Tag: Giovani Lo Celso

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Spurs match reports

Vitesse 1-0 Spurs: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. Eleven Strangers

It might come as some surprise to those who have witnessed AANP rise in incandescence to yell a thousand foul-mouthed curses at our lot over the years, but I actually give the players a lot of slack when, as tonight, they are tossed in as an eleven for the first time, each having never played with the other ten previously (and, on the evidence of tonight, possibly not having met before).

In fact, several Spurs-supporting chums of mine received a message immediately prior to kick-off to precisely this effect. The gist of my thinking at around 17.30 BST was that while these were eleven relatively talented individuals, it rarely works to throw any eleven together for the first time (and that’s the crucial bit – it was their first time). Were this lot to play as a collective for five or six consecutive weeks they might develop into a heck of a unit, because goodness knows there are enough amongst them skilled at keepy-uppies and whatnot. But assemble them like the sort of ragtag group of mercenaries one sees thrown together by fate in mindless Hollywood action fare, and the bar for their first outing will be set low.

So, when Lo Celso, Gil and Scarlett tried a zippy little exchange of passes towards the end of the first half that ended with the ball rather apologetically rolling into an empty space in the Vitesse area, the reaction at AANP Towers was forgiving. The conciliatory hand gesture could be interpreted by those who know me best as meaning “Fret ye not, oh lilywhite heroes, you are forgiven, for AANP understands that razor-sharp interplay takes time to develop.”

One might therefore assume that vengeance points towards Our Glorious Leader, for having cobbled together the aforementioned group of mercenaries. But even here, the mood at AANP Towers is one of understanding and magnanimity. Now AANP is the last person to advocate such dastardly fare as match-fixing, but the arithmetic suggests that if ever there were a good time to rest an entire eleven ahead of a visit to the least bad West Ham team in decades, this was probably that time. For even with the defeat tonight, we are three points behind Rennes, with three games left to play – including Rennes themselves at home. Do the necessaries back at base, and this Europa gubbins ought to take care of itself.

In short, some sympathy for the players for being handed a tough gig; and at the same time few complaints about the team selection.

2. Lazy Attitudes

However, if anyone in lilywhite – or wild elderberry or whatever the heck that that oddity is – thinks that the unfamiliar starting XI grants them immunity from criticism they can unpack another think and sharpish.

No matter what the circumstances, the players on stage ought as a minimum to have run themselves into the ground and have needed to have been carried off by the time the credits rolled.

Instead, we were treated to such sights as Lo Celso losing possession and slowing to a walk, exerting only the energy necessary to fling his arms up skyward. Possession will be lost, alas, such things are inevitable and I’m not about to chide an attacker for attempting a spot of creativity that does not materialise; but for heaven’s sake, then to react by simply giving up and expecting others to retrieve the situation is dastardly conduct, and if I had my way I’d subject the chap to a couple of lashes across the back, without right of appeal.

I single out Lo Celso merely because that particular incident sticks in the mind’s eye, but he was hardly alone. As Glenn put it on the tellybox afterwards, none of that rabble treated this bash like a Cup Final (I paraphrase), when as professionals representing our club, they ought.

Picking on another of the guilty parties, young Gil is one whose effort generally is pretty admirable, but he was chiefly to blame for allowing the chappie who scored the freedom of the D in which to arrange his volley.

And so on. One after another of our number seemed oddly lackadaisical, until, inevitably, we fell behind, at which juncture it was, of course, fresh injections of urgency all round.

Again, at the risk of labouring the point – attacking interplay that doesn’t quite strike oil is forgivable, given that these fellows are not necessarily used to each other’s games; but failure to strain every sinew is not.

3. Back-Up Players

Nor, to my eyes, was this only a failing of attitude. It also struck me that a number of supposedly talented players – seasoned internationals and whatnot – were putting in some pretty solid impressions of a bunch of bang-average performers.

If any of the midfield three were under orders to march in and dictate the game from start to finish, they did a pretty good job of disguising the fact from human observation. Lo Celso did show some bright ideas going forward (more on him below) but Dele and Winks were too peripheral in possession, and none of these three really provided the necessary protection for the back-four whenever the time came to lower the shields.

All of which was bad enough on the day, but given that this was a chance (and, indeed, the latest chance) for all eleven to prove to the Brains Trust that they are worthy of the First Choice XI, it was pretty alarming fodder from all concerned. Heaven forbid, but after seeing Winks, Dele and Lo Celso gradually lose the plot against the might of Vitesse, the old bean does perspire a tad at the thought of either Hojbjerg or, heaven forbid, young Skipp (currently on 4 yellow cards, lest we forget) being rendered unfit for public service in the coming games vs West Ham and Man Utd.

Similarly, upfront, while young Scarlett did not want for effort, he looked every inch a 17 year-old playing against seasoned pros. To chide him for this would be a bit like moaning at the sun for setting each evening. In short, it’s hardly his fault. But should a piano fall from the sky and onto the head of Kane it will put us in one heck of a pickle; and should any errant keys from the rapidly disintegrating piano fly off into the surroundings and poke young Sonny in the eye, I dread to speculate as to the players from whom our next goals might emanate.

It’s a big old squad, but judging by tonight’s fare, those first reserves do not fill to the gills with confidence.

4. Lo Celso

As alluded to, Lo Celso occasionally threatened to break into something resembling a pretty handy performance, which makes his eventual output all the more frustrating.

It can probably at least be said in his defence that what little quality we did produce going forward seemed at some point to pass through his size nines en route. In particular, the Gil shot that hit the bar was teed up by Senor GLC, and I’m pretty sure that when Bergwijn fluffed his lines halfway through the second half, Lo Celso’s were one of those pair of hooves that passed the parcel over halfway.

However, on the whole, without wanting to put too fine a point on it, not much that he tried actually worked. Passes seemed not quite to find their man; attempted dribbles seemed to result in him being tackled; and the whole thing was neatly seemed up right at the death when we packed their area with bodies only for his delivery to sale harmlessly into the stands. In a curious way, his performance reminded me of the early years of Lucas Moura in lilywhite, when he would flatter to deceive before running into a dead end and losing both his bearings and the ball.

Now when Lo Celso played against Mura a few weeks back, he again seemed a shadow of his potential self, when really the stage was set for him to run the show. Things only really changed when the big guns entered the fray – with Lucas, Sonny and Kane around him, Lo Celso played the Number 10 role like a man born to do so.

The nagging frustration is that he seems to need, as a matter of absolute necessity, great players around him to play at his best. Must this be the case, particularly against fairly middling opponents? No doubt having better players to each of the north, east and west will make the day-job a lot easier for anyone; but Lo Celso ought to be good enough still to run shows like tonight’s without needing the assistance of some of the best in the world around him.

On the bright side, as mentioned above, tonight’s result ought not to harm our chances of ultimately winning this dashed trophy; and ought also to enhance our chances vs West Ham on Sunday. It’s rather soured the evening here at AANP Towers though, make no mistake.

Hither for tweets.

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 2-1 Aston Villa: Five Tottenham Talking Points

1. Formation

Even before kick-off the teamsheet was a pretty welcome sight for the sore AANP eyes. One does not wish ill upon one’s fellow man of course, but nevertheless it was with some relief that I noted that Dele had been quietly escorted from the starting line-up, and the apparatus instead arranged for a 4-2-3-1.

The use of 4-2-3-1 in midweek had, as remarked on these very pages at the time, given our lot far better shape and organisation – but, as also noted at the time, only so much could be read into its deployment against a team of bobbish but pretty limited part-timers. Seeing the system put to use today against a Villa team that has steadily improved in recent years felt like a far greater test of its efficacy, so it was pretty pleasing to report that while hardly the perfect performance this was nevertheless a massive improvement on recent weeks. A low bar admittedly, and they’d have been hard pressed to be any worse, but still – the set-up was better.

Put bluntly, within the 4-2-3-1 everyone seemed at least to know what their roles were. This was in pretty crucial contrast to the 4-3-3 trotted out in recent weeks, when the midfield 3 in particular had seemed oddly lost, just wandering about the pitch with the air of chappies new to the place and without a compass between them.

Today, at least, one got the impression that all in attendance had been briefed on the general strategy – again, a vast improvement on last weekend, when one rather suspected that that all concerned had been granted licence to do whatever they pleased, wherever they pleased. Today, the agenda seemed a bit clearer. Two lads sitting in front of the back-four; further north, Ndombele given the freedom of N17 (and permission to ignore some of the game’s more onerous, defensive duties); the full-backs encouraged to amble up the pitch and sniff around when the urge took them; and Kane under instruction to temper his urges to drop deep.

2. The Midfield Three

That said, one can unwrap the greatest formation in history and it would count for nothing if those individuals tasked with effecting it simply shrug their shoulders and fade into obscurity. Mercifully, today all eleven (plus subs) had the dignity to engage the grey matter and apply themselves to the task at hand.

In midfield, Skipp was restored and wasted little time demonstrating his many virtues. In his love for a full-blooded midfield challenge this young specimen shares much in common with an AANP hero of yesteryear, Paul Ince, and it was rather frustrating to note that, also in common with Ince, he seems to be developing the knack of picking up yellow cards simply for being a player of tough-tackling ilk, rather than for actually committing any particular heinous crimes. While we may just have to purse the lips and accept that Skippy will pick up yellows more often than not, this week’s was particularly harsh, given that a) he won the ball cleanly enough, and b) even if he hadn’t won the ball, there was little about the challenge or its position on the pitch to merit a caution.

It was to his credit that despite being under such observation for over half the match his energy in that role of sentry-keeper was undiminished. Indeed, when things did begin to creak a tad in the second half, Skippy’s were the limbs, on more than one occasion, that extended to goal-saving effect inside our own area.

Alongside him, Hojbjerg seemed to have a little more direction than in recent weeks. While his starting berth tended to be deep, alongside Skipp, he seemed happy enough to trot forward if circumstances warranted, most notably of course, for his goal.

And the main beneficiary of all this elbow grease was Monsieur Ndombele, who treated us to a pretty Ndombele sort of performance – occasional flashes of pretty dizzying genius; several attempted passes not more than a whisker or three from scything open the Villa defence; and a lot of his time on the pitch seemingly spent in gulping in oxygen and trying to keep up with play. And this was fine by me to be honest, as the system is pretty much created specifically for him to treat us to flashes of p.d.g. and passes that scythe. With Skipp and Hojbjerg in attendance Ndombele can essentially get away with being something of a luxury, with little in the way of defensive duties.

What matters is that he produces enough flashes of creative goodness to trouble the opposition, and this he just about did. In the first half in particular he barged his way onto the front of the stage fairly often, linking merrily enough with Lucas and Sonny. No game-changing moments today, and he faded a little in the second half, but it seems reasonable to say he played his part, and I imagine the Number 10 role is his for the foreseeable.

And there is some competition in that respect. Lo Celso was given fifteen minutes in the role at the end of proceedings, and produced a couple of near misses, albeit without exactly pulling strings; and one suspects that Lucas, Dele and even the fifth Beatle might equally be deployed in the role, within this particular formation.

3. Emerson Royal

Ndombele was not the only soul to benefit from the presence of the Skipp-Hojbjerg axis in front of the back-four, as E. Royal Esq. was another who needed little encouragement to toddle forward and see what delights awaited.

It would be stretching things to say he’s Beckham-esque in his crossing, but Royal certainly made himself useful in supplementing our attacks and offering a wide option, showing all the willing of young Tanganga in previous weeks but with perhaps a little more polish and nous in his doings.

None of which is to suggest that he neglected his defensive duties, far from it. Indeed, I rather enjoy the commitment he shows in racing into battle with his opposing left-sided attacker, seemingly determined that if there is a fifty-fifty on his particular patch of turf he will lick his lips and charge straight in. One admires the attitude.

4. Romero

In recent weeks we have been treated to increased sightings of our newest centre-back, and I suspect AANP is not alone in upturning the thumb in approval at the young bean’s execution of duties.

Romero is, by and large, a calming sort of presence at the back. There is a caveat to this – which was in full view today – to which I shall return anon, but in carrying out the business of winning aerial battles and positioning himself just so, he seems to do most of those things one would hope for from a competent centre-back. Not the worst in possession of the thing either, which is always a bonus.

Moreover, given that Villa could not go thirty seconds without hurling a long throw into our box, and also had a whole sackful of corners to lob in similarly, I was pretty impressed at how Romero – and indeed all in lilywhite – coped with the barrage, this sort of thing having been something of a weakness in the THFC constitution to date this season.

The elephant in the room is of course his rather reckless and ill-timed lunge, immediately preceded by a decision to come haring out of position, and swiftly followed by both concession of a goal and a yellow card for his troubles. I feel that in our recent history we have had rather enough centre-backs who can produce that ‘Serene For Most Of The Game But Liable to Magic A Calamity From Nowhere’ routine, so while it would be fun for Messrs Dier and Sanchez to have another with whom to share stories and slap backs, I do hope that today’s moment of madness was an exception rather than a norm.

5. Sonny

A job well done from just about everyone in lilywhite then, but it seems reasonable to suggest that Sonny should take home whatever gongs are on offer for doing the most important bits and bobs.

In the second half in particular, with Villa obligingly pushing up to halfway, and Reguilon being sufficiently quick of thought to pop the ball into the resultant wide open spaces, Sonny’s pace was a threat and bore suitable rewards. The winning goal emanated from his size nines, and we really ought to have had one or two more from this route.

Sonny can also take his fair share of applause for one of the more entertaining three-minute segments seen in N17 in recent history, when he, Lo Celso and Hojbjerg between them drove the surrounding Villa players to the brink of breakdown by successfully keeping the ball in the corner. This is a tactic of which AANP has never been a particular fan, primarily because it rarely seems to work, the ball typically being surrendered within about five seconds and a race ensuing as the opposition counters.

Today, however, our lot played the situation to perfection, and to pretty hilarious effect. The highlight of the routine was arguably delivered by Sonny himself, in wriggling free from all manner of flailing limbs near the corner flag, buzzing into the area, creating room for a shot – and then u-turning and buzzing back out towards the corner flag again, irate Villa players flailing in his wake. A comical appendix to what was a much-improved display, and Our Glorious Leader can breathe a little easier for a couple of weeks.

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Spurs 5-1 Mura: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. Dele

Having been hooked at half time against Woolwich, Dele might have tried to convince himself that it was no big deal. Right person, wrong place. Conservation of his energies. In essence, the general sentiment that such things happen and everything was alright.

However, one imagines him raising an eyebrow or two on being told that he would be part of what was essentially the second-string for last night’s bash; and then, even at his most optimistic, his internal spin doctor would have had a heck of a task in making the case that his removal last night, as part of the operation to up the ante and inject life into a fairly moribund all-round day out, was anything other than a damning indictment of his contributions.

Make no mistake, all is not well at Casa Dele. Now those in the Pro-Dele camp would no doubt spring into life at this point, to hammer home the point that not only did he convert the early penalty, but he also won it, with some very welcome sprightliness in the opposition area. (And goodness knows, that early goal was to be welcomed, because if he we had made it even to the half-hour mark at nil-nil the natives’ restlessness would have been a thing to behold.)

It is true that Dele applied himself with at least the minimal level of diligence, generally looking to adopt suitable positions around Reguilon and Gil that would create useful triangles. This in itself was vastly preferable to the attitudes gaily advertised by one and all in recent weeks, of slumped shoulders and little concern for such things as breaking into a meaningful jog.

Nevertheless, Dele’s on-ball contributions were a thing of concern. Primarily troubling was his now long-standing tendency to dwell on the ball for far too long before shuttling it onwards.

Compare and contrast with young Skipp. Some might say Skipp is a soul of more limited technique and passing abilities, others would disagree; but what is crucial about Skipp in this story is that when he receives the ball his first instinct always seems to be immediately give it to someone else. And in a sense, this is every bit as valuable as beating a man, as it still forces the opponent at least to change his body position if not pick up his bags and toddle off to a whole new spot of land. All because he plays the ball quickly.

Dele, on the other hand, insists on treating the ball as if his own personal plaything, to be dwelt upon for at least four or five touches before any further action is even considered (and as often as not that further action tends to be an attempted nutmeg, with mixed results). The opposition have time to saunter back into position, and whatever momentum there once was is allowed gently to drift into the ether. And moreover, at the end of these ball-based soliloquys of his, Dele’s eventual pass tend to be as often awry as on the nose.

Little wonder then that his recent appearances have ended prematurely and in ignominy, and this particular brand of rot does not bode so well for his short-term prospects either.

If it’s a Number 10 we’re after, then any of Ndombele, Lo Celso or Lucas seem better equipped at present. And if the idea is to play him in this new-fangled central midfield role then he might need to head back to the library and double-down on his homework, because it’s not a subject he has yet come close to mastering.

2. The Change in Formation (4-2-3-1)

Our Glorious Leader appeared yet again to give the formation a pretty forceful yank, dispensing with either the ultra-defensive 4-3-3 so negatively deployed against Palace or the little too front-footed 4-3-3 so bizarrely deployed against Woolwich; and opting instead for 4-2-3-1, with Skipp and Winks sitting relatively deeply.

Now it’s not so much a caveat as an enormous, neon-lit sign in the largest font imaginable, but the opposition were fairly clueless throughout, making it pretty pointless to draw too many conclusions on the value or otherwise of the 4-2-3-1. (Some might claim that the opposition came back into it after half-time, I disagree – their goal was a speculative hit, they didn’t manage another shot on target, and could hardly be said to have laid siege to our goal or overrun us at any point.)

So while the jury is out on the efficacy or otherwise of the 4-2-3-1, what nevertheless did provide a warming sense of reassurance was the notion that there was at least in place a dedicated formation. This might not sound like much, but one week on and I am still trying to compute precisely what formation and strategy was being adopted against Woolwich; so to see in place a nice, clear formation, with little room for confusion, was oddly comforting.

3. The Cavalry

As mentioned above, the withdrawal of Dele simply in order to inject life into proceedings was rather embarrassing for all concerned. While, as also mentioned above, it was hardly the case that we were being overrun, we were certainly rather flat in all we did, and the immediate, positive change in energy levels could not have been more obvious if it had been introduced with fanfare and that American chap who screeches into a mic before boxing matches.

Sonny and Kane were immediately on the money, Sonny buzzing and Kane picking good positions; and bless his cotton socks young Lucas this season looks very much like someone enjoying life, confidence oozing and adventurous gambits pouring forth.

Kane remains a rotter in the eyes of AANP, but stick him in and around the area and he certainly finishes well, and as much as the increased zest and enhanced scoreline, it was pretty satisfying to see three such excellently-crafted goals.

Something of a shame that we had to resort to such things, and dashed frustrating for young Scarlett again to be reduced to fighting for the occasional scrap, but after the dreadful mess being peddled in recent weeks it was simply fun to sit back and watch us play thirty minutes of incisive, attacking football.

4. Lo Celso

Like several of his chums, a couple of years on from his arrival Lo Celso remains a pretty impenetrable sort of fish, one never really being sure where he should be or what he should do.

And for an hour yesterday, he was as bafflingly enigmatic as ever. On the one hand his goal was well taken and he busied himself reasonably well; on t’other he, in common with a few others, failed to dictate the game as one would have hoped against fairly limited opponents.

However, once the aforementioned cavalry rolled into town, things changed. From my vantage point, and in my advanced years, I confess to have been unable to register the exact contortions on the GLC face, but one can only imagine that it lit up with childlike joy once Kane, Son and Lucas bounced on and he himself was invited onto the Number 10 roster. From that hallowed pedestal he suddenly clicked into gear like nobody’s business, appearing to have an absolute whale of a time, in a manner that one imagines would have had Dele spraying curses around the place.

While a couple of young Gil’s touches were gorgeous to behold, the much-vaunted AANP Touch of the Match award is winging its way to Lo Celso Towers for the glorious first-time flick into the path of Sonny, in assisting one of Kane’s goals. You know the one.

Lo Celso’s pass for the fifth was arguably as good and probably more difficult, a nutmegged, reverse pass onto a plate for Kane. I feel legally obliged to wave around once more that neon-lit caveat about the opposition, but nevertheless it was an impressive demonstration from the fellow of what he can do in that position. Which, bizarrely enough after three successive league hammerings, gives Nuno a pretty welcome selection dilemma ahead of Sunday – Lucas, Lo Celso or Ndombele (or, please no, Dele) in the Number 10 role?

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Spurs 0-3 Chelsea: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. RIP Jimmy Greaves

Although too young to have seen him myself, the recollections of my old man, AANP Senior – a man so hard to impress that even the win over Real Madrid a few years back left him commenting gruffly that we should have scored more – are telling. Mention Greaves, and his eyes light up with a rarely-seen, almost childlike excitement, as he describes countless goals scored almost casually, assuring me that there simply was never a goalscorer as good as him.

It’s a claim supported by the numbers, which are so easy to take for granted, but on inspection almost defy belief.

While Dad had the privilege of seeing him week in, week out in the flesh (and meeting him outside the ground on one occasion), and I suspect is not alone in citing him as his all-time favourite player, for a generation of us we knew him through Saturday lunchtime television. Hard then to picture him as a goalscorer extraordinaire, but easy to love him as a personality.

A true Tottenham legend, our greatest goalscorer, arguably the greatest goalscorer of them all. Rest in peace, Jimmy Greaves.

2. First Half Positives

And so to the match itself. By the time the curtain came down we onlookers were slumped in our seats, the players were slumped in their spots and our lot as a collective had slumped a little further down the table – it was a pretty strong evening for slumping all round.

And what makes the whole thing taste that much more bitter is that in the early knockings we had gone about things with such bright-eyed and bushy-tailed vigour and purpose.

Given the way things have panned out in recent games I had approached yesterday’s fixture with all the optimism of one of those early Christians being tossed into a den of lions in front of a baying mob. What with our lot unable to muster more than about one shot per game for love nor money, and Chelsea teeming with Tuchels and Kantes and now even Lukakus, it was with a pretty heavy heart that I took my seat and peeled back my hands from over my eyes.

Yet, as mentioned, we came absolutely haring out of the traps.

Nuno sprang a bit of a surprise, both with his team selection and tactics. The return of Sonny obviously helped us look a tad more threatening at the north end of the pitch, while the deployment of Ndombele for Skipp seemed oddly adventurous for a head honcho who had only last weekend reacted to being top of the league by picking three holding midfielders. However, there we were, Ndobmele’s midweek escapades rewarded with a starting berth, and while I suppose some of the more cautious amongst us might have raised a tentative hand and wondered about defensive cover, it appeared that our heroes were being sent to battle with exhortations to attack ringing in their ears.

It so nearly worked, too, dash it all. Kane, Lo Celso and Sonny duly attached themselves each to a Chelsea centre-back, the press was high and the passing often zippy. Indeed, this zippiness of pass owed much to the fact that those not in possession were humming around busily and stationing themselves usefully to become available for a pass. The intensity matched that which we showed against Man City, with Chelsea’s attempts to pass out from the back proving particularly fertile ground for our press, and in short all was right with the world – except that we couldn’t stick the dashed ball into the dashed net.

And while it sounds obvious, that having been well established as the point of the exercise since the game was invented, it created one heck of a problem. No need to delve into too much gory detail as I suppose, as everyone saw what happened next – half-time, Kante, and so on and so forth – but the game-plan, well though it worked, really needed us to take an early lead in order that we might progress to Stage 2, as it were, and cling on to the lead while offering a countering threat.

Instead, in the blink of a second half eye we were two behind, with every last ounce of puff exerted and little clue how to break down a Chelsea defence that were smoking cigars in between the occasional victory in their own personal duals.

While there is much to chide about the second half, both in terms of individuals and the collective, AANP is prepared to break with tradition and just this once look on the bright side of a 3-0 hammering at home. For while the energy levels dropped to zero and the team simply ran out of ideas, the first half – or at least first half hour – gave a hint of the tactical nous and game-plan that might serve us a little better against weaker opponents. While one would not expect the exact tactic (of our front three essentially marking the opposition’s back three) every game, the high press and speed of passing was encouraging.

The chronology of things may have left a bad taste in the mouth, but the positives of the first half hour ought not to be dismissed out of hand.

3. Dele, Lo Celso and Ndombele

That said, nor should what followed be ignored. I don’t attach too much blame for either goal conceded (which I suppose is a tad generous on the opener, as headed goals from corners are eminently preventable), but tactically our lot appeared to consider that the best way to deal with Chelsea was to scratch heads and chase the occasional shadow; and moreover the attitude, from those paid handsomely to stretch every sinew for 90-odd minutes, was pretty half-baked.

Now the above stinging tribute is aimed at most of those on show (Monsieur Lloris perhaps exonerated, Hojbjerg similarly and young Skipp also at least having the dignity to upend a few blue-clad bodies when he was introduced). So when I zoom in on Dele, Lo Celso and Ndombele I want to make clear to my public that this is not to say, by extension, that those others in attendance could walk off with heads held high and breasts swelling with pride.

But Dele, Le Celso and Ndombele seem to attract the spotlight as much because it is hard to fathom what the devil they are supposed to be doing.

Ndombele at least appeared to start proceedings where he had left off in midweek, with the ball attached to his foot as if with string, and the capacity to mesmerise still burning bright within him.

So far, so good, and in fact all three of the above contributed to the first half promise, in their own specific ways. Dele popped up to assist both in defence and moving forward; Lo Celso stuck to his pressing role; Ndombele popped the ball about as required.

But when the leaks started to spring in the second half, none of this lot seemed to do much about it. In fact, they all rather disappeared from view, until reality caught up with perception and Ndombele and Lo Celso were officially removed from proceedings.

And while I suppose there are mitigating circumstances, not least in the fact that Our Glorious Leader has yet to imprint upon the collective an obvious signature style, this will have to go down as yet another game in which I ask of both Lo Celso and Ndombele, “What the devil are they supposed to do?”

Both seem shiny and expensive, and obviously come complete with a whole range of bells and whistles – but what are their optimal positions? Where and how do they best contribute? And, without wanting to revisit the heady days of my philosophy degree – what is their purpose? Both have been wandering the corridors of White Hart Lane for a few years now, and yet I’m not sure any amongst us are any the wiser as to how to use them. It’s pretty frustrating stuff, as both are clearly possessed of decent wedges of talent, but at present they just seem to roll around on the pitch, not quite contributing anything like as much as they ought.

On a vaguely similar note, I’m not hugely convinced about Dele’s supposed reimagining as a central midfielder. He trots around dutifully crossing t’s and dotting the occasional i, but there is still a lot about him of the square peg trying to adapt to a round hole. He is and always was best gliding surreptitiously into the box to nosey around and pick up goals. Putting the onus on him to track back and defend only seems to encourage him to concede free-kicks in dangerous areas; similarly, watching him take all day to pick a pass in midfield does make me occasionally yank at a clump of hair from my scalp.

4. Gil

And briefly, it drifted a little under the radar, but this gave us a first proper eyeing of young Gil at Premier League level, as he was given half an hour or so to work up a sweat.

While one does not pass judgement on half an hour against the current European Champions and quite possibly future Title-winners, there was precious little about the young tick to cause even a slither of excitement. I cannot quite remember how much on top of Lamela we paid for his services, and no doubt the deal was made with an eye on the future – but in the here and now I must confess to watching him and a little wistfully wishing that we could have brought on Lamela instead.

At one point Gil was simply shrugged out of the way by Rudiger like a cat swatting aside a passing rodent, and while in time he will presumably sink a steak or two, it was hardly the game-changing impact for which we were looking.

Nor did Gil do anything at all with the ball at his feet that suggested he might prompt a wrinkle or two to appear across a Chelsea forward.

Brighter days will undoubtedly come, but to finish a game like this wishing we hadn’t sold Lamela seemed a suitably damning conclusion.

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Palace 3-0 Spurs: Five Tottenham Talking Points

1. Lack of Effort

When one casts the mind back to the opening game of the season, in which we put in effort by the bucketload against Man City of all people, chasing down every loose ball like the fate of the free world depended on it and then haring off on breakneck counter-attacks, one does rather scratch the bean at the limp fare on offer yesterday.

One accepts defeat – even a 3-0 defeat – if the troops have fought tooth and nail, and simply come up against a mob that have fought toothier and nailier; or indeed, one takes it on the chin when a good fight has been fought and matters have been settled by a spot of magic, or even a dodgy refereeing decision.

But it really wasn’t cricket to watch our lot give it ten minutes and then take to ambling hither and thither, each with that distracted air, as if they one-by-one-realised that a more pressing engagement awaited elsewhere, and this pesky football lark was little more than an inconvenience.

I’m not sure that too many of lilywhite persuasion were getting particularly carried away by the fact that we began the day as league leaders, but even with the Expectations dial sensibly turned to a level somewhere between ‘Middling’ and ‘Low’ I think it was reasonable enough to have expected our chosen few to have least feigned interest in proceedings.

If the rallying pre-match battle cry against City had been about lung-busting determination to thunder into the faces of opponents, one can only assume that the final instructions ahead of kick-off yesterday was more along the lines of an anaemic shrug, because the notion of pressing the opposition seemed a long way down the various To-Do lists. Early on in proceedings, Hojbjerg offered a glimpse of what might be, when his high press helped pickpocket possession and created a chance that he then duly bungled – but nobody else took the hint, and Palace were left to knock the ball around between themselves in undisturbed fashion.

In possession things were just as miserable. Those in lilywhite appeared to consider it beneath them to motor around finding space and offering options for the man in possession. When opportunities for vaguely progressive passing did present themselves, they were firmly rejected, which seemed a pretty bizarre strategy.

Winks and Skipp were amongst the most prominent offenders here, seeming already to have decided to ostracise the new chap, Emerson Royal, by pointedly avoiding passes in his orbit, no matter how much space he tiptoed into. Whatever the question, the Winks-Skipp answer seemed to be ‘Sideways or Backwards’, which certainly tested the patience.

There seemed to be a plan of sorts to look for Reguilon on the left, but it was effected with such little enthusiasm that instead of passing directly to the poor soul the ball was generally just wafted into his postcode, leaving him to battle against the odds.

Even when eleven vs eleven I counted just the one burst of one-touch activity in the whole dashed match, the sort of move that had the ball whizzed around nice and promptly, shifting us the pitch faster than the Palace lot could scurry back. And frankly, one rather thought that if our heroes could only raise themselves for that single, thirty-second exhibition of passable football, then they rather deserved a three-nil hiding.

2. Absences

The absence of half a dozen regular cast members was trumpeted beforehand, and made a handy narrative, but here at AANP Towers we have a keen eye for detail, and it can’t have been much more than twenty-four hours before a few flaws in this story were detected. Admittedly, and in his defence, Nuno did not turn on the waterworks over this, and instead simply got on with life, but nevertheless it’s worth addressing this issue.

From the initial heady list of Sanchez, Romero, Sessegnon, Lo Celso, Bergwijn and Sonny, one could flick through and start discounting suspects, as it were.

Sessegnon, for starters, is rarely spotted anywhere near the first eleven, so dragging his name into things is pretty disingenuous stuff.

Until approximately three weeks ago, the absence of Sanchez, while not necessarily eliciting cheers would hardly have been lamented; while Romero is yet to feature in the league. Now admittedly, the absence of either of these fine specimens would ordinarily have been manageable, being countered by the presence of the other, as it were. The absence of both, therefore, admittedly created a mild quandary; but truth be told, if this were a world utterly bereft of Davinson Sanchezes I’d have no problem with that void being filled by Joe Rodon.

Further up the pitch, the absence of Lo Celso, as with Sessegnon, was hardly critical, meaning that the only real issue was up in attack, where both Sonny and Bergwijn had doctors’ notes to hand. As with Sanchez and Romero, the absence of one of this pair might have been covered by the presence of the other, but missing both did rather change the dynamic of the attack.

And here one might waggle a stern eyebrow in the direction of Our Glorious Leader, for when one has a perfectly serviceably Bryan Gil waiting in the wings, the decision to shove Dele into the ill-fitting role of pacy forward chappie seemed a tad misguided. (Not to mention that Dele’s removal from the midfield three also left us with a pretty functional and bland combo in the mid-section, of Hojbjerg, Skipp and Winks.)

So in truth, from the list of six, the only real challenge came around the two in attack – and could in itself have been countered through the deployment of young Gil. Hardly a justification for the dirge on show yesterday.

Where we were a tad unlucky was in the early exit of Dier. As mentioned, being a fan of Rodon I had no problem with his introduction yesterday, and actually lauded the move; but the fact that Tanganga had also to be shifted into central defence was a shame, for while Emerson Royal made a decent fist of things against Zaha, his was hardly a comfortable afternoon. It was a duel I’d have preferred had featured Tanganga.

3. Kane: Help or Hindrance?

As an aside, while touching on the subject of the front three, and the absences of Sonny and Bergwijn, this might be the moment for a rather awkward conversation about Harry Kane.

Carefully and deliberately leaving aside personal opinions about whether the absolute rotter should be welcomed back into the fold with open arms after having had the gall to try worming his way out of a contract without making a transfer request, several of my acquaintance have started to question whether the chap’s very presence is hindering operations; and they may have a point.

Referring again to the win against City, and indeed to various brighter moments the following week against Wolves, much of what was good about us in an attacking sense derived from the ability of Son, Bergwijn and Lucas to motor up the pitch as soon as possession was swiped, creating three-on-three situations that played out not just in real time but seemingly in fast-forward, the whole thing a blur of whizzing legs and interchanging positions.

However, remove one of the aforementioned three, plop in Kane, and the machinery doesn’t operate with half as much pace. In short, Kane slows down those counters, either by virtue of not whirring the little legs as quickly, or simply by deciding to take up residence about thirty yards further south. (Yesterday he seemed to offer neither, which was all the more odd.)

The AANP opinion has not yet been cast on this matter, and there seems more to it than just Kane (as mentioned, poor passing of the parcel from midfield to attacking full-backs didn’t help) – but with sterner tests awaiting, the optimal utilisation of that rotter Kane and his myriad talents cannot happen fast enough.

4. Lucas

Unusually in a performance of such ineptitude, there were actually a couple of presentable individual turns in amongst the dross.

Lucas, who can consider himself particularly unlucky to have been hooked for that rotter Kane last time out, was, not for the first time this season, particularly full of beans.

The young bean has never been averse to grabbing possession, putting his head down and wriggling like the dickens away from all-comers, but to this thoroughly agreeable trait he also appears to have now added a half-decent end-product, typically sensible distribution of the thing. In fact, one can imagine that in other teams (Exhibit A, Palace with Zaha) a chap of his ilk and predilections might be the sort around whom the team is built; but we being Tottenham he’ll presumably be back on the bench next week.

It was a joy to behold though, and, one imagines, a nightmare against which to defend.

5. Rodon

And in closing, an earnest salute in the direction of young Master Rodon. Quite why he is fourth cab on the centre-back rank is a mite baffling, given that those in front are hardly of the lineage of Moore, Beckenbauer and King; but fourth cab he is, and seemingly for use strictly in emergencies only.

However, he demonstrated a decent enough grasp of the basics when called upon last season; he seemed to do the necessaries for Wales during the Euros; and yesterday, if he put a foot wrong at all, I’m not sure I noticed it.

Actually, he and Tanganga both impressed, and it was just a dashed shame that the latter rather got carried away by things (although by the letter of the law Zaha should have been off himself, having tickled Tanganga’s face with a front paw at least thrice by my reckoning). While we were pretty woeful going forward, and the midfield was doing little to stem the flow of things in the second half, the centre backs were at least standing up to the challenge until the red card. Further outings for Rodon – and given the state of the various scattered centre-backs at the club, these seem inevitable – would be no bad thing.

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 2-0 Wolves: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. Low-Tempo Stuff

Given that even when the Top Four was realistic our lot hardly dashed about the place with any sense of frenzied urgency, it was perhaps unsurprising that today, with the only available carrot being the slightly wonky, shrivelled one of Europa football (or the even smaller, even more shrivelled one of the Europa Conference, whatever that is), the mood amongst those tasked with doing the necessaries in N17 was set to ‘Leisurely’.

Not that it mattered much, as Wolves had switched off their mood setting entirely, in order to sit on a beach and sip something punchy, but there was a curious gentleness to the way in which we gradually exerted our superiority.

Yes, Kane hit the post in the opening jabs, with the sort of shot out of thin air of which he seems to be the sole licence-holder; and yes, we twice had shots thwacked off the line with the ‘keeper seemingly distracted by the beach-side view; but there was none of that zip about our build-up play that makes the pulse quicken and arrests the attention.

The Sky cameras caught the spirit of the thing by doing their best to not show our opener when it did eventually come, preferring to dwell on their narrative de jour about a man from Sunday league football repeatedly heading away crosses (a plot-line with which they were so obsessed that they pretended it continued long after it had stopped, bizarrely awarding the bean in question the day’s rosette despite him being wildly out of position, and then comically parked on his rear for the first goal; and too slow to get to the rebound for the second: man of the match indeed).

It was not until early in the second half that our lot began showing any appetite for the thing, and we were treated to the first sights of free-flowing football coursing through the veins. Again, probably worth emphasising that nothing beyond third gear was really necessary, but given the talent on display, and the pliant nature of our guests, the first half in particular was oddly muted.

However, it was still comfortably sufficient, and should an eager student ever choose to write an essay on ebbs and flows of this particular match then “Two-Nil” would be a title that captured entirely appropriately the game’s dynamics as well as its scoreline.

2. Dele: Delightful and Exasperating

In terms of the specifics, Dele’s performance was an odd mix of the delightful and exasperating.

In the Debit column, the chap was guilty on a couple of occasions of the sort of carelessness that would have been excoriated by notable former managers who were sticklers for that sort of thing and who, it might be suggested, carried about themselves particularly needless vendettas.

In one instance he gave away a pretty needless free-kick in a dangerous area, via the medium of an unnecessary and pretty unsubtle shove to the back; on another occasion he tried to be rather too cute for his own good inside his own penalty area of all places, giving away possession, when anyone in the Sky commentary box could have advised that simply hacking the ball away to kingdom come would have had him lauded as the game’s standout performer.

One might point out that the nature of the chap’s play means that such errors are simply part and parcel of the whole Dele experience. Here, after all, is an egg who seems to take to heart the anthem “Go out there and express yourself”, generally treating the pitch as his playground and the match as an opportunity to roll out as many party tricks as possible (witness the glorious first half nutmeg).

Mercifully, the Wolves players were too busy admiring the bathing suits of their fellow holiday-makers to do anything with these gifts, but young Dele might do well to give some consideration to the time and the place, when next he dips into his box marked ‘Casual Possession Giveaway’.

More prominently, however, Dele’s attacking instincts came to the fore today. He seemed quite happy to take a prominent role in affairs, availing himself of a pass at every opportunity and stationing himself pretty centrally throughout. The man did not shirk the challenge.

And, without exactly dominating things (that accolade fell upon the Wolves chappie who occasionally cleared a cross, don’t you know) Dele made enough deft contributions to swing the thing.

His role in the odd sequence of post-hitting was impressively delivered. In the first place he won possession in the old-fashioned way, emerging victorious in the often-neglected tangle of legs known as ‘tackling’; and then picked precisely the right moment to play his killer pass. I don’t mind admitting it was a moment that deeply affected me, having spent many of my years of Dele-watching berating him for hanging onto the ball for too long. On this occasion, I bowed in the presence of his greatness. He hung onto the ball for precisely the appropriate amount of time, and then played a perfectly weighted pass – through the opponent’s legs, of course – into the path of Kane. The whole thing deserved a goal; what it got, instead, was two successive shots hitting the two different posts.

And then for our second goal, I was rather impressed by the manner in which Dele first sprayed the ball stage left, for Reguilon to run onto (albeit Reguilon made rather a production of things out there, sliding and scampering and all sorts); and secondly, on receiving the ball back from Reguilon, in picking out Bale. Bale’s shot was then parried, and Hojbjerg completed the routine; but Dele did enough to merit at least a nomination for Best Supporting Actor.

3. Lo Celso’s Deeper Role

Ryan Mason it appears, is not one of those fellows who thinks that the key to life is to dive in and change as many things about it as he can get his hands on. For Mason, the status quo seems to hold a certain charm, and as such, having deployed Lo Celso in a deep-ish role once, he has been happy to extend the experiment a little while longer.

Personally, I am rather enamoured of the role itself and its current occupier. Particularly in a game such as this, something of a free hit given the quality and mentality of the opponent, there is hardly need for multiple defensive types to prowl the midfield looking for fires to put out. The use of Lo Celso then, is primarily forward-thinking, tasked with picking up the ball from the back-line and transferring to the forward-line, with minimum fuss and maximum efficiency.

(It should be noted that, in addition to the forward-looking stuff, Lo Celso does not mind scampering around to win back possession either; he might not necessarily be the most gifted exponent of the more destructive arts, but he knows what’s expected.)

But it was going forward that I rather enjoyed Lo Celso’s mentality. Now, to be clear, I thought this week, as last, he could have done more of it – demanding the ball and making it clear to all in the vicinity that he was the go-to man for these sort of jobs. But nevertheless, his general mentality, of wanting to create whenever he received the ball, went down well at AANP Towers.

As if to illustrate the point, we were then treated to fifteen minutes or so of the slightly dreary alternative, when young Master Winks bounded on to replace Lo Celso, and promptly set about biffing the ball backwards every time it was given to him. Sometimes Lo Celso hit and sometimes he missed, but pretty much every time his first instinct was at least to go forward.

4. Hitting the Woodwork

At one point (at what I am tempted to call a lull in proceedings, but which description does not necessarily narrow down the timeframe), the TV bods flashed up a stat to the effect that our heroes have hit the woodwork more than any other team this season. 23, if my eyes did not deceive.

Pertinent stuff, given that we were treated to this very scenario thrice this afternoon. Now one might wail and lament our ill fortune at this, but the stat did remind me of a moment in my formative years, when on returning from a school football match and receiving an enquiry from my old man, AANP Senior, as to how I got on, I informed him that while I did not score I did at least hit the post. This earnest communique, as I recall, met with a pretty unforgiving eye and the brusque response from the esteemed relative that he would give me credit if I were aiming for the post; and that feedback rather ended the back-and-forth.

It’s a mantra I apply to this day. Hitting the post 23 times is deserving of little credit or sympathy given that the pretty unambiguous aim of the exercise is expressly not to hit the post, but the structure contained therein.

All that said, the little burst of activity that saw Kane and Dele hit the two posts with successive shots did make the head swim a bit and the curses flow. One can only imagine what the kindly folk who neighbour AANP Towers made of the assorted yips and yelps that doubtless emerged from within as the passage of play unfolded.

Mercifully, neither the woodwork nor VAR nor any other excuses needed to be wheeled out on this occasion. A curious game for sure, not least because of the odd passivity of our opponents, but a comfortable win is always a delight.

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Spurs match reports

Leeds 3-1 Spurs: Six Tottenham Talking Points

1. Bale: Worth It?

I suppose you may consider it an odd place to start, when we had Auriers and Diers performing unspeakable acts everywhere you cared to look, but the virtues and vices of Gareth Bale came into pretty sharp focus yesterday. Or, more accurately, the vices came into focus; the virtues were nowhere to be seen.

And in a way, that’s the critical issue surrounding the young bean. Being the assiduous followers of AANP that you are, I’m in no doubt that you’re all too aware that last week, on these very pages, I opined that aside from his hat-trick Bale contributed precious little to the cause. Which is not to denigrate the chap, for I think most of us would accept Hat-Trick-Plus-Nothing-Else as a weekly input from any of troops; it’s more just to state a fact – Bale doesn’t contribute much to our game in general; he doesn’t beaver tirelessly and track back; he doesn’t dictate games; he doesn’t relentlessly torment opponents.

What Bale does is produce goals out of nothing through moments of genius; and it could probably be argued that his very presence on the pitch is also of benefit in terms of scaring the dickens out of opponents for fear of what he might do at any given moment, which is a dashed important metric if you ask me. The psychology of an anguished opposing manager, after all, is not to be sniffed at.

Yesterday, however, there were no moments of genius to be seen, and as a result we were left with those aforementioned vices – the not-contributing-not-beavering-not-dictating and so on. The not-tracking-back element was a particularly sore point, given that it led to the concession of at least one of the goals (and possibly two, they do rather blur). Serge Aurier does not deserve much sympathy for the manner in which he goes about the day-job, but the thought did strike me as he was outnumbered for the umpteenth time yesterday that the humane thing to do would be to at least enquire whether he would like some support as Leeds bodies swarmed all over him. He can be blamed for many things, but not really for failing to be two people at once.

However, Bale did not offer him support; Leeds overlapped whenever they dashed well pleased; and the flip-side of having Bale in the team was exposed in pretty unforgiving manner.

So is he worth it? Is it worth effectively carrying a passenger each game, albeit one who, as last week (and most weeks) is capable of producing a goal or two from nothing? As you might expect from a blog that in its very name endorses the approach of action and waves a dismissive hand at the planning that goes with it, I’m all for Bale’s occasional moments of magic, and quite happy to give him dispensation to biff off into the background the rest of the time, as long as he produces the goods, say, two games out of three. Which he does.

Others would no doubt beg to differ, and indeed the contrary opinion seemed to be championed pretty firmly by the previous Grand Fromage at N17.

I do, however, acknowledge that the deployment of Bale becomes a bit more questionable when literally half the team are allergic to hard work and defensive duties. One does wonder whether the balance is quite right when somehow each of Kane, Bale, Son, Dele and Lo Celso are stuffed within the framework.

2. Aurier: Exasperating

As mentioned, Monsieur Aurier was hardly inundated with offers of support; but at the same time his usual dereliction of defensive duties was proudly on offer, with not a hint of self-consciousness.

It will come as little surprise to anyone associated with the sport that Aurier’s brightest moments were on the front-foot, and if he were stomping forward safe in the knowledge that an abundance of defensive sorts gathered behind him I think we would all rest a little easier, and maybe even wave him on his way with an encouraging shout or two.

But, as articulated at some length above, there was precious little assistance forthcoming from Bale, while Lo Celso and Dele were similarly ill-inclined to push to one side all attacking inclinations and bury themselves in the defensive duties that awaited.

Aurier, understandably enough targeted by Leeds, generally came out second-best in his scraps with the Leeds bod Harrison; and if that is disappointing but excusable, his reluctance to bust a gut in returning to his sentry post was simply not cricket. To clarify, the request here was not that he rush back to help a chum in need; it was that he rush back to do his own core duties, dash it all.

3. Dier: Dire

If he were receiving a health dollop of benefit of the doubt in the previous five or six years, it appears that popular opinion has swung pretty firmly against Eric Dier after yesterday.

As the cross for the first goal flashed towards him and into his path Dier presumably weighed up the options, and would surely have considered taking the agricultural but blisteringly effective route of hammering the ball off into the sunset.

Instead, seemingly struck by the urge to give vent to his more creative juices, he appeared to select as his method of choice for countering the danger the option of swooning out of the ball’s path and allowing it to continue on its trajectory. Unhindered by any intervention from Dier it absolutely zipped across the six-yard box, and while Reguilon joined the long list of erring lilywhites in dozing away at the back-post, before prodding it towards his own net, the damage was already done.

Now as with Serge Aurier, Dier’s cause was hardly helped by the pretty damning dereliction of duty of those around him. For the second goal Dier did make a point of calling Hojbjerg into his office as the move was beginning, and instructing him to keep an eye on the eventual goalscorer Bamford – a task that Hojbjerg appeared to consider beneath him.

When the cross did eventually whizz into the area, Bamford’s run was blissfully unhindered by Hojbjerg, but the striker then appeared right on the shoulder of Dier who reacted, as Barry Davies might have put it, by not reacting. Instead, in another of that catalogue of unexpected defensive decisions that really keep the audience on their toes, Dier responded to the immediate threat by adopting a pose of absolutely ridigity. If any passing cad happened to be in the market for Elgin Marbles this would have been mightily impressive stuff; but in terms of the matter at hand it proved ineffective, and Bamford tapped in.

(Nor should it be overlooked that the whole bally thing originated with Dier needlessly looping a defensive header straight into Leeds attacking possession).

By the time of the third goal any semblance of formation or defensive coherence had long since gone the way of all flesh, but Dier nevertheless did not miss the opportunity to exacerbate matters, first by playing Leeds onside, and then by doing a pretty rotten job of preventing the decisive square pass.

Dier apologists could legitimately point to the chap’s attacking contributions, for he took it upon himself to trundle off on a handful of bizarre, but surprisingly effective excursions up the left flank of all places. On top of which some of his long passing was pretty handy (one notes that the long diagonal pass from deep, banished under our former leader, has made a pretty triumphant return under that Poch disciple Mason).

Nevertheless, as with Aurier, the exasperation lies in the fact that Dier’s principal role is to defend, and until he excels in that, or even masters the basics, one doesn’t really care a hang for what he does beyond the halfway line.

4. Hojbjerg: Disappointing

This was one of those occasions on which one could probably have had a pretty curt word in the ear of all eleven, plus any substitutes who felt compelled to throw in a poorly-judged Rabona, with only Monsier Lloris really escaping censure.

However, as much as anything else because his standards are normally higher than those around him, I was pretty dashed disappointed with Hojbjerg.

When all around him are letting their standards slip, here is a man who seems to take it as a matter of deep ancestral pride that his remain at the highest levels. Goodness knows, therefore, what got into him yesterday, but if there were a pretty basic error to be made he seemed to be front of the queue.

His appetite for pressing and ankle-snapping at least remained undimmed throughout, but in possession in particular Hojbjerg was oddly errant. As already remarked, he was also pretty negligent in the basic duties on at least one of the goals conceded, and given the more progressive tendencies of those around him in midfield one would have expected him to be a tad more mindful of his defensive obligations.

5. Lo Celso: Glimpses, But Not Enough

Still, in the first half at least, without ever really showing an inclination to tear up Yorkshire and lay claim to the place, our lot did occasionally illustrate that when the mood takes them they can be almost effortlessly devastating.

Both the legitimate goal and the disallowed effort (a goal that we would hardly have merited, but which undoubtedly ought to have stood – and which may well then have changed the dynamic of the piece) were brief showcases of much that is good about our attacking sorts.

Ever since that glorious night in the San Siro, when Modric released Lennon, who raced half the length of the pitch before squaring for Crouch, I have lamented the lot of the unsung hero who provides the penultimate pass. It’s dashed Fantasy League football that has done this, by formally recognising the ‘Assist’; but those who, like me, hold close to their bosom the deep-lying creator will appreciate the importance of the chap who sets the ball rolling before the assist.

Yesterday, for both our allowed and disallowed goals, Lo Celso was the anonymous hero. Under pressure, around halfway, he twice wriggled sufficiently to escape enemy clutches, and twice showed presence of mind to play a forward pass to Son. On both occasions Sonny laid off to Dele, and rewards were duly reaped. It might not sound like the most devastating contributions, but I would be willing to bet the mortgage of AANP Towers that in a similar situation young Harry Winks would have pirouetted for all he was worth back towards his own goal and played the safe option.

So while one applauds Lo Celso for both his good sense and smart work in executing this operation, seeing these two particular passages did make me yearn for him to take the hint and keep peddling exactly the same trick rather more frequently. Not to put too fine a point on it but we were absolutely crying out for someone to control possession, collecting it from defence, rolling forward over halfway and playing an effective pass into attack. Lo Celso did it twice, but really ought to have done it a heck of a lot more. Ndombele, one presumes, breathes uncomfortably close behind him.

6. Dele: Reminders of His Talent

And further up the pitch, Dele’s contribution to these two goals were pleasant reminders of the impudent, attacking input he can provide to such occasions. Rather a shame that they were in a losing cause – and indeed that one was farcically disallowed – as it suggests that they might simply be lost in the mists of time rather than being as indelibly etched in the memory as I fancied they deserved to be.

The notion that this chap could be ostracised for almost the entire season does make one fling up the hands and beat the chest rather, but if there were doubts about Dele’s abilities I imagine that a run of half a dozen or so games will sweep them aside.

I don’t doubt that plenty will have their say about his contributions elsewhere on the pitch, in tracking back and helping out the nibs behind him, all of which might be legitimate enough; but given that he was picked as a Number 10 role, I thought his two contributions to the ball ending up in the net illustrated that he is pretty worthy of the role.

Categories
Spurs match reports

Spurs 4-0 Burnley: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. The Dream Front Three: Son and Kane

Admittedly it was six months overdue, which does take the gloss of these joyous occasions, but now that the third member of the trio is just about fully fit this could be considered the official unveiling of The Dream Front Three, and they delivered all the traditional punchlines and crowd-pleasing moments that were legally required of them.

Burnley, it must be said, were pretty accepting of their part in the spectacle, dutifully approaching their roles of Lambs Being Led To Slaughter with all the obedient passivity of a mob of extras who are fully aware that their part in the thing is purely to make the superstars look good. When the Dream Front Three needed to combine for the cameras, Burnley gave them all the space they needed; when the Dream Front Three needed to score, Burnley were at pains not to inconvenience them, at one point even subjecting each other to meaty off-the-ball challenges in order to ensure that the day’s neon-lit narrative was not disturbed.

Tougher tests will therefore await, but this was still rousing stuff.

Sonny, who appears to have adjusted his coordinates to pop up less centrally and more towards the left since the renaissance of Bale, made a welcome return to his sprightly self after a bit of a lull in recent weeks. This geographic shift perhaps lends itself to being Creator rather than Finisher, but Son appeared to have no objection to the modification of his job description, and was at the heart of many of our quicker and more penetrating routines.

Kane, for his part, looked thoroughly irked at the indignity of having seen a goal scored within two minutes against Burnley that did not feature him, and set about doing his damnedest to correct that particular clerical error at the earliest opportunity, lashing in shots until one went in; at which point he calmed down and settled back into life within the collective of The Dream Front Three.

2. The Dream Front Three: Bale

Meanwhile Bale, as threatened in recent weeks against Wolfsberger (twice) and West Ham, bobbed about the place with the swagger of a fellow who is one of the best in the business and is pretty well aware of the fact.

He does still wander along with a look of some disdain for those statistics that litter the modern game around yards run, and sprints sprinted, and jugs of breath inhaled and whatnot; but it matters not when a chap has Special Dispensation Because He Is Bale. While not exactly the tireless blur of legs that, for example, defines Sonny, peak Bale possesses a threat that can destroy teams with a couple of well-judged swings of his left tentacle. These have been in evidence in recent weeks, both in the sweet contact for his goals against Wolfsberger but also in the link-up play when drifting in from the right, and all of the above was evidenced again today.

His opening goal was hardly the most spectacular of his career, but was still a triumph for those who enjoy a well-timed run from deep, executed as if some sort of meta-joke in reference to Dele Alli. More usefully, it set the tone for a pretty idyllic afternoon stroll in the sun, taking the pressure of everyone concerned and giving a licence to The Dream Front Three to do dreamy things.

Bale’s pass for Kane’s goal was pretty indulgent stuff, those sprayed, long-range passes being the reserve of those who consider themselves above the rank-and-file of the Premier League, and his audacity to undertake such a project was indicative of an egg who is thoroughly enjoying life.

‘Tis true, he has looked like he has been enjoying life from the moment he re-signed, but more on account of the barrel of laughs that have kept him entertained while watching on from the bench, judging by the televised evidence of him chuckling away on the sidelines every week. While encouraging to see a man in high spirits, he has done little to contribute to the greater good while wrapped up and sedentary, so there was much to welcome about the sight of him today ambling into the spotlight, demanding the ball and spreading play.

Most eye-catchingly, at one point he also treated us to a throwback of Bale at the Lane, when he knocked the ball past his full-back, took him on in a short sprint and comfortably triumphed. This, combined with the absolutely sumptuous technique in his finishing, generously demonstrated again today for his fourth, is the stuff that really gets the masses chattering in excitement, and these little glimpses of the Bale of old bode well for the remainder of the season.

The interplay between The Dream Front Three at times did make the eyes widen with excitement. Stay fit and continue to play together, and one suspects that their understanding and combinations will only improve, which makes the heart race a bit, what?

3. Lucas

AANP is only too well aware that being the youngest of four siblings can at times be a pretty dispiriting gig, particularly in one’s formative years when nature dictates that you are comfortably the least accomplished of the gang. And when perching on the starting blocks and looking up to behold The Dream Front Three scattered around him, I could therefore sympathise with Lucas Moura, who, while possessed of his own set of handy talents, is nevertheless a man whose own mother would have a tough time putting him on the same lofty pedestal as Kane, Son and Bale.

Lucas, one might argue, ranks more alongside Messrs Bergwijn and Lamela in quality, and appears to be scrapping it out with these two and Dele for the coveted Number 10 role, with Senor Lo Celso presumably at some point also due to pop back into frame and offer his tuppence worth.

One therefore had to be careful not to place too much pressure upon Lucas, or, to put it more bluntly, not to judge him by the same standards of his starrier chums. The poor fellow also had to contend with the fact that AANP has made pretty public in recent weeks a level of dissatisfaction with his output, chiefly centring on his obsessions with dribbling past as many opponents as drift into his eyeline. Disheartening stuff for the man to read each week, no doubt.

Today, however, I thought Lucas made a decent fist of things. His energy was impressive, and probably necessary given that scampering around incessantly is not quite the principal virtue of G. Bale Esquire. Lucas also job-shared with Harry Kane the duty of dropping into midfield to help out the frontline staff who were getting their hands dirty, one of the game’s less glamorous undertakings but a box that no doubt needed ticking.

And I am also a personal fan of the young bean’s penchant for treating every opportunity that falls to him without discrimination, but simply lashing it as hard as his little legs allow, and trusting in God to do the rest. On one occasion today this sent the ball into orbit; on another occasion he thumped it straight at the ‘keeper, when any modicum of deftness would have brought about a goal; but the ‘Close Your Eyes And Hammer It’ approach duly struck oil on his other opportunity, so well done him.

The personal preference in these parts would be for peak Dele to make Number 10 his own, or, if tireless industry is specifically required, Erik Lamela. Indeed, a fit-again Lo Celso would also be above Lucas in the pecking order if I had my way on these things; but there can be few grumbles about either Lucas’ input or output today.

4. Davinson Sanchez

Another of our lot whose persual of these pages in recent weeks will have tested his fortitude is Davinson Sanchez. If being left to chew turf by Gundogan a few weeks ago represented the nadir of Sanchez’ Tottenham career, then his backheeled pass to a teammate in the 79th minute might well have been its zenith. Party tricks aside however, in general, this will go down in The Book of Records as one of his finest displays in lilywhite.

Four-nil though the scoreline might have been – and a pretty fair reflection of affairs at that – this was not a game without incident for the centre-backs. Make no mistake, Sanchez earned his weekly envelope today.

Burnley have generally offered a pretty stern physical and aerial test over the years, and this Sanchez (and Toby) withstood well, all the more so given that Lloris’ attitude of non-interference means that he will stay on his line come hell or high water, and that the centre-backs cannot not expect a damn jot of help from his quarter.

And having been given nightmares by the twists and turns of Gundogan on terra firma a few weeks back, Sanchez also deserves credit for sticking to his guns when similar attempts on his dignity were made today. In the areas of both shepherding and blocking, he seemed to meet all challenges thrown his way, and even at one point displayed his rarely-sighted burst of pace.

Now I’ve heard it said that one swallow does not make a summer, and as I understand it the chap who penned that particular gag was referring specifically to Sanchez and the prospect of him turning in a solid performance, the gist being that a clean sheet against Burnley does not mean Sanchez is guaranteed to be the bedrock upon which a watertight Tottenham defence will be built for years to come. And this seems a reasonable assertion, for there is plenty of evidence in the bank pointing to Sanchez being anything but bedrock as he goes about his duties.

Nevertheless, this was encouraging stuff, both in terms of the practical output and the confidence it will give him. One hopes that he can bash out similar fare against Fulham in midweek, because I think we would all breathe a little easier if the centre-back pairing in N17 began at least to look the part.

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 0-2 Leicester: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. The Style of Play (Again)

I would normally pity the poor souls who part with their hard-earned wage, and write off an afternoon of their lives, to attend such a ghastly matinee as that, but on this occasion, mercifully, we were at least spared such punishment in the flesh.

Not that the 2D alternative did much to mask the unfolding rot. A peculiarity with The Jose Brand is that it relies absolutely entirely upon results for its success. In fact, its very raison d’être is its results.

The football itself at times borders upon the painful – for there were times in the first half in particular, when still nil-nil, that our heroes seemed to be actively looking to concede possession because the situation did not lend itself to a counter-attack, which rather beggars belief; and when pressed into a more progressive state of mind in the second half, when trailing, the absence of ingenuity was enough to make a grown man weep, or at least fling his hands heavenwards and curse the day.

So results, for sure, are front and centre of this operation, and when we proudly surveyed the land from atop the pile, any grumbles about the aesthetics, or lack thereof, could be merrily waved away. After all, if the open-topped bus could be booked for May ’21 on the back of a six-man defence and a few counter-attacks, I’m not sure too many of us would mind.

Over the last week, however, for one reason or another we have begun to depart increasingly wildly from the script.

Part of the problem with playing so defensively and deep each week is that the odds increase that every minor error can result in fairly seismic fallout. Against Liverpool we saw how a random deflection can upset the defensive ecosystem; today it was first a moment of mind-numbing stupidity; and then an unwelcome ricochet. (One might consider the deflections and ricochets unlucky – but by defending so deep we rather make our own rotten luck, or at the very least invite it a tad.)

The crux of the thing is that while the rewards are high – table-topping and title-challenging, no less – the risks are magnified. Spend three quarters of the game camped on the edge of our own area and there is no coming back from a looping deflection or an Aurier brain-fade. On top of which, up the other end, there is minimal margin for error in front of goal,

And so on days like today, when the result is not produced, we are left instead to pore over the remains of a failed defensive performance, and frankly it looks utterly dreadful. These things will happen, but they cannot happen too often. Thrice in a week is enough.

2. Aurier

As mentioned, the dirge-like output requires everyone in the back-line to perform pretty flawlessly, in order to set up the platform for the counter-attack and three points.

And to his credit, Serge Aurier has spent the last month or two pretty diligently abiding by what must seem to him a pretty radical reinterpretation of his day-job. By and large, the needless lunges and mad decisions have been rinsed from his DNA, and while a wild glint occasionally develops in his eye, it rarely manifests any more on the pitch.

Jose himself would probably have argued that the plan had worked in the first half, as Leicester, for all their sharper play in midfield, had barely tested Lloris.

However, Aurier’s retro moment of mind-boggling stupidity completely upended the Jose Masterplan. What might have been passed off as a solid, if utterly uninspiring, defensive display suddenly became a disastrous first half, as we found ourselves not only having created nothing but also a goal behind.

Difficult to know what to make of Aurier. For sure the blister has previous, but if this is merely an isolated incident then we can potentially sweep it under the carpet and look forward to another half-dozen performances in which he keeps his head down and steers clear of trouble.

On the other hand, I suppose we dare not contemplate that this might be the beginning of a full-blown relapse, and the return of the Aurier of the past couple of seasons, whose every appearance seemed to be marked by at least one completely unnecessary aberration. Time will tell, and he probably has enough goodwill in the bank for now, but I’m not sure many more such moments will be suffered too gladly.

3. The Ndombele-Lo Celso Dream Axis

Odd to say it now, but in the first five minutes or so I actually had pretty high hopes.

Proceedings began with Ndombele sending half the Leicester team into the wrong postcode with a series of his trademarked upper body swerves that are seemingly impossible to resist.

A couple of free-kicks were duly won, and the omens looked pretty positive, pointing as they did towards an afternoon spent on the front foot and giving the Leicester mob a few things to think about in the defensive third.

Moreover, this marked one of (if not the) first blessed union of Messrs Ndombele and Lo Celso in holy midfield partnership. Quite what the tactical implications would be were fairly happily overlooked, because the prospect of these two peddling their silky wares in tandem seemed to override any need for detail. “Just give them the ball and let them dovetail” was the AANP mantra, and when Ndombele began proceedings in that shoulder-swerving manner of his, the omens appeared good.

Alas, thereafter things did not so much go downhill as fall directly off a cliff. Lo Celso’s principal contributions seemed to be lose possession and then slide in to win it back, before rolling around in feigned agony – until he ended up rolling around in bona fide agony.

With Ndombele having drifted to the periphery before himself being hooked, the dream combination ultimately turned into something of a disaster.

One hopes that Jose will not take this as his cue to banish any further of a future Ndombele-Lo Celso axis, simply on the grounds of one heavily undercooked display. Such a pair of talents ought to be able to combine to pretty decent effect, given a little love and tactical direction.

4. Bale (and Dele)

Another day, another mightily underwhelming extended cameo from G. Bale Esq. He did at least have the decency to look occasionally as if he cared today, at one point even breaking into a sweat to challenge for a 50-50. However, for those in the gallery eagerly awaiting a glimpse of the man who just a year or two back was still skinning international defenders and blasting the thing home from distance, this was another afternoon of frustration.

Bale’s introduction did precious little to improve, or in any way change, the dynamic of the game. It is probably reasonable to assume that the fellow is still not quite 100%, but by now one would at least hope to see a glimpse or two of the global superstar of recent times.

Frustratingly, of this there has been not a squeak. Were the name on his shirt anything other than ‘Bale’, it is difficult to imagine that he would be considered a better fit for the current eleven than any of Bergwijn, Lucas, Lamela – or, dare I say it, Dele Alli.

Admittedly there’s been precious little opportunity for Dele, but each time he has been trotted out, he has done so under the microscope, and to his credit has at least tried to contribute. Difficult to judge on the back of ten minutes here and there, but his brief fling against Liverpool at least saw him roll up his sleeves and get on the ball. Not much about which to write home – but not any worse than Bale, and to this untrained eye, probably slightly better.

With games coming every couple of days over Christmas, both will presumably get an opportunity or two. And in a team crying out for some attacking ingenuity, who knows, maybe this time next month one of them will be undroppable?

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 2-0 Man City: Five Tottenham Talking Points

1. Jose’s Tactics

It says much about the tactical scribblings of Our Glorious Leader that after a match in which all 14 players used can be congratulated for performing to the absolute peak of their powers, the first roses are strewn in the direction of the manager.

But no doubt about it, Jose and The Brains Trust did not leave a stone unturned in this one, with every slightest tactical eventuality seemingly taken care of. Everywhere one looked on the pitch there seemed to be a tactical tweak with Jose’s name scrawled over it, from the switch of Sonny from left to right, to the use of Sissoko as an additional defender in between right-back and centre back, via Hojbjerg’s more central berth and Kane’s deeper role.

I don’t mind admitting that The Angst of Over Three Decades of Spurs Supporting was weighing pretty heavily upon me in the first half, as our tactic became clear. Sitting back and soaking up pressure is one thing, but trying to do so for ninety minutes against a team as nifty on the ball as Man City struck me as a dashed dangerous game to play, and the wildly escalating AANP blood pressure during that first 45 no doubt bore provided sound medical evidence of this truth.

Looking back however, it is a testimony both to Jose’s masterplan and the concentration of troops invovled that City’s only clear shots at goal were two headers from set-pieces – and even then, the first was from quite a distance, on account of the delightful high defensive line now deployed, which cunningly acts as a safety net against our inability to man-mark.

On top of which, every time we touched the ball – which admittedly seemed only to be around once every ten minutes – we looked like scoring. City, for all their pretty patterns in possession, resembled a gang of schoolboys in a playground when it came to defending, all bluster but precious little strategy, and were duly cut to ribbons.

Our opening goal itself was a thing of beauty, each of its constituent parts worthy of some pretty gushing praise; and then the offside effort would have been one of the goals of the season if Kane had not rather unnecessarily strayed forward a moment too soon (one does wonder if that lad will ever cut it at the highest level) – but the gist of the thing was clear enough in the first half, and hammered home in the second, that ours were a menacing mob when attacking.

2. Ndombele (and Lo Celso)

Much has been made, by the chaps paid to opine on these things, of the contribution of Kane to the first goal. And no doubt about it, Kane’s novel ruse of jogging five yards towards the ball pretty much seemed to cause the heads of both City central defenders to explode, leaving a red carpet down which Sonny was able to saunter.

But what went largely overlooked was the contribution of Ndombele (not least by the Sky Sports bod in charge of the pictures, who displayed that modern pandering to the cult of managers’ personalities rather than the actual football, by zooming in on Pep instead of showing the blasted game).

Ndombele’s ability to take several players out of the game simply by swerving his upper body is fast achieving the sort of mesmeric status previously reserved for David Blaine and others of his mind-boggling ilk. It was a trait previously exemplified in lilywhite by Mousa Dembele, and rarely was it better demonstrated, and to better effect, than by Ndombele in assisting Son, when he received the ball facing his own goal, and then took a leaf out of the Kane Book of Making Opposition Heads Explode by ducking in one direction and weaving off in another.

That done, he then drizzled a little icing on top, in the form of a chipped pass weighted with backspin, all of which meant that young Sonny, who rarely needs to be told twice to rev up and motor, barely had to break stride.

While that was arguably Ndombele’s most eye-catching contribution, the impromptu applause which greeted his every touch – and body swerve – thereafter was reflective of the fellow’s remarkable ability to create space where previously there was none, simply by a wiggle of the upper body.

Others around him may have put in more relentless, non-stop running shifts, but Ndombele’s brief was more around positioning, availability and shielding of the ball when collecting it from defensive chums, each of which qualities feature fairly prominently on the Tanguy CV. While this is admittedly a little like praising a sedated polar bear for its sensible conservation of energy, that role of being the first available option when ridding the ball from defence was an important one, and the man did a sterling job.

And then, when the last drop of fuel was wrung from his frame, Lo Celso replaced him with strict instruction to treat the ball with the same paternal care, but with a few additional dollops of energy – as immediately demonstrated by the forty yard sprint for his goal, a feat, one suspects with the greatest goodwill, of which Ndombele would not have been capable.

(As a side note, another stellar performance from P-E Hojbjerg was discreetly gilded with the interception that led to him being fouled – from which free-kick Ndombele swerved and Sonny scored. Easy to miss, but it was further evidence to support the general theory that Hojbjerg’s Every Contribution is Immense.)

3. Aurier: Pleasant Surprises From The Usual Scapegoats, Part 1

Those familiar with the AANP way of things will know that at this juncture, the drill tends to be to add another splash of bourbon and set about lazily chiding Serge Aurier for abandoning his post to dive two-footed into the nearest moving body.

But as if to illustrate through one real-time example quite what a difference Jose can make, Aurier behaved impeccably throughout. I rubbed my eyes, and pinched myself, and poured another splash for luck, but could not doubt the evidence of my eyes: not one reckless challenge, not too many misdirected simple passes, mostly staying on his feet – mostly – and a general positional discipline of which the chap has not once in his career previously shown himself capable.

It was surreal stuff, which seemed to suggest that either the arrival of Doherty has spurred him onto greater heights, or, as seems vastly more probable, he has been kidnapped, cloned and a positionally-aware doppelganger now occupies the space where once Aurier leapt towards calamity.

4. Dier: Pleasant Surprises From The Usual Scapegoats, Part 2

A couple of steps to the left, and Eric Dier seemed similarly determined to avoid his weekly AANP berating. Pundits have been clambering over each other to insist that Dier is now a defensive colossus, seemingly on account of that one (admittedly impressive) twisty, headed, off-the-line clearance a couple of weeks ago – but over in these parts we remain vastly unconvinced of his worth as an elite centre-back.

Make no mistake, Dier will mooch around in the right vicinity, and is relatively vocal, but as I repeat on a weekly basis, he is neither the quickest nib nor the most alert to opposition movement, and his passing as often misses as hits.

Yesterday however, the fellow shirked no responsibility, and made not one false move. It was as close to flawless as such things get. I suspect that defending deep benefits the man, as it removes from the equation any test of his pace (or lack thereof) – as was the case with John Terry, a few years back – but even so, much had to be done positionally, and Dier did not miss a trick. Be it a block, interception or tackle, the lad was not to be beaten.

5. Our Title Parade in May

It would be easy to recline, light a smug cigar and lovingly ramble on about the contributions of all involved, but as there are another six months until we are eventually crowned champions there seems plenty of time to single out each of the individual title-winners before the white and blue ribbons are eventually tied around the thing.

It is such a formality that there seems a pretty strong chance that the league will just be called off now and the silverware packed off to N17 immediately, and few around the country would quibble.

The only things that can possible prevent our title parade – and they are but minor details – are our central defence, and the potential (nay, inevitable) injuries to key personnel.

With regards to centre-backs, the audible twang of Toby’s groin was the only blot on yesterday’s escutcheon. I don’t mind admitting that I don’t trust any of our gaggle of central defenders, but I probably mistrust Toby the least, even if he is not quite the reliable rock of old.

But with Sanchez yet to convince that he can complete 90 minutes without at least one costly aberration, Rodon untried at this level and Tanganga very much categorised as ‘Promising But Flawed’, one does rather bite the lip nervously at the prospect of one of the above manning the gates in our coming fixtures.

Moreover, where Toby has fallen foul of muscle-based woe, you can bet your mortgage that one or two others will follow in due course. And while our squad depth is like nothing previously seen around these parts, long-term injuries to any of Hojbjerg, Kane or Son in particular would considerably weaken the whole.

Rather a shame to speculate on this, as the title would otherwise be ours at a canter, clearly, but into all lives must some rain must fall, as the chap blathered.

Nevertheless, after such a pleasing afternoon’s work as yesterday’s, the only reasonable point of debate now seems to be whether Ledley will be allowed to lift the Premier League trophy in May.

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