Tag: Micky Van de Ven

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 3-6 Liverpool: Five Tottenham Talking Points

OUT NOW! The new book ‘All Action No Plot: Postecoglou’s First Season’, is the perfect stocking-filler for any Spurs fan. Get yours now for just £7.99 from Amazon (ebook from £6.99)

1. Disclaimer: Liverpool Were Jolly Sharp

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2. Individual Errors

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

3. Son

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

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

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

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

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

4. Kulusevski Central

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

5. Spence

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

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

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

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

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New Spurs Book Out Now – “All Action No Plot: Postecoglou’s First Season”

“One could hardly suggest that when Son crept into view the coast was clear. The coast was crowded, and in fact fast becoming something of a claustrophobe’s nightmare. Bodies were advancing upon the poor lad like vultures getting right down to it for their daily spot of carcass.”

All Action No Plot: Postecoglou’s First Season is based loosely on the weekly chronicles of the Tottenham Hotspur blog All Action, No Plot, during 2023-24. That season will live long in the memory, as the beginning of an extraordinary, exhilarating new era under Ange Postecoglou – and no writer captured the madness as wittily as the AANP blogger, Michael Lacquiere. His combination of eloquent prose and ludicrous humour made for matchday reflections as compelling as the games themselves.

From the heady success of Postecoglou’s opening months in charge, which saw Spurs’ relentless attacking style take them to the top of the Premier League and dreaming of glory, to the turning-point of the season in an incredible nine-man defeat in November, through to a finale in which European qualification was secured while fans cheered on a home defeat, no team in the country was as entertaining as Tottenham. Relive Ange’s wild first season at Spurs with this match-by-match account from the pen of one of English football’s finest comic writers.

Out now for just £7.99, order your paperbook copy now from Amazon, in time for Christmas (ebook from £6.99).

All Action No Plot: Postecoglou’s First Season – the perfect stocking-filler for any Spurs fan.

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 3-4 Chelsea: Four Tottenham Talking Points

Need a Christmas stocking-filler for the Spurs fan in your life? Within 24 hours, AANP’s new book “All Action No Plot: Postecoglou’s First Season” will be available to buy for just £7.99!

1. “It’s All Ange’s Fault”

You don’t need grey matter bulging from every seam to spot that there’s a bit of a grumble ongoing in N17 about Our Glorious Leader, nor does it require an IQ off the scale to pick up on the principal sticking-point. There’s set-pieces of course, and variations on the theme of late substitutions and whatnot, but what’s really rattling the masses seems to be the sticking to the principle of Thou Shalt Attack, no matter the time, place or – critically – situation.

Even as a fully signed up apologist for the man, I do squint a bit at seeing every outfield player hopping from foot to foot, desperate to be let off the leash and fly upfield when we’re 2-0 up. One does pause for a moment and consider whether someone out there might hang back, to add a layer of security at the rear. Well, if you’re actually playing in the match you obviously don’t consider any such thing at all, and Ange sure as heck isn’t interested in such topics, but for most other onlookers it’s a suggestion that at least seems to merit a spot of back-and-forth at the next committee meeting.

However, the on-pitch drill is just to keep flinging forward every fit and able man, with the inevitable sequel that there are wide open spaces everywhere one looks whenever the opposition pilfer the ball and scoot off back at us.

The whole thing is embellished by those moments when, having survived such counter-attacks by the skin of our teeth and kindly intervention of the gods, we then attempt rather casually to play out from the back, treating the whole thing as if it were against a combination of mannequins and pre-schoolers rather than hardened internationals. The result, peeled off numerous times yesterday, is that we lose possession outside our own area and pulse-rates quicken once again.

A tad vexing for sure, and an accusation that could be laid pretty squarely at the door of A. Postecoglou Esq. And bafflingly, rather than draw himself up in court to make the case for the defence, Our Glorious Leader would presumably vault over the bench and position himself alongside the those making the accusation, agreeing whole-heartedly that attacking-no-matter-the-situation is indeed precisely his approach.

Personally, I consider that we’re just a minor adjustment or two away from a pretty ripping balance of fizzing attack and hearty common-sense, but Ange is all-in and there we remain. Two-goal leads will continue to be blown. It is, so goes the argument, essentially all his fault. A 51% win percentage does not scream unparalleled success.

2. “It’s Not All Ange’s Fault”

As mentioned, I do think everyone concerned might benefit from a little adjustment of the settings, but for various reasons AANP does not really subscribe to the ‘All Ange’s Fault’ argument.

For a start there’s squad depth. I wittered on about this one a few days ago, following the Bournemouth loss, so if you’re rolling your eyes and begging me to get on with it, you’re welcome to skip a paragraph or two, or boil a kettle, or in some other way amuse yourself.

For those who remain, the post-Bournemouth summary was threefold, viz.

  1. Quality on the pitch is dropping because lack of squad depth means we’re having to use reserves regularly;
  2. No-one is getting a rest and injuries are therefore mounting, because we’re having to use reserves regularly;
  3. No-one is getting a rest so they’re not running as hard each game, which Angeball requires in order to work

Somebody somewhere in the offices of power therefore needs a stern word, for the inexcusable offence of leaving the manager with a squad not fit for the purpose of outrunning the opposition twice a week. A reserve list of Dragusin, Davies and Gray to cover the entire back-four in three different competitions was always likely to have a dubious smell emanating from it. (Young Spence is presumably deemed not quite good enough, but even if he were used I’d still suggest we require an additional reserve or two of higher quality at the back – and that’s before we look higher up the pitch)

If the three points blathered on about above were indeed true (and it’s debatable), it means a critical problem will just continue to dance away independently at least until the January transfer window opens.

(Taking a step back, I do wonder if Grandmaster Levy has been convinced, by Poch’s over-achievements on a shoestring, that success can be pinched by paying well below-the-odds, through a little managerial alchemy. Sack Ange, and I’m not sure much will change until Levy’s spending habits do.)

However, even if true, all of this wouldn’t explain why Dragusin lost his man against Bournemouth, or why Bissouma and Sarr clattered their men for the penalties yesterday, or why no-one saw fit to stick to Sancho and prevent his shot yesterday, or why Porro did not fling his entire frame in the way of Enzo Fernandez’s shot yesterday. Or, to paraphrase, I’m not sure there’s much Ange (or indeed Levy) can do about handsomely-remunerated footballers making utterly block-headed decisions.

I’m not suggesting that we lost purely because several idiots did idiotic things. One could reasonably suggest that the team’s mentality, which stems from the manager, of trying relentlessly to continue playing high-risk football, hindered rather than helped the cause yesterday.

Nevertheless, pulling aside the opposition players to dish out a few freebies, at critical points in the match, does make the head slowly droop into the hands, and prompt one to wonder what’s the bally point of it all.

Apparently a few weeks ago, young Kulusevski mentioned in an interview his frustration that our heroes do not behave like champions on the training pitch. This is all second-hand info, so I apologise if I give his actual words a mangling, but I understand he hammered home that our lot need to train like champions, talk like champions, walk around the premises like champions and so on, if standards are to rise the requisite number of notches come kick-off. Winning sentiments, if you ask me. Our lot sure as heck don’t conduct themselves like champions at present.

3. Romero, Van de Ven and the Injuries

Football being what it is, I suppose we all took the same traumatic journey from the pre-match high of seeing both Romero and VDV restored to the pitch, to the sudden punch to the gut after 20 or so, of seeing Romero hobble off. The mood obviously blackened further with VDV’s enforced removal, although the mutterings since at least suggest that his is just a flesh-wound.

A bit of yammering has naturally ensued about whether either, or both, were fit to start inb the first place, given that neither finished. On the one hand, one might argue that Romero was absent with one injury and departed yesterday with another, and as such the two events are unrelated and the whole is just dashed bad luck.

On the other hand, however, one might rather sniffily point out that had he been given more time to condition himself, he wouldn’t have picked up his fresh injury yesterday. And if one were to keep shoving that point towards its logical conclusion, one might swing the spotlight right back onto the manager, for making such a risk-laden call.

It’s difficult to opine really, and AANP not having an ounce of medical knowledge in his frame is steering well clear of that argument. Instead I’ll put my energies into general lamentation, about the fact that we were 2-0 up when Romero exited, and proceeded to concede four goals in the hour that followed.

4. Solanke

If you’re in the market for a silver lining, however, it was nice to see young Solanke get a brief moment in the spotlight. By virtue of doing all the donkey-work in deeper positions, and not really banging them away like a six-yard poacher might, the chap seems to be occasionally a little under-appreciated, by the wider public at least. Speak to the N17 regulars and they’ll give him a generous hand, but cast the net a little further and the inclination is generally to query whether he bangs them in like Haaland, and dismiss him if he doesn’t.

As it happened, his goal yesterday was an absolute triumph of six-yard poaching. It was a masterclass in directing a run in one direction, and appearing to disappear behind the back of the defender; before, at the vital moment, diverting off at an angle and reappearing in front of the defender, who by this time was pretty flummoxed in the matter of his whereabouts.

The reward, richly earned, was an opportunity to get to the ball first and poke it towards goal – a goal that, by this point, had been completely vacated by the goalkeeper, he also seemingly thrown by Solanke’s movement and not for one moment expecting a shot.

Solanke’s hard work continued, in a string of first-half dialogues with the burly Chelsea defender minding him, and that we were able to create – and miss – various presentable chances across the remainder of the match owed much to his behind-the-scenes beavering. So when Big Ange surveys the ever-mounting Inbox, he can at least allow his day to brighten with the cheery news that Solanke is still fighting the good fight pretty bobbishly.

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Bournemouth 1-0 Spurs: Three Tottenham Talking Points

Need a Christmas stocking-filler for the Spurs fan in your life? From Monday, AANP’s new book “All Action No Plot: Postecoglou’s First Season” will be available to buy for just £7.99!

1. Absences

AANP is pretty sharp, so when I saw travelling fans yelling at Our Glorious Leader, noted online forums filled with anti-Ange sentiment and received a slew of message from Spurs-supporting chums declaring the end of their patience with the man, it didn’t take me long to spot that something might be up.

And it couldn’t have been much more than 12 hours later that the penny dropped. Spurs fans across the land are starting to sprinkle their usual sunny outlooks with a few choice murmurs. Natives are growing restless. Die-hard Postecoglou fans are beginning to scrunch up their faces. The point here is that the pressure is mounting like nobody’s business upon The Big Cheese, to change things for the better.

If you want a stick with which to beat the man they come in all shapes and sizes at the moment. Take set-pieces, for example, an area on which I heard Ange moaning that we’ve only conceded three goals this season, but which appeared pretty obviously to be a fatal flaw last night. Then there’s the chap’s tactics, which since Day One have tended to stipulate, from top to bottom and inclusive of all detail, ‘Attack’, with seemingly minimal scope for just about any other nuance that might stiffen things up a tad at the rear.

I could go on a fair bit, but one gets the picture. All is not well. The occasional rampant wins of recent months don’t seem to count for much when the team is outplayed by both Fulham and Bournemouth within the space of five days.

Personally, while I’m not touring the local guillotine stores just yet, I won’t deny that the mood has darkened somewhat over the last week. It’s the absence of performances of swash and buckle that is putting the bird on me. I could put up with the odd bobbins of a result here and there, if we were still swarming all over the opposition throughout the 90, but on Sunday and then again last night, our heroes were pretty alarmingly off the pace.

Rather than demand a pound of Aussie flesh however, I’m more inclined to point to squad depth – or lack thereof – as the issue that has me bristling at present. Now one may well roll the eyes, fling a blunt object at my head and point out that set-pieces and bonkers tactics have been glaring concerns since long before the squad was decimated, and will continue to be GCs long after the invalids are all restored to full health. And that would be a pretty compelling point.

One might also point out that every club in every division has their fair share of injury-induced sob stories, so our heroes might as well stiffen the upper lips, slap on a bandage and get back out there.

Here, however, I would raise a disagreeing finger. While all teams no doubt do have injuries, I’d suggest that few are without both centre-backs and goalkeepers for any length of time. Indeed, were such a fate to befall your average Premier League team, one could well imagine a slightly shonky run of results kicking in.

In particular, I cast the mind back to the fuss made over the absence of but one player at Man City, and consider that our lot – and our manager – are probably due a bit of breathing space. Similarly, when Woolwich lost the principal cog in their machine, the absence of that single player sent them off into a brief freefall.

What I’m getting at is that absences of key players are a bit of a pain, and a good bet to disrupt even the hardiest outfits.

The troubling nature of it all is ramped up a few notches when one throws in a fixture-list that is pretty solidly twice-a-week stuff from now until the new year, meaning that even the reserves are now being relied upon constantly. As well as the dip in quality that this brings, it also means that none of those involved, be they regulars or reserves, are allowed much chance to have a night off, put their feet up and catch their breath.

Skipping to the sorry conclusion of all this, it means that our lot simply are not as energetic as they should be for a system such as Angeball, since they’re constantly being called upon. And to hammer home the sorry state of things, as well as not playing particularly well when every last ounce of energy is being ground out of them, they are also more likely to crumple in some heap and point to an offending hamstring or groin or whatever, as demonstrated by Ben Davies last night.

Clearly, then, the solution is to skip back in time a few months and prop up the squad with a few more signings in critical areas (if you think things are bad now sans Vicario, Romero and VDV, just wait until Porro and Udogie limp off in the coming weeks).

I suppose one might also suggest that nibs like Spence, Bergvall and Lankshear could be used a bit more to spread the load, but the informed response to that would presumably be that these chaps are simply not yet good enough. One might also suggest that given the non-stop galloping required of this system, at least one member of The Brains Trust ought to have foreseen that injuries would ravage the place at some point, and stocked the cupboard accordingly, but there we are. From AANP Towers, all remaining personnel look utterly spent.

2. Archie Gray

As for the match itself, and the cast list who performed it, there wasn’t too much to whistle cheerily about. Archie Gray at least looked a mite more comfortable – which is to say he looked a mite less uncomfortable – at right-back than he had previously done in European jollies in that position.

He still is pretty obviously a midfielder being asked to make up in youth and willing what he massively lacks in know-how at full-back. However, when we were in possession and he was granted licence to sniff around in the opposition half, he seemed rather game. In fact, whacky though it sounds, I’d rather like to see him get a start in central midfield some time, for he seems keen to bob about on the ball and seek out short passes.

Not much chance of that happening, of course, with centre-back seemingly his next destination, which ought to be an adventure. He gave it 20 or so there last night, and did about as well as one might expect I suppose. In truth, the basics of defending seem still to confuse him at times, but it’s hardly surprising.

3. Forster

If you woke up this morning with the bright idea of trying neatly to categorise Fraser Forster’s evening, I offer you one of those sympathetic shoulder-pats. Bit of a mixed bag from the great hulking tree trunk of a man.

On the one hand there was another string of pretty top-notch saves – all close-range, instinctive stuff, the type it’s easy to take for granted, but which on reflection does make you give a little nod of approval.

On the other hand, however, there was the calamitous pass that led to Bournemouth’s disallowed goal. Actually rather a shame in my book, because it seems to me that these tales of Forster’s gross inability with his feet are vastly overcooked. He’s no Luka Modric when it comes to picking a pass, admittedly, but by and large he seems to complete the task reasonably enough each time.

Until he doesn’t, I suppose, and the pass to the Bournemouth chappie was absolutely dripping in risk, as well as being a few notches off the mark. Forster at least had the decency to redeem himself with another of those mightily impressive saves of his, but one could hardly just focus on the save and bat off its disastrous prequel.

It’s a little difficult therefore to stamp an 8 out of 10 on his performance. One cannot really gloss over the misplaced passes that bring about the downfall of the collective – in much the same way as one can hardly ignore Dragusin’s ill-timed walkabout for the Bournemouth goal, and just claim that he was fairly neat and tidy throughout. These things matter. We can’t have our clan-members scattering around mistakes that end up with the ball in our net, and shrugging it off as part of the deal.

Frankly though, this defeat owed more to collective failings than any individual error – and as I yammered about earlier, the rapidly dropping energy levels about the place strike me as having a lot to do with this.

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Spurs match reports

Galatasary 3-2 Spurs: Three(ish) Tottenham Talking Points

1. Dragusin

When gathered in the smoking-room to pick over the bones of the weekend jolly vs Villa, a sentiment seemed to surface that young Dragusin might be a bit of a one. A defender with something to him, was the gist. Thrust into the thick of battle shorn of first VDV and then Romero, he emerged with half-shaven-half-man-bunned head held high, was the sentiment.

AANP contented himself to nod along at all that, rather than wade into the discourse. In my private moments I confided that there was a fair old slab of rough, as well as smooth, when it came to Dragusin, but I thought then – as now – that it is a bit early to really measure the dear boy for size.

To bang home the point, it still strikes me as too early to judge either way. That said, put politely, last night he had a bit of a stinker. No doubt about that one. If there were a mistake to be made, Dragusin was front of the queue. He was like one of those fellows one sees in the black and white slapstick comedies, who places a hand on a door and the whole edifice comes crashing down around him.

It says much about his night’s work that there are simply too many mistakes to catalogue. Not that he was alone on this front – Forster’s distribution was often the stuff of nightmares, Bergvall and Maddison offered no assistance whatsoever, the other members of the back-four had turned off the ‘Accuracy’ settings on their passing dials for the evening – but Dragusin seemed keen to make himself the poster-boy for all the calamity unfolding about the place.

To summarise, from top to bottom, his attempts to dribble from the back almost always saw him tackled; his passing was often errant; and on more than one occasion he allowed too much space to whichever forward he was marking. Again, to re-emphasise, he was no doubt dealt a duff hand, being partnered with the earnest-limited Davies, B. and in front of the enormous-but-far-from-sprightly Forster, F. And seeing Dragusin occasionally put that sizeable frame to half-decent use in the second half, by bouncing away Galatasaray forwards, one could at least wrap the old grey cells around the concept that he and VDV might make a useful combo.

Last night, however, was not his night. That is acceptable enough; the broader concern over here is that Angeball is not his system. The requirement of being a pretty competent ball-player, in order to get on board with playing out from the back, currently seems one heck of a stretch for the man. Nor is he exceptionally quick, which would be a bonus in our high line, and on last night’s showing there is nothing in particular about his defending that would have you rushing to the beds of your nearest and dearest to wake them up and excitedly prattle about how we might have stumbled upon a gem. Let’s see how he gets on this Sunday, I suppose.

2. The Youth

For the avoidance of doubt, any game that Spurs lose rather ruins the mood at AANP Towers for the remainder of the evening; but that said, on this occasion the atmosphere around here come the final whistle last night was a lot more philosophical than would ordinarily be the case after a 3-2 reverse. And I suppose the reason for this was that last night’s game had the distinct air about it of a free hit. That is to say, if you lined up every Spurs game you’ve ever watched on a scale of importance, with the ’91 FA Cup Final and 2019 CL Final up at one end, then this would probably be tucked away at the other.

One doesn’t really make any effort to master the mechanics of this Europa League drivel, but the word around the campfire seemed to be that with three wins from three already banked, for one night only our heroes could afford to take their eye off things yesterday. The Europa League as a whole has been seen as a chance to give minutes to squad players and unleash the kids, and Our Glorious Leader made clear yesterday that he was fully signed up to this policy.

2.2 The Youth: Bergvall

In this context, I considered young Bergvall an almighty let-down. One might reasonably exercise a bit of The Dragusin Disclaimer here, and point out that these are early days and limited viewings, and therefore urge a spot of caution before ejecting the blighter from the premises. Such an approach would be entirely reasonable. The point of these Europa and Carabao outings is not really for armchair fans like your current scribe to act out the roles of judge, jury and executioner, but for the young pups to gain experience and improve.

And by golly, judging by his starts so far this season, Bergvall has a heck of a lot of improving to get through. His touch and talent seem present and correct, no real concerns there. The problem, rather, seems to be that he has a touch of the old Bryan Gil about him. Featherweight, I mean, and that puts it kindly. Every time he was in possession last night he duly received a gentle buffeting that near enough knocked him from his moorings; while his attempts to scurry back and lend some muscle when chasing their midfield were akin to watching a kitten tyring to interfere with a passing elephant. As mentioned, both he and Maddison were woefully low on useful input, and the contrast once Bentancur, Sarr and Kulusevski arrived was enormous.

2.3 The Youth: Gray

Of the other whippersnappers, Archie Gray gave the impression that while he’ll obediently play the game at left-back or right-back or wherever, what he really wants is to be let off the leash to go roam about the midfield.

His contribution to our first goal was outstanding. The alacrity to pick up pieces when Sonny tumbled to ground might not sound like much, but it was a heck of a lot more than Maddison achieved all night; however what really drew the admiring gasp was his pass to Johnson. Lest it go unmentioned, there were simpler options available, not least the sideways pass, so beloved of Spurs midfielders from generation to generation, just shuttling the ball from left to right, neatly and tidily but without the merest whiff of penetration.

Gray, however, spotted a vastly more exciting option, and then executed it to perfection, flighting a cross that turned harmless midfielding into threatening attack, for Johnson to set up Lankshear. I’ve heard it recently said that teams seem to take far more risks in defence than attack these days, but in this little scene Gray demonstrated the virtues of taking a risk in attack, and frankly that output alone put to shame the watching Maddison.

2.4 The Youth: Lankshear

Another who looks a bit too light of frame just yet, this was probably an ideal experience for young Lankshear to develop from boy to man. One of course stiffens the upper lip at moments of heightened emotion, so his goal was greeted with little more than an approving nod, but deep within the AANP bosom the heart fairly bulged with pride at seeing him tuck away his chance.

However, when the grandchildren gather round to hear him narrate the tale, I’d imagine he’ll gloss over the sub-plots. Had our defence and midfield been fully stocked I actually fancy he might have had a few more dishes from which to choose, as Galatasaray looked far from watertight at the back, as befits a team whose cornerstone is Davinson Sanchez, and there were a few occasions on which a more accurate through-ball would have had Lankshear in on goal.

Gallingly for him, our defence and midfield spent much of the game on a different planet, unable to string together the requisite passes to progress beyond halfway, and Lankshear’s was largely a watching brief. When the ball was tossed up to him with a distant yelp of “Good luck!” that sentiment about his bulk, or lack thereof, sprung again to mind, and all the more so when Solanke arrived to illustrate the contrast more pointedly.

His two yellows were the other notable events of his night, and while most about the place seem to be rather forgiving of the young cheese on this front, invoking his age and whatnot, AANP is a little less forgiving here. Green behind the ears or not, he ought to have displayed a bit more sense with both cautions.

3. The Cavalry

I mentioned that with a stronger selection I’d have fancied us to make a goodish bit of hay against this lot, and the changes in the latter part of the second half seemed to bear this out to an extent.

Bentancur looked a few classes above all around him in midfield when he took to the stage, and Sarr and Kulusevski similarly helped to wrest the initiative our way.

Watching the first half seemed to provide an answer to anyone who had ever wondered how a one-man midfield might fare against Galatasaray, as Bergvall and Maddison’s gentle melting into the background allowed Bissouma to take on all-comers single-handedly, and I thought he accordingly rattled off his best performance of the season. Where all around him our players were turning themselves in little troublesome knots and ultimately looking up to find the ball had been spirited away from them, Bissouma peddled an impressive line in shielding the ball and shimmying away from trouble.

Once his more experienced chums rocked up, he was able to switch roles from trying to throw water from a fast-sinking ship, to providing the base upon which a spirited comeback might be built. It said much about the upturn in performance brought about by the cavalry that we were on top in the final 20 or so, even when a man light.

Solanke, as mentioned, offered a heck of a lot more muscle at the apex than young Lankshear, and also executed his goal mightily impressively. All in all, I fancied there was enough evidence in that final quarter of the match – a man down, and against one of the more fancied teams – to vindicate the notion that we are amongst the favourites for this particular pot.

So while, to repeat, a defeat is always rather unpleasant, one gets the impression that Our Glorious Leader will have been pretty happy with the night’s work. The regulars received a break – and then made a noticeable difference when introduced; those on the fringes were given the chance to work up a sweat; Lankshear nabbed a goal; Gray assisted an assist; and the whole thing was effected without too much lasting damage. On we bob.

Categories
Spurs match reports

Palace 1-0 Spurs: Three Tottenham Talking Points

1. A Rotten Performance

I’m not inclined to believe too many of George Orwell’s footballing opinions, he having been a fan of the Woolwich, but he certainly stumbled upon one truth when he rambled on about all defeats being equal but some being more equal than others (or something close to that). For AANP will accept some losses with a pretty casual shrug of the shoulders – the 2-1 defeat at Newcastle for example, or the 1-1 at Leicester (which no doubt pedants will point out wasn’t a defeat, letting technicalities get in the way of a good argument).

And the reason for such equanimity in the face of defeat is that if it’s the sort of game in which our heroes could reasonably have expected to score four or five, but somehow only managed one, then AANP will not be too concerned, as more often than not those sort of performances will bring wins.

Yesterday’s, however, was a different kettle of fish altogether, and as a result the usual sunny AANP disposition has clouded over like the dickens. Had we hammered away at the Palace goal only to be sucker-punched against the run of play, there would have been merely a philosophical rumination or two over the evening bourbon. “Onwards”, would have been the gist of the dialogue. Not the end of the world. Not too many adjustments needed.

But this was not one of those occasions.

I thought that by and large, our lot stank the place out yesterday. There may have been a token show of resistance in the final 20, but anything other than a Palace would win would have been quite the misrepresentation of events. The energy of their attacking mob in pressing us in and around our own penalty area frankly put us to shame. The Palace players simply seemed infinitely more motivated.

By contrast, the approach of most in lilywhite smacked of a dubious concoction that, from my vantage point, appeared to be approximately one third complacency and two thirds absence of interest. This calculating of the proportions occurred as I watched our defensive cohort dozily gift the ball to Palace before reaching the halfway line for about the hundredth time in that dreadful first half, the mindset seeming to be that it was simply too much like hard work on a sunny Sunday afternoon to get the head down and buzz about the place with any semblance of diligence. Far easier, was the impression given, simply to waft a pass into the loose vicinity of a teammate, and let the two clubs’ respective league positions take care of the rest.

In order to make this point crystal clear, our heroes conceded a goal that exemplified in one neat take all that was wrong about their performance. Romero dwelt on the ball inside his own area for an age despite the looming presence of two Palace forwards, before declaring that this sort of fare was beneath him, and casually floating a pass across his own area and into the loose radius of VDV.

In mitigation, VDV did not give the air of one who was delighted to be in receipt of a pass bouncing across his body inside his own area, but even he then passed on the opportunity simply to clear the thing, instead allowing the ball to continue bouncing and then deciding that this was as good a moment as any to stop focusing on the game and instead start dwelling on some of life’s other, unrelated mysteries.

The Palace laddie in attendance was only too pleased to let VDV have his quiet time, and generously relieved him of the ball so he could really crack on without distraction. The next stage in the disaster was the input of the cross from the right, Messrs Romero and Porro admirably deciding that this was an appropriate cue for them to give some semblance of concern, but without checking on what the other was doing, or indeed on the whereabouts of the most prolific Palace striker on the pitch (Mateta). Instead, both rushed towards the ball and young Eze, who promptly took both of them out of the game with a flick towards the aforementioned Mateta, who himself then took advantage of the freedom of the six-yard box to score.

As mentioned, if the self-inflicted genesis of all this had been anomalous and out of keeping with general proceedings I’d have done a quick tour of the place with rallying cries of “Chin up, gents, what?” and encouraging ruffles of the hair. But instead I folded the arms and adopted the unamused expression of a bulldog that’s just chewed a wasp. AANP was deeply unamused.

The incompetence in playing out from the back continued religiously, laced with our chronic inability to win a 50-50 challenge, and by the second half Palace were shooting from all angles, and really ought to have added to their lead.

Oddly enough we nevertheless fashioned two or three presentable chances of our own in each half, but the rhythm of the piece was firmly established long before the credits rolled, and even had we slunk out of South London with a point the AANP mood would have been one best avoided.

At whom the finger of blame should point is therefore the next question, and while the players undoubtedly deserve a docking of extortionate wages and some brief but memorable physical admonishment to boot, Our Glorious Leader also needs a few stern words aimed in his direction.

I’m firmly in the Postecoglou camp, as there has been enough to suggest we should handsomely beat most teams, and do so entertainingly, but the mentality about the place emanates from the top, and if the players on the pitch are simply mooching their way through 90 minutes without urgency or care then a jabbing of an angry towards the manager is only right. Win another seven of our next eight and AANP will be content enough, but frequent displays of this impotence and the disapproving eyebrow will be well and truly arched.

2. Mikey Moore: The Sequel

I don’t know if you’ve ever experienced the talkies, but AANP finds them a most riveting form of entertainment, and if there happens to be an evening without football will quite often seek one out to pass the time. And one aspect of these motion pictures that I’ve noticed is that if one of them constitutes a thoroughly entertaining two-or-so hours, the boffins behind such fare will sure enough paste together another one for general consumption, but – and here’s the rub – more often than not, the sequel will not match the original for quality.

There are, of course, exceptions. Terminator 2 and Aliens, I would suggest, stand peerlessly in the AANP pantheon of greats, and both are sequels that arguably top the original. But for every Terminator 2 there’s a Die Hard 2 – or, come to think of it a Terminator 3, 4, 5 or 6 – viz. a sequel that comes nowhere near the thrilling quality of the first.

And it was armed with this knowledge that AANP peered cautiously over the teamsheet and drank in the inclusion of Mikey Moore as a starter. Because, for the benefit of those who have been living under an N17 rock the last four or five days, young Master M’s left-wing bow against AZ in midweek had been about as spiffing as this sort of thing gets, all youthful exuberance and slaloming runs, and a decent amount of end-product too for good measure.

It would have been pretty tempting therefore, to expect the same and more yesterday, from the off. Make oneself comfortable and feast the eyes upon another Mikey Moore highlights reel, would go the narrative.

Knowing what I know about sequels, however, I demonstrated what generations hence will respectfully term admirable restraint, and duly convinced myself that perhaps only nineteen of every twenty attempted dribbles by the lad would result in havoc in the Palace defence and wild applause from the travelling lilywhite continent.

It would be easy to castigate MM’s performance, it having failed to bear fruit and having ended with his unceremonious abstraction on 60 minutes, but despite one pointed concession of possession in the first half that almost brought Palace some joy down their right, I thought he was one of our best performers in the first half. The bar here is admittedly so low that passing earthworms would pause and consider the odds, but nevertheless, I maintain that he fared pretty well when opportunity allowed.

On a couple of occasions he set off infield and beat a two or three players before being hacked to earth; and on a couple of other occasions he played well weighted passes into space on the left for Udogie and Maddison to race onto. That was admittedly pretty much it in terms of his highlights reel, but with everyone else in lilywhite generally misfiring I thought that this constituted a decent enough contribution. Nowhere near the level of the original, but taken on its own it had some memorable moments. Predator 2, if you will.

As a curious aside, and in the interests of fairness, I also thought that Herr Werner made a decent stab of things once he emerged from exile. While not exactly rip-roaring he did cause his opposing full-back a few problems, and also swung in a couple of crosses that arguably deserved better than simply disappearing down the gullet of the ‘keeper. I mention this purely because I bang on about the chap every time he stuffs things up in front of goal. Only fair, what?

3. Richarlison

There were not too many other notable contributions, most individuals fitting neatly within the stale, all-encompassing headline of the dreary team performance. Pedro Porro showed his attacking chops, in the second half in particular, reminding me that deep within his Angeball-moulded, inverted model there lies a traditional, touchline-hugging full-back. Solanke continues to show more value around halfway than in the opposition area. Any good that Bissouma did with ball at his feet seemed to me to be negated by his inability to provide useful protection when we were out of possession (in marked contrast to that Wharton lad for Palace, who would be advised to make a living out of snuffing out opposition attacks at source).

But one depressing thought that sprung to mind was that Richarlison is simply not up to the level we require. Why this thought chose yesterday to worm its way into my consciousness is anyone’s guess – yesterday’s was hardly his worst showing in lilywhite, and the unfortunate young chestnut is still short of match fitness and whatnot. More pertinently, there were at least a dozen others who underwhelmed massively and have had far more chances to prove themselves good enough.

But watching him scurry enthusiastically before finally missing his kick, or overhitting his kick, or in some other way failing to execute effectively the kicking part of football, just made me realise that we’ve persevered with him for quite some time now, and he’s not really improved a jot since Day One.

At some point last season – I think the point at which he inadvertently trod on the ball on halfway and fell over – it was suggested to me that he might have the worst technique of any Brazilian footballer in history. Now I must confess to having lacked the willpower to conduct the research necessary to verify that claim; but the gist has stuck with me. His touch is pretty off, what?

I have in the past peddled the line that one Harry Kane has an oddly poor touch – by which I mean that if you subject him to inspection you’ll note that the ball regularly bounces off him as if it were being thrown against a wall – but this is more than compensated for by his extraordinary goalscoring, range of passing, ability to shield the ball, winning of free-kicks, ability with both feet, ability with head, penalty-taking and various other assets. Richarlison, however, seems to possess much of the wall, but precious few of those redeeming features.

It certainly made sense to throw on a second striker yesterday, one understood the logic inside and out. And Richarlison does have physical presence, and fits neatly within the prescribed system of pressing high and expending bundles of energy. But give him the ball, or ask him to go fetch, and things start to break down. And amidst everything else that went wrong yesterday, I became aware of the notion that I had had rather enough of the wretched fellow.

Categories
Spurs match reports

Brighton 3-2 Spurs: Three(ish) Tottenham Talking Points

1. The First Half

One might say there was something for everyone yesterday. For lovers of Angeball there was a first half, and particularly a first half hour, in which all involved absolutely purred about the place; for those who can’t stand the chap there was a capitulation that even by our lofty standards was a bit of a corker.

The first half couldn’t have been much brighter and breezier, with slick, one-touch combinations all over the pitch. Moreover, each of the assembled cast members were beginning to give the impression of knowing precisely what, where and when the chap next to him would do. If Porro were passing infield to Kulusevski, for example, Johnson did not need any further prodding, and was already haring off down the wing, in full expectation of the ball being pinged first-time into his path before the nearest Brighton sort had worked out what direction he ought to be facing. Benefits, one assumes, of fielding a relatively settled eleven.

Nor were these little link-ups being executed just to look pretty. They were moves with a specific purpose. Within about two or three passes one of the front-five were generally speeding off into the Brighton penalty area and clearing the stage for a pop at goal, and such was the routine in that first half that just about every time we took possession of the thing one felt that the culmination of the sequence would be some manner of attempt lasering in towards the Brighton net.

While it was very much a collective effort, I found myself drawn to the notion that Kulusevski is possibly the key component in an on-song Spurs, at least when whipping up a head of steam from deep. His energy and directness seem to instil a certain nervousness in opposing sorts, all the more so when given the freedom to advance centrally rather than having his movements slightly curtailed out on the wing (although his combinations with Johnson and Porro on the right were nevertheless effective).

A gentle ripple of applause too for Solanke for his contribution to both goals. There were many pairs of hands involved in both, of course – and for the second in particular I think the fingerprints of a good half-dozen could be detected – but AANP is a particular fan of a well-weighted pass inside a full-back, which turns him around and allows an onrushing colleague to arrive from deep at a rate of knots and collect in his stride. Solanke had a bit of a knack for the things in that first half, timing to perfection the pass for Johnson’s opener, and then playing in Werner in the build-up for the second.

I was also pleasantly surprised to see Maddison popping up in advanced positions – at times the furthest forward, in fact – given that, with Kulusevski alongside him, he has previously seemed happy enough sit five yards deeper. On more than one occasion in those early stages he rather stealthily wormed his way forward unnoticed, before ripping off his mask to reveal his identity only once well inside the Brighton area and with a sight of goal.

Another notable feature of the first half was the alacrity with which our lot swarmed over Brighton whenever they gained possession inside their own half, Spurs players to a man giving the impression that they had little time for such interruptions and wanted to revert to relentless attack at the earliest opportunity.  

All in all, it was the sort of fare on which we have dined pretty regularly this season, augmented, in a pleasing break from the past, by no fewer than two of the chances actually being taken. While several others were spurned, I did beetle off for the half-time snootful with a pretty satisfied exhalation. A fairly pleasing opening stab, was about the gist of it, at least in an attacking sense, and while our lot are always susceptible when in reverse, there seemed no reason to suspect the attacking free-for-all would let up.

2. Werner’s End-Product (and a Word on Mikey Moore)

Before getting down to the grisly details, a pause to sink the head into the hands and muffle a few unrepeatables, as I reflect on the latest misadventures of poor old Timo Werner.

Nothing about him surprises us any more, of course. His is a movie we’ve all watched a few times now. Plenty of willing was on show, as ever, and, taken in isolation, that burst of pace ought to be worth its weight in gold. Not for the first time he appeared to have his opposing full-back at his mercy, being possessed of a far cleaner pair of heels. Werner needed only really to nudge the ball a few yards past the full-back and that particular part of the mission was as good as done. There was no catching him. It might as well have been an unguarded doorway.

Oh, that simply outpacing his man were all that were required, eh? If Werner could simply have beaten his man to the ball, raced to the by-line and then triumphantly put his foot on the ball and waved a colourful flag, we’d be throwing garlands around his neck.

Alas, there typically follows the delicate issue of an end-product, and here, as ever Werner tended to fudge things. The tone was set in the opening fifteen seconds, when Werner absolutely zipped away into space behind the Brighton defence (courtesy of another of those delicious passes between defenders from Solanke), and looked up to see young Brennan Johnson galloping in synchronicity, ten yards to his right.

Not much additional work was needed, the sum of it requiring that one international footballer pass straightforwardly to another, the path from A to B uncluttered by any third parties. This being Werner, however, he rather pickled the operation by delivering that final pass with far more oomph than the situation required, and the moment concluded down by the corner flag rather than in the back of the net.

This was probably the nadir, but thereafter every time Werner attempted similarly to cross to a suitable body in the area, he failed to hit the mark, most typically banging the ball straight into the nearest Brighton limb. Dashed frustrating stuff, given the ease with which he was able to scuttle past his defender in order to create the opportunity in the first place, but such is the package he provides.

To his credit, he did start to work out that crossing into the centre was beyond his capability, and opt instead on several occasions to play a shorter pass, of four or five yards. This proved vastly more effective, not least as it meant we retained possession in a dangerous area and someone slightly more qualified – by which I mean literally anyone else – was then tasked with picking the critical final pass. Maddison’s goal was created in this way, so it certainly had its benefits, it just seemed rather a waste of all that initial good work Werner would do in getting himself into a crossing position.

As ever, there were increasingly furious yowls from the assorted observers, with each Werner mishap, demanding that Mikey Moore be utilised instead. I would caution against this myself, the young egg’s brief cameo seeming to illustrate that at present all the talent in the world is somewhat on pause, as he is currently too lightweight for this sort of thing. Every time he tried to take on a man or two he was fairly straightforwardly buffeted out of the picture. His value may be greater when we lead and can counter, running into space, perhaps, than when he needs to flex the upper-body sinews and take on a waiting defender.

3. Defenders Who Can’t Defend

Concerns about Timo Werner, however, are a mere bagatelle when contrasted with the broader second half performance.

Going forward we showed far less of that first half potency, for reasons that can only be speculated upon. The intense, high press of the first half was wiped from the memory, with only Solanke really playing the game after the break, and while we still did look to create, notably on the right, there was nowhere near the same threat.

But vastly more disturbing was what was transpiring at the back. One understands that the whole Angeball apparatus lends itself to an often calamitous susceptibility at the rear. One hardly revels in the fact, but one understands it. If every man and his dog are going to attack, one rather anticipates that gaps will appear at the back.

What is a lot harder to stomach is when the opposition scythe right through the heart of our defence when all four of them are in position and in a neat line, aided by Bentancur and whomever else is nearby, and seemingly not having been under any imminent threat at all. For it is a pretty verifiable fact that Brighton did not have to work particularly hard to carve us open and shoot from the centre of the goal. Not unless one’s idea of hard work is to saunter unopposed through a front door.

The litany of individual mistakes makes for pretty gruesome recollection, to the extent that one barely knows where to start, but for the sake of a bit of order I’ll go through this geographically, right to left.

3.1 Porro

He may have escaped censure on the day, given the more obvious blooters from Udogie and whatnot, but Pedro Porro needs to dashed well pull up his socks and sort out his ideas. Simply being in the vicinity and running in the right direction are not sufficient. If Werner only had to outpace his opposing right-back to be free of him, then whomever was on Brighton’s left wing (typically Mitoma) did not even need to do that much. They merely needed to look up and kick the blasted thing, because as sure as night follows day, Porro was going to allow the cross to be made.

There was a warning sign in the first half, when Mitoma curled the ball into the area for Welbeck to pop wide, and it continued with Brighton’s first two goals, shortly after half-time. Watch the footage back and Porro can be spotted in the vicinity and appearing to chase back diligently enough – but, as with that first half cross, the blighter does nothing even to attempt to prevent the ball being knocked past him and into the centre. There’s not much point in there being a right-back on the pitch if he’s not going to make the slightest attempt to stop the opposition left winger, but Porro didn’t even outstretch a leg.

Similarly for the second goal, Porro ambles out towards Estupinian and in the blink of an eye the ball is played inside him, taking him out of the game. While Brighton did have an overload there, Porro might still have stationed himself somewhere that made the pass at least a mite more difficult, but instead Brighton simply hopped around him and cracked on.

3.2 Romero

If Porro can be chided for failing to prevent crosses, there ought to have been a safety net of sorts alongside him in the shape of Romero, but so far this season he has seemed to sleepwalk around the pitch with zero awareness, and seemingly not much interest, in what is happening around him.

As mentioned, the Mitoma cross in the first half found Welbeck unmarked from six yards out, and this represented an astonishing dereliction of duty from Romero. The genesis of this was no desperate sprint back from halfway either – Romero had all the time in the world to spot Welbeck and keep tabs on him, but simply dozed off while jogging back, lost sight of him completely and was mightily lucky that he missed the target when it was easier to score.

Then for the second Brighton goal, once the ball had been played inside Porro to Mitoma, Romero went out to meet him, but his attempted tackle exemplified much that was wrong with our defending. Frankly the very term ‘attempted tackle’ is pretty wildly misleading, because it was that in name only, consisting of Romero dangling a half-hearted leg at Mitoma with the air of a man who thinks there are plenty of others around who can put an end to the danger should  the need arise. One hardly calls for Romero to crunch him at the knee, but he could certainly have applied himself more fervently to blocking the man’s path and forcing him to look elsewhere.

And then for the third, Romero was back to his absent-minded self, rocking on his heels and simply watching on as the ball looped up for Welbeck to head in. In the last week or two I have lauded Dominic Solanke for anticipating a rebound well in advance, setting off at the merest sniff of an opportunity. In Romero we saw the polar opposite, a man utterly oblivious to the threat of danger, even within his own six-yard box.

Romero is mightily impressive in possession, demonstrating at various points yesterday and in recent weeks his eye for a natty, threaded pass in midfield that bisects the opposing press – but first and foremost the man is a defender, dash it. Above all else he ought to be defending. In common with those around him, he seems far more attuned to life when on the attack than when keeping at bay the other mob.

3.3 Van de Ven

No doubt about it, VDV’s pace is a blessing like few others, particularly when deployed within the Angeball high line. If a foot-race to the ball is in order, to snuff out a looming threat, VDV is your man; and indeed, he has a rather pleasingly no-nonsense approach to covering the left-back position too, regularly seen to rush over and put in a slide-challenge that deposits the ball out of play and allows everyone else to man their stations.

Yet in terms of the basics of one-on-one defending, such as making a tackle or simply preventing an opponent from skipping gaily past to t’other side, VDV is alarmingly susceptible. Standing one’s ground and forcing an opponent to take a roundabout route to goal ought not to be the complex operation that VDV has turned it into.

Again, for that second Brighton goal, VDV was turned inside out far too easily, and on various other occasions in the second half in particular, he seemed to be beaten with minimal effort. If sides play some scintillating football that tears the defence to shreds, one can bow an accepting head, but Brighton really did not have to work particularly hard to bypass VDV – or those around him.

3.4 Udogie

Rather more conspicuously, Udogie made quite the pig’s ear of his clearance for the first goal, but in a way I am more inclined to absolve this. That was a lapse in concentration that might have happened anywhere on the pitch; more concerning is when he has to carry out basic operations when up against an opponent, and is beaten with the same ease with which I skip past my youthful nephews out in the park.

The third Brighton goal being a case in point (a move preceded, by the way, by Udogie needlessly running the ball out of play instead of clearing up the line). The Brighton chappie posed no threat with back to goal and few options available, and for clarification was not Pele either. Yet Udogie allowed him wriggle past him with the sort of perfunctory challenge that Romero had been showcasing earlier, a slackness that cost us a goal.

As can certainly also be said for Porro and Romero, and to an extent is true of VDV, Udogie seems vastly to prefer life when charging forward. And he does a marvellous job of it too, which is lovely in its own wy – but that’s not the point of a left-back! Our four defenders seem not to grasp the basics of defending. As mentioned above, it’s challenging enough when they’re all racing back from halfway and stretched in all directions, but yesterday they showcased that even when all organised and in position, they are simply such bad defenders that opponents can, with a few carefully-selected steps, waltz straight through the heart of them.

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Spurs match reports

Man Utd 0-3 Spurs: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. Micky Van de Ven

Good heavens. One feels like there should be a law against that sort of thing. And having done something similar against Everton a few weeks back, I think it’s safe to say that this cannot simply be dismissed, with a raised eyebrow and a bemused shrug, as a bit of an oddity and not one worth reading into. Hurtling straight through the heart of an opposition defence, from own half to penalty area, taking out four or five defenders en route, is evidently a character trait of Van de Ven.

Of course, as and when called upon VDV duly ticked all other, more conventional boxes, as any self-respecting centre-back would, but it was this unstoppable thrust from deep that caught the eye and arrested the attention, the sort of wondrous moment that generations to come will whisper about in awestruck tones.

My Spurs-supporting chum Ian noted that there was something of Gareth Bale about that gallop, and, while applying all understandable caveats, one does see the point. Visually, Van de Ven does not really whizz from A to B with the smooth grace of an Olympic sprinter, at least not when doing so with the ball at his feet. Like Bale (and, come to think of it, there’s a vague similarity to Kulusevski too), when VDV starts running with the ball he looks more like a wild beast charging down a hill, his speed on the gallop complemented by the vague sense that here is a chap motoring along with too much power simply to be nudged out of the way.

Either way, the pretty damning conclusion was that once he had revved up there was simply no stopping him. In fact, there was no getting near him. I suppose this might have had something to do with the approach of the United players as well as the force of the VDV run, for they seemed not to be struck by the concept that protruding a limb or stationing self in VDV’s path might have done something to at least delay – if not altogether stop – his progress.

But if any of you have ever seen a man possessed – and I’ve come across a few in my time – then no amount of protruding limbs or stationing of selves will stop him. Once hell-bent on running half the pitch and squaring across goal for a tap-in, there’s little the casual, or indeed particularly serious, observer can do. Brennan Johnson had the right idea – pop up in the appointed place and at the appointed hour, and greet the whole performance with such glee that you’re already smiling before applying the finishing touch.

2. This Week’s Angeball

Given that VDV went scything his way through United before the opening credits were off the screen, it is tempting to clear the throat and declare that he and his fine work set the tone, but I rather fancy that VDV buccaneering run or not, our lot would still have spent that opening half hour relentlessly hammering away at the opposition. It simply seems to be the Angeball modus operandi. Like a squadron of Pavlovian dogs, the sound of that opening whistle seems to be the cue for all involved to spring into a wild frenzy of attack upon attack, incessantly and until half-time.

(Indeed, proof, were it needed, that the first half barrage was not solely VDV-induced can be obtained from footage of last weekend’s start against Brentford, when we were a goal down within 30 seconds and adopted the same take on things that was in evidence yesterday after going a goal up.)

Once again, I gave the pre-match nod of approval in the direction of Our Glorious Leader, for opting for the Kulusevski-laden midfield rather than the safety-first option of Sarr or Bissouma. As against Woolwich one would have grudgingly understood had the verdict been a soupçon of caution for an opponent and stage such as this, but rather impressively Ange was having none of it. Instead, “Gung” and “Ho” were the words of choice, and just about every outfield player was on board.

Normally the centre-backs and a single midfielder are the only souls from whom one can expect any restraint, but with Van de Ven doing his thing as early as the third minute, it was evident that if you were on the pitch then you had licence to attack.

Both Udogie and Spence gave the impression that they much prefer lending weight to offensive issues anyway, and over on the other side Porro seemed in the mood too, so there were no shortage of volunteers for any given sortie up the pitch.

And as has been the trend for most of this season, our lot did not just dominate possession, but created a bucketload of chances too. Whereas in seasons gone by all that possession became something of a millstone around the neck, with the ball shuttled left and right ad infinitum outside the area as we suffered from a lack of ingenuity in the final third, yesterday there was no shortage of bright ideas from our heroes. One-twos in the area, Werner getting to the byline, Porro crossing from 20 yards out – there was a pleasing variety to our attack, and that’s on top of a high press that brought home all sorts of healthy harvest.

In the first half alone we were treated to one-on-ones for Werner and Maddison, and Johnson hitting the post, as well as the usual slew of half-chances, and while the tendency to keep missing these opportunities is rather vexing, and has already cost us this season, the creation of so many chances (two goals and two more one-on-ones missed in the second half) does suggest that we’ll rack up the goals this season.

Had we taken chances against Newcastle and Leicester as we did yesterday and last weekend, we would now be top of the tree, which is a point that I suspect will grind the AANP gears until mid-May, but nevertheless the silver lining here is that we repeatedly create chances, and as such, more often than not will outscore the opposition.

3. Kulusevski (and a Nod of Approval for Bentancur)

As mentioned, every man in lilywhite was in on the whole ‘Attack, Attack, Attack’ strategy, but in Kulusevski in particular we have something of a gem.

Strictly speaking that should be amended to ‘Kulusevski in a central role’, because when deployed through the middle rather than out wide his productivity shoots through the roof. He has his virtues as a winger of course – the VDV-esque quality of being quick than he appears he ought to be is quite the asset, but as was lamented on a weekly basis last season, his tendency, having done all the hard work on the right, ultimately to cut back onto his left foot in order to deliver a cross or shot, was as frustrating as it was unproductive.

In the centre, however, he is quite the menace, and with United either unable or willing to engage yesterday, he absolutely ran the show. There were so many ticks against his name that one rather made a mess of one’s notes. He delivers the beans in terms of joining in the high press, tracking back, running with the ball, evading challenges, displaying quick feet around the areas and, perhaps most impressively yesterday, picking passes from deep into the path of on-running forwards.

As a bonus, the presence of Kulusevski seems also to bring the best out of Maddison, the pair of them by the week seeming increasingly aware of who goes where on the pitch-map, and that little one-two in the first half that put Maddison through on goal had me purring.

In singing the praises of Kulusevski one ought also to pause and quietly salute the honest beavering of Bentancur, who, in much the same way as Kulusevski and Maddison further north, seems to be understanding better on a weekly basis the rigours and requirements of that perch just in front of the centre-backs.

He’s not really a tackler, but then that’s not his job. In possession he collects the ball from the centre-backs and comes up with bright ideas of where to deliver it next; and out of possession he tends to be in the vicinity as a third defensive body. The whole business of defending on halfway does still leave us wide open, no doubt about it, and overly-reliant on the pace of young VDV, but Bentancur seems aware that he is required to hang back and loiter, when all around him are charging forward, and he seems not to mind.

4. Werner’s Finishing (and Indeed Solanke’s Finishing)

As mentioned, thrilling though it is to see our heroes carve out chance after chance, I suspect I was not alone in spending that half-time break trotting a little nervously back and forth, wondering if we would rue all those misses. And while he was by no means the only culprit, Timo Werner’s did rather stand out, what?

He was at it again in the second half, of course, and to say it’s absolutely maddening doesn’t really do justice to the thing. The poor soul’s inability to score when clean through is absolutely bewildering.

One should know better by now than to expect, or even hope, that he might bury one of these opportunities, but when he’s clean through on goal I simply cannot help myself. I rise to my feet, the pulse quickens and I almost plead with him to do the honourable thing and put us all at our ease.

One can only wonder what goes on in training, when they practice these things, but out he does rather give the impression that he’s already resigned to making a pig’s ear of it as soon as let loose upon goal. The shame of it is that being blessed with such pace, he gets more of those opportunities than most.

Of course, he’s not the only one to come a cropper in these scenarios. Solanke took a leaf out of his book late on; Maddison was denied in the first half (although the circumstances there seemed to mitigate, he being a lot closer to goal and actually producing a solid effort in the form of a cheeky dink) and frankly I feel like Sonny misses as many as he scores when clean through on goal these days. And has been well-documented, when clear of a defence, one has probably a bit too much time to consider the permutations and get one’s brain into something of a muddle.

But nevertheless. Werner misses these dashed things literally every time.

As ever, I watched his all-round performance with a highly critical eye yesterday, and was not particularly impressed. The one trait he displays that did deserve a spot of rowdy approbation was that tendency to shove the ball towards the byline, out-pace his man and pull it back across goal. He did that at least a couple of times, and that no obliging foot was around to prod home was not his fault. This option seemed rather useful, far more so than his usual approach, of swivelling one-eighty and knocking the ball back towards halfway.

However, Mikey Moore having been given fifteen minutes to find his feet, one wonders whether he might earn a start next time Sonny is declared MIA, with Werner to input later from the bench.

As mentioned, Solanke also duffed up his one-on-one, but that aside he put in another impressive shift. In particular I was rather taken by his awareness in heading the ball out right and into the path of Johnson, in the build-up to our second, rather than aimlessly heading it straight down the throat of the United centre-halves.

Moreover, having spent countless playground hours in my youth trying to emulate the goal-poaching prowess of one G. Lineker Esquire, AANP was particularly taken by Solanke’s goal yesterday. As mentioned midweek, those poached finishes from close-range are something of a dying art, and certainly not the sort to which we Spurs fans have been treated in a while (even Herr Kane seemed not to include too many of those amongst his repertoire). If September 2024 is anything to go by, however, Solanke seems to prefer nothing more than to stab in a loose ball from six yards or fewer.

I’m all for it. They all count, after all, and while his two previous efforts were following up goalkeeping spillages, I was thoroughly impressed by yesterday’s, involving as it did a spot of deeper loitering at a corner, before gambling on a near-post flick, and getting scruffy studs on the ball from approximately three yards out. A most pleasing throwback to a bygone era, and a potentially useful addition to the attacking armoury.

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 3-0 Qarabag: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. The Glorious Lunacy of Angeball

There are several ways to skin a cat, so I’m reliably informed. Not a hobby for which I’ve ever gone in myself, you understand, but presumably the hypothesis stretches to playing with ten men too. Several ways to do it, is the gist. One can pack one’s own penalty area, abandon all notions of attack, adopt a 6-3-0 and feign injury every five minutes (and still fail to achieve the one, single object). Or one can go full all-action-no-plot.

In much the same way as the home game vs Chelsea last season – the poster-child for this sort of madcap wheeze – was encapsulated by that shot of all eight of our remaining outfield players strung across the halfway line, so the mental snapshot will live long in my head from last night, of poor old VDV and Davies manfully back-pedalling in the face of three Qarabag sorts, while a good 5-10 yards back Messrs Gray, Udogie, Sarr and Bissouma desperately tried to race back in time to avert disaster.

They needn’t have bothered, as it happened, as Qarabag appeared to have Ray Charles leading the line (and Johnny Wilkinson on penalties), they packing the sort of finishing quality that had you convinced they could have played all night without scoring. But that’s not really the point, what? The point is that even with ten men, the last thing any of our lot want to do is defend.

Not strictly true, I suppose, as the two centre-backs by and large stay at home and man the fort. And admittedly when the opposition has a little spell of calm possession, all in lilywhite will obediently trot back into formation and at least pretend to play the game.

But once we regain possession, heaven help the centre-backs and Vicario, because for everyone else, all bets are off. I doubt that VDV and Davies even hear the cheery adieus of Gray and Udogie as they go sprinting up into midfield. With Bissouma and Sarr the segue from defence-minded to attack-minded is perhaps a little more subtle, but within about ten seconds of our gaining possession they also find themselves almost irresistibly sucked up the pitch, leaving VDV and Davies to puff the cheeks and brace themselves for the inevitable two-on-two fandango.

Now personally I think it’s absolutely riotous fun, but then I’ve spent half my life penning a tome called ‘All Action, No Plot’, so one would expect as much. I suppose the grudging proviso I would make is that, given that every other team in the history of the game will be better in front of goal than Qarabag, there may be value in considering a minor modification – such as that one of the two full-backs hangs back at any given time, for example, or that the nominal sitting midfielder does actually, in real life, sit (as I actually thought Bentancur did quite well vs Brentford the other day). Some such low-level tweak might facilitate just a mite more security at the back to guard against the counter-attack, while still allowing all concerned to have an absolute blast when in possession.

Broadly, however, I love this stuff. It’s fitting that last night was a European jolly, as it allowed one to focus the mind’s eye on that AC Milan game under Conte, our most recent, prior European night, and an absolute low-point in the club’s history. Harking back to that felicidal theme, just as there are many ways to skin a cat, so there are many ways to go sixteen years without a trophy, and I’d rather we lose going full Ange and swinging wildly, than having Conte make our eyes bleed in a 0-0 against Milan that we supposedly had to win.

Of course, the smoking room at AANP Towers is full to the rafters these days of incandescent lilywhites petitioning for a return to paper-based transactions just so that they can rip up their season tickets in front of Our Glorious Leader. And one understands, because the man’s stubbornness does take the breath away somewhat. As indicated above, one need only make a few minor changes to maintain high levels of gung-ho whilst tightening considerably at the rear. In plain English, we could very feasibly have our cake and eat it.

We won’t, however. Ange won’t. Just about any other team in Europe would have scored three against us last night; it just means that next time we’ll need to score four. AANP is fully on board.

2. Dragusin

Still early days, of course, and the place is absolutely teeming with mitigating circumstances – he’s barely played; when he does play it’s once a month, hardly allowing him to learn the lyrics; it’s a different formation to the one he played at Genoa; it’s the madness of Angeball, for heaven’s sake; and so on.

This is not to exonerate Dragusin for last night’s faux pas, a clanger that I estimated was three parts complacency and two parts lack of concentration (and served also to ruin poor old Bergvall’s evening).

Rather, the point I make is that, more broadly, it seems too early to make a judgement. Early signs are that he’s going the way of a Ramon Vega, Federico Fazio or, to give it a suitably Romanian twist, Vlad Chiriches – viz. that he’s one of those bobbies who looks thoroughly at ease in national colours, and then appears not to know what shape the ball is when he trots up the tunnel at N17. But let’s give him time to make a few more clangers before we lock that one in.

If ever there were a time to throw in a seventh minute red card it was probably at home to Qarabag. More concerning to the inscrutable AANP eye was that this was the lad we spent months researching and courting. I mean, really? They have legions of scouts, and all sorts of files of data, capturing every conceivable metric – and the chap they pick for an Angeball central defence has a top speed of ‘Moderate Jog’?

‘Quizzical’ doesn’t really do justice to the look on my face as I try to wrap the head around that one. I’d have thought that before anything else, the absolute priority in a central defender who will be spending most of his time preparing to sprint back from halfway would be a turn of pace.

Anyway, there we go, and here he is, so we’d better muck in and hope that VDV’s hamstrings hold up for the next 50 or so games until May, because goodness knows the chaps alongside him won’t be much use once we lose possession.

3. Vicario

If you popped your head in around these parts after the Brentford game you’ll know that I delivered to the masses a pretty coruscating appraisal of Vicario’s misadventures, he having posted one of those wild performances from which one cannot tear away one’s gaze, in a sort of morbid fascination.

Well, he made amends last night. Whether someone had a quiet parola in his ear, or he simply tired of the wild hyperactivity and fancied a calmer night, I could not say, but this was altogether more conventional stuff, and quite impressive too.

As mentioned, the Qarabag compass seemed to point in every direction but the goal, but when they did finally hit the target Vicario did all that was required. In the second half in particular he made one or two highly impressive saves, padded out somewhat by a couple of more straightforward ones that he embellished with unnecessary leaps and roles and all sorts – but we can accept that. First and foremost, Vicario is a shot-stopper, and he stopped shots last night like a champion.

I was also rather taken by a moment in the first half – still at one-nil – when he came off his line to deal with a low cross in unconventional manner, sliding forward full-length across the turf to punch clear the ball as it was delivered. Looked a bit odd, no doubt, but a year of Vicario has taught me that here is a man who does not mind looking a bit peculiar to the average passer-by; and more to the point, it did the job. Had he not slid forward thusly, and instead stayed on his line, there may well have been an opportunity for the approaching Qarabag striker to miss another open goal.

And right on half-time, again with the score at one-nil and therefore the game far from won, he came charging approximately forty yards out of his goal, which cost me a few heartbeats I’ll never get back, but it was ultimately to good effect.

It came about when Ben Davies, in a rather charming act of solidarity with Dragusin, dithered on the ball when last man, was robbed and immediately exposed for having no burst of pace worthy of the name. The immediate fear that Davies was going to take that Dragusin Tribute Act a little too far and haul his man down was swiftly superseded by the sight of Vicario racing in the other direction, bringing with it a brand new fear, that he was going to trump Dragusin by clattering into the man from the front. Either way, in that split second, the AANP mind computed that we would be playing another nine-man defensive line on halfway, and wondered who our substitute goalkeeper was.

As it turned out, I need not have fretted. Vicario had his calculations spot on, reaching the ball first and then extending every conceivable limb to ensure that no rebound would get past him either. It spared Davies’ blushes, kept us in the lead and avoided a second red card – and while the 3-0 scoreline was evidence of a comfortable enough finale, had Vicario not got that challenge right then things really would have pickled themselves.

4. Solanke

The attacking mob can probably pat themselves on the back for last night’s efforts. Son looked a pretty constant threat on the gallop, and Johnson took his goal well (albeit he ought to have had a second), the young egg’s confidence evidently now on a pleasingly upward trajectory.

I thought it a slight shame that Kulusevski was stuck out on the right again, rather than the centre, but if nothing else his very presence appeared to terrify the Qarabag lot; and Sarr’s contribution to the high press helped bring about our opening goal. Young Gray was a curious mix of fine touches and technique, that give evidence of a pretty special footballer lurking, married to some dreadful passing and control to give away possession in important areas. And for some reason, every five minutes one or other of the Qarabag lot would stroll up to him and give him a hefty kick around the ankles.

But one of the most pleasing elements of the evening was the ongoing acclimatisation of Solanke to the lilywhite uniform. The headline, I suppose, was that he scored, which obviously helps jimmy things along, and I do rather think that the poacher’s goal, converting a rebound from close range, is something of a dying art. Not one we see so much of any more, don’t you think? Good for him, anyway, and a drink on the house for his alertness in beginning to chase for a potential rebound even before the ‘keeper had saved Son’s initial shot.

As much as his goal, however, I was rather taken by his all-round game. If there were beavering to be done in deeper positions, Solanke was a surprisingly willing volunteer. He held up the ball reasonably well, and picked the odd pass from deep for onrushing chums, into which category one might file his contribution to our opener. Solanke is evidently happy to play his part in a high press, and once the ball had been won he showed a pleasing spot of the old upper-body strength to shove aside his man, before rolling a pass into Johnson’s path just so.

While it was hardly world-beating stuff, it nevertheless seemed exactly the sort of performance he needed to settle into the role as our focal point, offering a threat in front of goal as well as contributing to the general to-ing and fro-ing further back.

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 4-0 Everton: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. Odobert

I don’t mind admitting that AANP was as surprised as the next man on casting the bleary eye over the morning headlines a few days ago and seeing one Wilson Odobert unveiled as the latest shiny new lilywhite on the shelf.

Naturally, here at AANP Towers when such seismic events occur we hot-foot it to a darkened room and embrace technology, so within moments I was dusting off the spools and watching grainy footage of Odobert’s highlights from his former incarnations. And all very impressive it looked too, when condensed into a few minutes and soundtracked by some of that modern electronic noise; but the critical question was whether or not he could peddle such wares within the cut and thrust of the THFC Starting XI.

We didn’t have to wait long, Our Glorious Leader evidently deciding within 48 hours or so that Odobert merited elevation above the pre-existing queue of wingers. Naturally one respects the privacy and confidentiality of the changing room, but I would certainly have enjoyed the opportunity to sneak a furtive look at the maps of Messrs Werner, Solomon and Richarlison upon learning that Odobert was being shunted to the front of the Left-Wing queue.

And whoever whispers pearls of wisdom in the Odobert ear earned themselves a pay-rise, because within about the opening quarter-hour the young oeuf had ticked all manner of boxes on the ‘How To Please Your New Employer and Win Raucous Applause From Your New Fans’ cribsheet.

From the off Odobert took to the attacking requirements with breezy vim and energy, immediately adopted as one of the cool kids by Messrs Maddison and Udogie, and combining with this pair to impressive effect on the left. He attacked his man at every opportunity, but was also sensible enough not to go overboard and try the same trick every time, making full use of the availability of those around him to try to eke out opportunities.

A couple of dribbles and attempted balls into the centre gave the impression of a lad who knew his onions, and with Johnson, Kulusevski and Porro forming a similar alliance on the right, we seemed well-stocked in the department of provision from the wings.
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Odobert’s diligent tracking back towards his own goal to execute a sliding challenge early on in the piece was a smart move, earning him a rousing ovation, as many a seasoned observer turned to the chum by their side to remark upon his work-rate with an approving nod, but the moment that really caught the AANP eye and elicited a pretty audible purr from the natives was when he trapped a ball falling from the sky with the a level of control that could not have been bettered had he used his hands, and for added impact threw in a neat change of direction, all in the same movement.

So all pretty whizzy stuff from the new boy, and excited chatter was very much the order of the day, but here at AANP Towers we are nothing if not curmudgeonly old cynics. As Odobert departed early to his standing ovation I therefore cleared the throat and gave tongue to the sentiment that in future performances I’d like to see a spot of end-product. We do have a certain history after all, from Bergwijn to Bentley, Nkoudou to N’jie, of bringing in wingers who look frightfully bucked and full of ideas, only to underwhelm and rather quietly exit the place a year or two hence, with nothing but a few low-key sentences on the website to record that they were ever part of the gang at all.

And watching Odobert cut back one pass into a defender, and have another attempted cross turned behind by another Everton sort, the thought did occur that the odd piece of rotten fruit has been flung at Werner and even young Johnson for the similar transgression of failing regularly to generate an end-product that really does the business. So a decent enough start from young Odobert, but room for a notch or two of improvement.

2. Bissouma’s Redemption

I suppose ‘redemption’ is rather over-egging the thing, but having spent the opening weekend of the season on the naughty step it was very much in the interests of Yves Bissouma to produce a return to the form of early last season. While Everton were amongst the more feeble opponents ever to work up a sweat in the magnificent environs of N17, Bissouma still earned himself some pretty hearty back-slaps for his efforts.

This being the sort of bash in which our heroes monopolised possession, the onus was on Bissouma not so much to perform sentry duty and prevent an onslaught from the foe, as to use possession wisely when collecting it at the base of midfield. Pleasingly, the fellow not only got that particular memo, he also had the good sense to dip into the memory bank and trot out some of his greatest hits from early 2023-24. 

As such, we were treated to such classics as Bissouma picking out – and delivering – a natty line in short forward passes that bisected opposition defenders; Bissouma effecting upper-body swerves that sent Everton players off into different postcodes and allowed him to glide forward; and Bissouma running with the ball from inside our half to inside theirs. It was sensible use of the thing, and carried out at a healthy lick too, free from dawdle and ponderousness.

As an additional bonus, when Everton did healf-hartedly string a few passes together and make some perfunctory attempts to get over halfway, Bissouma was on hand to effect a couple of handy and forceful blocks and tackles. To repeat – and it cannot be overstated – Everton were awful, but we nevertheless required a chap to collect the ball from deep and have the clarity of mind to get us onto the front-foot. Bissouma did this more, and with tasty fixtures looming it was a most timely return to form.

(As an aside, frightfully good of the bean to chip in with the opening goal, a special mention to such efforts that cannon off the underside of the bar for a spot of additional aesthetic value, what?)

3. Romero

Keep this to yourself, but prior to kick-off I was becoming rather oddly invested in an earnest argument that questioned the defensive capabilities of Cristian Romero. Before you turn on your heel, never to return, a brief precis of the argument.

Romero, I hypothesised, was being praised to the rafters by such luminaries as that Messi chap, so evidently had something about him, but a nameless irritation had nagged away at me at times last season that such commendation was on account of the more forward-thinking elements of his play – his ability to pass from the back, and chip in with goals at corners and suchlike. Regarding the bread-and-butter, of marking his man and winning defensive duels, or besting attackers who tried to sidestep him, I was giving the upper lip a concerned chew. And if the concern brewed last season, it was given a fresh shot of biff last week at Leicester.

Well on the basis of yesterday, most of the above turned out to be amongst the finest rot ever peddled by this particular quill. Romero was in barnstorming form, not just hitting right notes but giving it full Midas and delivering an absolute defensive masterclass.

After one or two early misplaced passes to make the AANP pulse spike a bit, he settled into his groove and carried out his every duty like an absolute champion. Block tackles weren’t just carried out, they were delivered with the force of a man determined to send his opponent into next week. If the ball were lobbed forward for an Everton laddie to chase, Romero matched him stride for stride and either inserted self between ball and man, muscled the opponent out of the way or, if circumstances absolutely demanded, extended enough limbs to block any attempted pass or shot.

On top of which he was dominant in the air, picked out some delightful passes (witness the chipped ball that put Maddison through on goal early in the first half) and thundered in a headed goal. He very nearly preceded all of that with a goal in the third minute, having shown technique one would scarcely have credited him with to take a pass on his chest and thump goalwards.

I suppose that, as with Bissouma above, one can point to the quality of the opposition, but that Calvert-Lewin chap can be quite handy, and Romero did not allow him a sniff. Van de Ven was also in fine fettle, in particular in matters of bursts of pace, but goodness me Romero delivered an absolute masterclass.

4. Smart Formational Thinking

It was a strong afternoon for approving nods. Sonny, filling in atop the tree, demonstrated rather pointedly the virtue of the high press, before taking clinically his second half chance; Udogie seemed much more like his old self than last week; Vicario pulled off a very smart save at 2-0 that might otherwise have given the nerves an emphatic jangle; Spence caught the eye in both penalty areas in his cameo at left-back; and so on.

In fact, right from the line-up reveal an hour before the curtain went up I felt a quiet thrill, upon seeing the formational tweak of one holding midfielder and two more attack-minded sorts alongside him. The choice of both Maddison and Kulusevski to partner Bissouma was rather punchy stuff from Our Glorious Leader, the sort of decision that yelled ‘Fie upon thee, oh opposition sorts, I sneer at your line-up and impose upon you an attacking formation that will give you the dickens of an afternoon before you even think about scoring yourselves’. And it did exactly that.

As mentioned, Maddison swum off to the left to buddy up with Udogie and Odobert, while on the right, irrespective of the pre-match scrawls on the whiteboard, Kulusevski spent half his time operating as a second winger alongside Johnson. An intriguing gambit, and I suppose strictly speaking Kulusevski was more of an inside-right, expected to occupy spaces in between the right flank and the centre, but the net result was that the left side of the Everton defence was frequently overrun, with the additional sweetener of plenty of lilywhite bodies arriving to supplement things in the penalty area.

I piped up a few terms last season to campaign for Kulusevski to play centrally rather than on the right wing, and while he also drifted wide to excellent effect yesterday, his quick-footed trickery inside the area, which created Bissouma’s goal, rather exemplified the fine produce that sits within his size nines from a more central berth.

This overly attack-minded setup, in which Romero, VDV and Bissouma sit and everyone else flies forward, might perhaps be ill-advised against the league’s elite, and with Newcastle and Woolwich to come I suppose that Kulusevski might be jettisoned for a slightly more conservative option, but in a home fixture against a relegation contender I was all for it.