Tag: Mathys Tel

Spurs 1-4 Brighton: Five Tottenham Talking Points

Post author By AANP
Post date May 26, 2025
23 Comments on Spurs 1-4 Brighton: Five Tottenham Talking Points

1. Bentancur’s Hangover Cure

I don’t think I’m speaking out of turn when I describe this one as “inconsequential”. The definition the nearest dictionary throws out me is “Adjective: Not important or significant”, and while I assume that professionalism forbad The Brains Trust from imparting such sage and accurate assessment to our heroes immediately prior to kick-off, the unspoken word was very evidently firing on all cylinders. Everyone knew. Never mind that a full house was in attendance, the outcome of this one was not really the key issue that had the masses gripped.

Nevertheless, before our heroes could provide cold, hard and shiny evidence of being trophy-winners and champions of Europe, there was a match to be played, so the appropriate pleasantries were undertaken.

And I suspect I was as surprised as anyone else in the auditorium when various members of the collective burst out of the traps. After events of the preceding 72 or so hours, sprightliness and energy were frankly the last things I was expecting to see. One did not have to be one of the great literary sleuths to work out that our heroes had flung heart and soul into enjoying the moment – and to a man, woman and child we applauded them and egged them on.

If AANP were asked to put a hand on the Bible and commit to telling the truth and nothing but, he would admit to having sucked of the sauce when circumstances demanded, and even of having over-indulged in this area on the rare, regrettable occasion. But it is with the benefit of this experience that I can assert with some confidence that while the imbibing of choice elixirs can be an absolute hoot in the moment – with the right company about, and the right concoction in hand – what comes to pass in the following days can prove seriously challenging to the constitution.

It was in this context that I expected a near-total absence of enthusiasm from our heroes. You can therefore picture my surprise on observing that Rodrigo Bentancur began the game as arguably the most animated of the entire gang.

Here was a man who seemingly had refused to stand upright unless clutching a vial of some description in the hand in the days following our win. By all accounts he also refused to sleep for a day or so after our triumph, evidently reasoning that Nature’s Sweet Restorer comes a distant second to immersing oneself in the joy of a European trophy win.

No blame attached there at all, but where he therefore found the vim to tear around the pitch from the opening whistle, flying into challenges as if his life depended on them, was beyond me. In my experience, a soft pillow and some closed curtains are the principal requirements after a few consecutive days on the bottle. The moral of that particular story seemed to be to find out the morning-after cure adopted by our Uruguayan cousins and cherish it as gold dust.

In fact, if anything, Bentancur was swanning about the place with a bit too much spice. An early challenge down by the byline seemed to have about it much of the two-feet-leaving-the-ground, and only a linesman’s flag for offside negated that at source as an argument, but shortly before half-time he did pick up a caution, as possibly his fifth full-length diving challenge of the afternoon delivered a harvest of Ball – None; Man – Plenty.

All this was particularly striking because although Bentancur is not exactly a stranger to a yellow card, his is a reputation that has been built more upon the cerebral and well-anticipated interception, rather than the crunching, not-too-many-damns-given flying boot.

However, a midfield incarnation of Romero on his more hot-headed days was evidently the persona he wished to adopt yesterday, and that decision having been made he embraced it with gusto. Allowing for those occasional errant and mistimed challenges, this was a midfield performance that was pretty impressive.

2. Gray

Another who caught the AANP eye in that punchy first half was Archie Gray. His has been quite the character arc this season. As we all recall, having been shoved into central defence, and presumably advised to enjoy himself but keep mistakes to a minimum, he proceeded to flabbergast by patrolling the region like a seasoned pro, and was feted accordingly. When he therefore finally received his chance in his preferred midfield habitat, lips were licked and gleeful hands rubbed.

Alas, and as was again well documented, what had been presented as a pretty surefire winner, went alarmingly wrong. His performance in midfield against Liverpool in particular was pretty ghastly stuff, and while one might reason with some justification that he hasn’t been quite as bad in midfield since, this truth does nevertheless overlook the fact that he has not been particularly good in midfield since, either.

Until yesterday, that is, when in the first half I thought he pottered about with a bit of meaning. It was what one might have termed a pretty decent Bentancur Tribute Act. He intercepted, he picked passes and he tackled – the latter talent notably deployed in winning possession high up the pitch in the episode that immediately resulted in Tel scurrying into the area and winning the penalty.

The inconsequential air that hung around the place throughout meant that useful conclusions drawn were at a premium, and any performances, rip-snorting or otherwise, were best advised to be taken with a generous pinch of salt. Nevertheless, I was encouraged to see real-life evidence that, when the stars align, Archie Gray actually can hit various of the right notes in a midfield role.

3. Danso

Kevin Danso was another who, on a day and in a match of greater consequence, might have earned himself a complimentary inclination of the head.

The case of Kevin Danso specifically at AANP Towers has been a slightly rummy one so far this season, because practically everyone with whom I have conversed on the topic has rather brightly suggested that here’s a one with something about him, only to be met with one of my more dubious eyes. Which is not to say I thought he’d stunk out the place so far; more that I hadn’t really been bowled over by his defensive contributions. One of those non-committal shrugs accompanied by one of those non-committal platitudes summed up the AANP take on the chap to date.

That started to change on Wednesday night, when I thought he was note-perfect in his little defensive cameo, to help us see the thing home. It was not an occasion that called for vision and distribution, just clear-headed thinking and a willingness to fling all available limbs into the line of fire.

Having impressed thus, he was given a slightly different remit yesterday, tasked with overseeing defensive matters instead of rather than alongside Romero. With VDV given an hour on the left of the centre-backs, Danso was presumably required to do Romero-type things, such as winning headers and cutting out crosses, and in the first half in particular he impressed in these respects.

If this could be considered an audition of sorts, for the role of Romero understudy, one might suggest that he did enough to earn a couple more stabs. Faultless it wasn’t, but whereas for example Dragusin has sometimes given the impression of a chap who lied in his interview and is being found out now that the real stuff has kicked in, Danso at least gives the impression that he knows what is expected and has played the part before.

4. Tel

A quick word too on Tel, who put in one of those shifts that had me hesitantly hovering the finger over a few different categories.

On the one hand one could make a reasonable argument that, in the first half, the opposing right-back would not have been thrilled to discover that pretty much the entirety of the Tottenham game-plan involved switching the ball to Tel and letting him run. One did not get the impression that the nearest Brighton chappie punched the air and mouthed to his chums, “Leave this one to me” each time the aforementioned routine was put in motion. And if a player’s worth can be gauged by how little thrilled the opposition are by his inputs, then one might suggest Tel added value.

And to embellish the whole argument, one might also point to the fact that it was Tel’s fleetness of foot that won us our penalty. It was clumsy muck from the Brighton squirt, but all the more credit to Tel for enticing such clog-headedness.

On the other hand, however, the AANP map did produce a few frowns as the half wore on, because for all the service he was given, Tel’s ‘End Product’ sack looked pretty empty. The penalty earned is to his credit; but he seemed to have four or five other opportunities to run at his full-back and either tiptoe past him or set up an arriving chum, and I don’t recall him doing either.

Moreover, I do recall him wasting a glorious chance to put us two-nil up later in the first half. One suspects that our bleary-eyed heroes would still have found a way to fritter away such a lead, but nevertheless, it did not reflect too well on young Tel. The disclaimer, however, remains, that this was not really one upon which lasting judgements should be based.

5. The Second Half Hangover

One theory that has reached the AANP ears is that our heroes began the game with the adrenaline of the occasion still coursing through them. With the cheers of the adoring public still ringing in their ears, and the celebratory atmosphere still very much in evidence in the build-up to the game, it has been suggested that come kick-off a rush of euphoria inhabited our heroes, driving them in general, and Bentancur in particular, to impressive heights.

Mark the sequel, however, because the theory continues that by the time the second half scooted into view, that well of adrenaline had begun to run dry. And when that happened, the after-effects of the three-day party really did begin to hit our heroes.

Impressed though I was that none of them actually collapsed on their backs and declared that they had had enough, or crawled over to the nearest lavatory bowl into which they could stick their head, I nevertheless received the distinct impression in that second half that the race was run. The pungent aromas of the previous days’ festivities almost visibly began to creep up on them. While substitutions were made, the fact that those entering the fray had themselves left mountains of evidence of their revelry rather suggested that their impact would be minimal, and so it proved.

However, in the manner that some modern films now do when they try too hard to be clever, I return to the opening line of all this, and stress that this was all pretty inconsequential. Put another way, in years to come, I’m not too sure that many in lilywhite will introduce this as the day on which Spurs lost 4-1, or excitedly babble “I was there on the day we shipped four in the second half alone.”

But “I was there on the day Spurs paraded their European trophy around the pitch”? It’s one to remember.

AANP’s book ‘All Action No Plot: Postecoglou’s First Season’, is out now for just £7.99 from Amazon (ebook from £6.99) – while Spurs’ Cult Heroes, covering our previous European triumphs, is also still available

Tags Archie Gray, Brighton, Cristian Romero, Kevin Danso, Mathys Tel, Premier League, Radu Dragusin, Rodrigo Bentancur

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Aston Villa 2-0 Spurs: Three Tottenham Talking Points

Post author By AANP
Post date May 18, 2025
5 Comments on Aston Villa 2-0 Spurs: Three Tottenham Talking Points

AANP’s latest book ‘All Action No Plot: Postecoglou’s First Season’, is out now for just £7.99 from Amazon (ebook from £6.99) – while Spurs’ Cult Heroes is also still available

Apologies for the tardiness, you know how life is. However, even two sleeps later, one struggles to nail down the silver linings from this one.

Admittedly, this was another fixture quite unashamedly shoved into the “Doesn’t Matter, Don’t Care” pot by Our Glorious Leader – and after the Dejan Kulusevski Episode against Palace the previous week, one did understand his thinking.

Now it is true that our players don’t actually need to be playing competitive matches to pick up their injuries. For instance, our newly-minted Player of the Season, young Bergvall, apparently rolled his ankle on the training pitch. A few months back Solanke’s knee fell off whilst similarly scampering about the roomy pitches of Hotspur Way. One might therefore argue that it was all well and good slapping Romero and VDV in cryo-chambers during the Villa game, and sealing closed the lids, just to make absolutely sure, but merely removing them from the Premier League arena is no guarantee that a piano won’t fall from the sky and onto one of their heads between now and Wednesday night in Bilbao.

However, one still understood Ange’s mentality, having seen the Kulusevski frame irreparably damaged 20 minutes into a meaningless fixture last weekend. With all eggs firmly wedged in the Europa basket there was no way he was going to risk his most prized – and brittle – assets in the final meaningless fixture before Wednesday. Any slightest inclination he might have had towards giving Romero and VDV a chance to break sweat on Friday night would have gone up in a puff of smoke the moment Kulusevski limped off.

Thus it transpired that Mikey Moore was ushered back into the first team changing room. If anyone amongst us had ever taken a look at a new-born foal clambering gingerly to its legs, and immediately written off its chances of surviving more than five minutes in the unforgiving surrounds of the Serengeti, they would have known how to feel when watching young M.M. take to the pitch for kick-off.

Similarly, Sergio Reguilon was reawakened from hibernation, dragged back into the sunlight and told to lace up his boots and blend in with the others as best he could for an hour. Ange could not have made it more obvious that he was fielding the reserves if he had taken out a double-page spread in The Times to advertise the fact.

As it happened, in the first half this assorted crew of outcasts and reserves muddle through. Note the absence of adverb, mind – it would be a stretch to suggest that they muddle through ‘with elan’, or ‘exceptionally well’. One might suggest that they held up an end, if you don’t mind a spot of cricketing parlance. They spat on their hands and toiled away.

To their credit they carried out instructions about as well as could have been hoped, preventing Villa from scoring, albeit this also owed something to some errant finishing and one or two smart-ish stops from young Kinsky. But if the last words ringing in their ears prior to kick-off had been “Try to avoid complete humiliation” then they could probably have patted one another’s backs at half-time on a box emphatically ticked.

In fact, if anything we looked slightly likelier than Villa to score in that first half, in one of those quirks of football that come about when you defend deep for 10 minutes at a time. Every now and then when we cleared our lines it transpired that the Villa mob had inadvertently wandered so high up the pitch that there were actually inviting counter-attack opportunities. Our attacking mob being nothing if not blessed with a spot of pace, this caused a spot of panic for Villa as they rushed back and our heroes came within one well-picked pass of taking the lead.

In a nutshell, that first half struck me as the sort of thing one would get if Nuno were back in charge and had the troops well drilled. Rather a far cry from Angeball, but this is where we find ourselves, what?

The wheels came off somewhat in the second half, as some rather basic defensive lapses let Villa pinch their goals and kill things off. One can wheeze on a little longer about the performance, but it would be pretty redundant because this was never really about the performance itself, but about the wider context – viz. injuries, and, frankly, the general passage of time until Wednesday night.

2. Son

I alluded above to the sense that there were so few silver linings that one could count them on the fingers of one hand and still have surplus. However, AANP is the sort of chap who likes to dwell on the positives, and in the extended cameo from Son one could probably puff out the cheeks with a bit of relief.

For a start, when exiting the stage he was able to do so of his own means and without the need for any medical interjection. ‘Sportsman Leaves Pitch Unaided’ might not sound like the most gripping headline to hook the masses, but at N17 these days it is a bit of an event, and given that this was only his second match back the odds on him emerging unscathed were short enough to have onlookers holding their breath.

And frankly, simply making it that far without slumping to the turf with some unspecified ailment would have sufficed. He need not have touched the ball at all throughout his innings. Walking off unaided having scampered around for an hour would have been marked down as a firm win by the club’s data analysts and medical team.

As it happened though, Sonny delivered far more than this. He actually displayed a burst of pace that had the opposing full-back regularly panicking – and if that statement has a slightly retro feel to it, it will be because it’s one of the phrases I pulled from the attic and had to blow the dust off before using, having last written it some time back in the 2024/25 season.

And yet there it was, in glorious technicolour, and on more than one occasion. Son would be released around the halfway line, and in rather charming, nostalgic manner, swiftly went through the gears until he was tearing away towards the Villa penalty area.

Admittedly, he tended to make the wrong decision once he reached his destination, his attempts to crown proceedings with an appropriate coup de grace tending to result in a pass behind the accompanying strikers and a lot of arms flung in the air from all concerned – but one thing at a time, what? Having spent all season moaning that the chap’s inner fires have diminished alarmingly, and that he seemed barely able to accelerate beyond a trot, the sight of him whizzing up the flank again was as encouraging as it as startling.

3. The Formation

Beyond the healthy return of Son, however, there was precious little else about which to register signs of life, let alone enthusiasm. Kinsky, I suppose, performed reasonably enough, which is to say that he made saves one would expect a sentient goalkeeper to make. Danso, although hardly the second coming of Toby or Jan, seemed at least to understand the basic requirements of the role.

As mentioned above, poor old Mikey Moore had a tough time of things as the realisation quickly dawned that being a boy in a man’s world is not all japes and frolics. Moore’s struggles to make any sort of imprint on the game without being promptly swatted away by a burly Villa sort struck me as a useful salutary lesson, not just for those amongst us who have called for his regular inclusion (a group amongst whom I often number), but also those who, in a fit of pique and despair, stamp their feet a bit and call for the regular mob to be jettisoned and the kids to be given a chance.

As much as anything else, casting the beady eye over Friday’s proceedings had me wondering quite what formation will be adopted on Wednesday night. Ange seems to have struck oil in Europe with the deployment of two holding midfielders in front of the back-four, roles performed with surprising authority by Messrs Bentancur and Bissouma.

The problems begin, however, further north. With Maddison and Kulusevski out of the picture, the question of who else to throw in there has the brightest minds chewing the lip and scratching the old loaf. Sarr is presumably the next cab on the rank, but an attacking, Number 10 sort of fish he most decidedly is not; so if he played, what would this do to the formation?

A case could be made for dropping Sarr deeper and deploying Bentancur in the more attacking spot, as I recall he did reasonably well in the last World Cup for Uruguay; but this would represent a rather sudden and experimental deviation from the norm.

At times against Villa we appeared to morph gently towards a rather old-fashioned 4-4-2, with Tel supporting Odobert in attack. While this has a certain charm, it again would represent one heck of a gamble. I mean, unveiling a shiny new formation, barely tried and expected to produce the goods in a Cup Final, seems a bit rich, don’t you think? Moreover, donning the tactical hat, a 4-4-2 could potentially leave our heroes outnumbered in midfield – and let’s face it, our midfield has not exactly been Fort Knox even when manned by a trio.

And yet, in terms of personnel, we seem best stocked for some such Two-Upfront jamboree, with either Richarlison, Odobert or Tel at least available to support Solanke. Put another way, the cup overfloweth with forwards, whilst in the realm of attacking midfielders we are decidedly less well equipped.

I don’t really envy Our Glorious Leader having to rearrange the pieces for this one, as whatever he chooses it seems likely that he won’t be able to avoid having to gamble with someone or other in an unfamiliar role. The post-semi final optimism at AANP Towers took a bit of a battering with the injuries to Maddison and then Kulusevski. It’s hope rather than expectation over here.

All pretty dashed exciting though. A European final, and against an eminently-beatable – if challenging – opponent cannot fail to get the juices flowing. For the next few days at least, we can all wave away the League concerns and managerial grumbling, and instead rub the hands in glee and do a spot of dreaming.

COYS!

Tags Ange Postecoglou, Antonin Kinsky, aston villa, Cristian Romero, Dejan Kulusevski, Dominic Solanke, James Maddison, Kevin Danso, Mathys Tel, Micky Van de Ven, Mikey Moore, Premier League, Rodrigo Bentancur, Son Heung Min, Wilson Odobert, Yves Bissouma

Spurs match reports

Spurs 0-2 Palace: Three Tottenham Talking Points

Post author By AANP
Post date May 12, 2025
25 Comments on Spurs 0-2 Palace: Three Tottenham Talking Points

AANP’s latest book ‘All Action No Plot: Postecoglou’s First Season’, is out now for just £7.99 from Amazon (ebook from £6.99) – while Spurs’ Cult Heroes is also still available

1. More Garbage, and a Binary Choice

The same old, same old, what? No surprises here. The performance was, I presume, precisely what we’d all expected, and the battle-lines were drawn long ago. Those whose motto is “For the love of God, go!” – a quorum one might term, ‘The Majority’ – stand on one side. Actually, come to think of it, they stand pretty much everywhere you care to look.

A quieter brigade, more inclined to wait and see how Ange would fare in a third season and with a squad a bit fuller on substance, lurk hither and thither.

And various others make up the remainder, they being the souls for whom articulation of their position requires a pad, a pen, and a few minutes to scribble out the implications – whether or not we win in Bilbao; how much weight should be placed upon European performances; how much one can stomach of the weekly, abject surrender in the League, and so on.

I’m not sure we really need a show of hands at present, but one comment on the airwaves that caused me to scratch behind the ear and ponder was that we Spurs fans have lamented – and other dastardly sorts have mocked – over the years, as we’ve finished anywhere from 2^nd to 5^th, and bemoaned the fact that Champions League qualification is all well and good, but there are no trophies. Those seasons in which we finished 2^nd and 3^rd in particular, with nothing to show, still keep AANP awake and grinding the teeth a bit at night, dash it.

Worth noting, at this point, that on last inspection there still aren’t any trophies – but if we are to win next week, I for one will pretty happily sacrifice a proud league position in the Top Five for it (the fact that it would also earn CL qualification is not really the point, so I’ll place to one side for now).

Now finishing 17^th is certainly stretching the definition of ‘Sacrificing a proud league position in the Top Five’ to its absolute extreme. Not really what anyone had in mind, admittedly. But still, the point remains that I’d probably accept finishing outside the CL spots as a one-off, if it hooked us a shiny pot.

And once the old cogs started whirring, there was no stopping them. The next thought that had smoke billowing from the ears was that, given that the last time we reached a European final (Poch, Ajax and all that, in 2019) we again finished some way off the Top Four, I’d also venture that our squad simply isn’t – and never has been – equipped for the rigours of a campaign that is successful on two fronts. The 60 games required for a successful European mooch has left our lot gasping and wheezing.

Where the fault lies for that one is a debate for which I’ll quietly exit the room, allowing others to roll up their sleeves and crack their knuckles, but the when the dust settles it does seem to appear that a trophy – and particularly a European one – is only earned at the expense of Top Four league form. It’s a binary choice. Top Four/Five, or a European trophy, but not both.

The plot no doubt thickens when domestic trophies are introduced, as one could feasibly pick up one within half a dozen extra games. Palace certainly made our lot blush with shame with their demonstration of how to approach a Cup Final appearance.

The Europa run, however, evidently requires a bit more fuel than an FA Cup run – and our lot simply haven’t eaten enough spinach to make it through 60 games. Either the first-choice mob collapse in a heap to the soundtrack of yelps of pain, or the second string come in to relive them and promptly engineer a monstrosity of the ilk seen yesterday.

And yesterday was, yet again, as wretched as these things get. Defeats happen, one can grudgingly admit, but performances that play out as the 90-minute equivalent of a stifled yawn ought to elicit some wild and draconian punishment.

As has been parroted on a weekly basis, no matter the quality in Europe, motivating the players for the other stuff is the responsibility of Our Glorious Leader. For every impressive Europa performance he oversees, he seems intent on undoing any goodwill and pronto the following Sunday.

2. Kinsky

On the bright side, that Kinsky bean can probably look back on his afternoon’s work without the same sense of disgrace as just about every one of his chums. It’s a bar so low that it simply lies on the ground, but he was probably the standout chappie.

Mind you, even he had his wobbles, as tends usually to happen to him at some point between 1 and 90. Still possessed by a level of confidence in his kicking ability that I’m not convinced is matched by the output of his size nines, he once again made the AANP heart skip a beat or two when surveying his options with ball at feet yesterday. Not one to rush into a pass if there remains an option to use up every available nanosecond, his dubious tendency to wait until an opposition striker was almost upon him, and then slightly stuff his pass anyway, was once again on display.

There was also one uncomfortable moment in which he made quite the production of what appeared at first sight to be a straightforward shot aimed low to his left, in the first half. I might do the man an almighty injustice here, I suppose. It might be that the ball spun and spat with the vicious unpredictability of one of those mystery spinners from the sub-continent that one hears about on TMS. However, it looked to my untrained eye as if Kinsky dropped himself down as per the textbook instruction, and then paddled around a bit once there, patting the ball back out to his right, for all nearby to engage in an almighty scramble to get there first and have their way.

He remedied it in the end, helpfully enough, so one need not dwell, and as mentioned, he did everything else one would have expected of him, and threw in a few bonus saves too. Back in that glorious era when the game was still alive, the scores level and the faintest whiff of competitive interest still hung faintly in the air, Kinsky seemed convinced that much depended on keeping Palace at bay, and extended all available limbs to their limits in order to achieve this.

One save in particular, from close range in the first half, prompted an impressed murmur of “Golly”, from the AANP lips, it involving the young cove extending himself in all directions at once, in a manner of which any passing spider would have been proud, and somehow repelling a shot from a distance of approximately three yards.

It says much, of course, about the output of the collective when the Outstanding Performer Gong is won by a comfortable mile by the goalkeeper, and even then when flaws can be easily spotted in his performance. But still, might as well celebrate the wins, what?

3. The Rollcall of Ignominy

Because everywhere else one looked one was tempted to shake the head in a manner intended to sting.

I’ll start with that midfield. Bentancur, Sarr and Gray ought to be a triumvirate that elicits expectant nods and maybe even a gleeful rubbing off the hands, when announced pre-kick-off. There isn’t a lilywhite amongst us who hasn’t been eagerly awaiting the emergence of Gray as some species of midfield prodigy, following the quietly impressive way in which he handled himself at centre-back.

And it’s not so long ago that Sarr was the bright young thing in midfield himself, an all-singing, all-dancing ball of energy who just needed the furniture around him to be arranged correctly in order to dash about the place running operations. With Bentancur showing in those Europa jollies a capacity to steady ships and give sensibly, there seemed much to look forward to.

But these three seemed to be of the opinion that if you’re going to let down your paying public, you might as well do so spectacularly, for as unit they simply melted away whenever Palace had the ball. Messrs B., S. and G. allowed the other lot to wander as close as they pleased to our goal, without any hint of stopping them to carry out some spot-checks and ask meaningful questions.

For the first disallowed goal, the midfield three were stranded miles up the pitch. Gray, in fairness, was loosely in the vicinity, but not really offering much in the way of assistance, while Sarr and Bentancur seemed to have more pressing engagements up around the halfway line.

Of the two-man protective shield that has been in evidence on Thursday nights, there was no sign. Bentancur at least had the dignity to use possession well when he had it, but defensive duties just weren’t on the menu.

Nor did things improve in the second half, when Bissouma replaced Bentancur. Bissouma wasted little time in picking up one of his utterly fat-headed bookings for dissent, and then seemed to consider that his afternoon’s work was done. For the second Palace goal, both he and Gray had ample opportunity to break into the trot necessary to prevent Eze having an unhindered pop at goal, but neither bothered.

Gray’s distribution was often wildly awry, and Sarr seemed, not for the first time, not really to know the specifics of his job or the more general question of what sport he was playing.

Those elsewhere did not cover themselves in glory either. Young Spence was similarly caught upfield seemingly every time Palace attacked. It was little surprise that the Palace right-back Munoz had an absolute whale of a time, because every time his colleagues attacked he was happy to stretch his limbs and yell for the ball, safe in the knowledge that Spence was a good dozen or so yards out of position.

Spence did actually look pretty useful coming forward in possession, particularly in the second half, but to have been so far out of defensive position on so many occasions did boggle the mind rather.

As for the attacking mob, once Kulusevski limped off to be replaced by the rarely-spotted Mikey Moore, a collective ripple went about the place that we looked awfully short of upper-body muscle, and Messrs Odobert, Tel and Moore dutifully spent the next hour or so demonstrating precisely that.

Moore gave the odd fleeting glimpse of that trickery for which we all pine, and I suppose all three of them might benefit individually if utilised within a strong XI that plays to their strengths. But none of these criteria seemed to apply yesterday, and after a while the whole thing looked like a Bryan Gil tribute show.

All rather a shame, because in the opening few minutes Kulusevski gave the impression that he planned to make a bit of mischief. Nice to see Sonny back I suppose, although he’ll have to deliver one heck of a performance to convince me that a return to his heights of yesteryear is simmering away beneath the surface.

I remain yet to be convinced by Danso, although one does understand why he has his backers. With a little spit and polish he could turn into a dependable sort; but anyone who has to spend their afternoon alongside Ben Davies and behind a midfield who check out and don’t return, will find the odds stacked against him.

Depressingly, we can presumably expect more of the same against Villa, when Our Glorious Leader faces the unwelcome conundrum of whether to field VDV and Romero (plus Solanke and various others), in order to keep their engines running ahead of Bilbao, but in so doing risk yet another key injury.

Tags Ange Postecoglou, Antonin Kinsky, Archie Gray, Ben Davies, Crystal Palace, Dejan Kulusevski, Djed Spence, Kevin Danso, Mathys Tel, Pape Matar Sarr, Premier League, Rodrigo Bentancur, Son Heung Min, Wilson Odobert, Yves Bissouma

Spurs match reports

Spurs 3-1 Bodo Glimt: Three Tottenham Talking Points

Post author By AANP
Post date May 2, 2025
3 Comments on Spurs 3-1 Bodo Glimt: Three Tottenham Talking Points

AANP’s latest book ‘All Action No Plot: Postecoglou’s First Season’, is out now for just £7.99 from Amazon (ebook from £6.99) – while Spurs’ Cult Heroes is also still available

1. Richarlison

Well I think the first order of business is to park myself at the desk and start penning a few heartfelt apologies. There are a several in our number I’ve not missed an opportunity to stick the knife into over the course of this and previous seasons, and they were all queueing up last night to ram various choice words straight back down my throat.

Richarlison is a good case in point. One might delicately say that AANP has not always been entirely enamoured of the honest fellow’s outputs. “Least technically gifted Brazilian ever” springs to mind as a phrase I once tossed in his direction, and although we can playfully punch each other’s shoulders and talk about jokes amongst the boys, there’s no getting away from the fact that that one was meant to sting.

Yesterday however, the honest fellow took to the pitch like a Brazilian intent on letting remarks about his technique wash over him like water. In fact it would not be a stretch to say that he set the tone for the whole humdinging display.

I don’t mind admitting that when I saw the teamsheet I reacted to his name with a pretty stunned silence. Truth be told, I hadn’t even considered him as an option on the left. Tel or Odobert seemed the obvious choices, Mikey Moore at a stretch. And if The Brains Trust really wanted to embrace their experimental selves, it seemed likelier that Kulusevski, Johnson or Maddison would pop up on the west flank to fill the Sonny-shaped hole. Richarlison simply didn’t cross my mind.

But selected he was, and if Ange wanted to fix me with one of those inscrutable stares and croak something about hindsight proving it a tactical masterstroke, I’d probably hold up my hands and grant him that.

Having digested the news of his selection, I did spend a goodish while mulling away as to what Richarlison’s remit would be. Would he try to emulate the Son of yesteryear, by breaking at pace from halfway; or channel his inner Odobert, Tel of Mikey Moore, by throwing in stepovers and trickery until the full-back had twisted blood?

As it turns out, Richarlison gave evidence that in his younger days he may have been a boy scout or something similar, because he went about his business with the motto “Just be yourself” clearly ringing in his ears. Rather than trying to throw in an impression of Sonny or Odobert, he set about the task by asking himself “What would Richarlison do?”, and being better placed than most to answer this, he rolled up his sleeves and immediately started providing real-time answers.

Within about ten seconds of kick-off, he flung in an aerial cross from the left, and a dashed effective one it was too. Rarely-sighted beasts these days, aerial crosses from the left. Porro on t’other side occasionally dabbles, but generally whomever is stationed on the left tends more often to be in the market for lower deliveries that fizz across the area for Brennan Johnson to tap in at the far post. I can barely remember us flinging in a left-footed, aerial cross from the left, and inviting those assembled to make of it what they will.

Richarlison, however, seemed of the opinion that there was no better way to start the day than to do precisely that, and a gratifying degree of bedlam it caused too. The forehead of Dominic Solanke has been criminally underused this season, but his eyes lit up at that cross, and with Johnson lurking at the far post as Johnson does, we were surprisingly well-stocked for takers. The cross may have been scrambled clear, but a vigorous nod of approval from AANP was in the mail.

Richarlison demonstrated a further commendable trait moments later, when the ball was recycled and Porro delivered one of his aforementioned aerial crosses from the right. This being aimed towards the back post, Richarlison was again in business – and again, it struck me that he was adding an element to our game that none of Son, Tel or Odobert can really provide, viz. the back-post header.

Son seems literally scared of the ball if it leaves the ground, and the either two are a bit too happy to excuse themselves from consideration on the grounds of height or build or some such. Richarlison though was pretty game. I think he fancies himself as a bit of a one when it comes the airborne muck. He might not have been able to direct it towards goal himself, but the option he chose was comfortably as effective, looping the thing over to the unmarked Johnson (who to his credit made his finish look very straightforward, when such things are easy to pickle).

This all occurred within the first 40 seconds or so, but for the remainder of the half Richarlison continued to run a pretty good race. He beavered in midfield, linked up play, delivered a good variety of short and slightly longer passes, and kept the opposing full-back on his toes. No huge surprise that he was hooked after 45, given his lack of match-practice and the general puffing and panting he put into that first half, but as remarked at the outset, something of an apology is due from this quarter. Quite the innings.

2. Bissouma

Another who wormed his way back into the AANP good books most unexpectedly was Bissouma. If one wanted to ignore all the positives and mope about the place professing gloom and disaster, one might moan that the fellow ought to play like that every bally game.

There would be a degree of validity to such a point, I suppose. He was brought into the fold precisely on the basis of performances like that in his former life at Brighton – all discipline and energy. But frankly one glosses over the fact that his two or three seasons in lilywhite have been more miss than hit, because last night, when it mattered more than usual, he delivered of his best.

Frankly, the goal aside, Bodo Glimt had nary a sniff, and while the collective takes credit, Bissouma’s repeated Seek-and-Destroy routines played a huge part. It was all the more impressive given the absence of Bergvall, news of which I must confess froze me in my tracks and prompted the skipping of a heartbeat or two that I’ll never get back.

But Bissouma filled the void like a trooper. One appreciates the farcical nature of praising a seasoned international for deputising for a newly-hatched teen who’s only been a few months in the Starting XI, but it was still a vital role to play, and Bissouma played it with a few plombs.

3. Solanke and the Concern Around His Absence

Words of commendation too for Destiny Udogie and James Maddison. In fact, one could take a deep breath and spew out words of commendation for the entire regiment, this being one of those performances in which all in lilywhite burst to the seams with their A-games. Even in this context, however, I thought that both Udogie and Maddison were particularly impressive.

Much of what was good about our play emanated from the size nines of Udogie, they being employed for the dual purposes of snuffling possession from the other lot, and then immediately redirecting operations to Attack Mode.

Maddison too was at the heart of a lot of our better moments. Having spent much of his evening in the role of string-puller-in-chief, it was rather impressive to see him pop up in goalscoring peep-holes too – and not for the first time on the big occasion.

The manner in which he took his goal was Dele-esque, boasting as it did exquisite control in the first place. I was particularly taken by the little hesitation he then inserted – pausing to travel another yard rather than shooting immediately, a manoeuvre that was pretty subtle to the naked eye but had the most satisfactory effect of dragging the goalkeeper from his moorings and depositing him on the floor, when really he wanted to be leaping full length. Marvellous stuff.

However, if absence makes the heart grow fonder, it struck me that Solanke’s might have been the really critical contribution. A slightly controversial take amongst the masses, I’m sure. If you were to goggle a bit, and re-read the sentence with a narrow eye, I can’t say I’d blame you.

In fact, while he was on the pitch, I thought Solanke was mucking in well, as they all were, but not necessarily any better than his nearby chums.

However, once he hobbled off stage left, I started to appreciate a bit more the wholesome content he brought to proceedings. Put simply, we rather lost our attacking edge once he went off. None of the reserve lieutenants seem able to lead the line – and, specifically, the press – quite like he does. Nor do they put in the off-the-ball graft in the less fashionable areas, or provide a beacon towards which to aim at the top end of the pitch; but it was the abandonment of the press after his removal that rather nagged over here.

As such, the medical bods ought to work every available hour to patch him up and glue him back together in time for next week. Listening back after the event, the chatter I heard after we’d conceded seemed rather over-the-top in truth. The telly sorts gave the impression that we’d taken a 5-0 drubbing and were so doomed in the second leg that it was barely worth our turning up; but while I fancy our European alter egos to do what’s necessary next week, the task will be infinitely harder minus Solanke.

Tags Ange Postecoglou, Bodo Glimt, Destiny Udogie, Dominic Solanke, Europa League, James Maddison, Lucas Bergvall, Mathys Tel, Mikey Moore, Richarlison, Son Heung Min, Wilson Odobert, Yves Bissouma

Spurs match reports

Spurs 1-2 Forest: Three Tottenham Talking Points

Post author By AANP
Post date April 22, 2025
12 Comments on Spurs 1-2 Forest: Three Tottenham Talking Points

AANP’s latest book ‘All Action No Plot: Postecoglou’s First Season’, is out now for just £7.99 from Amazon (ebook from £6.99) – while Spurs’ Cult Heroes is also still available

1. Not a Bad Performance

I don’t doubt that there are some amongst us whose faces darken every time they hear the name of Our Glorious Leader, and who keep in their breast pocket a bullet, or dagger, or little vial of cyanide inscribed with the letters ‘A.P.”, while they await the right moment. To each their own, of course. It takes all sorts.

AANP continues to hope that the Postecoglou approach bears fruit, especially when watching those Europa performances unfold, and was therefore inclined to give the head a sympathetic tilt when drinking in last night’s action. I thought our lot played well enough to earn the win. Hardly humdinging, admittedly, but well enough, once we’d politely offered them those two early goals.

I don’t really approve of The Nuno Way myself. Good luck to Forest of course but Nuno’s dirge-like approach of removing all attacking thoughts from the mind, once his teams have nabbed an early goal or two, and defending their own area for over an hour, is not at all AANP’s brand of cognac.

But I suppose if you’re going to present the opposition with a couple of early goals to set the scene, you can’t then turn around and bleat that the reap-sow setup is making the eyes bleed. Concede two of the simplest goals imaginable, and you dashed well have to accept that the other lot might pull down the shutters, turn off the lights and refuse to engage in anything outside their own area.

However, this scene having been set, I thought our lot at least had a decent stab at things thereafter. The cross-heavy approach represented a bit of a departure from the previously-established brand, but once our lot had understood the assignment they made a decent stab of it.

Presumably there are those amongst us who will wrinkle the face and direct some bile towards the Big Cheese for pulling his usual trick of taking a good thing and removing six elevenths of it, Postecoglou ringing the changes from the Frankfurt win. His prerogative, of course. Personally, at this stage of the season, I’d be more inclined to leave the reserves on the sidelines to rot, consoling themselves if they must, with a reminder of the sizeable cheques they pocket each month, and leaving the first-choice mob to build up a head of steam in the League each week.

And while Spence at left-back seemed fine and dandy self, and the front three beavered away impressively enough, I was a little deflated to see the dismantling of the midfield trio that seemed to have stumbled upon some rhythm in recent Europa jollies.

Sarr, I suppose, was busy enough, but the absence of Bergvall was nevertheless felt; and Kulusevski looked every inch a chappie who’s been off the scene for a while. I guess we can all watch with interest to see where he’s got to by the time Bodo Glimdt roll around, but it will create an intriguing poser for Ange if he were to get up to speed by next Thursday, because the Bentancur-Maddison-Bergvall triumvirate has started to look the part.

2. Tel and Odobert

The brighter of the assorted sparks were out on the two wings, which I don’t mind admitting took me by surprise. Tel and Odobert as the wide-men of choice struck me beforehand as the sort of gambit that would work a treat in one of those football management computer games, but wear rather thin rather quickly in the real world.

Well, if I’d been wearing a hat I’d have removed it before lowering my head in shame, because the pair of them seemed rather to enjoy the assignment. Both displayed the burst of pace and jinking trickery that reaffirms the notion that Sonny ought soon to be put out to pasture, whilst also demonstrating trickery and fleetness of foot that simply does not come as part of the Brennan Johnson package.

What Johnson does do, mind you, is remember to pile in at the far post when a cross is delivered from the opposite flank, and there were one or two occasions when we’d have benefited from Tel and Odobert taking that particular hint and stationing themselves accordingly for a back-post tap-in.

That aside, however, these two were pleasingly bright sparks. After all, if one were studying the fine-print of one’s wingers, and noted that both had put in their fair share of successful dribbles and crosses, as well as displaying a few encouraging shoots of understanding with the nearest available full-back – well, one might indeed raise the eyebrows in pleasant surprise and make a mental note to try the pair again at the nearest available date, to see if they can replicate the good stuff.

On a side note, I’d have liked also to have seen young Mikey Moore given a quarter-hour in a fixture like this, given that Ange was clearly already in Lesser-Used Personnel mode; but I suppose two impressive performances from the wide attackers is a decent return on its own.

3. Vicario

All a bit futile to pen a letter of complaint against Vicario, because he’s undoubtedly welded to the spot between our sticks, but if he’s going to be on display each match the least he could do is get the basics right, what?

After making an almighty pig’s ear with ball at feet last week against Wolves, as well as throwing in a half-baked punch, last night he tossed in a couple more pretty basic errors. The first Forest goal undoubtedly caught a bit of a deflection, and no doubt this increased the difficulty level for the chap when it came to keeping the thing out. Make no mistake, however, this was not one of those almighty deflections that tosses the laws of physics into the bin and leaves the goalkeeper watching helplessly. This was no Mabbutt ’87.

As far as I could tell, the shot from the edge of the area caught a flap of Bentancur inner thigh, enough to encourage some extra bounce, but not really interfering with the direction. Vicario’s inner satnav was already directing him appropriately. No doubt he needed to effect some critical last-minute adjustments to the specifics – the arc and height – but frankly he was already in position and well-set to finish off the manoeuvre. One or two firm palms would probably have done the trick.

Instead, the limp-wristed flap that followed was as infuriating in its result as it was lamentable to the naked eye. Quite the faux pas, from a fellow whose principal role is to bat away precisely such incomings.

Admittedly for the second, Vicario was not alone in receiving some withering glares from the direction of AANP. Pedro Porro, in the first place, produced his usual routine of allowing the designated crosser as much space as he wanted to deliver the ball, the slightest notion of actually charging down the thing seemingly not even entering his mind.

The ball having been crossed, Micky Van de Ven of all people then gargled his lines, which frankly felt like a complete betrayal of trust, he being one of those on whom I have generally turned for a reassuring defensive rescue-act time and again. On this occasion, however, he judged particularly poorly, essentially opting for a policy of non-interference as that Wood chap readied himself for a header right in front of him, rather than taking the hint and muscling his way into the thick of things.

None of which would necessarily have come to any particular harm if Vicario had greeted the occasion with a dash more refinement. Having opted to come off his line to deal with the cross before Wood could get involved, Vicario’s end-product did not come close to resolving things. I suppose a photographer capturing the specific moment for posterity might have argued that he at least looked the part – clad appropriately, and arms clearly outstretched and so on – but the grim truth is that he might as well have been watching from the stands for all the value he added.

He was a goodish distance from the action at the moment that Wood connected with the ball. In such circumstances one expects the goalkeeper to flatten all in his path, wiping out friend and foe alike for the greater of good of beating the ball away to a neighbouring postcode. Instead, Vicario’s attempt was so poorly-timed and -directed that he didn’t make contact with any of the protagonists, but simply flew through the atmosphere, arriving far too late and in the wrong coordinates.

Thereafter, of course, he didn’t have much to do, as Nuno instructed his lot to kill football by never leaving their own penalty area; but by then the damage was done. Vicario certainly has far more good days than bad, but these were basic errors, and do little to reassure either his teammates or the watching masses.

If you’re at a loose end on Saturday and fancy listening to the final day of the season in non-league football – with both the title and relegation on the line – AANP’s regular stint behind the mic takes in Enfield Town vs Worthing in the Vanarama National League South – feel free to listen in at 3pm on https://mjl99.mixlr.com/

Tags Ange Postecoglou, Dejan Kulusevski, Guglielmo Vicario, James Maddison, Lucas Bergvall, Mathys Tel, Micky Van de Ven, Nottingham Forest, Pape Matar Sarr, Premier League, Rodrigo Bentancur, Wilson Odobert

Spurs match reports

Eintracht Frankfurt 0-1 Spurs: Four Tottenham Talking Points

Post author By AANP
Post date April 18, 2025
11 Comments on Eintracht Frankfurt 0-1 Spurs: Four Tottenham Talking Points

AANP’s latest book ‘All Action No Plot: Postecoglou’s First Season’, is out now for just £7.99 from Amazon (ebook from £6.99) – while Spurs’ Cult Heroes is also still available

1. An Actually Impressive, Disciplined Performance

I have to admit that prior to kick-off, the AANP who surveyed the scene and weighed up the odds was not a genial and bonhomous soul. Think Macbeth in the latter stages, when he’s a bit down on life with one thing and another, and starts a gloomy solo about his despair, and you’re pretty much up to speed.

It was those rotten league showings that did it (ignoring the Southampton win on the grounds of pointless mismatch). That Wolves defeat in particular sapped the will to live, and even though these recent Europa jollies have shown a more sunny interpretation of things, it’s dashed hard simply to swat aside the woeful league performances when they stack up on all sides, popping up, as they do, every couple of days.

So when the curtain went up and the whistle sounded, I took my place with a sense of duty rather than the slightest hint of optimism. “If it were done when ‘tis done then best get a wriggle on,” was the sentiment, continuing the Macbeth theme.

But lo, imagine if you will the AANP eyes gradually widening, as the outlook unfolded before me in increasingly upbeat fashion. Admittedly, that one early ball played straight over the top and down the middle, absolutely scything apart our defence, had an ominous quality to it, but that aside, for about 80 or so minutes this was as accomplished a defensive performance as I’d seen from our lot in the Postecoglou era.

It’s a low bar, admittedly. Historically, opponents have not exactly had to over-exert themselves to fashion chances against our heroes. Simply ambling up from halfway whenever the fancy takes them has generally proved sufficient. They may encounter some waving arms and stern looks from various retreating lilywhites, but nothing that will actually inconvenience them, let alone block their path. “Drop in whenever you like!” has generally been the rallying cry from the Tottenham defence.

Yesterday, however, events played out in pretty sharp contradistinction. For a start, our midfield three of Bentancur, Bergvall and Maddison seemed particularly attuned to the notion that intercepting passes in the midfield third would save a heck of a lot of trouble further down the line. Rather than simply watching short passes whizz about them, these three were on their toes and ready to spring into action, and as a result, transporting from Middle Third to Final Third wasn’t quite the procession that Frankfurt might have expected.

(As an aside, with these three evidently now the preferred midfield combo of Our Glorious Leader, I’m inclined to give them an approving nod. A pleasing balance, wouldn’t you say? What with Bentancur patrolling the rear; Bergvall either carrying the ball at a hot scurry or passing quickly; and Maddison – when the urge grabs – seeking out a creative pass.)

The key to the tightened defence, however, seemed to be Van de Ven. His presence, and specifically his pace, seemed to my uncouth eye to allow our lot to play a relatively high line for much of the game, rather than defending the edge of our own area, and also meant that midfield and defence were in close proximity. Having VDV in attendance also meant that when Udogie was gripped by the urge to motor forward, calamity did not immediately ensue if and when he lost possession.

In general, this seemed to be a day on which, mercifully enough, the entire back-four appreciated the merits of wearing proudly their defensive hats, rather than seeing themselves as attacking sorts whose main remit was to do exciting things in possession.

Another pretty critical element was that the whole business of playing out from the back was quietly eased off the agenda until, by the business end of the second half we dealt almost exclusively in long kicks from Vicario. Whether or not it was by coincidence, for about 75 minutes I’m not sure Frankfurt were allowed a clean shot at goal.

The final 15 was a little fraught, and while I suppose it could have gone horribly wrong, on balance of play and chances made over the two legs, our lot seemed jolly good value for the win. Not only was the defence oddly compact, but we still managed to pose enough threat to have Frankfurt scrambling – and without the need for any suicidal pouring forward of every man in lilywhite. Attackers attacked, defenders defended and in general the balance was pretty solid.

2. Romero

Van de Ven’s mere presence might have instilled some much-needed calm about the defence, but by golly Romero alongside him picked a smashing time to deliver one of his better performances.

Much like his midfield chums, his reading of things was good enough to enable multiple timely interceptions, and whenever that Ekitike chap unveiled his dancing feet and started sniffing out a shooting opportunity, Romero was on him like Mary’s little lamb, close enough to whisper sweet nothings in his ear, whilst avoiding what was presumably, given the Argentine’s history, an almighty urge to kick a few lumps out of him.

Indeed, even when Romero did break ranks and stride up the pitch, he had the good sense to stay on his feet rather than go lunging in. In a moment of realisation so unlikely it made me feel quite dizzy, it dawned on. Me in the second half that Romero’s side of the defence was pretty much under lock and key.

In possession he was his usual eager self, happy to look for passes of a more progressive ilk when he deemed the occasion appropriate. Indeed, it was his flighted pass that resulted in Maddison having his head knocked off and our lot winning the penalty. However, as mentioned earlier, it was also a relief to see the realisation dawn upon the chap that he was there primarily to defend, and this he did almost flawlessly throughout.

I say ‘almost flawlessly’, because in the final knockings he could not really help himself, after a good 90 minutes of discipline. Some pent-up mindlessness eventually came flowing out when he went flying out of position and into a sliding challenge, that left his opponent spiralling off into the air, earned him a yellow and conceded an unnecessary free-kick in a dangerous spot. I understand that to err is human, but to abandon one’s senses and go hunting for blood seems a mite excessive. Romero ought to have known better; but by and large this was a humdinger of a performance from him.

3. A Quick Word on Maddison

There were cracking performances all round, in truth. Tel offered a threat throughout, and while he never actually delivered on it, one got the impression that the Frankfurt coves tasked with minding him did so with considerable caution. Brennan Johnson famously doesn’t really offer a great deal in possession, but for the second consecutive game he actually produced a spot of end-product to go with his pace, picking out a decent first half cross that Tel duly scuppered. Porro and Udogie found a pretty useful balance between defence and the occasional foray forward. Solanke only stopped running in order to pause before that expertly-despatched penalty. Kulusevski frankly did not look fit, but still gave a few pleasing reminders of how happy he is to assert a spot of upper bodyweight when the situation demands.

Maddison beavered away, in slightly peripheral fashion at times, not necessarily cutting to ribbons the Frankfurt back-line but not shirking the challenge either. However, where he really earned his corn was in that penalty incident, when, as alluded to, the goalkeeper well and truly mangled his timing, and rather mangled Maddison’s frame in so-doing.

Replays suggest that Maddison had enough of a peek, while the ball was airborne, to be fully up-to-date with current affairs, and well apprised of the circumstance that a great oak of a man was rapidly approaching from the north, to flatten him. And where some – and I name no names, but hint at our club captain – have regularly been spotted ducking out of any challenges with a hint of rough-and-tumble about them, Maddison was undeterred.

Having hatched a plan to deliver a pretty subtle header past the onrushing goalkeeper, he executed the first part as far as he was able, and for his troubles appeared to have every functioning part of him snapped in two. Little wonder that he wobbled off shortly after, but he earned the penalty, and frankly kept our season alive. If we do raise the shiny pot come late-May, look carefully and you’ll spot AANP giving him an understated but meaningful salute of appreciation.

4. Why The Hell Can’t We Play Like This Every Game, Eh?

Not wanting to take the sheen off things, but it was a sentiment that kept repeating in my mind as I watched last night unfold with ever-growing admiration.

I appreciate the mentality of wrapping VDV in cotton wool in between Europa dates, he being so critical to the whole operation, and without him the apparatus is arranged rather differently. Nevertheless, even sans VDV, approaching each league game with yesterday’s level of discipline and determination could not conceivably do anything other than bring about better league results. Wolves would not have stood a chance if we had unleashed last night’s fare upon them.

One would, of course, settle for winning the trophy – one would trade lesser-used limbs for it, in truth – but the nagging thought remains that we would be a dashed sight better off (and Ange a lot more secure in his post) if we mustered this level of performance every week.

Still, hats off to the lot of them. This was jolly impressive muck.

If you fancy a spot of Good Friday non-league football, AANP’s regular stint behind the mic takes in a relegation six-pointer at 3pm, between Enfield Town and St Albans City in the Vanarama National League South – feel free to listen in on https://mjl99.mixlr.com/

Tags Ange Postecoglou, Brennan Johnson, Cristian Romero, Dejan Kulusevski, Destiny Udogie, Dominic Solanke, Eintracht Frankfurt, Europa League, James Maddison, Lucas Bergvall, Mathys Tel, Micky Van de Ven, Pedro Porro, Rodrigo Bentancur

Spurs match reports

Fulham 2-0 Spurs: Three Tottenham Talking Points

Post author By AANP
Post date March 17, 2025
20 Comments on Fulham 2-0 Spurs: Three Tottenham Talking Points

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

1. Romero

I’ve heard it said that a picture is worth a thousand words, and if you’d caught sight of AANP watching on as yesterday’s mess unwrapped itself, the first six of those thousand might well have been, “Golly, there’s an unamused soul, what?”

However, while it’s true enough that, taken as a whole, the latest fiasco rather hollowed out the insides, I did draw a spot of comfort from a pretty unusual source. If you’ve dipped into these pages before you may be aware that while clucking and cooing over the returning VDV like a doting mother over a favoured child, AANP regards Cristian Romero with decidedly less warmth. Those bursts forward to lunge wildly at ball, player and anything else in sight are a dash too maniacal for my conservative tastes in defending; and his tendency to blot from his consciousness the whole business of monitoring opposing forwards sneaking in at the back post is pretty maddening stuff.

Safe to say that the fellow does not feature too highly on the roster of feted heroes at AANP Towers. If the club decide that there’s a quick buck to be made from pawning off the chap in the summer – and let’s face it, Grandmaster Levy can scent a quick b. from a mile off – then they’ll have my blessing.

Given all this back-story, you may shoot a pretty suspicious glance when I tell you that by the time he was withdrawn in one of those heavily choreographed moves, on the hour, I was pretty firmly of the opinion that Romero had been our star performer.

Admittedly there might be an embarrassed cough from the stalls at this point, as someone tactfully points out that the place was hardly flooded with contenders for that particular rosette. It would be a fair point. The bar for star performers was low. Bergvall injected his usual youthful vim; Sonny too, oddly enough, seemed to conduct himself with a determination to leave an imprint; and young Tel gave evidence that he’s better fitted to life as a flank-based whippet than a centrally-positioned beast of brawn and muscle. However, Son and Bergvall only entered the fray at half-time, and two useful gambols from Tel did not a match-winning performance make.

No, it was Romero who seemed to catch the eye. Not so much cream rising to the top, as the only packet of milk in the batch that had yet to curdle, he at least did all that centre-back should do and with a few extras thrown in.

He may have erred once or twice, but not so badly that one would notice, and he generally he did a decent job of blocking incoming crosses, and keeping his particular quarters under lock and key.

Moverover, while I’ve lamented pretty regularly that tendency to fly off on personal vendettas of ill-judged aggression on halfway, yesterday he actually judged them pretty well. Credit where due. Every time Romero was struck by the urge to leave the back-four behind and upend a Fulham player higher up the pitch, a Fulham player would indeed end up pleasingly splayed across the turf, and apparently within the regulations of the game.

Romero also seemed to have his radar well set when it came to picking forward passes. This made a welcome change from the endless cycle of fairly empty sideways passing that tends to infect our lot for long periods each week. On a few occasions Romero directed a pretty useful pass through the midfield, bypassing various Fulham bobbies in one fell swoop.

All of which was useful enough, but to repeat, most importantly he ticked the basic defensive boxes, and this was pretty welcome stuff.

2. Ben Davies

By contrast, Ben Davies seemed not to know what sport he was playing. To be outmuscled, as he was for the second goal, by, of all people, Ryan Sessegnon – a poor sap whose frame seems comprised of biscuits held together by elastic bands – is a pretty damning indictment of one’s capacity for the physical battle.

And yet, having initially observed a straightforwardly bouncing ball with the sort of horror normally reserved for a dropping atomic bomb, Davies managed first to fail to clear it, then allow to Sessegnon to hold him at arm’s length and toss him this way and that like a ragdoll, before finally watching on with a pretty depressing impotence as Sessegnon picked out the top corner of all things.

Nor was this the extent of Davies’ ignominy. That first goal from Fulham, while owing much to the misjudgement of Odobert on the right, and the half-hearted flapping of various cast members inside the penalty area, had at its genesis another Ben Davies moment – albeit rather more excusable – when in attempting to win a header from a goal-kick he was resoundingly bested in the air by that Muniz chap.

On top of which, it’s easy to forget that back in the first half, a period one might easily expunge from the memory on account of nothing of note happening at all between its first and last whistles, Ben Davies contrived to gift Fulham the only real chance of the half.

To fill in the loose plot, such as it was, a Fulham sort aimlessly chipped a pass into the area just after the half-hour mark, with not a teammate in sight. Now here, in Davies’ defence, he might reasonably have expected a guttural roar from his goalkeeper, giving clear instruction. Whether or not such vocalisation was forthcoming I couldn’t say.

What was beyond doubt was that at this point, and under no pressure, Davies took to the edge of the six-yard box and rearranged his limbs into what appeared a mid-air yoga pose, arms pointing in one direction, legs in another and overall balance pretty seriously lacking. This done, and still airborne, Davies then attempted an ungainly hack at the ball.

One could have advised him by this point that the plan was stinker. No good could come of it. He’d have been infinitely better off in every conceivable respect if he’d just given up the thing – as everyone else in the area had done – and let the ball drift the necessary yard or so into the arms of Vicario.

He didn’t however, and instead made contact with the ball, succeeding only in presenting it neatly into the path of Castagne, while Davies himself concluded his input by sprawling along the ground.

As mentioned, the sorry affair may well have been resolved by Vicario laying claim to the thing; but having made up his mind to take action, Davies’ pickling of it may have been disastrous. As it turned out, there was plenty of time for disaster at the death, with the Sessegnon goal.

I suppose everyone has a bad day now and then, but I struggle to remember Archie Gray, for example, making quite as many ghastly – and costly – errors at centre-back.

3. Broader Problems

There are, of course, more pressing concerns at play than an off-day from our possibly sixth-choice centre-back. The lack of urgency in possession (particularly in the first half), lack of precision in simple passes, complete disappearance of an effective high-press and general failure to give two hoots about winning back possession in midfield all struck me as indicative of a team whose motion-going-through antics were pretty polished.

I recall back in the mists of August or perhaps September, our heroes drew with Leicester and lost to Newcastle, on both occasions have given these sides a bit of a leathering. On those occasions I shrugged the forgiving shrug. Play peak Angeball and create 20 or so chances, ran the theory, and the goods will more often than not be delivered.

The forgiving shrug was shrugged once more over the winter months, as the squad was decimated and staggered their way through games. Extenuating circs, and so forth.

Yesterday, however, one rather struggled to find reasons to explain away the dirge. Individual players not putting their heart and soul into matters is a tough one at which to aim the forgiving shrug. One appreciates that all eggs are now neatly arranged in the Europa basket, but it undoubtedly lies upon Our Glorious Leader to motivate the players for such events as ‘Fulham (away)’, even when there is little to be gained in the remaining league games. An uptick in performance will be needed after the international jollies.

Tags Ange Postecoglou, Archie Gray, Ben Davies, Cristian Romero, Fulham, Guglielmo Vicario, Lucas Bergvall, Mathys Tel, Premier League, Son Heung Min, Wilson Odobert

Spurs match reports

Ipswich 1-4 Spurs: Four Tottenham Talking Points

Post author By AANP
Post date February 23, 2025
16 Comments on Ipswich 1-4 Spurs: Four Tottenham Talking Points

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

1. The Midfield and That Opening Five Or So Minutes

A rummy old set-to, this one. Take the scoreline, for starters. Flattered our lot, no doubt – but then one might point out that there have been plenty of games this season in which we’ve given opposing mobs a bit of a battering, only to trudge off at the end credits with a decidedly underwhelming harvest.

One might also make the case that the scoreline was actually a triumph for the art of clinical finishing, arguably the most important aspect of the game. In this respect, our heroes have rarely been sharper.

Brennan Johnson may attract a fair amount of hand-wringing and naysaying for his all-round game, but as demonstrated in spadefuls yesterday he puts himself in the right position to score, time after time; while Kulusevski delivered a finish that became his signature move in the first months of his N17 career, but has been rarely sighted since.

However, the aspect of the game that indelibly inked itself over here was that ghastly opening five minutes or so. During that period Ipswich might realistically have scored thrice, if they’d finished with the sort of dead-eyed accuracy that our heroes were later to deploy. While the header that hit the woodwork from a set-piece was, I suppose, the sort of plot-twist that could occur at any point during a 90-minute binge, the fact that twice from open play they absolutely scythed through our midfield and defence does focus the mind rather.

(Interestingly, it was pointed out to me by my Spurs-supporting chum Ian that, having joined the action only after the opening five minutes or so had elapsed, he soaked up matters from a rather different perspective, finding our lot instead to have been largely dominant, bar a general wobbling of the apparatus at 2-1.)

While credit is due to our lot for riding the early storm – and their luck – and then acting with the decisive hand as soon as chances did present themselves, the circumstances of that opening spell linger uncomfortably, much like a bad taste in the mouth. The ease with which Ipswich danced around the flimsy swiping legs of Kulusevski, Bergvall and Bentancur troubles me deeply.

It happened again by the way, later in the half, in a move that came to precisely naught because Ipswich having bypassed our midfield then rather dull-headedly played the ball straight out of play, but the point remains. No matter the personnel, and frankly no matter the era, it’s far too easy for opponents to pick their way through our midfield and, set about sharpening their knives for a bash at our defence.

As it happens, Bentancur and Bergvall have rarely played better in our colours. More on Bergvall later, but Bentancur flitted about the place with the energy of a small child in a playground. He also had the good sense to read the room, as it were, judging well when to let matters unfold on their own and when to roll up his sleeves and wade in. His was an afternoon decorated with meaningful inputs into conversation – interceptions rather than tackles, but no less important for it. I still fancy he is a lot more useful as a Creator in possession, than as a Destroyer out of possession, but he did a useful job yesterday.

Nevertheless, even with both he and Bergvall playing as well as I’ve seen, the midfield was hardly a no access area restricted by high fences and barbed wire. As and when Ipswich wanted to wander through, they generally did so. While this was never more obvious than in the opening five or ten minutes, it still remained a running theme throughout.

2. Bergvall

As mentioned, Bergvall earned his beans yesterday, winning the coveted gong for being AANP’s Standout Performer and leaving no blade of grass untrod by his luminous boots.

Dancing away from opponents like a troublesome child stealing sweets from a shop in 1950s Brooklyn was the order of the day, as Bergvall gaily danced this way and that, to what I suspect was the growing irritation of the various Ipswich opponents, many of whom would have presumably shaken a fist at him and promised to bestow a good thrashing if they ever caught him.

But they never did, such was the twinkle-toed nature of his offering. In fact, at one point in the second half, he briefly morphed into Maradona, embarking on a dribble of the mazy variety, that very nearly led to a hat-trick for Johnson B.

Bergvall, like Bentancur, also peddled a solid line in well-timed nicking-of-the-ball-from-opponents’-feet, which was contributed usefully to the overall operation. It did not stop AANP grumbling that what we really needed in the centre was an aggressive ball-winner the very sight of whom would prompt opponents to gulp and think twice about venturing in that direction; but Bergvall made a decent fist of his defensive duties, given the tools at his disposal.

This rich praise being liberally scattered over the young chap might prompt a double-take from those of you who remember the AANP reaction to his first outings, on these very pages. If I recall correctly they were Europa affairs, and Bergvall’s most prominent contribution tended to be the capacity to be shoved firmly off ball and out of frame by the nearest opponent.

Not much meat on the Bergvall bones, was the damning AANP take, and if you had politely suggested to me that six months down the line this same stripling of a lad would be bossing midfield matters in the Premier League I may well have told you to go boil your head; and yet here we are.

3. Son

Our Esteemed Captain has come in for some jip from these parts in recent weeks (and I readily accept that the term “recent” is doing some heavy lifting in that sentence, the furrowed brow having been unleashed upon the fellow non-stop since the start of the season).

However, whether having benefited from a couple of midweek rests, or having been pitched against one of the Premier League’s less illustrious right-backs, Sonny got to enjoy himself again yesterday.

I would be deceiving my public if I climbed upon a soap-box and announced that he had returned to his eye-boggling best. That burst of pace upon which he rather built his reputation, and which would leave scorch marks from halfway line to penalty area, still isn’t really in evidence.

However, the buzzy approach, and dizzying stepovers, were back in evidence yesterday, and unfurled to most pleasing and useful effect. Son created both our opening two goals (drinks bought, by the way, for both Messrs Gray and Bentancur for the dreamy passes that released Son in these instances), applying stepovers, shoulder-dips and various other party tricks with the elan of a man who’d played exactly this role a few times before.

Aided by the welcome sight of a burly and restored Udogie charging about the place wherever the mood took him, our left flank caused Ipswich a succession of headaches, and by the time decisive action was taken at half-time to remedy things, by tossing their right-back to the scrapheap and shoving in some other johnnie, the damage was already done.

4. Tel

A couple of weeks ago, in the Cup game at Villa, the lilywhite world was treated, in one fleeting glimpse, to the best of young Monsieur Tel, when he briefly inhabited the ghost of Lineker and poached a finish that sat a long way up the difficulty scale. All contortions and awkward angles, he demonstrated that if a loose ball is flung into the area, he’s the sort of cheese who will dashed well worm his way to the front of the queue. AANP nodded an approving head.

Since then – and indeed, prior to then – those poachworthy opportunities have been at a premium. Which is to say, there haven’t been any at all. Instead, the poor chump has had to spend his afternoons and evenings being asked to reel off his best Dom Solanke impressions. Essentially, and rather unkindly, he’s being asked repeatedly and solely to collect the ball with back to goal and hold off burly defenders climbing all over his back, until an obliging teammate ambles into view.

Now AANP can call spades spades with the best of them, when the need arises. So it is that I suggest that Tel is not really a centre-forward in the Solanke mould. Not remotely in fact. Different species altogether.

And this is by no means a criticism of the young oeuf. AANP himself, after all, is a man of a handful of talents; but if, say, I were asked by the boss to try my hand at lion-taming, I suspect I’d be in a pickle. Onlookers with experience in the field would no doubt turn to one another with disapproving looks, and murmur, “Unconvincing. No lion-tamer, he.” It would hardly be my fault, never having dabbled, but one cannot ignore the evidence of the eyes.

And so it is with Tel. When clearing the ball up the middle third and asking him to perform a role for which neither Nature nor Nurture has particularly fitted him, he’ll put in the effort and work up a sweat, but ultimately will just end up on a heap on the floor, waving his arms in a bit of a huff as Ipswich players collect the ball and get on with their day.

All sorts of mitigating circumstances rain in from all angles here. The lad is new to the team; inexperienced; and perhaps most pertinently has yet to feature in a Tottenham side that really plays to his strengths. One suspects that if passes are rolled along the turf ahead of him and into space towards which he might charge, and we’ll see a different beast.

It is also extremely welcome simply to have in the ranks a bona fide striker with a few goals to his name, able to come in and cover for injuries, and ensure that we aren’t left scrabbling to square-peg Sonny into that lead role and so on.

Nevertheless, the contrast with that lad Delap on the other side, was pretty eye-catching. Delap made himself a nuisance from the opening toot, charging about the place like a bull in a china shop – and of those thoughtful bulls, who will not limit itself to disrupting the china but take a swipe at pretty much anything else in its eyeline. A physical presence for sure, but blessed also with a pretty graceful pair of size nines. If Levy and chums were to break the bank in order to bring him in as competition for Solanke, AANP would throw its full support behind such a move.

That, however, is for another day. The triumph yesterday was, as much as anything else, an indication of the benefits brought by having fit and healthy players and an imposing roster of reserves chomping at their respective bits on the bench.

Tags Dejan Kulusevski, Destiny Udogie, Dominic Solanke, Ipswich Town, Lucas Bergvall, Mathys Tel, Premier League, Rodrigo Bentancur, Son Heung Min

Spurs match reports

Liverpool 4-0 Spurs: Three Tottenham Talking Points

Post author By AANP
Post date February 7, 2025
9 Comments on Liverpool 4-0 Spurs: Three Tottenham Talking Points

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

1. Dreadful Stuff

AANP has been under the weather, don’t you know? The immune system having adopted a Conte-style approach, of just sitting back under attack from all sides and muddling through, I had hoped that last night might provide some external relief. As it happened, there was a degree of consensus amongst my coterie of Spurs-supporting chums that we would concede three or four; the question was whether we would have our attacking onions sufficiently in order to make a fist of it.

Now AANP is generally a pretty forgiving sort. When, at the start of this season, our lot shoved all chips into attack, at Leicester and Newcastle amongst others, and somehow still stewed the operation, I waved the forgiving hand. Keep playing like that, went the line, and we’ll more often than not win in style, or else go down in a blaze of glory.

So by the time last night swung into view, my hopes of actually winning the tie might have been subdued, but I did at least look forward to a spot of entertainment in seeing our heroes go out swinging.

Fair to say then that the garbage peddled last night was therefore an almighty let-down. The general sense was of a rabble who didn’t appreciate having their evening stroll in the North interrupted by such business as a football match, and they dashed well weren’t about to get involved in the finer details – accurate passes, and the winning of 50-50 challenges and so forth. Not last night’s crew. Simply registering their presence seemed sufficient, and if the other lot were going to best them in literally every aspect of the game, that was just one of the little inconveniences of life that would have to be accepted.

There was barely a hint of attacking intent throughout. Now one might generously excuse this, on the grounds that Liverpool can rather swallow up their opposition when on song and make it difficult to burst into possession-based patterns. However, there is no such clause exempting the cast members from flying into tackles like their lives depend on it.

On reflection, rather than one single causal factor, there were probably several different elements at play.

1.1: Tactics

This one lies with Our Glorious Leader. From kick-off the plan seemed to be to adopt the approach that had served pretty well against Brentford – and is currently being adopted at the AANP sick-bed – of sticking to the spot and absorbing everything flung their way.

The fiercest loyalists may argue that this approach was not without its merits, doing the trick for a half hour or so; a pretty swift rebuttal would be that it resulted in a goal conceded before half-time, and another not long after.

And while piping up on the subject, there was a fairly significant difference between the Brentford and Liverpool games, in that Brentford spent most of their afternoon swinging in crosses for our lot to head clear without too many alarms; whereas Liverpool’s approach was somewhat more nuanced, and a dashed sight more taxing for our heroes to handle.

Either way, the official party-line seemed to be that defending deep and grimly hanging on was the route to success. It rather gave the impression that an Ange directive of exercising a little caution was rather wildly misinterpreted by the players, who instead opted to write off the Liverpool half of the pitch as forbidden territory.

When Kulusevski went on the charge up the right, and skulked around the place for a good 5 or 10 seconds, surrounded by about half a dozen red shirts but with nary a lilywhite in sight, the walls of AANP Towers reverberated to a deep and troubled sigh. High-octane entertainment this was not.

1.2: The Mentality

If the tactical setup could be pinned on the Big Cheese, the lackadaisical approach to settling on-field disputes was firmly on the players. Out of possession in particular, Liverpool seemed to appreciate that few things in life are gained by simply turning up at the appointed hour and holding out an expectant hand. In order to win a semi-final, they seemed to tell each other, a rolling up of sleeves would be required, as well as a stretching of sinew and clobbering of tackle.

By contrast, our heroes seemed to baulk at the notion of devoting every last ounce to the cause. Token efforts were the order of the day, and if an opposing rotter happened to barge them out of the way then they would deliver a look of irritation, and possibly an audible tut, but little more.

It’s an attitude that has been absolutely ingrained in our lot for as long as I’ve been watching, and frankly makes one despair.

1.3: Injuries

I saw it expressed somewhere or other last night, that every time Kulusevski set off on a run he looked like he was dragging a car behind him. One understood the sentiment. This chap was our pride and joy in the opening months of the season, an absolute menace to all who encountered him, due to a handy combo of bulk and pace.

Apparently he’s featured one way or another in every one of our league games this season, and I wouldn’t be surprised if that record extended to all other competitions too. Little wonder then that he now chugs about the place like a hollowed out shell of a man, barely able to accelerate beyond third gear.

For clarity, I zoom in on Kulusevski in purely indicative fashion. The whole bally lot of them are by now exhausted. One could rattle off the names of those who have played twice a week, every week, for the past couple of months; or similarly one could list the absentees – the gist remains the same. And I therefore wonder to what extent the above failings – of poorly-judged defensive setup, and absence of fight – could be attributed to a general lack of puff amongst those on display.

2. The Newbies

If, as seemed to be reported, Mathys Tel spent much of last week letting ‘I dare not’ wait upon ‘I would’ regarding his move to N17 – he being the thoughtful sort apparently, who takes pretty seriously these life choices – I can only imagine he spent the journey home from Anfield immersed in contemplation and quite possibly regret.

The good news for him is that one would hardly expect most of his assignments in lilywhite to resemble last night’s. Starved of service and repeatedly required to have a pop at outmuscling Van Dijk on halfway, the poor gumball would have been forgiven for wishing he had chosen any other option except lilywhite.

From memory, he fashioned for himself one half-chance from a fairly tight angle out on the right, which earned a corner, and creditably so to be honest. It was nice to see a little spunk, even as the walls came crashing down around him. That aside though, he spent his evening chasing shadows and waving at teammates. However, with Messrs Solanke and Richarlison having various bandages applied, one would expect more opportunities for Tel as the focal point of attack in the coming weeks.

As for Danso, this was probably 6 out of 10 territory. Having spent the last month or so beseeching the board to bring in anyone fit and able to assist in defence, I’m simply grateful that we have an actual centre-back in situ. He’s no Van Dijk, but seemed willing enough to do the basics, and perhaps most eye-catchingly seemed rather taken with the notion of bring the ball out of defence and casting a beady eye about the place further north.

I suppose time will tell whether he’s up to much, but a serviceable centre-back is better than nothing.

3. Richarlison

These days a Spurs match is not credibly recognised as such unless one of our number withdraws with some species of malady, so not an eyelid was batted when Richarlison limped off before the midway point.

Richarlison in particular is proving himself to be quite the expert when it comes to going to ground with a wince, before limping off with a forlorn rub of some lower limb. The pattern into which he has comfortably settled since arriving in the corridors of N17 seems to have been to punctuate an absence of around three months with two or three substitute appearances. At this point, he goes to ground once more with another wince and the whole pattern starts again.

Now on a human level, one sympathises. It must drive the poor chap potty. I’m sure that from his perspective all he wants to do is lace up his boots and charge around the pitch like a rabid beast of the wilds, ploughing into opposing defenders and scowling away, without the inconvenience of various body parts going ‘twang’ every five minutes.

However, from the point of view of the long-suffering supporter, I do find myself rolling the eyes and thinking about the most polite ways to phrase some fairly brutal sentiments. Put another way, I think it’s about time we cashed in on the chap. Shake his hand, thank him for his efforts and send him elsewhere, shoving into the back-pocket however much the most willing bidder will offer.

At the best of times we can’t really accommodate a lad who seems to be made of biscuits; and even more so at the current juncture, when all the regulars are injured and poor old Solanke is being flogged into the ground until he collapses.

Richarlison will presumably stick around until the summer, but with Tel now on board there’s a good excuse to elbow him aside at the earliest convenience.

Tags Ange Postecoglou, Carabao Cup, Dejan Kulusevski, Dominic Solanke, Kevin Danso, Liverpool, Mathys Tel, Richarlison