Tag: Djed Spence

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 2-2 Bournemouth: Three Tottenham Talking Points

AANP’s new book ‘All Action No Plot: Postecoglou’s First Season’, is out now for just £7.99 from Amazon (ebook from £6.99)

1. The Utter Rot That Is Playing Out From The Back Every Blasted Time, Dash It

Forgive me if you’ve heard this before, but insistently playing out from the back at every bally opportunity is so utterly bonkers that those in the streets around AANP Towers may imminently be treated to the unbecoming sight of a one-man riot.

Honestly, someone make it stop. To peddle a few well-worn lines: the exercise requires at least three – and typically five or six – passes to be delivered, faultlessly, from locations of considerable peril, else the opposition don’t just have possession but they have possession within one pass of our goal; and the return on this riskiest of investments is generally negligible, as on most of those times we do successfully play beyond the initial press we then simply duff the ball up aimlessly around halfway and lose it anyway.

While I can accept that if executed well it can lead to our heroes suddenly tearing off over halfway in some variation of a three-on-three scenario, the aforementioned conditional “if” is doing so much legwork in that statement that it ought really to sit down in the boss’s office and negotiate a pay-rise.

Put another way I can barely remember playing-out-from-the-back resulting in a goalscoring chance for our lot; by contrast within the first five minutes today it had resulted in three goalscoring chances for the other lot. The legs weaken, and the hand automatically reaches for the beaker of bourbon-based life-giver, simply at the recollection.

Now I don’t really know how the assembled geniuses make decisions about these things, but if they gather around a laptop and pore over the stats, then ‘3 chances conceded in the first 5 minutes’ ought to make for an eye-catching, dual-axis bar chart.

Alternatively, if they simply sit back and drink in the live action unfolding before them, a few undecided voters ought to have been swayed by the sight of Vicario saving at point-blank range straight from kick-off (and then making several more last-ditch saves, whilst also scrambling to clear a miscontrolled pass from off his own line – all of which sandwiched repeated instances of those in front of him bungling their passes on the edge of our own area); while at the other end our lot mustered barely a shot on goal in the first hour of play.

The dashed thing does not work! Scrunch it into a ball, bung it into the nearest bin and let’s just restart each episode by slapping the ball forward, to a distance that at least precludes the instant return of danger.

2. Urgency (Or Lack Thereof)

Naturally, this being Tottenham, the return of Romero as much-heralded saviour of our defensive ills immediately brought about calamity.

Of course, passing out from the back was prominent in this hideous unravelling, but what also arrested the attention was the care-free attitude with which Romero kept stuffing up his lines.

There’s a sense in which I rather admire the casual approach to life. Breezing through the daily routines, without allowing any crosses and burdens to weigh upon the shoulders, is probably right up there amongst the experts’ suggestions for making it to the late eighties and beyond, alongside a brisk daily walk and plenty of olive oil. So in one respect, Romero ought to be applauded. Four-score and ten beckon.

However, while sixty or so years hence I might look back and think the fellow made a winning choice, by around 2.10pm this afternoon the mood within the AANP breast was simmering towards volcanic levels. The sight of Romero pausing to light a cigar and reminisce on the good old days every time he received possession fired up the passions of the invested onlooker.

Our Glorious Leader spoke after The Alkmaar Disaster about the need for an improved mindset, and greater aggression. Whether he simply forgot to pass on such crucial nuggets to his players or wilfully misled in his press conference, there was nary a whiff of either of the above on show.

Instead, where Romero trod, all others in lilywhite followed. And when I say ‘lilywhite’ I include yellow, because in a touching show of loyalty towards his on-field captain, Vicario gave evidence of having similarly committed to taking an age over each of his in-game contributions.

They all did, in fact. Anyone who received the ball seemed alarmingly content to suck all life out of proceedings, dwelling in possession as if the very aim of the exercise were to run down the clock in the most nondescript and incident-free manner possible. The option of bursting into life and initiating thrusts at the Bournemouth defence seemed to have been shoved a long way down the agenda.

If this is the template for the Europa parley on Thursday then that bourbon-filled beaker might need generous re-charging, because on present form we are sleep-walking to our doom.

3. Bergvall and One or Two Others

In casually tarring the collective with the Romero-coated brush I actually did a considerable disservice to one or two of the principals.

As seems to be the case every time he laces his boots and bounds into view, young Bergvall rather arrested the senses and didn’t let them go. The bounder rasped about the place with energy and intent throughout, and if Romero and chums were not observing his attitude and taking copious notes then they should blush with shame.

If one wanted to know what urgency looked like, or were curious as to what Postecoglou’s much-vaunted ‘improved mindset’ would comprise, they need only have cast they eye over Bergvall for five minutes. Every time he received the ball, he either looked up and ahead for an immediate passing option, or – more impressively – called upon the ghost of Mousa Dembele and took to wriggling betwixt a pair of Bournemouth’s finest. AANP was, again, charmed. If the lad does not start on Thursday, someone in the corridors of power will need their brain pickled.

More controversially, I actually gave the approving nod to Bissouma on a couple of occasions. Now, to be clear, he was as guilty as anyone else of treating the whole affair like a gentle afternoon stroll, designed to work off a sizeable Sunday roast without actually rushing to get anywhere.

However, where I did pause and scribble a complimentary word was when the thought struck him that it would be rather good fun to inject a meaty tackle into proceedings. If you’ve sipped at this watering-hole before, you’ll know that once the AANP juices are flowing I like nothing more than to berate our lot for their complete absence of commitment to the lost art of The Tackle. Bissouma, at least, had the decency to take useful steps in this respect.

Another who escaped the AANP Naughty List was that Odobert bean. A tricky little ferret, what? Admittedly sometimes so wrapped up in his tricks that he forgot how many feet he had and got himself into a tangle, and at one point I think I saw him literally turn inside out; but by and large one got the impression that the opposing full-back was enjoying his duties less and less because of him.

Odobert caused numerous problems, and even when not causing problems the very concept of him seemed to alarm those in opposition. Crucially, as well as the aforementioned trickery, Odobert was also in the market for a spot of end-product. His crosses might not always have struck oil, but they were at least delivered, and I came away with the notion that here was a chap who might grow into his role.

Young Spence was the other who stood out amidst the dross. Ironically enough, he is a fish about whom it was regularly whispered that the lax attitude was too prevalent, back in the days when he was persona non grata.

Clearly all rot, as he demonstrated again today. While those in other areas of the pitch seemed content to go through the motions, not caring too much whether their passes hit their mark or not (Senor Porro, I look, scathingly, at you), Spence at least seemed to understand that attacks would not build themselves, and accordingly scurried hither and thither as appropriate.

A shame, then that he was amongst the chief culprits for the Bournemouth opener (alongside, of course, Master Porro), but that aside I thought he displayed a determination not to be bested when defending that actually reminded me of Benny Assou-Ekotto, once a cherished member of this parish. I refer to the sense that, irrespective of anything else, he took it as a personal slight upon his character if someone bested him in one-on-one combat.

Vicario, to give him his dues, made the standard handful of point-blanks saves that rescued us from humiliation, and I suppose one might point to the fact that we came back from a two-goal deficit and give their hands a gleeful clap or two; but AANP was not having any of it. This was another dire showing, and the sunny optimism that I had not so long ago radiated about our Europa prospects is fizzling into a state of considerable alarm.

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 1-0 Man Utd: Five Tottenham Talking Points

AANP’s new book ‘All Action No Plot: Postecoglou’s First Season’, is out now for just £7.99 from Amazon (ebook from £6.99)

1. Maddison

I suppose a casual observer, idly swinging by and popping his head in, might note the scoreline and scorer, possibly drink in a brief highlight of Vicario pawing away a Utd shot or two. Putting two and two together, that same c.o. might then surmise that the restoration of the experienced heads had done the trick, and then be off on their way.

Strictly speaking there isn’t actually a way to disprove this. A clean sheet and a goal from the restored Maddison amount to a weighty argument from the prosecution.

And credit where due, the evidence of the eyes did point to Maddison contributing worthily to the whole. Taking the headline act, and his goal might not have been the most rip-roaring of its ilk, involving as it did an unopposed toe-poking of the ball from about three yards out.

The finish itself, however, was not really the sort of masterpiece that ‘ll be hung in the galleries for a spot of public gawping. Where Maddison really earned the monthly envelope was in having the good sense to hover on the tips of his toes as Bergvall lined up his initial shot. While the United lot treated the whole event as if VIP audience-members, idly drinking it all in without involving themselves to any degree, Maddison was already plotting the quickest route towards goal, and was off and running before the initial save had been made.

Even aside from his goal, however, this was one of Maddison’s starrier nights. One curling pass from deep in particular, late in the first half, seemed to drip with a bit of goose fat, and merited a better outcome.

And aside from the highlights reel, Maddison’s all-round game brimmed with useful inputs. In general I’ve been inclined to fix him with a stare and jab the finger a bit, as he’s had a tendency to collect the ball, pivot a few times and then shove it off a distance of about 5 yards. All well and good, but not the brand of muck that will scythe apart the meanest defence.

And while the 5-yard passes remained a feature, a little irritatingly, this time they at least had the vastly more endearing quality of being biffed early. There was a lot less of his tendency to plant a foot atop the ball and turn this way and that, umpteen times. Yesterday’s Maddison was an iteration that tended to receive the ball and fairly promptly give it, waving away the option of standing on ceremony.

United admittedly could not have been more welcoming, theirs being a midfield that didn’t really seem to believe in hard yards and defensive shifts, but Maddison nevertheless seemed to swan about the place in high spirits.

2. Vicario

As mentioned above, yesterday’s win also coincided with the return of our resident back-door custodian, Signor Vicario. Again, while it would be a tad lazy to equate the two as directly and solely correlating, the fellow’s gatekeeping was top-notch whenever required.

The proof of the pudding was in the clean sheet, a rarely-spotted species around these parts, so any garland that lands around his neck is well deserved. Again, of the headline-grabbing stuff, Vicario’s cup flowed over. Various acrobatics could be sighted in both halves – nothing revolutionary, I suppose, but still important stuff.

The low second half save, down to his right and changing direction, was a particularly memorable little number, but in general it was the sort of recital you’d expect from your resident Number One. Young Kinsky, one imagines, would have dealt with each effort similarly.

Apparently, however, there is more to this goalkeeping rannygazoo than shot-stopping alone, and when it came to the smallprint – collecting crosses, and playing low-key passes from the back – Vicario seemed similarly up on current affairs, ticking off all boxes with minimal fuss.

Short-passing from goal-kicks admittedly might not sound like the sort of agenda point on which to spend too much time, but we may perhaps be advised to pause at this point and tour the recesses of the memory. For one only has to go back about a week to find the first in a whole catalogue of instances of a rather unsteady pass being shipped from goalkeeper towards defender, missing something in the delivery and as a result leaving the collective in a whole sea of danger.  

As such, the very fact that we simply did not notice Vicario rolling his short passes this way and that ought to count as a mighty feather in his berretto.

3. Spence

Another pretty dominant innings from young Spence, who continues to be master of all he surveys, and from wherever he’s asked to survey it too.

Strictly speaking, he is employed as a defender, and when defending was required he seemed sufficiently alert and capable. United’s left-wing stomping was watched carefully enough, and for some added garnish at one point he flew across to the other side of the box to make the sort of sliding challenge that media bods are legally obliged to describe as ‘last-ditch’.

All well and good, and pretty necessary in any self-respecting left-back, but as ever it was the honest beaver’s northbound forays that caught the eye. It obviously helped that United set themselves up in a fashion so lop-sided it practically ushered forward any lilywhite who found themselves on the left. Nevertheless, it’s one thing to have the opposing lot step aside and wave you in, it’s another thing altogether to make the most of such invitations (just ask Sonny).

When Spence bounded forward he tended to do so to wholesome effect, alternating in pretty sophisticated fashion between the more conventional route along the left flank, and the achingly more progressive approach of cutting infield.

The more churlish observer might note that for all his studied build-up, his end-product never actually officially struck oil; but half the mission here was simply to land the United mob in a bit of a tizz, and this he seemed to do at every opportunity.

Outside reaction to his latest bravura display has not exactly been a model of restraint, with various choruses suggesting that he ought to be in the England squad, and others chiselling out Gareth Bale comparisons. No harm in basking in his successes I guess, but in the more immediate-term we do now have a very credible third full-back option, on other side.

4. Bergvall

A slightly less topical observation perhaps, but I thought young Bergvall pottered about the place impressively yesterday. With Maddison tasked with splashing creative juices about the place, and Bentancur more inclined to sit deep, whether in or out of possession, Bergvall provided the requisite firing pistons in midfield.

While I hesitate to compare the chap to one of the more esteemed former parishoners, Mousa Dembele – their respective physiques sitting at opposite ends of the spectrum after all – there were a couple of personality traits exuded by young Bergvall that made me tilt the head and wonder if I spotted a similarity.

Primarily, there was  the business of collecting the ball surrounded by a small swarm, and, keeping the thing well protected, wriggling from the aforementioned cul-de-sac of doom into a wide open midfield space. To the Bergvall jersey could also be pinned the quality of dipping a shoulder to side-step an opponent, and travelling with the ball over halfway and beyond.

They were features that I would categorise under ‘Glimpses’ rather than ‘Constant Directing of Affairs’, and as alluded to above, United’s midfield was hardly an impenetrable den. Nevertheless, in these little flashes Bergvall demonstrated some pretty useful value, generally helping to chivvy things along and contribute to the sense that, in midfield, our lot had the upper hand.

5. Game Management, Angeball Style

When all returns were in, it seemed reasonable enough to assert that our lot should have their noses in front. As mentioned, our midfield seemed slightly more familiar than the other lot with the basic concept of association football, and this marginal difference proved mightily useful, resulting as it did in their midfield wandering wherever took their fancy, while ours diligently ploughed through the gaps left accordingly.

With neither midfield remotely capable of providing any cover for those behind them, and neither defence especially watertight, the whole binge seemed to be decided by our lot having better and brighter ideas going forward.

Having eased into a lead, and neglected to build upon that, the final stages might have benefited from some considered strategy for controlling matters and ensuring that the win was kept under royal protection. ‘Game management’, I believe the boffins call it.

Of course, this being Angeball there was not a whiff of such a thing, and those final fifteen minutes or so instead unfolded like a particularly frantic children’s basketball jamboree, with both sides taking turns to pour forward every available man. Indeed, had that Zirkzee lad had a better grasp of aerodynamics then this tome might be aiming both barrels squarely at Ben Davies for picking a pretty ghastly moment to drift off and think of the valleys.

I suppose that from the moment he traipsed through the door, Our Glorious Leader’s approach to seeing out a game has been to score again and again, and the logic is, in a sense, irrefutable; but the failure to do so yesterday, coupled with the ease with which the other lot wandered up to our area, did cast a rather ominous shadow over things as we edged towards the end.

Still, our heroes hung on. Oddly enough, this is a second successive League win, which just goes to show that the right statistics can dolly up just about any breed of crisis. A rather messy route it might have taken, but with all manner of returnees now bundling their way through the door, in time for the European jolly, there are at least reasons for a cheerier outlook.

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Spurs match reports

Brentford 0-2 Spurs: Three Tottenham Talking Points

AANP’s new book ‘All Action No Plot: Postecoglou’s First Season’, is out now for just £7.99 from Amazon (ebook from £6.99)

1. Angeball

Had you been otherwise engaged yesterday, and happened casually to catch the final score without having cast eye upon the ceremony itself, you’d be forgiven to leaping to the conclusion that Angeball had re-engaged. 20-plus shots, might have been the thinking of the educated non-observer, with possession monopolised and perhaps a bravura goalkeeping performance to keep a sheen on things at the back.

Well – and this might surprise you like the dickens – as it turned out it was nothing of the sort. Precisely none of the above applied. Rather than being one of those rip-roaring binges in which we rain in shots from all angles, this was what you might politely call a more traditional away win, fashioned from hard graft and focused defending.

If it was laugh-a-minute entertainment you were after, the Tottenham Starting XI yesterday was not the place to be. Serious expressions and deep concentration were the order of the day.

Frankly, it was most peculiar stuff. Utterly marvellous, of course, and precisely the tonic, but as I observed Pedro Porro watching his attacker like a hawk, and our back-four repelling one cross after another, and various other visual anomalies, I did have to rub my eyes to make sure that it was indeed A. Postecoglou Esq. lurking on the touchline.

I should actually backtrack a few steps, because when I warbled earlier that the gag about monopolising possession did not apply, I did stretch the truth a tad. In the opening stages our lot actually had plenty of the ball. If you want the precise stats you’ll have to beetle off elsewhere, but sometimes the evidence of the eyes is enough, and as the first half sparring played out yesterday, the ‘Give’ and ‘Take’ columns seemed fairly equally matched.

The AANP take on this, by the way, is that it was down to Kulusevski. It usually is. Stick him in one of the central midfield roles and the effect is that of a switch being flicked. Things buzz into life and it’s not long before everyone around him is humming and whirring. With Bentancur and Bissouma doing a nice line in neat-and-tidy slightly south of him in midfield, Kulusevski was able to spend his afternoon collecting possession and dragging it forward, throwing in a couple of eye-catching little combos with young Mikey Moore for good measure.

With MM withdrawn at half-time and Kulusevski shoved out wide, it struck me as no major coincidence that our attacking verve dialled down a few notches in the second half, but by golly we defended well.

I don’t know about you, but I often find the commentary babble rather irritating, particularly when the chappies in question adopt a certain viewpoint as their opinion de jour and take to hammering it over and over again. It’s like having a mosquito buzz about one’s ear. Anyway, I muted the noise, as one would, but not before I had heard the assorted geniuses bang on a dozen or so times about how many crosses Brentford were tossing our way. It was as if they thought that this alone seemed to merit more than the zero goals they chalked up. There was a faint sense of moral outrage that they could bombard our area so, and still not score.

Anyway, that they failed to do so was an absolute credit to our heroes, particularly the four strung out across the back. Too often this season I have bemoaned one or other of our defensive unit switching off and failing to register some opposition sort tiptoeing into position just behind them; but yesterday there were no such failings.

As mentioned above, and to my continued surprise, Pedro Porro was fully signed up to the defensive drill, winning all manner of aerial challenges at the back-post, an area so frequently open for business for opposing forwards who fancy sauntering by for a goal bonus, that Porro ought really to have begun charging for the privilege.

You will hardly be shocked to know that the AANP spirits sank to irretrievable depths pre-kick-off, upon learning that VDV was nowhere to be seen and instead Ben Davies would be in the hot-seat at the back. Credit where due however, and gallons of the stuff, because Davies, alongside young Gray, was note-perfect all afternoon.

I suppose the back-four, Kinsky and one or two others might spontaneously have taken it upon themselves to pool resources and trot out our finest, most organised defensive performance of the season; but I’m rather inclined to think that The Brains Trust may have played a part in there too. I wouldn’t be surprised to find that there were some deep-rooted tactical approach underpinning things.

They certainly knew their onions when it came to batting away crosses, but on the floor too the cupboard seemed always to be stocked with sufficient pairs of legs to prevent Brentford having too many clear shots on goal. Nor was it solely the back-four, as all in natty light blue seemed pretty committed to the cause, the usual devil-may-care approach to ball retention and defensive responsibilities replaced by a commitment to the basics that I would scarcely have believed possible from the current vintage.

More of the same on Thursday night would be just the ticket, don’t you think?

2. Our Second Goal

As well as all the good and honest blood, sweat and blocked shots in defence, another feature that came to the fore yesterday, and that has hardly been a historical trademark of Angeball, was the game management displayed by our heroes in the latter stages.

Specifically I refer to a couple of mightily impressive passages of play in the last ten or so minutes, during which our heroes seemed driven by the impulse simply to keep hold of possession, without slapping too much custard on the whole business of bombing forward towards the opposition goal.

Just to drive home my point, the counter-example of this would be if our lot, having been starved of possession and forced to defend for much of the second half, upon finally winning possession immediately raced up the pitch as fast as their little legs could carry them, in a frenzied dash to score as quickly as possible.

There was not too much of that in evidence yesterday, however. It did happen from time to time of course – only human, after all – but, eye-catchingly, our lot also took the opportunity to knock the ball about amongst themselves. Upon reaching the middle third, rather than trying to force killer passes through gaps that just didn’t exist, they were just as likely to pivot and play short, square pass.

‘And why the devil not?’ I found myself murmuring, after something of a double-take, followed by a moment’s deep consideration. ‘We are, after all,’ continued the line of thought, ‘ahead on the scoreboard, so the priority is as much to retain possession as to go sniffing out another goal’.

Bentancur was to the fore in this respect. He seemed to see the value in pirouetting past opposing midfield legs in any direction, as happy to dance his way backwards as to scamper his way frontwards.

Another well kitted out by nature for this sort of lark was young Bergvall. I mentioned how his half-time arrival meant the shoving-to-the-right of Kulusevski, which robbed us of much of our attacking thrust. However, where we benefited from the change, as well as in the defensive energy of Bergvall, was in his cool head in possession. Seeing him tootle over halfway, note that all around him – both friend and foe – seemed rather drained of energy, and accordingly put his foot on the ball and drink in the surroundings for a while made me think that here was a lad wise beyond his years.

Ironically enough, perhaps the best example of the game management on display ultimately resulted in our lot applying boot to neck and actually creating a goal. The one or two minutes prior to the ball hitting the net, however, involved a lengthy spell of keep-ball at its finest. My spies tell me that no fewer than 16 uninterrupted passes were booked in during this spell, involving every outfield player bar Spence. Watch it back in real time and you may well emit a satisfied purr or two.

As mentioned, its critical feature seemed to be the decided absence of hurry to force a route to goal. In its early stages, finding all such routes closed off, our heroes simply pivoted and sought out sunnier climes, waving aside the option of a further goal, in favour of simply hanging on to the merchandise a little while longer.

And the rummy thing is, having prioritised possession over everything else, after a while gaps in the Brentford defence simply started to appear anyway, organically, if you will. Bentancur chose wisely his moment to play a more aggressive pass, and while Sonny’s best days may be behind him, he still had enough going on upstairs to spot a goal-making-pass-into-the-path-of-an-attacking-midfield-burst when he saw one. In this age of social media and attention-seeking I suspect that goal and its 90-second, 16-pass genesis won’t attract too much outside noise, but at AANP Towers we’re playing it on a loop.

3. Spence

I complimented both Sonny and Bentancur for their roles in the goal, and Sarr obviously merits his post-match glass of something celebratory for bobbing from the halfway line to the six-yard box in order to apply the critical touch.

From my vantage point, however, much of the critical spadework was done by Djed Spence. As mentioned above, he was the only shrimp out there who didn’t apply boot to ball during the entirety of the episode, but I suppose as Barry Davies might put it, Sonny used him by not using him.

By which I mean that  when Son was weighing up his options having received the ball, Spence handily went off on the gallop up the left wing. It was a sprint of sufficient pace to attract the eye of the Brentford right-back, who understandably enough thought he had better tick that particular box, and accordingly retreated alongside Spence – crucially, in a rather wide area. This defensive adjustment meant that the gap in front of Sarr gave a considerable yawn. While it is debatable whether one might have driven a bus through it, one could certainly fit within its confines a sprinting Sarr.

Officially, therefore, the assist goes down as Sonny’s, but the small-print really ought to capture the contribution of young Spence.

This particular input occurred only a couple of minutes after Spence had also right-place-right-timed his way to a goal-line clearance, and as such neatly topped off what was, all round, a particularly impressive performance.

Moreover, while it would be understandable if it slipped from the memory, way back in the first half Spence was also proving a pretty key cog in the attacking mechanism. Within these environs he could be spotted not just lopping forward but drifting infield too, to pretty good effect. One would have to ask those on the high pay-grades whose bright idea that was, but it was certainly effective, providing a most useful additional outlet.

However, it was his defensive chops that really caught the eye. As he did a few weeks back with Mo Salah, so yesterday Spence kept his beady eye on the effervescent Mbeumo throughout. I recall one first half moment in which Mbuemo wriggled free, but that aside Spence seemed more or less to have his number, which takes some doing.

As mentioned above, the entire back-four brought their A-game, but Spence in particular ticked all his relevant boxes.

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Spurs match reports

Everton 3-2 Spurs: Five Tottenham Talking Points

1. The New Formation’s Perks

With the infirmary tent now bursting at the seams, Our Glorious Leader had what by his standards was a fully-fledged breakdown, and tweaked his tactics. Out went the 4-3-3, and in came an intriguing get-up that had a 3-4-2-1 sort of look to it.

On paper it actually made perfect sense. Square pegs and whatnot, don’t you know?

Ben Davies has spent half his life on the left of three centre-backs. Any self-respecting taxonomist would take one look at Spence and Porro and classify the pair as wing-backs. Kulusevski and Maddison are both, in theory, the sorts of beans who are happiest honing their sights on the opposition goal. Dragusin has many, many defensive weaknesses and precious few strengths, so why not surround him with as much defensive-minded assistance as possible? And so on.

And actually, if you don’t mind me punctuating the doom and gloom with a spot of sunny, glass-half-full cheer, in an attacking sense it wasn’t too shabby at all. Sonny was presented on a silver platter with a couple of the more straightforward chances we’ve had all season – tips of the cap here to Davies and Porro, for the rather dapper long passes that set these up.

We also might reasonably enough have had a penalty. While AANP, as ever, accepts the referee’s decision with a stiffened upper lip and some stoical resolve, next time I need to submit a video application for the award of a foul, I may well use the clip of Sonny being unceremoniously bundled to terra firma inside the area by that Everton nib. It did appear at first – and indeed second, third and various further glances – to be a fairly straightforward little number.

So on the front-foot, whilst hardly the best we’ve played all season, there was enough in the first half-hour to suggest that the new formation had some shiny attacking components.

2. The New Formation’s Woes

Further back, however, it’s fair to say that our lot fashioned quite the pig’s ear. If you’ve ever drunk at this particular cabinet before you’ll know that the tactical side of things is not really the AANP forte, so take the following with a generous pinch of salt, or splash of bourbon, or just let the mind fog over for a few paragraphs; but it struck me that each of Gray, Dragusin and Sarr were playing their own individual matches, with nary a concern for the roles of those around them. Communications and teamwork was at a minimum.

Take the second goal conceded, for example. Everton were biffing the thing around inside their own half, as was their prerogative. Young Gray, seeing this and not taking too kindly to it, opted to leave his right-of-the-back-three post, and make a few brusque enquiries. Reasonable enough, one might have noted. One of the delights of a back-three, of course, is that any given member of it, at any given time, has the licence to stretch his legs further north, safe in the knowledge that the defensive cupboard will remain well-stocked behind him.

So off Gray toddled; but trouble began to brew when, alongside him, Sarr seemed gripped with a similar idea. Identical in fact. Actually, the pair came close to tinkering with the fabric of the universe by very nearly occupying exactly the same space at exactly the same time.

One could have advised that this would not end well. With Gray having rushed 20 or so yards out of position, our lot really needed someone to drop into the spot he had vacated, or at the very least station themselves within 10 yards of him, to mop up the mess.

The most obvious candidate would have been Sarr – but Sarr, as mentioned, had been gripped by precisely the same idea as Gray. Poor old Dragusin was the next to whom we all looked for a spot of useful input, but he was so far behind play one struggled to pick him out with the naked eye.

The Everton laddie set off around halfway and kept going, utterly unopposed. In fact he made it all the way to the penalty area, and even then young Dragusin was not really in the market for decisive interventions. He hovered in the vicinity, lost his bearings and I think almost fell over, but by then the Everton chap was already unveiling his celebration.

From what I could make out, the underlying problem here was absence of a basic level of communication between the protagonists. Idle chit-chat. Even just a pointed look, and knowing nod. Either way, the constituent members of the back-three seemed not to let each other know what they’d be doing.

3. Bergvall

With three goals having been shipped and Dragusin having been clouted about the loaf, one hardly batted an eyelid when Our Glorious Leader reverted to 4-3-3 type for the second half. One may have wanted to clear the throat and politely mention something about horses bolting, but nevertheless the switch back to the familiar seemed judicious.

Whether it was the formation, the fact that Everton already had three goals in the bag and eased up a tad or any other reason, our lot at least had the decency to look like they cared in the final 20 or so.

Young Bergvall, however, did not seem to mind which formation he was dropped into. He just set about doing one decent thing after another. It’s taken a couple of months, but the chap seems to have found his feet, and by my reckoning was amongst our best-performing squirts yesterday.

There was one fine sliding tackle early on in the piece, the sort that tends to prompt a nostalgic sigh as well as a nod of approval from this quarter; and halfway through the second half he pinged a dreamy 50-yard pass, up the right flank and perfectly weighted inside the full-back, to an onrushing winger.

And beyond these little highlights his overall contribution was neat and tidy as a minimum. Here is a chap fully aware of his responsibilities in chugging back to help out around his own penalty area, whilst also needing not too many invitations to pick up the ball and go wandering beyond halfway to see the sights.

4. Spence, Kinsky, Moore

As mentioned above, Spence was quite the attacking threat. As with Bergvall, one can imagine him impatiently waving away any instruction about formations and the like, preferring instead just to get his head down and gambol forward.

I’d suggest that he did not have his greatest day defensively, although plenty others also wore that particular badge yesterday. Going forward, however, Spence seemed to develop something of an obsession with the concept of weaving his way into the Everton penalty area and making merry.

A slight shame that his delivery for Sonny early on was not quite into the latter’s path, but if one can survey the entirety and conclude that we did not massively miss Udogie’s forward contributions, then there’s a feather for the Spence cap.

Young Kinsky once again did what could reasonably have been expected of him. Experts in the field might suggest that he went to ground a little early for the second goal, but that aside he produced more than his fair share of full-stretch, leaping saves.

This business of insisting on short passing from every goal-kick does, of course, drive to distraction most right-minded lilywhites, but it is presumably a tactic that is here to stay, and on instruction from above. Kinsky did foul up his record book with one particularly ghastly pass from the back, early in the second hlf, but by and large he seemed comfortable enough with the ball at his feet.

Nor is he a cove who sees the ball up beyond halfway and takes the opportunity to indulge in forty winks. Nice and alert throughout, he had to race from his post once or twice, to extinguish a couple of threats caused by those in front of him.

And in the latter stages we were treated to a cheery little cameo from young Mikey Moore. It’s a low bar, but he seemed to cram more into his 20 minutes than Sonny has produced in his last half-dozen games out on the left.

My Spurs-supporting chum Ian did note that Moore’s presence might actually have stifled Spence somewhat, the pair seeming to occupy the same lane if you get my drift, but on a day on which we made Everton look like Barcelona I’m hardly about to chide Moore for that.

He shows a directness of intent that is complemented by the trickery in his size eights, and as he demonstrated at the death, is well capable of delivering a cross of the delicious, convert-me variety.

5. Midfield Bite (Or Lack Thereof)

One can bang on until blue in face and coarse in voice about injuries and fatigue of course. One can find a way in which to voice the sentiment, preferably in a catchy, rhyming verse, that the manager ought to be removed.

However, the AANP gripe de jour is about our midfield. It’s actually a gripe that has bubbled away beneath the surface for a while now, but shot to prominence again yesterday as I observed various Everton bods amble unopposed from midway to our penalty area.

Expressed in the most basic Anglo-Saxon, our midfield desperately lacks a spot of back-door security. This could take the form of a tough tackler, although I’m not convinced we even need to make tackles. Someone who races around harassing and intercepting would suffice. Just to stop opponents waltzing straight through us, you understand.

Now credit where due, it seems that whichever lilywhites are picked in midfield will scurry urgently enough from Player A to Player B. No shortage of willing. The issue is that it’s all to no effect. Opponents simply pass around us and escape, without too many beads of perspiration spraying about the place.

By contrast, when, for example, Maddison takes possession for us, more often than not the opposition will close down the space and force him backwards. When I see such an episode play out, I do shoot a rather covetous glance at the opposition. That sort of thing would help our defence in spades. If our midfield can’t make tackles – and it’s always seemed a big ask at N17 – could they not at least prevent opponents advancing, and force them to pause and go backwards?

Each of Bergvall, Sarr, Maddison and Bentancur have their merits, but none seem particularly well sculpted for the aforementioned defensive roles, and I’m not sure it’s something that Bissouma on his own can carry out. It does seem to need a spot of collective effort.

Just another one for the Postecoglou in-tray I suppose, but this is an issue that has existed throughout his time around these parts, and frankly for most of the decades I’ve been watching our lot. Hoffenheim, Leicester and Elfsborg now become pretty seismic fixtures, which dulls the sense like you wouldn’t believe, but there we go.

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 1-0 Liverpool: Four Tottenham Talking Points

AANP’s new book ‘All Action No Plot: Postecoglou’s First Season’, is out now for just £7.99 from Amazon (ebook from £6.99)

1. Kinsky

Not lacking in confidence, this one, eh? His first involvement as a Spurs player – that moment in which he decided to chip the ball into the air with his feet, rather than just taking the regulatory catch on offer – was admittedly a slightly zany way to introduce himself to the massed hordes, but thereafter young Master Kinsky seemed hell-bent on showcasing himself as everything the young, modern goalkeeper should be.

Most obviously, Kinsky seemed pretty determined to make clear to the watching world that he fancies himself with ball at feet. The faux laid-back air with which he carries himself when picking a pass can probably be ignored, as it seems all goalkeepers these days like to present themselves as achingly laid-back, even if utterly incapable of passing along the ground.

However, this young fellow was evidently able to walk the w. as well as talk the t., as evidenced by a capacity not only to play the ball with either foot, but also to impart backspin and stun his passes and all sorts of other nuanced techniques, to make life that bit more comfortable for his chums. A considerate egg, this Kinsky.  

On top of which he also channelled his inner Beckenbauer to ping a few 60 yarders just as a lark. As these things go, it was ripping stuff. AANP was all for it. Picking the appropriate, short pass from a goal-kick is a sine qua non in the world of Angeball; but augmenting these short passes with an occasionally defence-splitting long pass really does sharpen the wits of all in attendance.

However, if it were that simple we’d just stick Bentancur or Maddison in goal and be done with it. There is, of course, also the delicate issue of stopping shots and preventing goals, and here Kinsky passed his first test soundly enough.

That one moment in the first half, in which he allowed a shot of the meat-and-drink variety to squirm away from him and reappear behind him like some uncooperative small child, was a little concerning. If he’s going to make a production of the basics, I caught myself thinking, things might quickly take a turn for the farcical when the real business kicks off.

I needn’t have worried. He swallowed up most other ideas from the other mob, and when called upon made a particularly impressive stop early in the second half, when a Liverpool sort had a close-range ping on their right and Kinsky dutifully remembered to stay relatively upright, spread his frame and put in place various other wholesome initiatives.

The Hollywood moment, however, came late on in the piece, when Nunez contorted himself to get a close-range volley away, and Kinsky was hit with something of an emergency. The shot, as it turned it, was whistling off to his right; and the critical factor here was that he himself was already putting in motion plans for a day-trip off to his left.

The episode required quick thinking, and some rearrangement of limbs at an equally healthy lick. Kinsky delivered all of the above like a champion, extending an important paw, and keeping his record unsullied.

One can bleat about Liverpool being under-par and remixing their personnel, but this was still the best team in the country and arguably the continent, the highest scorers in the country and with all manner of star-power out on show. On top of which, I honestly can’t remember if our lot have kept a clean sheet at all this season, such has been our general porousness. Defending has not, one might diplomatically offer, been our forte.

I still await evidence around the young bean’s handling of crosses, particularly at corners and whatnot – an area in which Austin, B. proved himself most competent at the weekend. As such, I’ll hold fire on the cork-popping and garland-streaming for another game or two, but for the second game in succession, one can cheerily note that the new chap between the sticks seems to know his apples well enough.

2. Bergvall

Fair to say young Bergvall did not quite hit the ground running in his lilywhite career in Kinsky-esque fashion, memories of him being shoved aside in various Europa ties still lingering in the mind’s eye.

Last night, however, he rattled off the latest rather shiny recital, picking up where he left off in his last turn against Liverpool. At kick-off he seemed tasked with scampering forward with gay abandon whenever the mood took him, with Messrs Bentancur and Bissouma further south being the more natural, reserved sorts.

The horrible Bentancur incident brought about a reshuffle, but if the appearance of Kulusevski in the central midfield three were supposed to dim the Bergvall light, I’m not sure anyone actually passed the memo to the chap himself. “Kulusevski or no Kulusevski”, seemed the Bergvall train of thought, “I’m going to keep haring about the place anyway, and if that takes me right off into the final third then so be it”.

And a cracking fist he made of it too. Full of beans, as these young people tend to be, he also seems to have learned a fair bit about how to handle oneself when great brutish lumps like van Dijk are swinging muscular limbs about the place. No longer simply one to be pushed into the background, Bryan Gil-esque, Bergvall did plenty of useful things both in and out of possession.

A winning goal always adds a layer of garnish, of course, but even before that he rather caught the eye.

As for the whole yellow card issue, by golly watching the Sky Sports coverage back made me wonder if some crime had been committed and the whole bally thing ought to be brought to the House of Commons for a proper debate, and quite possibly reinstatement of the death penalty. Anyway, the AANP take for several decades has been that the referee’s decision is final – be that allowing Jota to stud Skipp in the head and prance off to score a last-minute winner, or waving aside Bergvall’s flying lunges.

3. Spence

One admittedly dreamy pass from young Archie Gray seems to have won over the hearts of the nation, which I suppose was only a matter of time. As secure as ever when doing the defensive thing, that little dribble and outside-of-the-boot-don’t-you-know pass in the second half was a pretty pointed reminder that he’s a midfielder first and foremost. However, as I prattle on about the chap every week, and one doesn’t have to go too far to find wordy serenades about his work last night, I’ll push on to young Spence instead.

What the hell happened in the first four months of the season to prevent him even being considered for selection is a mystery that deepens every week, because his performances since returning to the fold have been mightily impressive, be they right, left or centre.

It was only when he beat his man, scurried to the line and then doubled back on himself rather than crossing, in the first half, that one was reminded that his left foot is primarily in situ for balance and decoration, such was his comfort at left-back.

A different type of beast from Udogie, no doubt – less about him of the bludgeoning instrument when on the forward march – but Spence in his own way is a handy nib when going forward. Moreover, if anything I feel slightly more reassured when we’re on the backfoot that he’ll actually be present, rather than marooned 20 yards too far north.

I suppose because we keep leaking goals, not too much has been made of him beyond the confines of N17. However, I certainly do hope that once the walking wounded shed their bandages and bound back into action, Spence will remain part of the general setup.

4. Ange Postecoglou, Tactical Genius

The key to muzzling Liverpool, it would appear, is to stick someone on that Gravenberch chap. Kulusevski seemed tasked with it last night, obediently putting his head down and charging towards him each time he received the precious cargo. While I suppose it might just have been coincidence, they did appear decidedly less on the button than on their previous visit.

Now AANP is no tactical soul by any stretch, so if the above is true – and once pointed out to me, it did indeed seem that way – decency dictates that I step aside and let the acclaim wash over my Spurs-supporting chum Dave, who cottoned onto it pretty quickly. Either way, a nod of acknowledgement is probably due to Our Glorious Leader for a handy tactical button pushed. After all, heaven knows we knock him when he pickles these things.

Aside from Kulusevski, various other members of the squadron also seemed to go about their day-jobs with a tad more circumspection than frankly I thought was tolerated by Angeball.

Porro’s natural instincts seemed curbed, to the extent that he made more tackles and blocks last night than I can remember in his entire lilywhite career to date. As mentioned above, Spence could probably list ‘Positional Awareness’ as amongst his strengths at his next appraisal.

The midfield that started appeared to offer a bit more in the way of solidity than normal, with Bentancur and Bissouma sitting behind Bergvall, who himself played as a central midfielder rather than a Number 10. This admittedly was rather forced upon the Big Cheese, as there were no other options left, but Bergvall’s energy allowed us to proceed thereafter with a useful blend of attacking chops and defensive numbers.

All told, I did wonder whether the ever-so-slightly more conservative approach was a product of accident or design, but it did the trick, even before the late winner. I suspect I’m not alone in being far from convinced that we’ll do the necessaries in the second leg, but simply for arresting the recent decline and chalking up a significant win, last night was most pleasing.

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 1-2 Newcastle: Four Tottenham Talking Points

AANP’s new book ‘All Action No Plot: Postecoglou’s First Season’, is out now for just £7.99 from Amazon (ebook from £6.99)

1. Austin

Saturday afternoon gave us all a chance to brood deeply on the life and times of that lesser-spotted species, the third choice goalkeeper. AANP can only speak for himself, but if Brandon Austin had tapped me on the shoulder yesterday morning and given me a cheery wave, I’m not sure I’d have recognised him. 

By about 3pm however that particular wrong had been righted, and with considerable emphasis. Austin acquitted himself like a champion, and should he ever find his mouth dry and a thirst developing, he’ll always be welcome to a splash of refreshment at AANP Towers, after a debut that ticked the boxes like they were going out of fashion. 

If you were to wag a disapproving finger at young Austin, explaining that you did so because he conceded twice, I think I might unleash one of my more withering glances. That ought to settle the matter. Austin was fairly clearly not at fault for either goal. 

And had Gordon converted a chance later on in the first half that was identical in all relevant ways to his earlier goal, I’d have given Austin an encouraging pat on the head and assured him that that was another for which he was blameless. 

As it happened, however, young B.A. actually denied Gordon on that second occasion, with a very neat and tidy save. It was a stop bursting at the seams with quick reflexes and sharp movement to the ground, and well worth the ovation that followed. 

From memory he threw in another sharp save late on, extending a right paw if memory serves, to keep things interesting late on. His saves, however, were barely half the story. 

What really arrested the AANP eye was the fine young fellow’s attitude to the various corners that rained in abaft his head. A spot of context would help here, for this was not as straightforward a tale as ‘Man Catches Ball’. Critically, as each corner was being fashioned for delivery, Newcastle had hit upon the idea of stationing three absolute lumps around Austin, at least one of whom, if my eyes didn’t deceive stood at about 8 foot 6 and bore all the hallmarks of someone who in a previous life had been a tree.

With several of these sorts clambering around the personal space of Austin, and three in lilywhite faithfully marking them, the whole vicinity was frightfully congested. Had the principal custodian of N17 been in situ, the sound of jangling nerves would have been cacophonous, because Signor Vicario has demonstrated on many an occasion a tendency to malfunction when crowded at a corner.

Austin, however, once each corner was launched towards him, was an absolute model of calm and serenity. A most sincere tip of the cap to those tasked with marking the Newcastle mob, as they did a sterling job of clearing a sacred space around the goalkeeper. The man himself though, emerged from the intermittent bombardment with flying colours.

His distribution also seemed sensible enough. Brighter minds than mine may zoom in on one or two passes from the back that might have landed those around him in trouble, but I personally did not notice any such misdeeds. As far as I can see, Austin did not put a foot or hand wrong.

There is, of course, every chance that it will be vale as well as salve to the chap, with the arrival of that Kinsky bean suggesting that the goalkeeping cupboard will be pretty well stocked. If Austin is never sighted again in our colours, I suspect I won’t be the only one wishing him well and thanking him enthusiastically for his tuppence worth.

2. The Spence-Gray Partnership

There is some unnameable element of Radu Dragusin’s game that troubles me. I mean I’m never really fully at ease when he trots out into the middle, chewing away and sizing up his latest pass, which may or may not hit its mark. I find myself instinctively holding my breath, exhaling in relief as much as anything else, when he delivers some input without any dubious consequence.

All that said, however, I’ll excuse any errors yesterday, as apparently he was labouring under a spot of man-flu. The half-time reshuffle meant that we started the second period with a central pairing that would have prompted a hoot or two of mirth in the Championship last season, as Spence shuffled into place alongside Gray.

Spence has generally impressed this particular viewer since beginning his Prodigal Son routine a few weeks back at Southampton, generally blending defensive common sense with attacking fizz in pleasing proportions.

Yesterday, however, there was a murmur or two of criticism at his inability to prevent crosses from the Newcastle flank – it all seemed a bit thick if you ask me, given the track records in that particular department of Porro and Udogie over the last year and a half, but there you go. For the second Newcastle goal, Spence failed to prevent the cross, Dragusin avoided throwing up long enough to nudge the ball onto the foot of Isak, and we were felled.

So when it became evident that Spence would be moved to the centre, I must confess dusting off one of my finest philosophical shrugs. Que sera whatnot, was the gist over here. Everyone else seemed to have had a stab at centre-back, so why not Spence?

(I assume that those who watch Dorrington every day in training have simply gauged that as yet he’s not quite good enough.)

Anyway, on we all cracked, and to be honest, this actually struck me as the most secure centre-back partnership we’d had all season. A small sample size admittedly, and Newcastle seemed far more concerned with packing out their own penalty area than considering a swish at ours, but still. Whenever they did venture forward, Spence and Gray seemed uncannily adept at stomping out any would-be fires.

If there ends up being a public vote for this sort of thing, I’ve already nailed my colours to the Gray mast when it comes to considering eventual partners for VDV at the back. He may walk, talk and sound like a midfielder, or right-back, or some other position, but by golly he can cut it with the best of them at centre-back.

Now apparently I ought to temper all this praise. I’m reliably informed that Gray’s positioning to receive the ball from Austin, which led to Bergvall’s tight spot and Newcastle’s first goal, was shonky. If you don’t mind the technical gibberish, he ought to have stationed himself wider, to render himself less easy to close down. This, if true, is indeed a blot on his escutcheon.

Nevertheless, such a faux pas ought to be coached out of him easily enough. I’m still fond of the chap, as much as anything else because he does not tend suddenly to be possessed by acts of madness like Romero. Steady and sensible, seems to be the Gray motto when centre-backing, and I’m all for it.

Spence, meanwhile, displayed a most becoming spatial awareness in the role. He generally seemed to know where he ought to be and where others were around him, be they friend or foe. He even threw in a last-ditch, goal-saving, sliding block at one point.

Presumably Dragusin will be back midweek, but as desperate patched-up bright ideas go, Gray-Spence struck me as pretty hot stuff.

3. Porro

With each passing week this season, the AANP opinion of Pedro Porro has gently eased down half a notch or so, with the result that now, at the midway point, I have quite the clearly-fashioned bone to pick with the fellow.

It’s primarily his defensive work, you see, although I use the term pretty damn loosely. Show me a goal our heroes have conceded this season, and there’s a good chance I’ll be able to show you a gap that Porro has vacated and the opposing striker has tucked right into.

Yesterday, however, the angel on Porro’s shoulder was in the ascendancy, because he could not stop delivering Beckham-esque crosses from the right. Whip, height, direction – you name it, Porro was spraying it. If anything it’s been a rather under-used asset of his this season. He set about righting that wrong though, and how.

Beginning with his cross for the goal for Solanke (another who earns one of those touches of the cap, for one heck of a combo of strength and technique to head in), Porro was on the money throughout. A shame, of course, that he only struck oil once, but he stuck to his side of the bargain alright. That those further north couldn’t quite nail the coordinates was nothing to do with the quality of his delivery.

4. General Mood

It will come as little surprise to the regular visitor to AANP Towers, that the owner of the joint remains unchanged in opinion towards Our Glorious Leader. Peddle dirge-like guff, and fail to create chances, and the AANP brow scrunches like a bulldog’s; but yesterday was another of those affairs in which we had a pretty reasonable biff, and were a mite unlucky to trudge off empty-handed.

The dubious decision-making in possession at the back remains undimmed, and responsibility for this sits squarely with Ange and Co. Equally concerning from my vantage point is the general lack of protection afforded to our back-line whenever possession is lost. It’s not so much the high defensive line that bothers me, as the fact that nobody else in lilywhite is anywhere near the scene when that defensive line is forced to about-turn and sprint back. This, too, is on Ange.

The attacking play, however, particularly in the second half, was respectable enough. It ought to have been enough to outscore the other lot, which seems the fundamental tenet of Angeball. We can also consider ourselves unfortunate that the laws of the game allowed that first goal to stand – albeit we brought the danger upon ourselves.

(Bergvall, by the way, while he may have erred slightly in the first goal conceded, caught the eye. The fellow has come on leaps and bounds in a couple of months, and provided the sort of energy and willingness to carry the ball of which Maddison might usefully have taken note.)

On top of that solid second half showing, this was a game in which we ended with our third-choice goalkeeper, fifth- and sixth-choice centre-backs and fifth-choice left-back. As mentioned, I actually consider the midfield and its lack of support for those behind them, to be more of a problem, but this general annihilation of all available defenders doesn’t do much to help things.

So, as has been the case for a while now, I’m more inclined to suspend judgement on Ange until blessed with a team better suited to the rigours of the twice-weekly joust. The new goalkeeper is a start, but at least a couple more happy new faces seem necessary before things get back on track.

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Spurs match reports

Forest 1-0 Spurs: Three Tottenham Talking Points

AANP’s new book ‘All Action No Plot: Postecoglou’s First Season’, is out now for just £7.99 from Amazon (ebook from £6.99)

1. Not A Particularly Bad Showing

Due to my commitment with the other team in North London (Enfield Town, for avoidance of doubt), I found myself in the dubious position of sitting down to watch a recording of the Spurs game after the event, when already fully aware of the final score. Not really an approach I’d bang drums and blow whistles for, but a necessary evil from time to time. Happens to all of us occasionally, I suppose.

Being aware of the outcome, I therefore braced myself for something stodgy and insipid. The defeat away to Palace was the sort of template I had in mind, or the draw with Fulham perhaps. One of those bland shindigs, in which our heroes mooch around looking like a football match in the middle of their calendar is a most frightful inconvenience.

And while I suppose one might argue that this was a triumph for setting low bars, nevertheless as I watched the thing unfold, I was less underwhelmed than I’d expected to be, if you follow.

Now admittedly, it was hardly our finest hour. We did, after all, lose and fail to score. At the same time, this wasn’t one of those dreadful affairs that can prompt a spot of banging of fists down on tables and some meaningful finger-pointing.

I don’t doubt there are plenty in lilywhite who have spent the last day yelling into the nearest megaphone that they want the head of the manager and pronto, but as performances go I thought we merited a draw. It might not exactly have been title-winning stuff, but I thought our lot did well enough that if they had finished up with the takings, the wider world would have accepted it without too much complaint.

I suppose that on seeing we had lost one-nil I expected us barely to get out of our own half. Instead, with a bit more care in the final third we would have the usual handful goals. One might reasonably have expected young Johnson to strike oil with one of his two or three chances; while at the other end Fraser Forster might have been advised to pack a good book, such was his level of involvement.

Not that it will silence the Ange Out brigade, and on results alone there remains every reason to roll up the sleeves and crack on with some prime chuntering; but at AANP Towers the view remains that the wider context counts for more than the current, wild jumble of wins and losses. And by ‘wider context’ I mean injuries, and squad depth, and judging the style of play once a fit-for-purpose squad actually has a stab at it. It would be a bit thick to elbow out the fellow while the squad is falling apart at the seams with fresh maladies.

2. The Art of Midfield Tackling

It was pretty much in keeping with things yesterday that Forest scored their goal by interrupting when our lot when on the attack. One moment our heroes were busily scouting the final third for unguarded entry-points, the next they were picking the ball out from Forster’s net, and giving the old bean a bit of a scratch while at it.

The goal itself was pretty straightforward stuff, one delicious ball from Gibbs-White in between centre-back and full-back doing the trick. One doesn’t see Destiny Udogie outpaced too often, but there it was, in full technicolour. I don’t normally pass on an opportunity to furrow the brow and shove a couple of guilty defenders in the dock, but in this instance there was no wider catastrophe at play amongst our back-four. Udogie was outpaced, and that was that.

In the build-up to the goal, however, I was a little less generous. In this instance it was Djed Spence who erred, in muddling his feet, dwelling a second too long and having the ball spirited away from him. At the time it seemed harmless enough, he occupying coordinates only a few yards outside the Forest penalty area, but if life has taught me anything over the last few days, it is that there is a pretty strong causal link between Spurs losing the ball on the edge of the opposition area and finding themselves defending for their lives within the blink of an eye.

However, I don’t really point the finger at Spence. Even allowing for a couple of daft yellow cards, I thought he once again looked impressive enough (and he does a better job of the defending part of the job than Senor Porro).

The part that grates over here is this business of tackles in the middle third. More specifically, we seem susceptible to them ourselves, as Spence amongst several others demonstrated yesterday, but I’ll be absolutely dashed if I can remember any of our lot ever winning possession with a midfield tackle.

I don’t mean the high press, which our lot tend to execute like seasoned pros. A tip of the cap in that area.

I mean the good, old-fashioned tackle to win possession in midfield. When our lot bob about and try to tiptoe their way about the place, it seems as likely as not that the whole merry expedition will be brought to a shuddering halt by some beefy opposition leg, upending our player and hooking away the ball, leaving the inevitable writhing bag of limbs on the ground and outrage amongst teammates at the lack of free-kick.

But I ask you, when was the last time you saw anyone in lilywhite execute any sort of tackle of similar merit? Bissouma throws in one or two per game, and if I scrunch up the eyes and concentrate I can imagine Udogie bundling over an opponent within the confines of the law; but aside from those, it’s a pretty blank scoreboard. Of unsubtle ‘tactical’ fouls there’s a whole plethora. Solid, meaty, fair tackles, however, is a pretty bare cupboard.

As mentioned, Bissouma seems to have something along those lines on his Job Description, but none of the other midfield sorts seems really to go in for that sort of thing. Bentancur, Maddison, Begvall, Sarr, Kulusevski – they have various talents between them, and some rather topping. Tackling, alas, sits a long way down each of their lists.

And while one might suggest that tactical set-up and whatnot ought to negate the need for too much desperate lunging, the sight of Gibbs-White charging 50 yards utterly unopposed, from deep within his own half to deep within ours, before setting up their goal, had me slapping an exasperated thigh. ‘Tackle the man!’ was the delicate translation of my observations.

Perhaps this is one to lay at the door of Our Glorious Leader, because having thrown men forward, when Gibbs-White turned over possession and ran, each of Bentancur, Dragusin, Gray and Udogie turned and raced back towards their own goal rather than towards him, with no other colleagues available to scurry across and throw in a delaying boot. That is to say, the tactical setup seems to mean that when all jobs have been delegated, not one amongst our number is ever tasked with closing down an opponent running straight at our back-line with the ball.

Alternatively, though, the absence of any inclination to tackle seems utterly embedded within the fabric of the club. No matter what the era or who the personnel, there always seems to be a pretty open invitation for all-comers to stroll straight through the heart of our midfield.

3. Individuals

In keeping with a general performance that struck me as passable enough, the individual constituent parts were also, by and large, in 6 out of 10 territory.

Kulusevski seemed the font of most creativity, albeit he veered off to the right a bit too much for my liking. Gray again looked thoroughly competent in a position one keeps having to remind oneself is pretty alien to him; Dragusin marginally less so. Maddison seemed eager to make things happen when introduced, and Bergvall again reinforced the impression that he was created from the harvested DNA of Bentancur. And Sonny once more looked a little off-colour.

I yelped a few impatient oaths at the screen in the first half when our heroes repeatedly over-complicated things in the final third, particularly in the first half. Starting in the very first minute, in fact, when Kulusevski opted for a pass that was too clever by half, rather than putting his head down, shoving aside all interfering thoughts and having a crack at goal.

This particular irritation made itself felt at various points in the first half, but even despite that our lot still made enough chances to eke out a goal or two.

If the Liverpool defeat were something of a free hit, against the best team around, this was infinitely more vexing, make no mistake. Still, even with a decimated back-line I fancy our lot to score against most opponents, beginning with Wolves. Just a question of whether we outscore the other lot. Four goals ought to be enough, don’t you think?

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 3-6 Liverpool: Five Tottenham Talking Points

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1. Disclaimer: Liverpool Were Jolly Sharp

Before working up a head of steam on this one, I’ll rattle off a few disclaimers. Frightfully dull, I know, but better to be honest about these things upfront, I find.

So in the first place, one sometimes just has to get down on bended knee, remove the hat and give a spot of deference to the other lot. Hold up the hands, I mean, and admit they were better. Even though the cheeks may burn with embarrassment, every now and then it’s an unavoidable truth, and yesterday by golly Liverpool were on form. Best I’ve seen this season by a country-mile.

Had we been at full strength, and well rested, fed and watered, and had none of our lot thrown in any individual gaffes to smooth their path, I still fancy that they’d have bopped and swayed to a win pretty comfortably. Their one-touch game, and energy in and out of possession, were both about as high as the charts allow for these things. And with that said, there’s no real need to bang on much further about them.

A second point I’ll flag in the preface is that we’re still playing an 18 year-old midfielder at centre-back, such is the crowded nature of the N17 infirmary tent. The tagline about 10 players missing is perhaps a bit thick, given that it includes such squad-fillers as Mikey Moore and Odobert, but there’s no getting away from the absence of goalkeeper and both centre-backs (and, yesterday, left-back).

Even accepting that this simply means that the power-that-be ought to do a better job of fattening up the squad, the ongoing absence of three key starters creates the dickens of a challenge for any manager come matchday.

Now personally, I’d stop here. Two large caveats seems plenty to me. Go beyond that, and one starts to lose the goodwill of the audience.

As such, I’ll distance myself a little from the other bleatings. I’ve heard it said that Liverpool, due precisely to their squad depth, were able to rest 7 or 8 of their lot midweek, and had an extra 24 hours to snooze it all off – AANP shakes a brisk head when subjected to that sort of whining. Who amongst us, after all, does not have the occasional cross to bear?  

Over here, the line that really arrests the attention is that first one – Liverpool were just too dashed slippery. Best in the country, and quite possibly in Europe. As such, I’m taking yesterday’s bash as something of an isolated incident.

We appear to be in the territory now of every defeat being used as an opportunity to sharpen the nearest knife and go hunting for the head of Postecoglou; and while the Bournemouth and Palace losses were pretty grim to wade through, 3-6 to Liverpool is one I’m waving aside.

For what it’s worth, I’m curious to see how Our Glorious Leader fares when the squad is eventually bulked up sufficiently to outrun opponents twice each week, with all concerned fully drilled in the art of Angeball. Or, in other words, I’m inclined to be patient.

2. Individual Errors

Irrespective of how good Liverpool were, our heroes still seemed a tad too generous in their work.

To repeat, even if Team Lilywhite had been near flawless I suspect we’d have ended up second best, but this was an afternoon on which every now and then our lot switched off, gave a dozy yawn and allowed Liverpool to stroll forward and help themselves.

Take the opening goal. Liverpool had certainly hammered away in the preceding 20 minutes, and the cross swung in by Trent A-A was undoubtedly a doozy, but the shake of the head with which AANP greeted the marking at the back post was laced with meaning, make no mistake. Not a week goes by, it seems, without an opposing attacker wandering into Pedro Porro territory and being allowed an unhindered effort on goal.

Not that this one was necessarily the fault of Porro alone, or even Porro in part. While the header was deposited in Porro’s vicinity, the chappie who delivered it (Diaz) was pretty clearly under the guardianship of Sarr, as the goal’s opening moves were still being constructed. When Diaz tiptoed off into the area – the moment at which most right-minded defensive bods would strap up and pay particular attention – Sarr simply stopped moving and waved him along, dash it.

Porro might still have taken an emergency measure or two, having seen all this play out right in front of him; and Dragusin did not cover himself in glory by losing track of his own man in the same area; but Sarr’s was the crime that would attract the judge’s eye.

While some might quibble that picking one goal from six conceded rather misses the point of things, I wave an indignant fist and argue that the opening goal was a pretty crucial one.

And while on the subject of picking out crucial goals from six conceded, I’d also give a bit of airtime to the one just before half-time, which turned a hopeful-looking 1-2 into a rather deflating 1-3.

That third really ought to have been avoided if young Dragusin had managed to dredge up a brain cell or two from within the empty recesses between his ears. To remind, a hopeful clearance was lofted into orbit around halfway, and Dragusin could pretty easily have simply stood where he was – even putting his hands on his hips, if the mood took him, and watching from afar as the Liverpool forward worked up a sweat bringing the thing down.

Instead, Dragusin was briefly possessed by the ghosts of Romero, Dier and Dawson, and abandoning his post he raced up to halfway to challenge for a header for which any bookmaker would have made him comfortable second-favourite.

Well, of course he lost that particular duel, taking a solid headed swat at thin air, and coming back down to earth a good 20 yards from where the ball would land. And if you want a sense of where the ball did land, it was precisely the spot from which Dragusin had set off in the first place – that spot on which, in a parallel universe, he stood waiting with hands on hips.

To repeat, such was the Liverpool performance that one suspects they’d have found a way even if Dragusin had channelled his inner Ledley, but it didn’t stop some choice Anglo-Saxon emerging from the AANP lips on the stroke of half-time.

I’ll actually show a bit of leniency towards all involved for the second half goals, because by then the state of the game was such that our lot were rather desperately flinging forward every fit and available man in search of goals (of which, in fairness, they found a couple) and were consequently absolutely ripe for the slicing when possession was lost.

I also jabbered above about the absence of both centre-backs and goalkeeper, and while this situation undoubtedly does disrupt things, one probably ought to acknowledge that even with Vicario, Romero and VDV in situ, our defence has hardly been watertight. The view at AANP Towers remains that our first-choice defence is populated entirely by personnel whose primary assets are their attacking instincts. One can well imagine Romero, for example, making precisely the same botched call that Dragusin made for that third goal. What I’m getting as is that if Ange decided, when all were fit and ready, that a VDV-Gray pairing were the way forward, I’d give him an audience.

3. Son

There’s something a little off about Sonny, wouldn’t you say? Not quite the talismanic and near-unstoppable force of the recent past, I mean. And not just yesterday, either. The chap has looked distinctly par-boiled all season so far.

There has been at least one injury this season, and it might be that his pistons are yet to fully fire. One might also pretty reasonably argue that in the first half in particular yesterday, few amongst our number seemed to make things click as required when in possession.

But nevertheless, where once he would receive the ball two-thirds up the pitch and one could assert with some confidence that he’d produce some impromptu delight, now things tend as often as not to fizzle out a bit when the ball is at his feet.

Time, of course, will do that. Even the fleetest of foot specimens eventually slow down, so it might simply be a creaking of the hinges. At present though, I can’t quite work out whether this is one to file under ‘Temporary Blip’, or a more dramatic heading such as ‘Beginning of the End’.

Whatever the diagnosis, I thought that Werner introduced a spot of much-needed pep when he came on. It’s not that he necessarily tore up the Liverpool defence and ran the game; but rather his direct running offered a new and slightly more direct threat. It made a useful change from the little variety of cul-de-sacs that Son seemed to have found all afternoon.

4. Kulusevski Central

It also struck me that our attacking play as a whole went up a notch or three once Kulusevski was switched to the centre, in the second half.

You’ll have noticed by now that it’s a big day for disclaimers at AANP Towers, and the latest of these is that Kulusevski’s – and the team’s – increased productivity might as legitimately be ascribed to the fact that Liverpool went 5-1 up and relaxed, as to the fact that Kulusevski moved from right wing to centre. That, I suppose, is one for public debate.

From this corner of the interweb, however, it seemed that those monitoring our general level of Attacking Thrust would have been jolted into life when Kulusevski made his move.

The whole business of Kulusevski’s virtues when operating centrally as opposed to the right wing is a topic on which I have, intermittently, banged on about for a good season and a half now. And if a shifty-looking lawyer were to knock on my door and hand me an envelope marked ‘Confirmation Bias’, I’d grudgingly give them a knowing nod.

Nevertheless, what is an incontrovertible truth is that our first goal came from Kulusevski pressing Liverpool from a position that was more Central than Right-Wing (the Liverpool bobbie collapsed in a Kulusevski-induced heap outside the D, and Maddison did the rest).

Indeed, all three of our goals owed much – either in creation or execution – to Kulusevski barrelling straight through the centre of the pitch like some particularly irked species of bull. One understands that the current limitations around the squad, combined with the desperation for Maddison to become a string-puller-in-chief, often means that the easiest way to rearrange the pieces is to shove Kulusevski wide.

However, the chap seems this season to have been our most creative attacking eel, and as such I’d knock on a few doors to campaign for starting with him in the middle and fitting the other pieces around him.

5. Spence

Before wrapping up, a brief word of congratulation for young Master Spence. I can well imagine an exasperated muttering or two from those reading that particular line. Spence was, after all, part of a defensive unit that conceded six, and was amongst the party that failed to clear the crucial header in the build-up to the second goal. One might be within their rights to take AANP aside and quietly suggest a sit-down, and a restorative beaker of something or other, until restored to full sense.

I’ll continue to bang the Spence drum however. I don’t really want to dwell too long on the whole business of passing out from the back, but he does play the game in this respect.

More impressive to me, though, were his contributions further forward (including a hand in one of our goals yesterday, as well as the pass for Solanke’s in midweek), plus a pretty firm commitment to the defensive cause. Where Porro is frequently out of frame in the replays for our goals conceded, Spence was at least visibly involved, playing the role of Last Man Back on each of the second half goals conceded.

I’m still not sure what the objections were that prevented either of Conte or Ange picking him for a couple of years, but he seems a most useful and diligent sort on the evidence of the last week or so. As with the broader Ange-overseen project, I’m all for a bit of patience.

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Spurs 4-3 Man Utd: Three Tottenham Talking Points

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1. Forster, Good Grief

To the neutral I suppose that 3-0, at home and after an hour, would qualify as just about a done deal. Sub off the key men, might have been the thinking. Conserve the energies.

We Tottenham folk, of course, knew better. That we would fail to see the thing out serenely and without alarms was one of those universal truths one hears about from time to time. Death and taxes are similarly regarded, so I understand. But here in N17 we pretty much sneer at those who suggest that a 3-0 lead with half an hour remaining guarantees safe passage.

All that said, mind, I have to confess that I did not anticipate Fraser Forster being the one to bungle things.

There was a fair amount of doom-mongering about the place when parts of the Vicario frame were revealed to have snapped in various critical places a few weeks back. A general opinion did the rounds, externally at least, that we might as well take to the pitch with just the ten outfield lumps and not bothering with the net-guardian, such was the esteem with which Forster was held.

Well, for six and two-third matches, Forster divided his time between rattling off a string of top-notch saves and shoving down the throat of his detractors their naysaying words. If there were a leaping, full-tilt save to be made, Forster was front of the queue. Admittedly some got past him, and admittedly his passing from feet did not necessarily scythe through the opposition press; but nor did he appear the sort of clumsy ass who regarded a football with suspicion rather than an object to be engaged with.

And on he tootled accordingly, until minute 62 last night, when all hell broke loose.

A minor digression here, because while Forster was unmistakeably the culprit, there is arguably a wider problem spreading its tentacles. It’s this business of playing out from the back.

I’ve wittered on about this enough times over the last couple of years, so no need to re-hash the whole thing. The salient points, lest you need them, are firstly that the percentages don’t really stack up. If the approach led to a guaranteed chance every time I’d be sold; and even if, more realistically, it got us only as far as halfway, say two thirds of the time, I’d probably give it the nod.

The reality, I’d suggest, is that we make it to halfway no more than 50% of the time, and even that feels a pretty generous take. Every constituent pass seems absolutely fraught with risk, so it only really needs one miscalculation or miscontrol, or some other species of pig’s ear, and the whole thing falls apart.

And the second problem with playing-out-from-the-back is that when it does implode, we don’t just start again on the centre-spot. When possession is conceded it tends to be within one short pass of our own penalty area, dash it. The net result seems to me that we’re as likely to concede a chance as to create one with this approach.

Last night, even before Forster lost his marbles, I was teetering a goodish amount on the edge of my seat as I drank it all in. Sometimes it worked; but, crucially, just as often it seemed not to work. Although Man Utd did not really take full advantage of this, their general mangling of chances was merely a bonus. We certainly did not earn those let-offs. By virtue of gumming up our side of things, we allowed them a good half-dozen opportunities to beetle towards our goal from within 30 yards.

Back to Forster, and the abysmal misplacement of his intended pass towards Dragusin was his fault and his alone. Some have half-heartedly jabbed a finger at Gray for passing the ball to Forster in the first place, but I’m waving that one aside without even bothering to put together an argument. This mistake was on Forster’s head, no doubt.

However, the doltish insistence on playing out the back stems more from the powers at work, in the corridors of N17. By which I mean Ange and his tactical chums. I don’t have too many axes to grind with Our Glorious Leader, but the play-out-from-the-back bobbins is right up there, make no mistake.

Forster of course, was not finished there. Perhaps selflessly attempting to deflect blame from his boss, or perhaps to convey the impression of a man unflustered by his previous error, he opted for the achingly casual approach five minutes later, promptly dropping Clanger Number Two. That serene seeing out of things went up in a puff of smoke.

One would like to say that having pickled things so massively on two occasions, he’ll gnaw off his own arm before trying any such thing again – but one can never be too sure. Put bluntly, that should really have already been the mindset after Clanger Number One, but the fact that he then went for Clanger Number Two rather than the arm-gnawing option speaks a few volumes.

2. Solanke

The cloud of disbelief that enveloped me last night and has carried on enveloping me all day today, rather obscured what had previously been a considerable thrill at seeing Dominic Solanke strike oil, at a point in the night in which things were still going swimmingly.

It has been a dashed shame for the blighter that so much of his good work this season has been carried out down in the dank basement, rather than up on the stage, if you get my gist. He drops deep, and wins possession, and protects the ball, and brings others into play – and generally takes the ethos of selflessness and team ethic to its absolute extreme.

In this context, it was an absolute delight to see him tuck away two goals that were both, in their own way, absolute corkers.

A joyless sort of critic might watch the first goals, sniff haughtily and suggest that Solanke was pretty unencumbered. It would be an almightily harsh take on events. For a start, the finish was delivered first-time, with a ball rebounding back towards him at a fair lick and with a bit of bobble in its constitution. Opportunities abounded for him to sky the thing, shin it or in some other way duff up his finish. That he connected so sweetly and hit the target is immensely to his credit.

I must confess that I tempered my reactions on seeing it hit the net actually, having been convinced that Solanke had strayed a good few yards offside. It is therefore another giant tick against his name that he did no such thing. Timed his movement to perfection, in fact.

Where the entire United mob clocked off and contented themselves with simply watching events unfold, Solanke leapt into action, alert to any sequel that might follow the initial Porro shot. I was also rather enamoured of the cheeky shove he gave to his nearest marker, just to seal the deal and ensure that that chap at least would be nowhere near him when it came down to the business of gobbling up the scraps.

If Solanke’s first were a triumph for goal-poaching, his second seemed to scream that here was a man at the peak of his confidence. The pass from Spence that released him was a strong start, but Solanke still had plenty of hoops through to jump before doing that bow-and-arrow thing.

The initial sprint to get up on things was adequate, but hardly electric. When he then decided to drag the ball back, it may have helped bring the thing under control, but did also give a couple more United sorts a chance to trot back and man their stations. Events had progressed, but the balance of probability had remained where it was. The odds remained a little long.

At this point our man might have spotted that a couple of chums were arriving on his easterly wing, but whether he did or not was pretty moot. He seemed by now gripped with the notion that the floor was his and his alone, and accordingly he shimmied infield, taking out two defenders with a feint before cracking off his shot.

It was glorious stuff, near enough all his own work, and really deserved to be the headline that everyone prattled on about post-match.

3.1 Other Handy Showings: Bissouma

In paying a spot of well-earned deference in other corners of the pitch, I confess that I scratch the old bean and spend a bit more time than usual trying to scan the recesses to identify who did what. For this I once again blame Forster, for so seismic were his foul-ups that they have rather obscured everything else.

Nevertheless, I do recall at a pretty regular rate during the first half murmuring to myself an appreciative word on Master Bissouma. United had a bit too much joy for my liking, particularly when foregoing pleasantries and just cracking straight on with a ball over the top and into the space vacated by Porro. However, when they did try the more considered approach, of short passing through midfield, Bissouma was quite regularly to the fore, in the field of The Abrupt Ending of Things.

It was the sort of stuff I’d rather hoped, on his introduction a couple of years back, that he’d trot out like clockwork. For whatever reason, things haven’t really panned out that way on a weekly basis, but last night he was thrusting in a defensive foot like one of the boys. He racked up tackles and interceptions, and at one point also rolled out a Dembele-esque roll away from a meddlesome opponent.

3.2 Other Handy Showings: Gray

Young Gray was another who caught my eye. Both he and Dragusin generally worked their way through the 90 fairly inconspicuously, which is the sort of thing I like in my centre-backs. What travails they faced seemed due to the failings of those around them in midfield – or at right-back – rather than due to any fault of theirs. Moreover, between the pair of them they kept Hojlund quiet, on a night on which he looked pretty game.

I single out Gray from the pair principally because in that first half in particular, there were a few occasions when Fernandes from the United left curled some dangerous passes into awkward areas – the sort of spaces that forwards can attack and defenders rather gulp at, for fear of own-goaling or whatnot. Gray, to his credit did not gulp. Or if he did gulp, he did so subtly, and not in a manner that a casual observer would notice.

Instead, Gray rolled up his sleeves and dashed back towards the awkward areas being pinpointed. If a United forward were to arrive on the scene for a tap-in, they would have found that Gray had beaten them to it. This conscientious approach rather won me over.

It might not sound like much, but I feel like there’s been a bit of a diet at N17 over the years, of opposition strikers rocking up in our six-yard box to tap home unopposed, a Tottenham man straggling two or three yards back. Gray was allowing no such thing.

3.3 Other Handy Showings: Spence

And finally, young Spence. With each passing minute, the reasons for his previous lengthy absence become all the more baffling, but there we go. Solid enough defensively, chock-full of beans and spright going forward, and even alert enough to stay on his man at corners, Spence seemed to make all the right moves.

Udogie and Porro will presumably remain first choices, but Spence has shown enough on both sides of the defence to suggest that he’s pretty capable as a late sub, or a midweek starter to enable a spot of rest and rotation.

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Southampton 0-5 Spurs: Four Tottenham Talking Points

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1. Maddison

There are, of course, unwritten rules to be adhered to when it comes to the TV bods unveiling their Best Performing Actor from any given match, with ‘He Who Scored The Most Goals’ tending to get the nod, irrespective of any amount of honest toil delivered by others, in the less glamorous sectors. Last night’s on-camera gang weren’t about to break with tradition, so James Maddison duly had a yellow brick shoved into his lap.

And actually, although you may have detected a peevish tone that suggests that AANP has a grumble to uncork, on reflection it was a reasonable enough nomination.

Beginning with the headline stuff, Maddison took both his goals splendidly, the second in particular being the sort of work of art that deserves a spot of Lightning Seeds in the background, as one of the outstanding efforts of the season. The Cruyff-turn that outfoxed his opponent, to the extent that said opponent skidded off the perimeter and towards the hoardings, was of itself a triumph.

The finish that followed however, was deluxe stuff, tucked in from an angle that would have most of us shaking our heads and demanding a rethink of the whole scheme. For added garnish, he hit that impossible angle whilst himself being yanked off the pitch by the aforementioned stooge who had been dummied off in the direction of the hoardings. When he gets his bearings right, Maddison is capable of dishing up some mouth-watering produce.

As well as the goals he scored, Maddison was also embedded pretty deeply within the construction of a couple of others. If this realisation slightly creeps up on you, rather than being firmly embedded in the memory, it’s understandable enough, because frankly we scored so many and so quickly that one did have to keep the brain well-sharpened in order to monitor who was contributing to which goals.

For clarity, our second came about from a Maddison cross from the right, which skimmed off a Southampton head before Sonny popped up at the far post; and our third (Kulusevski’s tap-in) had its genesis in a Maddison spray from halfway inside our half to halfway inside theirs (for Son to run onto and square).

And having contributed so centrally to no fewer than four of our goals, Maddison could fairly reasonably have made the case that even if he had spent the rest of the game sitting cross-legged in a quiet spot near the edge of the pitch, neither interfering nor contributing any further, he’d still have merited recognition for his efforts.

Nevertheless, I’d venture that Maddison’s efforts around these four goal contributions were generally to be popped in the bucket marked ‘Kept Things Ticking Over’, rather than ‘Set The World Alight and Created An Endless Stream of Chances’. Maddison pootled about busily. His tail clearly up, he elbowed his way to the front of any queue going, and saw plenty of the ball, and against that clueless mob seemed to be enjoying himself pretty royally.

However, when I heard the telly bods trot out lines like, “When Maddison plays well, Tottenham play well”, I did cock the head, and wonder if they were just using a catchy tagline, rather than really getting to the heart of matters. To repeat, Maddison did not rustle up an endless stream of chances, nor pull did he pull every string going. He played perfectly well, but generally in more of a deep-lying, beaverish sort of way, helping to manage the game rather than constantly sparking attacks.

Still worthy enough of the Man of the Match gong I suppose, for those two finishes alone, so I’m not about to yank the yellow brick from his mitts and scream “Fraud!” at him; but the success of it all seemed to me to be down to the collective rather than Maddison and Maddison alone.

2. Djed Spence

In fact, when the conversation began about the game’s outstanding contributor, the first name that sprung to AANP’s mind was actually that of young Spence. Now, a second thought pretty swiftly followed, that to crown him thusly would probably be to over-egg things, but both the nature and the timing of his critical input was nevertheless of importance.

I refer to that collect-and-swivel routine he unveiled in the opening 20 seconds or so, receiving the ball just inside his own half, facing his own goal and with a Southampton cove crawling up his collar. Had he shoved the ball back whence it came and tooled off elsewhere for a bit of space and a quick, restorative gulp of O2, one would hardly have chided him.

Instead, however, and to his eternal credit, he used a spot of upper-body heft to hold off his opponent, and then, still using that u-b h., twirled the same opponent in a small circle, which resulted in Spence taking up new coordinates inside the Southampton half and facing their goal, with the opponent wondering quite how he had been elbowed to the back of the queue.

Nor did Spence stop to admire his work. Buoyed by his initial success, he kept right on marauding, before picking the perfect pass at the perfect moment, for Maddison to do the rest.

One might argue that, fine and noble work thought it was, such an inspired little burst hardly qualified Spence for consideration as player of the match. And it is true, this was one amongst many inspired moments of attacking nous rolled out by our heroes, in the first 45 in particular.

What arrested the AANP attention though, was the fact that a little earlier – about 20 seconds earlier, actually, at kick-off, but also for a good few days leading up to that – the mood amongst our lot was anything but joyful and triumphant. I suppose I speak only for the denizens of AANP Towers, but following the games against Galatasaray and Fulham and Bournemouth and Chelsea and Rangers, there were some furrowed brows and pretty angst-riddled deep-and-meaningfuls about the place.

Going into yesterday’s bash, I rather held my breath as proceedings got underway. Not quite sure where things were going, if you follow. And it’s in this context, that Spence’s little opening gambit made such an impression upon the AANP soul. Had he not spun his man and gone a-haring, but instead biffed the ball back to the centre-backs, to give back to Forster, to concede a throw inside our half, there’s no real knowing how things might have played out.

For Spence to give the shoulders and shrug and dive straight into the heart of the Southampton defence instead set a marvellous tone for the night. Of course it helped that they simply melted away in front of him, but nevertheless. Had he passed backwards, they might not have had the opportunity to start melting.

Spence turned up on the shores of N17 with rather a reputation for getting into the meat of things as an attacking full-back, so on seeing him finally selected I had certainly hoped to see a bit of that fabled swashbuckler – but by golly I didn’t expect it to be quite so immediate and effective.

3. Bergvall

I also doffed the cap towards young Bergvall for his efforts. Probably best to scatter a little context about the place for this one, actually.

Bergvall’s little cameos hither and thither have generally underwhelmed this particular observer. Jolly harsh, I suppose you might say, but the common thread I’d picked up from his occasional substitute appearances in the league, and some underwhelming bilge in Europe, has been of a young imp – of admittedly decent touch – who has nowhere near the requisite body mass to cope in a world of burly, grizzled professionals. Many an eyeroll has been delivered around these parts at the sight of Bergvall being tossed aside by opposing midfielders. “One for the future, I suppose,” has been the politest verdict.

Credit where due, he seemed vastly better equipped for his night’s work when brought on in midweek against Rangers, which was impressive stuff given the atmosphere and whatnot. He peddled a neat line in intelligent touches, and it seemed appropriate that our equaliser came within 15 minutes of his introduction.

One nevertheless emitted a bit of a gulp at seeing his name scrawled into the Starting XI yesterday, but as it turned out he simply picked up at Southampton where he had left off at Rangers, and trotted out a most accomplished performance. The moral of the story is evidently not to judge an 18 year-old on the basis of a dozen substitute appearances dotted around the place and a couple of dubious Europa League showings.

Nor, I suppose, should I hail him as the new incarnation of Modric on the basis of one neat-and-tidy against the league’s bottom side. Nevertheless, that combo of neat passing, excellent touch and sensible decision-making did make me think that we have a ready-made Bentancur reserve in situ.

4. Archie Gray, But With an Asterisk

And frankly, if I’m going to witter on about Spence and Bergvall, it hardly seems fair to scrawl “The End”, and beetle off for a splash or two of bourbon, without acknowledging that young Archie Gray has had his head dunked underwater for two successive games now, and has shrugged it all off with barely a flicker of concern. For any midfielder to fill in at centre-back is a bit thick; for an 18 year-old to do so without any prior experience, new to the club and in a team that, at any given point in any given match, is likely to be almightily outnumbered on the counter-attack, borders on child cruelty.

Gray, however, has twice now negotiated the task like a seasoned pro. Let’s face it, here at Spurs we have suffered through our fair share of calamitous centre-backs, capable of – and seemingly intent on – unleashing disaster with their every involvement. Gray is none of the above. Gray seems the sort of young bean whose idea of a good night at centre-back is one in which he fades into the background such that one barely realises he’s been playing. AANP approves.

He was a bit more circumspect in possession last night than against Rangers on Thursday, which was no bad thing, but also made one mightily impressive last-ditch tackle late in the game yesterday, to preserve the clean sheet. One doesn’t really know quite what the plan is with his development and position and so on, but frankly I feel more assured with him at the back than with several other of our more experienced sorts.

Having said all that, however, and amidst all the backslaps, our lot did allow Southampton two absolute dollies right in front of goal, in the first half. Both from crosses from the right, both of which found two strikers given the freedom of the penalty area. Not really being cut out for the defensive game I struggle to name the guilty party in our colours, but Dragusin seemed to be the man with the best view of proceedings, and one would expect him to have been doing the organising of the defensive line.

It’s probably a grumble for another day, though. I’ve lost track of the official, designated mood amongst the faithful, and quite who we’re meant to be grumbling about now, but last night was proof if ever it were needed (and that hilarious goal difference further hammers home the point) that when on song our lot can absolutely tear to pieces an opponent.