans the world ove. It would surprise few if the reportedly impressive peformance against Stoke were followed by one of the more toothless variety on Sunday against Bolton.

I’ve ranted before about the incredible ability of sportsmen to let circumstance dicate their level of performance, rather than simply resolving to seize a game by the scruff of the neck. Hence, Spurs will wait until 3-0 down vs Burnley and facing elimination before taking the game to their opponents; or will wait until a half-time rollicking rather thanapplying foot to accelerator from first whistle; or indeed will produce a high-octane 90-minute bravura performance against l’Arse, but resort back to the insipid in the very next game, against lesser opponents. While lack of information means it is just conjecture, I’d be willing to wager that the period in between our third goal and half-time saw us produce some of our best football of the season. Why oh why can’t they do it every week, for 90 minutes?

However, I shall sign off in a spirit of unusual optimisim, and point out that whilethe routine demolition of a weaker team can often be followed by weekend defeat to similarly weak team, we nevertheless ought to fancy our chances of buidling on the Stoke win and putting together a run of points that would steer us well clear of the drop-zone.

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Spurs match reports

Man Utd 2-1 Spurs: Insufficient Contribution From The Hudd

Well first of all, an apology to ‘Arry Redknapp – I could barely disguise my displeasure yesterday at the twitchy one’s purported plan to field his weakest possible XI, instead of his full-strength team, in an effort to ensure defeat vs Man Utd and reduce fixture congestion as we battle relegation. However, it seems the cheeky scamp was playing us (meaning me) for fools all along. Play his weakest possible team? He had no such plan lined up at all. Oh how he must have chortled when he submitted his team sheet at Old Trafford, replete with Pav, Modric and Corluka, and not a Ricky Rocha in sight. How Alex Ferguson must have quaked in his boots when the cunning plan was unveiled. While Defoe was benched and Woodgate completely absent, the team was nevertheless fairly strong, at least if measured by salaries.Alas, it didn’t work. While an improvement upon the Burnley mess, we never really looked like winning and Man Utd were not required to hit top gear. There were some encouraging signs – the continued decent form of Dawson, the continued positive attitude Bentley, a better showing from young Alnwick – but there was also a pretty obvious difference in class, neatly epitomised by the build-up and finish to Berbatov’s goal. We struggled to put them under sustained pressure, and created few decent chances.

Thanks to the wondrous efficiency of the London Underground – comparable to Darren Bent in terms of value for money – I managed to miss the first ten minutes of the game. I therefore missed the goal (insert another Darren Bent gag here) – and also, it appears, the only worthwhile contribution of the last two games from the Hudd. Despite being given the platform of a 4-5-1 formation he created little over the 80 minutes I saw. I do doff my cap in his general direction in recognition of the sweet little pass for Pav’s goal, but he really ought to have been looking to pull the strings throughout. Instead, Man Utd won the midfield battle, while Hudd’s distribution was at best average, and his work-rate pretty woeful.

I may do him a disservice, in that he’s not a natural workhouse of an athlete, and therefore even if he is sincerely attempting to harry opponents and win tackles, the effect on the pitch is of a fat man lumbeing from point A to point B as if treading through quicksand. While nippy opponents scurry hither and thither, Hudd puffs and pants after them, apologetically sticking out a leg in the general direction of play, well after ball and opponent have passed him by. Given his limitations in winning the ball, much depends upon what he does with it – but when his passing radar is a little awry he’s more of a hindrance than a help.

The Hudd emerged in the team as the heir apparent to Michael Carrick, a player who was also a relatively weak tackler for a deep-lying midfielder, but who made up for it with his quite exquisite passing ability, not to mention the capacity to dip his shoulder and turn away from trouble, irrespective of how many opponents were crowding him out (a talent these days exhibited by Modric). Hudd’s passing can occasionally be of a similar, jaw-droppingly good level as Carrick’s was – but there’s the rub: it’s occasional. And typically, such occasions will see us already in cruise control in a game, and playing at the Lane. Cruise control hasn’t really been in operation this season, and the need for bite in midfield has been painfully obvious.

Still in his early 20s there is time for Hudd to develop his game, but how many more chances do we give him to prove he can boss a game from central midfield? Opponents of lesser ability but greater energy will continue to get the better of him, as Burnley did last week, and this might not be a risk we can afford to take given our current plight. It’s a tricky one, as his passing has at times had us drooling, and is very much in the stylish Tottenham mould. Rumour has it that Martin Jol (blessed be his name) is considering a bid to take him to Hamburg, and it’s certainly conceivable that he would thrive in a European league. However, too many more anonymous games and ‘Arry’s patience will snap, if it hasn’t already done so.

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Spurs match reports

Burnley 3-2 Spurs aet: The Twice-Weekly Ritual Humiliation

Wow. I thought my preview yesterday was pessimistic, but the players outdid themselves last night. 

“I foresee only a lethargic and complacent performance, until, perhaps, shaken out of ineptitude by the concession of goals… We’ll qualify, probably, but we’ll do it the hard way. I can certainly see us scraping through on aggregate by losing 3-1 or 4-2 on the night – it would be the Tottenham way.” – Me, yesterday (http://www.allactionnoplot.com/?p=276)I’m still too bewildered by it all to have a good proper moan. That feeling of incredulity and humiliation is becoming a twice-weekly ritual now. My immediate post-match summary, to whichever poor sod is within earshot on the night, that it was “Possibly the worst Spurs performance I’ve ever seen,” might as well be shaved into my head, so that when I bow my head in shame at the final whistle of each remaining game this season it is there for all to see and I can bypass the hassle of verbal comment.

Where to start? (I think, in honour of my intrepid heroes, I’ll wait 90 minutes-plus before starting). The game – Spurs’ season, so many of Spurs’ seasons – in a microcosm was the build-up to Burnley’s second goal. Some Championship player stumbled across the halfway line, ball at his feet. Zokora and Hudd backed off. The Championship player meandered to the right, Zokora and Hudd backed off. The Championship player stopped, had a cup of tea, checked his facebook page – Zokora and Hudd backed off, the fear of God in their eyes, treating the lad as if he were an entire pride of rabid lions, hungry for the meat of under-achieving, prima donnas. The Championship player eventually looked to his left, played in another Championship player (unmarked, naturally) and before you knew it half the Spurs defence had been turned inside out and the ball was nestling in the net.

I appreciate that for both Zokora and Hudd to have flown in with diving tackles might have been reckless and left yawning gaps behind them, but one of them could have seized the initiative, shown some desire and just shunted the lad sideways or something. I’m possibly being unfair now, as this might have meant a speck of mud on their nice shiny white shirts.

So, we’re off to Wemberley. Huzzah! With not a hint of dignity, the Spurs players celebrated the late escape almost as if they’d earned it. On this form, and against Man Utd, we could become the first team ever to lose a Wembley cup final by double figures. It won’t happen though. As it’s Man Utd, and Wembley, and a chance for glitz, glamour, celebrity status, a night-out in Faces, WAGs and generous tabloid exposure, the players will excel themselves on 1 March. They’ll be

unrecognisable. They might win it.As my brother said, at least they were entertaining last night.
They were awful, I countered.
Yes, he replied, but they’re comical.

More tactically…

Yes, the tactical bit. Any Spurs players, and quite possibly ‘Arry himself, will stop reading at this juncture, possibly confused by the connotations of the term, and its relevance to the celebrity lifestyle.

The Burnley players are not technically better than ours – if they were they’d be playing in the Premiership, and would have the international caps that our lot have. However, they played last night as if their lives depended on it. As if this was their cup final. Our players went if for the 50-50 challenges in perfunctory manner, because they had to.

At 18 stone and 6’ 5″ (or whatever he is) Hudd should be winning everything in midfield – he didn’t. He never does. As weren’t 2-0 and toying with the oppo, he was largely anonymous. Modric had some good touches, and didn’t seem to mind getting dirty. Bentley’s attitude was admirable, as on Sunday. Assou-Ekotto almost scored the best own-goal since Gary Doherty’s David Platt-style overhead volley vs Leicester in 2003/4. One game isn’t enough to judge Alnwick, especially as it was evidently the first time in his life that he’d played in goal.

The 4-5-1 formation ought to have brought some joy, stifling the Championship midfield, but succeeded only in leaving Defoe isolated upfront. Again, however, I commend his ability to shoot on target, and hard. Do it often enough and it will bring goals, whatever his limitations in other areas.

And one final rant, about The Mentality of The Common Sportsman. Why do players need to be staring defeat point-blank in the face, nose squashed up against its window, before they start competing? The fact that we were losing 2-0 to a Championship side didn’t fluster the Spurs players, because they were on their way to Wembley. Yes, yes, but losing 2-0? To a Championship side? Where’s your dignity, chaps? It’s the same with the England cricket team. Give them a target of 150 to chase down, and with 120 on the board they’ll be making heavy work of it. Yet, against the same oppo and on the same pitch two days later, when chasing 250, they’ll breeze past the 150 mark without any hint of difficulty (only to start falling apart at the seams at the 220 mark). Couldn’t the Spurs players have set out to win the 90-minute game last night? No chance. It wouldn’t be the Tottenham way.

 

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Spurs 1-1 Portsmouth: Denied by Philosophical Shot-Stopper

It was a pretty manic, all-action-no-plot match; a performance pleasingly high on commitment from every man in lilywhite; and, but for an irritatingly supreme performance from the Premiership’s self-styled philosopher-in-chief, David James, it would have had ended with three points in the bag.James had perplexingly taken to quoting completely irrelevant lines from Isaac Newton in the pre-game build-up, but appeared not to have neglected the day-job once on the pitch. Early on he was leaping at full-stretch to his left, to palm away a Ledley header. “Anyone who lives within their means suffers from a lack of imagination,” he could clearly be seen to mouth as he dusted himself off – “Oscar Wilde”. Moments later, as Defoe dived to head goalwards a Lennon cross, James tipped it over the bar, murmuring as he did so, “The luck of having talent is not enough; one must also have a talent for luck.”

In the second half James’ talent for luck became even more evident, with his snap-save to keep out a deflection from Lennon’s driven cross. “Illusory joy is often worth more than genuine sorrow,” whispered the Premiership’s resident academic , as the save led to a Pompey break which 15 seconds later saw Nugent score. “Kant!” screamed ‘Arry. “Descartes,” corrected James.

Although possession was frequently conceded, Spurs looked to have far better balance with Three-Touch O’ Hara out left, rather than Bentley and his hair-gel. Three-Touch’s presence also seemed to have a calming influence upon half-man-half-simian Gareth Bale, whose performance was less mistake-riddled than in recent weeks. No doubt having taken umbrage at the nickname ascribed to him at All-Action-No-Plot Towers, young O’ Hara did his best to dispel the accusation that he needs at least three touches when in possession – but alas, he seemed to have misunderstood the nature of the slight, and instead frequently resorted to five or six touches. Sterling performance, though, with generally decent distribution, and passion in the tackle.

Lennon’s willingness to cut infield as well as dip the shoulder and dart out wide caused problems for Belhadj, a very capable left-back. Encouragingly, Lennon’s performance also included a peach of a cross for Defoe, as noted above. Despite never lumbering beyond first gear, Corluka made a vital goal-saving intervention, as well as augmening attack to good effect.

The injury to Pav can apparently be filed under “Whingeing Foreigner” rather than “Out For The Season”, which will probably disappoint ‘Arry, who was no doubt straining at the leash for another excuse to bid £15 mil for more mediocre Premiership strikers. Meanwhile, the sight of Ledley limping off was dispiriting, but hardly surprising, for such is the plight of a man whose physique comprises feathers held together with blu-tac.

And so to Defoe. Bouyed by his success in the All-Action-No-Plot Haircut of 2008 category (see http://www.allactionnoplot.com/?p=161) the young man made an early bid to retain his crown with a Craig David circa ’99 effort, and also turned back the clock with his shoot-on-sight policy. The man has his detractors, and is accused of limited ability, but I’m a big fan of his penchant for regularly shooting on target, and generally with some power. Forcing the ‘keeper to make a save invites success at any level. Today, he was unfortunate to come up against a full-time philosopher with a line in breathtaking saves, but oh that Darren Bent would adopt a similar hit-the-target-and-see approach…

Defoe’s efforts were ultimately rewarded with the equalising goal (leaving James to muse with sadness “If you can meet with triumph and disaster, and treat those two impostors just the same…”). Our pressure merited a winner, and but for Bent’s awful sense of geography would have done so, but the manner of the performance gives cause for optimism. Consummatum est, as David James no doubt mused at full-time.

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Wigan 1-0 Spurs: Lack of Vortex Leaves Jenas Red-Faced

To whom could ‘Arry possibly have been referring when he talked of the need for “men” in the squad, and fighters for the relegation scrap. Actually, you don’t need to be Einstein, or even Murder She Wrote’s Jessica Fletcher, to piece this one together (side note – what was it with that woman? Wherever she went, someone dropped dead within 24 hours. If she turned up at my place I’d run a mile…).Ledley, Woodgate, Dawson, Three-Touch O’Hara and Zokora were singled out for praise by ‘Arry, as those you’d stick your life on to win a header. Fair enough, by that criterion. By implication therefore, the rest need to thump a clenched fist to their chests a bit more regularly in order for ‘Arry to stop twitching. 

Who better to pick on than everyone’s favourite fall-guy? Jermaine Jenas, take a bow son. As Wigan’s last minute corner looped into the area, rather than stick to his man, jump and challenge for the round white thing, Jenas rather optimistically banked on a vortex into another dimension spontaneously opening up a yard behind him and swallowing up both the ball and

Maynor Figueroa. Surprisingly enough, the space-time continuum trundled along in that same, predictable fashion of the last several million years, and Figueroa used the freedom of the six yard box well, sending a bullet header into the net.

I realise it’s unfair to knock a man until you’ve walked a mile in his shoes, so I can’t possibly testify to the rigours of marking someone at a set-piece at Premiership level. However, my basic experience of a million cold Saturdays at amateur level has taught me that marking someone offering no movement, from a set-piece, ain’t the hardest part of the game. Get in-between him and the goal, get yourself close enough to smell his ear-wax and at least let him know he’s got a very special friend as he tries to get his head on it. If you do this and he still scores, at least you’ve done your best. Don’t, however, lost sight of him, wander a couple of yards in front of him and let the ball sail over your head (before heading back home and collecting your thirty-grand-a-week wages). If Jenas ever again wonders why he has no song at the Lane, I’ll add yesterday’s shocker to the three-part dvd of Jenas Being Useless (The Highlights) and shove said dvd box set down his throat.

More tactically…

I was unable to catch the game yesterday, due to a family engagement, and it was no doubt in retribution for this act of betrayal that the players lost the game in the last minute. My viewing was therefore limited to MOTD 2 in the evening, which hardly places me to comment.  However, ‘Arry’s team selection was puzzling to say the least, a sentiment I’d have expressed even without the benefit of my impeccable 20-20 hinsdight. King in the midfield holding role was surprising but just about comprehensible – but Zokora wide right? We’re not exactly short of qualified right midfielders, so this one certainly had me arching a quizzical eyebrow. Presumably the deployment of Zokora, King and O’ Hara across the middle was aimed at providing a platform of gritty ball-winners upon which Modric would be allowed a bit of freedom to pull strings, particularly within a 4-4-2 rather than 4-5-1. Can’t say it’s the sort of line-up which has me leaping off my seat and dancing atop my desk in joy, and evidently it didn’t have us thumping down on the Wigan door either. Wendy Ramos, one suspects, would have been pilloried for such a team selection…

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 4-1 Burnely: Belated Four-Play

How must David Bentley feel this morning? Bless him, he can’t really be faulted for effort, but nothing he tried came off, whether a 5-yard pass, whipped in cross, fancy flick or long-range effort. Presumably when he got to the dressing-room at half-time for a swig of Lucozade he squirted it into his eye. He’s a right-winger playing on the left, and apparently he’s ill at the moment (begs the question of why he was played) but all the mitigating circumstances in the world can’t hide the fact that it’s just not happening for him at the moment, no matter what hairstyle he adopts.

While few at the Lane would agree with me, I see him coming good in the long-term. Dawson, Gomes and Lennon have each had their woeful spells in lilywhite, but all seem to be back on form (although Lennon’s perennial inability to deliver the final ball continues to frustrate), suggesting that these bad runs come and go. While Bentely’s not everyone’s particular brand of cognac, he has in previous seasons shown himself to be a very good performer at Premiership level. Poor form, yes; poor player, no.

However, he may be facing a spell on the subs bench after last night. After huffing and puffing to no avail for 45 mins, who knows what he said to his reflection as he gazed lovingly into a mirror at full-time, having witnessed his replacement, Three-Touch O’Hara, mastermind a four-goal salvo within just 20 minutes.
Seasoned all-action-no-plotters will know that young Three-Touch has never been a favourite of mine, due to the fact that he’s a bit heavy on graft and short on natural flair, but my goodness he injected exactly what was needed last night. Flair players won’t do much if they don’t have the ball, and at a time when no-one had the stomach for a fight, Three-Touch rose to the challenge of getting his hands dirty against the lower-league scrappers. His set-piece delivery was also spot on, and he even bagged himself a one-touch goal. Blinking heck.

 

 

So, as if by magic the soulless rabble, outfought and outpassed in the first 45 mins, banged in goals like they were going out of fashion in the second half. I’ll have whatever was in their half-time cuppa. To be honest, a foul-mouthed tirade from ‘Arry would not scare me anything like as much as one of those death stares from his assistant Joe Jordan, a man whose terrifying demeanour has “psycho-waiting-to-be-unleashed” etched all over it. The  performance won’t have Man Utd quaking in their boots, but it at least smoothes our passage to Wemberley. Job all but done.
More tactically… 

What the blazes has happened to Gareth Bale? The human-simian hybrid was our best player for the first few months of last season, but can’t defend to save his life at the moment. His distribution was woeful too. If the suspended Assou-Ekotto were capable of anything other than a blank stare of the undead, he would probably allow himself a smug smile in light of his replacement’s abysmal performances.

Merrily, the back-four looked nice and solid in the second half. Corluka deserves credit for ditching the alice-band, but needs to find a pace beyond lumbering and lumbering-more-animatedly if he he’s to be a genuine attacking option from right-back.The midfield certainly looked better for the presence and tenacity of Three-Touch in the second half. Much though I like 4-4-2 it remains to be seen whether a central midfield combo of Modric and Zokora can cut it at Premiership level – the pair were overrun in the first half.

Also notable was a much improved use of the ball in the second period. There were counteless aimless upfield punts in the first half, but the ball was treated far more lovingly in the second. Why they couldn’t play like that from the start I don’t know. 

And a word for Pav – that goal oozed class. They’re still glimpses, but every now and then he looks a £15 mil (or whatever it was) pound striker.

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Spurs 3-1 Wigan: More jeers for Ghaly, Cheers for 4-4-2

Football fans are often accused of fickleness, but there is a rather unfortunate consistency about our treatment of Hossam Ghaly.

It is well over a year since he pulled off his Spurs shirt and flung it on the ground, incurring the wrath of fans throughout the stadium and beyond. Yesterday, as he readied himself for his first substitute appearance since, the N17 regulars began spitting feathers at the sight, and ‘Arry thought better of it. It appears that young Ghaly may have played his last game for Spurs. 
 
 

 

I’d imagine that there was nothing malicious in Ghaly’s act of throwing away the shirt. Bear in mind that he had just suffered the ignominy of being substituted having only himself entered the fray as a substitute. He must therefore have been most irked at life in general and his manager – Martin Jol (blessed be his name) – in particular. In front of 36,000 people, that’s pretty humiliating.Oh, that he had instead vented his displeasure by grinding his teeth, or kicking a water bottle, or burning a small annoying child. We’d have understood that, maybe even sympathised and surely moved on.
But pulling off the legendary lilywhite shirt and tossing it to the dirt, proud cockerel and all, could diplomatically be described as an ill-advised move. In an age in which fans pay astronomical prices for their 90 minutes of torture, and in which working-class supporters  feel increasingly distanced from the multi-millionaire prima donnas who take to the pitch, the lack of regard for the badge, the very identity of the club, was a pretty poorly-constructed plan of action from one of the players. 
Understandably, many will regard the booing of fans over a year later, as a childish over-reaction. Fair point. But offensive it ain’t. It’s an expression of disapproval, to which, I think, fans are entitled.

Having spent every spare minute of his press conferences over Christmas twitching and complaining about the size of his squad, ‘Arry will now presumably have to do without Ghaly. I can’t really say that my heart bleeds for the player – he presumably feels hard done-by, but the oodles of cash pouring in every week will soften the blow, my sympathy dwindling in direct proportion. If he wants a sympathetic ear, he should pop down to the south coast and have a nice warm cuppa with one Sulzeer Campbell esquire.

More tactically…

 Every time ‘Arry’s played 4-5-1 I’ve bemoaned the lack of support for the lone striker. Yesterday it was 4-4-2, and he entrusted holding duties to Zokora alone, with Modric the attacking half a central midfield pair. Now a slightly cumbersome win against a second-string Wigan team will have very few (outside All-Action-No-Plot Towers) singing from the rooftops, but I’m much encouraged.

Whether or not Zokora and Modric are a sufficiently strong central pairing to cut it in the Premiership is an entirely different kettle of fish, and frankly I suspect they’re not. Still, the tweaked formation, and its success, give ‘Arry food for thought.

Not too pleased about the emergence of yet another alice-band in the ranks though. Lose it, Luka.
 
 

 

 

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West Brom 2-0 Spurs: I’ll get stick in the office for this…

Oh blinking heck. Defeat to the bottom team, one point from six over Christmas – this is just plain embarassing. I know this is supposed to be a politically correct age, but everyone knows that West Brom are rubbish, and vastly out of their depth in the Premiership. Losing to them today was humiliating. It’s like taking on a group of seven year-olds in a park, and losing. Oh, the shame.

Never mind our desperate plight at the lower end of the league (we’ll survive), I’m more concerned about the relentless stick I’ll get back in the office tomorrow. Having mouthed off pre-Christmas about how a string of wins would propel us towards the European places, we’ve taken one point from six, and lost to a bunch of seven year-olds. With Fulham at home and West Brom away, a six-points boast really wasn’t entirely ludicrous, but things have gone wildly awry over 180 mins of football. European football seems a distant dream now. Before we can think about that we’ve got to remember how to make mincemeat of the Premiership’s most unattractive and backward components.

This is not what the all-action-no-plot mentality is supposed to be about. All-action-no-plot is supposed to encapsulate the madcap nature of Spurs’ glory, glory attacking football, passing and movement, non-stop entertainment, and shots raining in. Not too much concern for defence, admittedly, but 4-4 is better than 0-0 (and if we ever sorted out the defence I’d have to call this all-action-neatly-rounded-plot, which really doesn’t have the same ring). No, the all-action-no-plot mentality ought really to have seen us beat West Brom 5-1, or thereabouts.

Instead we’ve forgotten how to score. We have no divine right to win these games, but we have the quality in attack to do so. Unfortunately, we’re not making chances, we’re not supporting the lone striker (abandon 4-5-1 ‘Arry, pretty please, with a cherry on top) and each time we pick two deep central midfielders (two from Jenas, Hudd and Zokora) we’re effectively lining up two men short. It’s nine vs eleven. No action, no plot.

The cause wasn’t helped today by the dismissal of Assou-Ekotto, but nevertheless – with Modric and Lennon both on form there is a basis for attacking potency. Somehow, with their misplaced passes and inability to tackle, Zokora, Jenas and Bentley are between them negating the good work of this pair.

The honeymoon is most certainly over for ‘Arry. Now it’s time for him to earn his corn as a manager, both tactically, with the under-performing and shorn of confidence rabble already at N17, and in the transfer market over January.

Alternatively of course, if we want a spate of good results, we could always sack ‘Arry, bring in someone new and watch the miraculous “new-manager-bounce” occur.

(I jest. )

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 0-0 Fulham: Dreariness to the strains of Vivaldi

The existence of a football fan can be a pathetic one – trudging around an empty room, pinning my hopes on a radio, staring pleadingly at it and willing it to deliver good news. The reception on it was so poor that match commentary was delivered with early afternoon orchestral performances on Radio 3 in the background. The commentator sounded like a gobby 15 year-old dragged out of his classroom, whose unique brand of humour amuses only the other hoodied teenagers who congregate at train stations on a Friday night to scowl, smoke and spit. This inanimate object, delivering to me first movements and teenage witticisms was the object of my undivided attention and longing for two hours on Boxing Day.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, this 15 year-old’s blow-by-blow account informed me, to the strains of Mozart’s Horn Concerto, that Spurs served up a woeful performance today . I need not really elaborate on the match details – all the usual boxes can be ticked: under-achievement from Bentley; lack of service and creativity from midfield; Bent swapped with Pav after 70. The usual suspects. Winter from Vivaldi’s Four Seasons could not assuage my annoyance.

I regularly wonder if there’s anything more frustrating in life than being a Spurs fan. This marriage to 11 men in white frequently leaves me ruing that fateful day, back in 1987. Only minutes before kick-off this afternoon I wrote, full of optimism, about how Fulham at home could be the springboard to a run of wins which would fire us up the table. Looking back, with the benefit of just a few hours’ hindsight, I sneer at myself. How could I have been so naive? Why will I again be churlish in my predictions, in just 48 hours’ time? Nil-nil at home to Fulham is about as uninspiring and dreary-sounding a result as I can imagine, even if at half-time I caught random snatches of the rousing Superman theme tune on Radio 3. No result can be further from the all-action-no-plot team to which I signed my life away, two decades ago.