Tag: Pedro Porro

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Spurs match reports

Newcastle 2-1 Spurs: Three Tottenham Talking Points

1. Angeball

First things first, and for avoidance of doubt the official line is that if you haven’t scored more than the opposition then, linguistically as much as anything else, you categorically cannot claim to deserve to win. Legally, it seems, it’s not allowed. Won’t stand up in court.

With that cleared up, we can rattle on in good conscience, and the first remark I’d offer is that we gave it a jolly good effort. No points for effort of course, but to pitch up on some other mob’s turf, dominate possession and rattle in shots – 20 of them apparently – is pretty good going in my book. And whereas last week one wasn’t quite sure if the Everton gang had ever played the game before, to produce a performance like that against a Newcastle side that could be objectively classified as one of the better teams around, on their patch, again seemed to paint this as a positive.

There’s a train of thought that occasionally flits to my mind, makes its presence felt and flits off again, that sometimes the national team seem to adjust their level to the quality of the opposition. One witnessed it quite a lot in the recent Euros, and in the early stages of the first half today a similar notion crossed my mind. Newcastle harassed and harried, snapping at ankles and trying to apply the high press – and our lot responded by popping the ball around with impressive alacrity, bypassing said press.

‘Zippy’ seemed to be the mot juste. It was all quick-fire stuff. There was no standing on ceremony, our lot one-touched their way out of trouble and moved the ball from south to north swiftly and efficiently, with Bissouma again doing a good job at the base of midfield.

That said, the cutting edge was certainly missing in the first half. A couple of low deliveries from the left seemed to clear their throat and yelp, “Convert me!” but those in the centre didn’t really seem to get the memo, and the closest we came was the endless stream of Pedro Porro shots whistling six inches the wrong side of the frame.

Noting at the midway point that there was limited employment for a second holding midfielder, Our Glorious Leader took the pretty punchy step of doing away with Sarr, and shoving on Johnson for a spot of extra oomph in attack.

The gambit worked pretty well. The general domination of possession continued, but was supplemented by more inclination to rain down a few shots and see what that did to the plot.

This approach having eked out an equaliser the more loose-lipped amongst us were strongly tempted to suggest that our lot deserved to go on and win the thing – but of course any such sacrilege was quickly snuffed out by the arched eyebrows and polite coughs of those eager to remind that you don’t deserve to win if you don’t score more than the other lot.

And it’s clearly a source of unquantifiable frustration, this business of monopolising the ball, trying to fashion a half-chance in the area and seeing countless shots blocked and countless crosses fly across the sweet spot and carry on flying. For all the domination and possession, not bunging the ball in the dashed net was utterly exasperating. Be not fooled by the cheery exterior presented by your humble scribe here; behind closed doors inanimate objects are being kicked and colourful oaths uttered. The absence of both Solanke and Richarlison could I suppose be classified as rotten luck, but whether or not Messrs S and R are stomping about the place there still ought to be enough fellows milling about the place capable of hitting the target – or, as pertinently, capable of availing themselves at the far post for a squared pass.

All that said, the pre-match mood at AANP Towers having been one of deep concern that we would be run ragged throughout, I was pretty pleased to see our lot on the front-foot for the majority. If this is Angeball, then I’m fully on board, it just needs someone to put away the chances.  

2. Johnson

I mentioned above that the plopping of Johnson into the melting pot augmented things a notch or two, and the earnest bean’s contributions probably merit a spot of gentle elaboration.

He does still possess the capacity to infuriate a tad, by either failing to pick the most suitable option when racing away into space on the right; or alternatively by picking the suitable option but mangling the delivery, and hitting the first defender or failing to place the thing neatly into the path of Sonny or whomever.

Nevertheless, he was decent value. His pace caused endless problems for their various Newcastle bods at left-back, and he also had the presence of mind to pop up at the far post and do the necessaries when Maddison’s shot was parried, ultimately forcing the equaliser.

However, it would be a bit of a disservice to various others about the place to yammer on about Johnson as if his were the only creative juices. I rather enjoyed the healthy habit that developed amongst the attacking mob for dispossessing Newcastle high up the pitch and creating a slew of three-on-three type opportunities, each of which we found new and exciting ways to gum up.

Bissouma, as mentioned above, was again pretty hot on the ball, in picking it up under pressure and wiggling his way clear; Maddison, while perhaps lacking a line in crafty passes that scythed open the other lot, was nevertheless busy and involved; and Kulusevski continued to hone the art of charging around like a bull in a chinashop, but one of those more strategic bulls, who knows exactly which bits of china would be suitable for smashing.

3. Dragusin (and Romero)

There was a bit of ill-concealed panic about AANP Towers when the cast list was unveiled pre-match, as tends to happen when the absence of VDV is announced. The inscrutable stare was therefore directed firmly upon young Dragusin, with the chorus ringing loudly in my ears that delivering the goods for Romania in the Euros is a different kettle of fish from the insanely high lines peddled at N17.

But to his credit, he pretty much did what one would have hoped. When one early foot-race broke out between him and a speedy Newcastle sort, Dragusin made the pretty smart move to get his sliding challenge in nice and early, thereby removing the need for any awkwardness to unfold over 20 yards. Similarly, in the second half, when Romero made a misjudgement of some sort, Dragusin it was who again raced back and stretched out the lower limbs to effect a block. It might not have been prime Ledley, but by and large it was good enough.

The problem, frankly, seemed to be Romero alongside him. As mentioned, he went missing when Isak broke early in the second half, and seemed to be on a different planet altogether when Newcastle broke for the winner, displaying a body-shape completely inappropriate for one organising a high-line and evidently not keeping up on current affairs in terms of the whereabouts of those around him.

If I really wanted to stick the knife in I could also highlight his dereliction of duty for the opener, for the culmination of which he was not amongst the five lilywhites stationed defensively across the penalty area; but in truth there were faults aplenty for that goal, just about every one of our number having dozily switched off and seemingly astounded to discover a football of all things flashing across the box.

Such things would be mere footnotes if we had converted any of the chances swished along in the second half in particular, but such is life. Grounds for optimism in the performance, for those who are that way inclined; but doubtless the streets of N17 will be lined with weeping and gnashing of teeth after this one.

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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.

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Spurs match reports

Leicester 1-1 Spurs: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. Solanke

Here we are again then, and it seemed appropriate that the first order of business should be to cast the beady eye over the new lad, from stern to stem. And actually, the first thing I noticed about Solanke was that he’d been blessed by Nature with a pretty substantial frame, the sort of which my old man, AANP Senior, would approve, he being of the curious opinion that a striker’s primary purpose in life is to be substantially bigger than anyone else.

I suppose it may simply have been that Solanke had a keen awareness for the preferences of the TV director, and duly attached himself to the smallest nearby opponent whenever the camera zoomed in on him, but either way he looked a towering presence atop our tree, and the sort against whom one wouldn’t necessarily elbow one’s way to the front of the queue in order to mark at corners and suchlike.

Aside from the crucial business of being a bit of a unit, I actually thought Solanke did relatively well. Behold, I suppose, the first statement of controversy from the AANP quill this season, for this opinion is evidently in pretty sharp contradistinction to the line of thought of various others of lilywhite persuasion, not least my Spurs-supporting chum Ian, whose take on the fellow was distinctly uncomplimentary, containing as it did such choice nuggets as ‘Donkey’ and ‘Fraizer Campbell’.

However, the surgical eye to which I subjected young Solanke detected a fellow who did all the right things, until, of course, the part about sticking ball in net. But in terms of providing an obvious focal point, and finding himself a yard of space for a half-chance, I thought he ticked the boxes pretty solidly. Admittedly these may sound insignificant, but there were certainly times last season, when Richarlison was out – and even when Richarlison was in – when we seemed to lack any obvious beacon up top, at whom we could aim and around whom attacks could be structured.

Solanke was also willing to muck in and help out with the less salubrious elements of the day-job, regularly spotted dropping deep to collect and hold up the ball, and lay it off to onrushing midfield chums, as well as showing the requisite degree of enthusiasm for leading the high press.

The elephant in the room, of course, was the bread-and-butter stuff of being a striker, the actual taking of chances (at this point a less charitable soul – Ian, for example – would probably suggest that the elephant was Solanke himself). And here, Solanke did little to cover himself in glory.

No two ways about it, that diving header early in the first half should have been seen home. It was not entirely straightforward, admittedly, but having down the hard work of evading his markers and lowering the frame from the upper atmosphere down to somewhere nearer terra firma, the final but essential step was to pick a spot a good yard or two east or west of the goalkeeper, and direct the ball thusly. To plant his header straight at the doorman was a bit of a faux pas.

Less blame attached to him for his second attempt, a glancing header from a cross from the right, but I was a little underwhelmed by that effort he had early in the second half, when he again seemed to have done a lot of the hard work, in shielding the ball and wriggling into a bit of space from which to unleash, only to aim straight at the blasted goalkeeper yet again. As was remarked at the time, a more confident striker would presumably have aimed for a corner, whereas Solanke rather thrashed at the thing as if eager to get the whole business done and dusted as a matter of urgency, without too much concern for how the direction of his shot would impact the outcome.

It is not a particularly fanciful leap to suggest that the goals will come soon enough, and the rest of his game ticked boxes – just a shame for him and the collective that he didn’t nab a goal last night.

2. Maddison

It was fairly decent stuff all round in the first half, our offerings comprising not just plenty of possession but also the creation of a small bevvy of chances, both from open play and set-pieces. A two- or three-goal lead would, of course, have been welcome, and probably a better reflection of the balance of things, but one goal was the absolute minimum, so there weren’t too many concerns at the mid-point. And while various amongst our number were pottering about to good effect, I’d suggest that Maddison was probably the most prominent.

The thought nags that he could still do a mite more when it comes to opening up opposing defences, perhaps in the realm of spotting a dastardly diagonal pass that bisects a couple of defenders, if you get my drift, but nevertheless he seemed to be involved in most of the good things done, in that first half at least (and indeed the opening ten or so of the second).

Importantly, whenever we were in possession and surveying the terrain for opportunities, Maddison was not shy of waddling into view with arms waving and no doubt a few yelps vocalised, essentially demanding to be involved. And if you cast your minds back, this desire to be central to our string-pulling was the sort of thing for which I would frequently chastise a former parishioner, one C. Eriksen Esquire, who all too frequently would content himself with staying in the shadows and letting others get on with the game. Maddison, by contrast, was always eager for the limelight.

And his involvements were useful enough. As mentioned, a better eye for a defence-splitting pass along the floor might have helped, and in general he might have zipped things along a bit more quickly than he did. However, he was willing to dribble into the area and attempt pull-backs; he switched play from left to right pretty intelligently on a couple of occasions; involved himself in one-twos around the area; and as if to hammer home the point that he was the font from which decent things emanated, he created our goal with a well-flighted cross, the sort that rather invites teammates to dart towards goal and try their luck.

3. That Soft Underbelly

If you’ve bothered entering this corner of the interweb you’re presumably supported our lot long enough to be entirely unsurprised that we could dominate a match for the best part of an hour before conceding an equaliser to the opponent’s very first shot on target. No matter the personnel, it seems, or manager or kit or any other blasted element of the club, that soft underbelly will always exist, bringing with it an almost fascinating ability to fall into a blind panic at the first sign of trouble, and collapse like a pack of cards.

Being a glutton for punishment I took myself off into a darkened room and rewound the spool of last night’s match, in order to give the old forensic eye to the goal we conceded, looking in particular for a guilty individual at whom I might jab an accusatory finger. Curiously enough, however, there was no single individual obviously at fault, at least in the genesis of the goal.

Leicester were allowed to transit the ball from their own goalkeeper up to halfway a bit too easily for my liking, Udogie being bypassed in midfield, meaning that VDV had to scuttle across to left-back to cover, but as everyone raced back towards our goal the danger was hardly terminal.

Leicester swung a cross from the right towards our area, but it was one any objective observer would stamp as ‘Hopeful’, and not much transpired. At this point Messrs Maddison and Bentancur, tracking back to win a few brownie points with the management, might have put a bit more clout into their attempted clearances, but still, as Leicester tried again from their left there ought not to have been too much concern.

From here though, things took a bit of a nose-dive from a lilywhite perspective. Leicester’s cross from the left evaded everyone, but this should not excuse the fact that Decordova-Reid was gaily abandoned in the centre – Romero having gone wide to dangle a half-hearted foot at the cross, and Sarr and VDV rocking on their heels rather than marking anyone. Had Master D-R possessed a leg some four or five inches longer he’d had poked in unopposed from the edge of the 6-yard box, which reflects defensive work verging on the negligent.

Literally five second later another cross, this time from the right, exposed exactly the same failing. Romero ran straight past Vardy in order to take up a central station, and Porro, seeing everything unfold from the back post but considering decisive action to be beneath him, did not bother to pick up Vardy himself. Whether Romero ought to have delegated, or whether Porro ought to have had the good sense simply to get on with his job unprompted, is debatable, but it was the first attack worthy of the name that Leicester had created, and from it we allowed them two unmarked opportunities from six yards.

As an exasperating aside, a baffling aspect of this is that all four of Porro, Romero, VDV and Udogie are splendid players individually, but as a collective they constitute a most dysfunctional defensive unit, at whom one only has to sneeze in order to create panic, disarray and unmarked opportunities from close-range.

The next clear opportunity of the game came ten minutes later when Vardy was clean through and Vicario saved, and again Porro was a few yards behind his man. As with Udogie in the build-up to the first goal, this had the stench of full-backs pushed high up the pitch and leaving gaps behind – the alarming aspect of which is that this is hardly a new phenomenon. It was present throughout the entirety of last season, being a pretty fundamental weakness of Angeball, but evidently it is a weakness that is here to stay.

Aside from the goal itself, the complete cessation of control demonstrated thereafter was also pretty troubling. Someone or other with a bit of grey matter about them once opined that the true test of character is how one deals with setbacks in life, and by that gauge our heroes possess zero character between the entire lot of them. Conceding an equaliser in a game in which we had dominated was undoubtedly a setback, but it ought not to have led to a complete reversal in the balance of power. Ultimately the decline was only arrested by the stoppage for Bentancur’s injury, rather than by any intervention by our lot.

4. Gray and Bergvall

I suppose we had marginally the better of things in the final twenty or so, after the Bentancur injury and substitutions, but make no mistake, by that point the chuntering at AANP Towers had begun in earnest. The failure to take chances, coupled with the ease with which Leicester equalised and rounded off by the capitulation that followed, brought about all manner of grumblings from these parts.

I suppose a silver lining of sorts was injected by the youthful scurrying this way and that of Masters Gray and Bergvall. Neither seemed shy of rolling up sleeves and demanding the ball in central areas, and neither seemed content simply to ease themselves in on the periphery.

Both gave evidence that the strong technique and close control exhibited in pre-season could be replicated in competitive arenas, and while I’d probably stop short of demanding that they’re flung into the starting XI and have the team constructed around them, they appear the sorts who could be relied upon to help with the log-jam of fixtures that will doubtless descend upon us imminently enough.

There was still time for Bergvall to gum things up a bit, taking a few liberties too many in the right-back vicinity and conceding possession, resulting in yet another unmarked opportunity for Leicester and a full-body extension from Vicario to keep things level. I thought Vicario’s consequent rant at Bergvall was probably one for the cameras as much as anything else, up there alongside ostentatious celebrations for goal-line clearances, but it was probably a useful lesson for the Swede.

Silver linings and vaguely promising they may be, but it does little to disguise the fact that after the very first game of the season we’re already grumbling that, come May, we will be two points worse off than we should have been.

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Spurs match reports

Sheff Utd 0-3 Spurs: Five Tottenham Talking Points

1. Dragusin and That Tweaked Back-Four

Reasonably enough, Our Glorious Leader persisted with the VDV-at-left-back-and-Dragusin-in-the-centre gambit, all concerned having performed passably well in midweek, and our opponents yesterday having already been relegated. Indeed, as with Burnley a couple of weeks back, the fact that Sheffield United were literally a Championship-standard team does skew the takings on this one, making it difficult to draw too many meaningful conclusions.

Nevertheless, should I happen to cross paths with any of Van de Ven, Dragusin or Romero in the next day or two, I’d offer them one of those silent but meaningful nods I keep in the armoury, the sort that wordlessly communicates respectful acknowledgement of a job well done without going overboard.

Dragusin comes across as a fellow who is happy simply to crack on with his job in unfussy fashion, leaving the histrionics and drama to others. I did note the chap make a mess of an early clearing header, resulting in a straightforward chance for Diaz that might have been decidedly stickier, but aside from that he generally conducted himself with a goodish amount of common sense, and intervened as circumstance required.  

With that in mind, the slightly terrifying visuals he deploys are actually a little misleading. His general bulk, not to mention that haircut and unsmiling stare, give him the air of one of those nameless henchmen who will face off with Jason Statham in the final act. By appearance alone one gets the impression that here strides a specimen who is comfortably master of all he surveys, and whom one will have the dickens of a job bypassing.

Yet in terms of his actual performance, it is all a little more low-key. Admittedly, he put that significant physical frame to pretty good use when we had corners to defend, politely introducing himself as “Vicario’s mate” to misbehaving Sheff Utd forwards, and treating them to a couple of meaningful shoves to hammer home the point, which served a welcome practical purpose, as well as making for good wholesome family entertainment.

But if, based on looks and gum-chewing alone, one expected Dragusin to spend his 90 minutes uprooting passing forwards and leaving them in crumpled heaps about the place, one was to be a little disappointed. Dragusin seemed to content himself simply with clearing whatever danger lurked, without too much fanfare or overthinking. This is not to denigrate him as agricultural or lacking in delicacy, for he showed himself capable enough with ball at feet and happy enough to muck in with the rest of them when they all started playing out from the back; but broadly he came across as not caring too much for headlines or limelight. “Keep it simple”, would appear to be the motto of the Dragusin clan.

2. Van de Ven

As mentioned, one does not really learn too much about the moral fibre and performance under pressure of one’s troops when up against the weakest mob in the division, and so as with Dragusin, one takes with a generous measure of salt the performance of Mickey Van de Ven at left-back.

Allowing for that, however, this was once again promising stuff at left-back from the earnest young bean. I would suggest that he perhaps lacks the general puff, to use the technical term, of Signor Udogie, in terms of galloping up, back and up again in the full-back role, VDV instead perhaps rationing his forward charges. But when he did venture north he did so with a few health dollops of gusto, and made sure to plant a flag or two commemorating his presence there, notably with a role in both of our first two goals.

The first was with what one might describe as a small but significant input, in winning possession for us high up the pitch – or, as AANP likes to call such things, a good old-fashioned tackle. The Sheff Utd chap had the ball at his feet in a right-back sort of spot, and was drinking it all in, and VDV simply sped over to him and effected a firm block tackle. I suppose if I were a SUFC fan I’d have waved around a pretty irate hand at my right-back at that point, for offering such meek input that he was promptly deposited on the floor, but from a lilywhite perspective it was most pleasing.

One does not see actual tackles much these days, with every contact causing someone or over to screech in agony and roll over a few times, and as often as not a standard spot of limb-to-limb contact now bringing a yellow card too. Therefore just seeing Van de Ven square up to the fellow; fly into combat with a bit of a sense that consequences could be damned; and come out on top, was a bit of an event in itself.

Thereafter, he sensibly decided that his contribution had already been memorable enough, and that it was the job of his more forward-thinking chums to chivvy things along further, so he posted the thing off to Maddison outside the area and within two passes we had the ball in the net. One can enter into rich debate, I suppose, to decide whose input had been most pertinent, but in simply winning possession in the first place, through the oft-neglected art of the block tackle, young VDV earned himself his latest free offering at the AANP Towers drinks cabinet.

Moreover, in case anyone missed it first time around, he got stuck in with another of those ‘Firm But Fair’ numbers early in the second half, in the build-up to what could be considered our decisive second goal. Again, there were various other contributory elements to be recorded before the ball eventually found its way into the net – the ricochet from VDV’s challenge forcing a full-length save from the goalkeeper, which I personally thought a little dramatic for what it was, and thereafter Brennan Johnson picking up the scraps before laying it off to Porro to finish – but VDV’s dedication to triumphing in what was, objectively, a 50-50 issue, was once again crucial.

3. Contributions to Our Goals

If AANP Towers is a regular haunt of yours you may recall that only a week or two ago I cleared the throat, surveyed the audience and then gave both barrels to that most irritating of concepts, The Assist. The case for the prosecution largely hinged on the notion that there are generally several contributory elements to any goal, and the notion that the penultimate chappie involved should merit some worthier praise than anyone else who chipped in with their tuppence worth is a tad presumptuous, what?

To illustrate what I’m wittering on about I invite you to look at our first goal yesterday, or Exhibit A, as you may wish to refer to it. As mentioned above, a pretty critical role in this was played by young Van de Ven, out on the left, by winning possession in the first place. He then fed Maddison, whose input, it seemed to me, looked suspiciously to amount to miscontrolling the thing. As luck would have it, however, the ball bounced obligingly into the path of Sonny – whose own input, one might argue, also owed a little to good fortune, he dabbing a slightly half-hearted toe at the ball, which was just about sufficient to poke it through to Kulusevski.

The point being that before the ball reached the eventual goalscorer, three others were involved, and fan clubs of each would no doubt argue passionately that their man’s was the critical contribution – and yet the only statistic that seems to merit general acclaim is that Sonny provided The Assist. Of the contributions to the goal of Maddison and, in particular, VDV, there is nary a datapoint.

Now one might argue, and with some justification, that AANP really ought to find more useful ways to spend his time, but dash it, when the awards are handed out for that first goal it just doesn’t seem cricket to overlook VDV and instead droop a garland around the neck of Sonny.

The second goal followed a fairly similar pattern, with Brennan Johnson officially receiving credit for The Assist, while the good work of Sonny, in really setting the thing in motion, with a cunning dip of the shoulder out on the left, as well as Maddison and VDV in trying to force the issue in the penalty area, will go forever ignored.

Credit where due, Maddison did an excellent job of things in setting up the third. It was an Assist worthy of the name. I doffed the cap. But what the record books will fail to show is that Sonny again started all the fun and games, with some pretty innovative use of the outside of his right foot, curling a pass off into the great swathes of greenery ahead of Maddison out on the left, from which position the latter did his thing.

I suppose the moral of the story is not so much to belittle whomever provides The Assist as to acknowledge what are often more valuable cogs in the machinery earlier in the piece.

4. Porro

All that said, the greatest acclaim most typically belongs to the goalscorer, and by golly Pedro Porro has this week made up for some lost time in that respect. If there has been something of an injustice this season it is that young P.P. has finished with only the four goals to his name, for goodness knows he threatens each week to score an absolute belter, seemingly missing almost every shot by a matter of inches. Indeed, my spies tell me that he has 36 shots to his name this season, in 35 Premier League appearances, which makes me cock a suspicious eye at the Law of Averages for granting only three League goals. It somehow strikes me that he ought, by rights, to have scored a lot more, what?

Anyway, as mentioned, he started righting that wrong last week against Burnley, building up a head of steam before putting heart and soul into the finish; and, evidently having developed a liking for the act of almost tearing the net from its moorings, he was at it again yesterday.

Received wisdom generally dictates that one’s chances of scoring are generally increased by aiming for one corner or t’other, but such a theory evidently fails to take into account the absolute leathering applied to the thing by the right foot of Porro, which is seemingly sufficient to contravene the Laws of Physics and allow the ball to travel straight through the body of the goalkeeper.

Last week the Burnley ‘keeper was beaten at his near post, understandably taken by surprise at the speed at which Porro had the ball past him, and yesterday there was a pretty similar sequence of events, with the goalkeeper only raising his paws upwards in preparation for the intervention required when the ball was already bouncing out of the net behind him.

And when invited to make a speech toasting Porro’s two goals in the last week, as I inevitably will be sooner or later, I’ll be sure to commend in particular his talent for adjusting his balance sufficiently to ensure that in pummelling the ball with every ounce of force in his being, he did not lean back the one or two degrees that would have resulted in it flying off into orbit. It is to his credit that he kept his shots low enough hit the target.

5. Kulusevski

I don’t mind admitting that when the dramatis personae were revealed pre-kick-off, I took one glance, assumed with a weary sigh that Johnson and Kulusevski were on the wings and Sonny therefore upfront, and then focused my energies on the back-four.

Our Glorious Leader evidently had other ideas, and thus it transpired that Kulusevski spent his afternoon as the closest thing we had to a central striker. And a dashed useful fist he made of it too. I will leave others to argue over whether he was officially a centre-forward, or Number 10, or advanced midfielder, or some other variation, and instead simply attest to the fact that, whatever else one says about his contribution, he did the goalscoring part pretty well.

It seems unlikely that he was actually aiming for the inside of the post with that opening goal, but nevertheless, the gist of his thought process was presumably to plant the thing beyond the ‘keeper and inside the frame, and let the Laws of Physics – at that point still firing on all cylinders, pre-Porro – take care of the rest.

Easy, too, to bang on about the finish when it’s as aesthetically satisfying as that – inside of the post and all, always merits a cheeky splash of the good stuff over here – and overlook the preceding legwork, but the fellow collected the ball with back to goal and a defender loitering within his radius. He therefore deserves a decent lump of credit for that first touch, which simultaneously achieved the twin aims of shielding the ball from that defender and setting things up just so, for a left-footed swipe.

He then took time out to remind the watching millions that he is nothing if not left-footed, spurning an arguably easier opportunity fed to him (with some elan by Maddison) on his right, five minutes later, but ensured that we could all gloss over that with some impressive forward-play in nabbing his second and our third – checking his run to come inside the defender and then angling his body to finish with that same, much-maligned right foot, in what I can only assume was a pointed rebuke to AANP.

I can’t imagine that anyone seriously considers this set-up, with D.K. in the central striking position, as The Way Forward for our heroes in 2024/25 and beyond, and this is probably as good a time as any to hammer home once again that caveat that our opponents were Championship-standard, but it’s an interesting option to have, potentially allowing a neat segue into the 4-6-0 off-the-ball arrangement that caused Man City to scratch the old bean a few times midweek.

Thus ends a season in which, all things considered, we have pootled along to an acceptable enough resting-place (or at least it will be once the bonkers Australian friendly is done). All sorts of tweaks and improvements – and signings – and indeed sales – are needed, but AANP is pretty happy with the efforts of Postecoglou and the troops.

Enjoy AANP’s ramblings? Yearn to have them neatly contained in a book, with physical pages through which you can leaf? Then watch this space, as Seasons 2023-024 is soon to be published for your delectation.

Categories
Spurs match reports

Spurs 2-1 Burnley: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. Left-Back: Skipp

A penny for Emerson Royal’s thoughts, what? Truth be told, the lad seems to harbour such delusions of his own ability, genuinely convinced that no finer player than he ever trod the earth, that he probably viewed the selection of Skipp as a means of protecting him for the City game on Tuesday.

Skipp it was then, following a steady cameo at unorthodox left-back vs Liverpool. I suppose there cannot be many footballers it’s easier to tell apart than Oliver Skipp and Destiny Udogie, and these differences evidently stretch beyond merely physical appearance. Where Udogie is partial to a gallop from within halfway to the edge of the opposition penalty area – with or without the ball – Skipp is evidently a bit more reserved about the whole business.

Skipp is no doubt the sort who, when crossing a road, will look right, left and then right again – because one can never be too sure – and he brought this attitude of good common sense, with a dash of the old ‘Safety First’, with him into the arena yesterday. That is to say he seemed happy enough to venture forward over halfway and well into enemy territory, but only once sure that the back-door was locked first. More Ben Davies than Destiny Udogie, I suppose one might say – and as fourth- or fifth-choice, and still finding his feet in the role, that was no bad thing.

The one shame about his performance was that for the goal we conceded he paid rather cruelly for the briefest lapse of concentration. If any of the sticklers amongst you has ever queried precisely how long a “split-second” lasts, I’d suggest rewinding footage of yesterday’s Burnley goal and casting an eye upon young Skipp when the move is at its genesis, as for the briefest duration – a split-second, if you will – he gazes at the ball and the ball only, subconsciously taking a step or two towards it and rather letting drift from his mind the existence of that Brun Larsen fellow behind him. And that, alas, was all it took.

The B.L. nib had a yard advantage, and unlike Skipp was facing towards our goal, when the foot-race started, factors that did much to seal the deal. Ultimately, to use a sentiment that I suspect will one day be the epitaph on Skipp’s Tottenham career, while his honest endeavour could not be faulted he just did not quite make it.

As an aside, I did note something similar last week, when Skipp chased the shadow of Mo Salah for 20 yards before the latter deposited the ball in the net – but on that occasion the flag was raised. To this day it is unclear to me whether Skipp was actually in the wrong position, or whether Salah escaped him precisely because he had the unfair offside advantage. Either way, it would be understandable if our boy is yet to master some of the finer positional intricacies of the role – and let’s face it, that Skipp is even in the frame when these desperate sprints from halfway begin is something of an improvement, given that Porro and Udogie have spent the whole season being caught a good ten yards further up the pitch.

2. Left-Back: Van de Ven

So apart from his involvement in the goal conceded – or lack thereof, I suppose – Skipp’s afternoon passed without too much drama, either in terms of Emerson-esque moments to infuriate or Udogie-esque moments to take the breath away. The plot thickened like the dickens on 75 minutes however, when Skipp was replaced by Dragusin, who duly gave a Skipp-esque performance low on items of note, and the consequent re-jig saw young Van de Ven shoved over to the left.

AANP being a laid-back sort of egg, I took in this sorcery with an accepting enough nod; but for some amongst the tribe the move of VDV to left-back was evidently pretty sensational stuff. To update those who just watch the football and don’t pay too much attention to the noise, there has been a pretty rowdy minority waving placards and thrusting petitions about the place which have called for precisely this rearrangement in the absence of Udogie. “Give Dragusin a chance at centre-back,” goes the catchy refrain, “and more to the point let’s see Van de Ven at left-back, given that the chap is lightning quick, pretty comfortable on the ball and left-footed.”

So when the relevant stars aligned at minute 75 yesterday there was some pretty gleeful hand-rubbing going on about the place, as VDV At Left-Back campaigners got their wish. And lo, our newly-minted Best Performing Old Bean (and Best Performing Young Bean, to give him his full list of accolades) rose to the occasion like an absolute pro. Having provided a couple of immediate hints that he was in the mood, by gamely exploring the higher echelons of the left touchline, the manner in which he took his goal was enough to clasp the hand to the forehead and mutter a pretty meaningful “Golly.”

The fact that VDV was where he was in the first place, in order to avail himself of Maddison’s pass, spoke volumes. Maddison received the ball 10 yards north of the centre circle, and VDV was another 10 yards north of him – occupying what hearty traditionalists of good sense and sound mind might call an inside-forward sort of spot, in between Son out on the left and Scarlett in the centre.

To give it a different translation, he was in precisely the sort of position one would expect of Udogie on his more adventurous days, and as Maddison rolled the ball towards him he scuttled off in between the lines, as the knowing sorts like to say, into that space between Burnley’s midfield and defence that is guaranteed to cause looks of consternation to be passed around between them like a hot potato.

Having the gumption even to pop up in these environs I thought spoke volumes about the chap’s grasp of the role requirements and eagerness to partake of the attacking aspects of the binge; but then to collect the ball in his stride, skip past three quarters of their defence and finish the thing off was an absolute triumph, and wildly out of keeping with our laboured efforts in front of goal for something like the last six months.

In particular, I was rather taken by the dip of the shoulder that left the various Burnley sorts pirouetting on the spot like malfunctioning robots in need of instruction and direction, followed by the coup de grace, a remarkably thoughtful directioning of his shot one way when it looked for all the world as if nature was gently coaxing him to shoot the other way.

The usual caveats apply I suppose – only Burnley, only fifteen minutes – but it was a spot of quality the like of which we have sorely missed in the final third, and it poses quite the head-scratcher for Our Glorious Leader ahead of City on Tuesday. VDV at left-back is one thing, and as auditions go, this was one to file in the ‘Flying Colours’ category; but the whole issue also hinges on the delicate matter of whether that Dragusin chap would therefore be able to handle about eighteen foot of Haaland lumbering about the place.

3. Romero

Football is, of course pretty reactionary sort of guff these days. I mean to say you can’t lob a brick without hitting someone who insists that a current player is the best there’s ever been, and that there is nothing to a game beyond goals and assists, and generally peddling the slightly Orwellian line that there’s no point harking back a bit because football didn’t exist back then. And in keeping with this train of thought is the notion that the stand-out defenders are the ones who scored, because nothing else matters.

AANP does not go in for this mode of thinking, and as such will quite happily place neatly to one side the fine finishes of both Messrs VDV and Porro (who, to his credit, leathered his goal like an absolute missile – and then, fuelled by adrenaline, spent the remainder shooting at every opportunity). The standout chappie for my money was young Romero. The other pair may have each had their eye-catching moment, but Romero seemed to excel throughout.

Admittedly he did not have a great deal to do at the back, one early block being pretty much the sum of it, as Burnley pottered about fairly cluelessly throughout, but coming forward I thought he became an increasingly useful cog. He picked passes, ran with the ball and ran usefully without the ball, and generally contributed strongly to the improved second half performance of the collective.

A few inches this way or that and he might also have created a goal for Sarr and nodded one in himself, but all things considered I had him down as the pick of a pretty decent bunch. He will have sterner defensive tests to come – not least on Tuesday night – but that attacking string to his bow was put to mightily handy use yesterday.

4. A Welcome Upturn

Much-needed stuff in the end, both in terms of result and performance. No doubt it helped to play literally a Championship team, Burnley being pretty poor in every respect, but nevertheless, one can only do one’s best against the fodder placed in one’s way, and our heroes created plenty of chances in the second half in particular.

There were some much improved individual performances too. As ever one cannot escape too far from the clutches of the caveat that it was only Burnley, but it was good to see Maddison potter about the place with a dash more meaning than in recent weeks, and Bentancur similarly looked about more clued up when he trotted on, while Kulusevski improved after a dreary first half, and Johnson took up enough good positions to have scored a fairly straightforward hat-trick.

I was also impressed by young Scarlett, as much as anything else for simply giving us a bona fide focal point in attack as we pushed for the winner, even if he himself did not necessarily make too many seismic contributions.

The whole gang of them bucked up in the second half, albeit added aided throughout by Burnley’s pretty loose and liberal interpretations of playing out from the back, but as mentioned, and after a run of four defeats, one simply takes the win with a murmur of appreciation.

Categories
Spurs match reports

Chelsea 2-0 Spurs: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. Set-Pieces

Those who know AANP best would describe him as a cheery fellow at all times (actually that might represent a slight mangling of the truth, Ms AANP tending to use terms like ‘grumpy’ and ‘stubborn’ and so forth), but the point is that I’m the sort of cove who, even after last night’s disaster, will tiptoe about the wreckage looking for the green shoots of positivity.

And as such it was with a spring in the step that I bounded out of bed at the crack of dawn this morning to rejoice in the couple of forward steps taken by our lot when defending corners. Over the last month or two this particular newsletter has turned into one long and bile-filled diatribe on the subject, so when the first early corner was conceded the eye with which I viewed proceedings was hardly forgiving.

What transpired, however, was actually vaguely encouraging. For a start, young Signor Vicario seemed determined at least to give the pretence of being a man of brawn and authority, dispensing a two-handed shove, no less, to the nearest trouble-making Chelsea imp. Admittedy it hardly carried the intimidation level of peak Mike Tyson, but much like one of those creative deities, AANP saw that it was good. It had taken a couple of months, but Vicario had received the memo. Rather than waving an outraged arm or two and pleading to the ref, he was at least giving the appearance of one who was master of his own kingdom.

That alone would probably have been insufficient, Vicario still numbering amongst those within our ranks who need a few steaks and raw eggs shoved down his gullet, followed by some six-hour gym sessions, but the situation improved even further when Pedro Porro toddled on stage and into the thick of things, it swiftly becoming evident that he had been employed in a temporarily role as hired muscle for Vicario.

This pleased me immensely. I recall a few months back, when this weakness at corners was first exposed, that James Maddison was drafted in as personal security for Vicario. ‘Spirit willing, flesh weak’, was pretty much the AANP take on events at that point, for while the idea of assigning a bit of help was a well-meaning one, Maddison’s is not the physique to strike fear into the typical, solid physical specimen that constitutes the modern-day Premier League footballer.

Porro, however, seems a densely-construct sort of unit, boasting a barrel-like chest and a neck of the form of a small but sturdy tree trunk. Dropping him into the thick of front-line action seemed a good idea, and so it proved. He duly attached himself to the Chelsea pest, providing a pretty decent buffer between the latter and Vicario, and also allowing Vicario licence to perform that slapstick manoeuvre only seen in penalty areas at corners, whereby the goalkeeper can bestow a mighty shove upon his own teammate, which flows much like an electric current directly through to the opponent on t’other side of the teammate.

Anyway, the plan worked – at least until Vicario tried to reach the ball under pressure from Richarlison of all people, and duly found himself outmuscled, Lord help us all – and the stress levels, which had previously shot through the roof and off into orbit each time we conceded a corner, came down a few welcome notches.

However, this being Tottenham, no sooner had we seemingly cleared up one set-piece misadventure than another two shot out from nowhere to ruin the evening. When the ref peeped his whistle for a right-sided free-kick to Chelsea, the danger levels seemed relatively low. All eleven of our lot were behind the ball, the ball was over 40 yards from goal and the assorted protaganists and antagonists had assembled for battle along the edge of our area, hardly a critical zone in which one flick is impossible to defend.

Closer inspection, however, revealed a most baffling approach to the problem by our heroes. Of the seven lined up along the edge of the area, six had eyes fixed upon two Chelsea forwards in front of them – leaving the solitary figure of Brennan Johnson at the back post single-handedly to cover no fewer than three other Chelsea forwards. Three! Covered by just one of ours! When another six of ours were assigned to two forwards! I mean, really. ‘Rummy’ does not cover it. What the deuces they were thinking is utterly beyond me, but pretty unsurprisingly Chelsea bypassed the half-dozen flexing their muscles at the front and centre, and sought out their three-on-one advantage at the back post.

Now admittedly Chelsea also benefitted here from one heck of a header, but nevertheless. Another man or two to help out Johnson might at least have put the header under some pressure.

As for the second, it’s almightily tempting to lay into Sonny and Hojbjerg for first independently reaching the same conclusion that challenging for the header was not really within their remit; and then laying on the slapstick in their attempts to prevent the ball looping gently into the net, entangling their limbs in some sort of will-they-won’t-they embrace, undecided whether polite negotiation or brute force were the appropriate approach to take to clear the other from their path, before seemingly realising simultaneously that as teammates some collaborative approach might well resolve things – by which point the net was rippling and the game done.

Whether or not the job might have been done perfectly well by just one of them, unencumbered by the other, we’ll never know, but the half-hearted nature of their efforts summed up our lot quite neatly.

2. Brennan Johnson

If asked by a well-meaning chum who amongst our number stood out, I’d probably shrug the shoulders, a distant sort of look of despair in the eyes, and mumble that Brennan Johnson looked alright in the first half I suppose, before he disappeared into a void.

Qualifying the above, it was not so much that he played particularly well, as that he looked like at any second he was about to start playing particularly well. For whatever reason, a decent proportion of our attacks were funnelled through his size nines, our breaks from the left typically culminating in a diagonal that found him running onto the ball with a bit of space to attack.

Johnson vs Cucurella appeared to be simmering nicely as a sub-plot to the overall drama. Occasionally Cucurella stuck out a meaningful foot, but equally often Johnson found a route around him and slung in a low delivery. With Son seemingly not caring too much whether he was involved or not on the other side, Johnson’s seemed the route to success.

But then, the first act tension having been established and the platform for great things created, things rather fizzled out. I remain a fan of the chap – more so than of Werner or Kulusevski in the wide positions – but while it seemed as though Johnson’s breakthrough would soon arrive if he kept running at Cucurella, that whole battle just dissipated into the net sky.

For ten or so minutes at the start of the second half our lot collectively upped the urgency levels of their pottering about, but after that it all faded away. The 60th-minute changes saw Johnson shunted off to the left, from where he did not achieve much either, after which he was replaced by Bryan Gil, whose cameo panned out exactly as we all expected, and exactly as every Bryan Gil cameo will ever pan out, unless he plays against a team of schoolboys yet to hit their physical development straps.

3. Richarlison

Another one I mention by default, because everyone else was so utterly forgettable. Those compiling their detailed and chart-illustrated post-match reports would be struggling a bit when it came to forensic analysis of his outputs, because he barely touched the ball in any meaningful areas – one shot drilled wide in the second half, from close range, under pressure and at a bit of an angle is all I can remember.

However, on two occasions in the first half, Richarlison did receive the ball with back to goal – admittedly in nondescript areas – and perform with aplomb the duties of first holding up the ball and then tumbling to the deck in order to win a free-kick. These caught the eye and earned the approving nod simply because they are a couple of the arts with which Sonny is thoroughly unfamiliar, and they therefore constitute aspects of the game we have completely lacked in our forward play, over the last month or two.

And if that’s the best that can be said about our lot, it really is time to give one another nervous glances, what?

4. What The Dickens Is Going On?

Not to get too fruity with the old vocab, but it’s all rather fallen off a cliff, what?

Some point to the disallowed Son goal in the home game against Chelsea; some point to the red cards for Romero and Udogie in the same game; some point to the VDV and Maddison injuries that night; and others rather apoplectically interrupt to say that they’re all missing the point, because all of the above are now fit again, and have been for months, and we have not had any European or Cup distractions, but teams have pretty swiftly realised that Angeball can be countered by simply letting us have possession safe in the knowledge that a) we lack the craft and guile to break them down, and b) we’ll push up our full-backs and be left wide open on the counter, particularly on the wings.

Seemingly the only thing on which we can all agree is that our heads are soon all about to explode with exasperation and rage, so I suppose there’s at least some common ground there.

I’ve also noted, by the by, that various amongst us are stamping the feet and insisting that this guff would not be happening under Conte or Jose (nobody’s really calling for Nuno, mind, so there’s more common ground).

To this argument I would urge caution, and a clearer memory. Under Jose the tactic increasingly became to defend with nine or ten across our own penalty area, and then try to steam forward on the counter – an approach that resulted in various last-minute defeats that brought howls of derision, the complaint that our eyes bled and the rationale that if we were going to lose we might as well do so entertainingly.

Under Conte the approach was similarly joyless, defensive and increasingly reliant upon deep defending and counter-attacking, reaching its nadir with the thrown away two-goal lead against Southampton (which brought about Conte’s peculiar rant and dismissal).

One doesn’t really want to revisit the specifics and argue about the exact number of highs and lows and whatnot, but the broad point is that under neither regime were we particularly watertight in defence, or brimming with intensity in general play, nor was there much joy to be had drinking it all in each week – and, if you don’t mind me clearing the throat and drawing a spot of attention to the obvious, under both regimes we were blessed with arguably the most complete striker in the world to bail us out each week. So that helped lighten some of the darker days.

No doubt Our Glorious Leader (the current incarnation) needs to do some prime un-muddling on the training pitch. Tactically, the inability to break down deep defences and vulnerability to counter-attacks make one pull out the hair and hold the breath respectively, far more than is really healthy. Worryingly last night (and against Newcastle and Fulham and so on), there has also been a bit of a sense about the place that those involved find it is all a bit too much and would rather be elsewhere, so there’s another one for the Postecoglou inbox.

If anyone is seriously calling for the head of the manager at this stage, I would probably pat them gently on the shoulder and offer them a snifter from the cabinet; the AANP take is to take a deep breath or three, dip into the well of patience so fabled amongst Spurs fans and watch with interest what tweaks are effected in Season 2. On a valedictory note, I draw attention to a selection of choice vitriol being aimed at the chap by Celtic fans during his first season in those sunny climes, the mood there and then being uncannily similar to that here and now (and while at it you might as well hop aboard the AANP Tweeting Machine, which occasionally sputters into life). I’m not quite sure of the specifics of what he did thereafter, in terms of tactics and other such cerebral matters, but things seemed to buck up a smidge under his tutelage, so hope springs eternal, what?

Categories
Spurs match reports

Newcastle 4-0 Spurs: Five Tottenham Talking Points

1. Our Defending for the First Goal

Odd to say now, or course – hindsight and all that – but for a third or so of the game (the first of them, in case you were wondering) I thought our lot looked pretty sharp. Newcastle started the game bursting at the seams with vim and vigour, which was understandable enough, and in such instances history tells us that Spurs are as likely to wilt as to respond in kind. It was therefore a most pleasant surprise to note that our lot had signed up for the former rather than the latter, and were doing a solid line in giving as good as they got.

Newcastle hounded away with their high press; our lot craftily dodged their hounding and high pressing, specifically by skipping away from challenges and firing out passes with a becoming crispness. When Newcastle nabbed possession from us and countered at a healthy lick, our lot raced back at a lick of equal velocity, and nascent flames were duly extinguished. We even fashioned the best chance of that opening half hour, and the AANP verdict at the 30-or-so-minute mark was that, if not necessarily of the highest quality, this was nevertheless close-run and fun-filed cuisine.

Of course the whole bally thing turned on and its head and disappeared down the drain with those first two goals. At which point I pause to air a grievance, because a two-goal deficit, while undoubtedly representing the deuce of an incline up which to go trudging, was nevertheless far from insurmountable. Two-nil, I rather fancy, is one of those score-lines possessed of devilish quality, in that whomever nabs the next goal tends to load up on momentum for the remainder. As such, had our heroes applied themselves sufficiently to fashion a presentable chance between approximately minutes 30 and 50, I’d have fancied us to make a decent stab of things thereafter. To see them instead simply meander through, rather than putting their backs into it, and then give up altogether dash it, after conceding the third, set the blood boiling like nobody’s business.

Back to those two goals conceded, and if you were to ask at whom the finger of blame ought to be directed, I would ask how many digits you had going spare. Those on telly-box duty seemed determined to lay it pretty thick all over Van de Ven. One understood the gist of course, the fellow’s curious but futile struggles against gravity being particularly eye-catching, but I was inclined to wave him an excusing hand. Perhaps I am too generous here, but it seems to that falling over is a bit of an occupational hazard in his line of work, rather than indicative of any major footballing deficiency.

I suppose one might argue that VDV brought it upon himself by racing back to his post too quickly, thereby quite literally setting himself up for a fall should a swift change in direction be needed, but I still bat it away as one of those things.

More culpable to the AANP eye were Messrs Udogie and Romero. Taken in order, Udogie had a preliminary bout to sink his teeth into, as the ball was hoicked up to halfway, and he and Gordon exchanged a few pleasantries. Frankly, at this point, with the ball bobbling up to head height and three of lilywhite (or skin-coloured atrocity) persuasion covering two attackers, one’s eyes would have popped out of the head if informed that within ten seconds the ball would have been in our net. And in fact, Udogie seemed to have got to the root of the matter and emerged triumphant, placing self between ball and Gordon, and looking to the future with sunny optimism – only to then take a tumble to earth for no good reason and under minimal contact.

This glaring error having been brandished for the watching world, the situation had darkened, for sure, but was hardly forlorn. Romero and VDV were left staring at the whites of the eyes of Gordon and Isak, and one would have fancied the chances of the former duo. It was not necessary for our pair to make off with the ball and dash up t’other end to score; the remit was simply to prevent any immediate danger from flaring.

Why, then, Romero went charging towards VDV’s man absolutely maddens me. There was really no need. VDV’s man, as the label suggests, was being closely monitored by VDV; but off charged Romero, and it was the work of an instant for Gordon (for thus do the documents of ‘VDV’s man’ state his legal name) to slip the ball into Isak. At this this point VDV recovered the ground and then fell, prompting that chorus of censure from the television studio; but to my mind those around him were equally complicit.

2. Our Defending for the Second Goal

As for the second, VDV’s ongoing to-dust-thou-shalt-return routine understandably reinforced him as the poster-boy of our defensive failings, but the real villain of the piece was undoubtedly Pedro Porro whose bizarre intervention set the blasted thing in motion.

If the early chapters of that particular scandal have slipped your mind they dashed well haven’t slipped mine, the gist being that a wayward clearance from Vicario towards our right was nodded back in our direction by a Newcastle head, presenting Master Porro with what might reasonably be described as a task for the to-do list, but hardly anything more demanding than that. In short, he had to reach a ball bouncing near the right-wing before an incoming Newcastle chappie, which task he accomplished without issue. All that remained was to deposit the ball into a location of minimal risk.

As such, the world was his oyster. Pretty much everywhere was an option, and pretty much anywhere would have sufficed. The stands, the atmosphere, over his head and back up the line – even booting it further in front of him and out for a corner would have been an odd, but low-risk choice. The one thing he needed to avoid doing was fashion a way to deliver the ball towards his own goal and into the lap of an opposing forward; but given the abundance of better and easier choices available, such an eventuality hardly seemed worth mentioning.

And yet. For reasons that a crack team of psychologists would struggle to fathom, Porro looped the ball back over the head of not only the oncoming Newcastle johnnie but also of Cristian Romero, who had quietly snuck up to the action to keep an eye on things. If Porro were attempting to lob the ball directly to Romero, he deserves to have the offending limb amputated and tossed into a river for such woeful technique, for instead of dinking the ball he put such mileage upon it that Romero atop a step-ladder would have struggled to reach it. If Porro were attempting to lob the ball back to Vicario, he needs his brain removed and given a pretty thorough examination, because it was pretty obviously a route steeped in danger and lit by flashing lights and blaring sirens.

Whatever his rationale, the ball then landed in the path of that Gordon blighter, after which VDV promptly rolled out his new party-trick and hit the deck once more, and in the blink of an eye, and the delivery of three glaring defensive faux pas, we were two down.

3. Vicario’s Distribution

You may have noticed that in narrating the genesis of that second goal, I made mention of Vicario’s dubious distribution, and while such things as isolated incidents can be excused with little more than an arched eyebrow and gentle reprimand, with the acknowledgement that even Homer nods, their occurrence in every blasted passage of play seems to merit a less forgiving once-over.

For this was not Vicario’s finest hour and a half with ball at feet. Even acknowledging that Newcastle made things difficult, by virtue of their high, collective press, our resident last-line spent pretty much the entirety of the game pinging the ball exclusively to opponents, stationed at different coordinates on the pitch, whenever he looked beyond his own penalty area.

My eyes may deceive, I suppose, for I did not observe with pen and pad in hand, diligently noting each successful and unsuccessful pass; but then one does not need pen and pad to detect a certain rumminess manifesting. And the sense that Vicario’s distribution was stinking the place out emerged at some point relatively early during proceedings and lingered until the conclusion.

In mitigation, as mentioned, Newcastle pressed, and whenever one of our lot misplace a pass I am always inclined to subject his teammates to an enquiring eye, to ask whether they might have done more to make space; but as a man whose strength is supposed to lie in the art of picking passes from within his own penalty area and facilitating this play-from-the-back gubbins, Vicario seemed to go about it with the air of one completely new to the past-time.

4. Our Defending at Corners

Not for the first time – and if any other Premier League manager has their wits about them it dashed well won’t be the last time either – our defending at corners represented not so much a chink in the armour as an absolutely enormous gaping hole through which absolutely anyone was welcome to wander, make themselves at home and have a free pop at our goal, safe in the knowledge that their exploits would remain entirely unimpeded for the duration of their visit.

Remarkably, when we defend corners we often do so with literally every member of the squadron pulled back into the penalty area; and yet despite this, every single Newcastle corner swung into that same, densely-populated penalty area seemed to be met by an unchallenged Newcastle head. The laws of physics should simply not allow this happen, and yet it did so repeatedly.

It suggests that there is a pretty critical flaw at the heart of our zonal marking system, for if all ten of the outfield mob, plus goalkeeper, are failing, under the zonal system, to get their heads to the deliveries first, then some different zones ought to be explored and pronto.

The only surprise in all this was that it took Newcastle so long to score from a corner – they had racked up well over a dozen by the time they did. It was bad enough yesterday, but augurs appallingly for the future, our complete inability to deal with corners suggesting that the only solution will be to try not to concede any more of them between now and the end of the season.

5. Werner’s Finishing

It’s possible that none of the above would have been an issue if Timo Werner knew how to finish. But I suppose that’s akin to suggesting that we would have won if we’d been allowed twelve players and were facing a team of children, some of whom were blindfolded (no doubt they would still have posed a threat at corners). The reality is that Timo Werner is very much part of the fabric, and by virtue of his position, remit and willing, as often as not will pop up in key goalscoring positions, to unfurl new and scarcely believable ways to mangle perfectly presentable chances.

It should be repeated and with a spot of emphasis that he pops up in goalscoring positions. This is to be applauded, and probably would be, and with some feeling, if he didn’t then appear quite so incapable of controlling his limbs at the vital juncture. But inviting crosses require arriving forwards, and Werner has some talent in that regard, arriving on the end of crosses like the best of them.

However, his treatment of Brennan Johnson’s early cross summed up better than a whole multi-tome thesis ever could quite how aberrant his finishing is. With the ball arriving at head-height, and no opposing defender blotting the horizon with their presence, Werner somehow managed so splay his limbs in every conceivable direction – an arm pointing here, a leg over there, his head doing its best to wobble from its moorings – and tumbling into view in this fashion it is hardly surprising that he failed to apply the delicate touch needed. As if to hammer home quite what a tangle he had got himself into, he concluded the operation by blasting the ball so high that it may have travelled vertically rather than diagonally or horizontally.

Later on in the piece, while the game was still goalless, our lot produced a lovely slick move on the left (a move that contributed to my thinking, at 0-0, that this was one in which we were capable of getting our noses in front), which culminated in Maddison beating his man and cutting the ball back into the six-yard box. And there, again to his credit, lurked Werner, demonstrating once again that admirable ability to sniff out goalscoring opportunity.

Alas, once again, as sure as summer follows spring, Werner’s sniffing of opportunity was followed by Werner missing a presentable chance, and while it was probably more difficult than the earlier opportunity, one can nevertheless make the case that a chap who’s spent his whole life being drilled in the art of kicking a ball into the precise spot of his choosing ought to have steered the blasted thing on target.

Make no mistake, however, this defeat was not down to Timo Werner and his finishing. The whole lot were rotten to the core. For all its virtues and for whatever talent lurks within the constituent parts, the Postecoglou Operation is evidently one that requires a considerable amount of further work.

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 3-1 Forest: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. A Pretty Discombobulating Plot

If your route home from N17 yesterday evening was one of those ruminative ones then I can pop a comforting arm around your shoulders, remove the arm to pop a hand on the Bible in order to swear that I’m telling the truth, pop the arm back around your shoulders and assure you that you’re not alone. AANP, too, was thrown off kilter by the meandering and complex path our heroes took to their three points.

From the pretty comfortable opening, to the quite possibly complacent period leading up to half-time, to the sudden burst of second half inspiration, to the finale that neatly evaded any type of description altogether, the old grey matter just couldn’t fathom it out. It was like one of those dubious, award-winning foreign films one sometimes stumbles across, in which the plot leaps between genres and the characters change identities halfway through. In short, if anyone professed to knowing what was going on, they should blush with shame for the untruths they told.

Taking it chronologically, we started with admirable spunk. Forest provided a polite reminder that they are now a Nuno team, by pulling every available limb back into their own penalty area and daring us to make the game interesting. Admittedly the greatest chances of success came when we actually lost possession, prompting them to commit one or two bodies forward – at which point our lot cunningly won the ball back and had a fresh dart, but with fewer opposing limbs to negotiate.

All a bit convoluted, but the move with which we opened the scoring was pleasingly sharp, featuring quick passing in midfield and another of those moments in which Timo Werner’s undoubtedly good intentions actually manifested as a useful end product.

Thereafter, as was suggested by my Spurs-supporting chum Dave, our lot rather swanned around with the air of a regiment who were three goals up and drinking in the accolades, rather than a team that still had a good hour of elbow-grease ahead of them to ensure that the points were safe.

But for some unnecessarily wild flaying at the ball by that Chris Wood bimbo, we might have been in a spot of bother come the midway switcharound. I’d still have expected us to unearth a win from somewhere, but in that first half we were adding layer upon layer of complication to things, and unnecessarily so.

Even graver issues might have arisen if the arbiters of such irresponsible behaviour had cast a less generous eye upon James Maddison’s right to self-defence upon provocation. Whatever he did may have amounted to little more than pat on the tummy and some eye-catching amateur dramatics from the lad on the other side of the court, but if Maddison clenched his hand into a fist – and I’ll be dashed if the visual evidence clarifies things one way or t’other on that count – then he could have had few complaints about being ejected from the premises (as would have been the case for the other lad too, by the by).

Conventional wisdom has it that the introductions of Messrs Hojbjerg and Bentancur made the vital difference after half-time, and I suppose one can broadly go along with that, although I struggle to recall the specific good deeds demonstrated by either. Hojbjerg I did notice mopping things up in midfield, generally ensuring that if one of our attacks faltered and Forest tried to escape the shackles, he was on hand to pilfer possession straight back from them and set the lilywhite machine in motion once again. While others will presumably differ, I maintain it would be a stretch to say that either he or Bentancur bossed things, but we certainly had a bit more control with those two hovering about the place, so if one wants to fete the pair of them then they have my blessing (even if Hojbjerg did then try to undo his hard work by gifting Forest a couple of suicidal passes in the final knockings).

A purple patch briefly ensued, in which gaps appeared in the Forest setup and our lot pulled that old trick of nabbing a couple of quick goals before anyone had a chance to register what was happening, thereby changing the entire complexion of the game; and thereafter the final twenty or so passed pretty serenely, which as a lifelong Spurs fan used to the bedlam of a panicked finale, is always accepted gratefully but rather suspiciously.

So a satisfactory enough outcome, but by golly the convoluted plot was difficult to follow.

2. Werner

There are some of lilywhite persuasion who insist that Werner is a marvellous attacking asset; and others (known to have included amongst their number yours truly) who qualify this by suggesting that his outputs are a little predictable – and his finishing in Chris Wood territory – which I suppose means that the truth lies somewhere in between.

One could argue that the proof of the pudding is in his beating of a right-back and firing in a low cross that someone or other contrives to prod in, and he did that twice yesterday, albeit the second drew a point-blank save that rather upsets the narrative.

Now a pretty stirring argument could be made for the value of a winger who can lay at least one and possibly two goals on a plate per game, even if he spends the remaining 89 minutes idly inspecting the stands and whistling the theme tunes of cartoons from his homeland. The creation of two goals per game, the argument would continue, is a marvellous effort, irrespective of whatever else he might or might not contribute.

And yet, I do find myself emanating all manner of dissatisfied grunts and tuts when I watch the chap in action. I suppose it’s because for every one successful foray down the left, I do feel that we have to accept at four aborted (or otherwise ineffective) efforts, whether he sticks to the outside or tries his luck infield. I quite possibly do him a disservice – I certainly haven’t been keeping count of his efforts – but some sort of nameless frustration gnaws away, suggesting that he might utilise his talents just a mite more handsomely.

All that said, at £15m, he would be a solid squad member next season, quite the laddie for rotation and inspiring cameos. Nevertheless, I would hope that we throw four or five times that amount on a wide player upon whose forehead one can slap a post-it note on which is scribbled the word ‘Elite’, and who might usurp young Werner from the Starting XI.

3. Udogie

To err is human, what? Most weeks it is a pretty safe bet that when adjudicating the quality of the offerings on show, one reserves a particular word of praise for Destiny Udogie, making a point of emphasising how toothsome he was in reverse as well as on the front-foot. Commonly the driving force behind any left-of-centre surge over halfway, he is also generally an impressive barrel of meat and sinew when haring back into the conventional left-back spot.

Yesterday, however, he had a bit of a stinker. Most obviously, his dereliction of duty as Forest piled forward for their goal was a tricky one to excuse. Rather awkward, no, catching the golden boy red-handed? And yet there he was, clear as day, hand in the cookie jar, so to speak. The Forest fellow motored up alongside him and off towards the area, and young Udogie slowed to a halt and almost visibly shrugged. Difficult to fathom what went through his mind at that point, but ‘Chase the blighter’ it most certainly wasn’t.

Such things happen however, and while he had a slightly dreary time of it in other respects yesterday as well, by and large one can rely upon him, as well as VDV and Vicario, to prompt the approving nod. All things considered it is a stroke of luck that his dies horribilis happened on a day on which we crossed the finish line ahead and at a canter.

4. Our Goals

For all the mistakes and off-moments there were some pretty rip-roaring goals to wrap the thing up.

I was particularly glad for young Pedro Porro, as he never wants for enthusiasm when it comes to having a ping from the edge of the area, and he generally misses by not more than two or three whiskers. “One of these days,” I tend to mutter with a wry smile, as he goes through his curious post-miss routine of scratching his head like a man possessed and contorting his face into all manner of anguished expressions – also like a man possessed, truth be told.

Being blessed with the technique of a man who ought to earn a living in the more glamorous part of the pitch, it was particularly pleasing to see him catch a high volley sweetly enough to fly off into the top corner. Apparently the thing came off his shin, which does spoil an otherwise pleasingly thrill-packed little tale, but it hardly detracted from the aesthetic value, which is what really matters.

As for young Van de Ven, I have to confess to being most taken aback by his finish, travelling as it did with the velocity of an Exocet. ‘Who would have thought the young man to have had so much power in his left clog?’ was the refrain echoing around the place as we drank in the replays, for he certainly packed a bit of feeling into that effort.

As well he did too, for if he had joined the seemingly endless list of cast members overcome with a sense of altruism that inclined them to wave away the opportunity of a shot, and instead pass sideways for someone else, I do rather fear a vein in my temple might have exploded. One appreciates that sometimes the ball is received at an awkward angle or pace or whatever, but really the obsession with refusing to shoot when inside the area had far exceeded the realms of decency. Full marks then, to both Messrs Porro and VDV for straightening their priorities and swinging a leg like there was no tomorrow.

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 2-1 Luton: Three Tottenham Talking Points

1. Kulusevski On The Right…

That AANP reacts to Kulusevski’s deployment on the left by burying his head in his hands and noiselessly weeping is a well-known truth, and just to hammer home its salient points the Swede kindly offered a live-action example of precisely its ills, within the first two minutes on Saturday.

He picked up the ball on the right and went a-galloping, at a steady lick if not exactly breakneck speed, and by the time he reached the right-hand corner of the area all observers of lilywhite persuasion were fairly united in the view that here was a position of some promise.

At this point, as sure as night follows day, Kulusevski could be relied upon to cut inside on his left foot and make a hash of the main course, and he duly obliged. The cut-back brought a sigh, accepted as just one of those crosses one has to bear, but it need not necessarily have liquidated the attack. What happened next, however, absolutely stamped as a certainty the misdeeds that are brought by Kulusevski on the right.

Not only did he aim a pass to precisely no-one in lilywhite, using his position of opportunity to place the ball behind rather than into the path of the advancing Son, but the resulting loss of possession – as Sonny scrambled unsuccessfully to redeem things and Luton hared away with it – led of all things to a goal for the other lot. Townsend scuttled up the right, and before one could mutter, “But a moment ago this was our goalscoring opportunity, dash it!” Luton had the ball in our net.

This is not to suggest that the goal conceded was down to Kulusevski (although if The Brains Trust were to recommend ‘Nipping Things In The Bud’ as his bedtime reading for this week they’d have my vote), but more to emphasise that a fellow of his undoubted substance is frittering away his talents out on the right.

And frankly the man himself seemed to be at pains to emphasise that he is rather wasted on the right, by doing all his best work when he cut infield. Cast the mind back to the presentable one-on-one that Havertz put wide midway through the first half, and the glorious pass that released him emanated from Kulusevski wandering infield towards more central regions.

2. …vs Johnson On The right

Of course one hesitates to suggest that Big Ange asked himself at half-time what might AANP be thinking, and acted accordingly – modesty forbidding and all that – but the evidence is pretty overwhelming. Come the second 45 the concept of Kulusevski on the right had disappeared into the North London atmosphere, and Brennan Johnson was added to the cast list. Had an interested observer looked carefully they would surely have noted A.P. desperately trying to catch the AANP eye for approval.

The switch was made to considerable effect. Being an old-fashioned sort, AANP considers that a little too much fuss is made about the concept of Assists, there being a heck of a lot more to any half-decent attacker than his Assist count; but nevertheless, Johnson topped off a pretty sprightly 45 minutes with assists for both goals. That he did so was as a result of his repeated ability to hare off down the right in a puff of smoke, leaving Luton’s left-sided pack scrambling in his wake (credit here to supporting cast members, notably Pedro Porro, for doing much of the spadework that sprung Johnson from his traps).

Having been thusly unshackled Johnson did not waste too much time dwelling upon his options, adopting the principle that straight lines have a lot going for them and accordingly sprinting the shortest distance between two points before smacking the ball towards the far post. And thereafter, the second principle adopted by Johnson seemed to be that if it worked once it was worth trying again, and Luton seemed pretty powerless to stop him.

Hardly rocket science, but it’s worth noting that a pretty integral element of Johnson’s success was the fact that having sprinted free he didn’t go in for any of that meandering fluff about cutting back onto his left, instead just blasting in a low right-footed cross while Luton players were still rushing back to their posts. Put another way, at the crucial juncture Johnson opted for an approach that was about as far removed from Kulusevski as one could be, and it was markedly more successful.

On top of which, I’m rather a fan of Johnson’s predilection for tiptoeing into the area when attacks emanate down the left, with a view to flying in for a far-post tap-in – another element oddly lacking from Kulusevski’s game.  

None of which is to suggest that Johnson is necessarily a better player than Kulusevski, or a nicer chap about the place or anything like that; but yesterday at least, the deployment of a pacy right-footer on the right wing was far more effective than the use of Kulusevski and his adored left foot. The question of where Our Glorious Leader goes from here, in selecting his next XI, and particularly his right-sided attacker, adds a gentle frisson of excitement to the coming days.

3. Classic Timo Werner

No doubt about it, Timo Werner is as curious a little eel as they come. He somehow managed to cram all his classic elements into one single performance yesterday, and I rather fancy that when he tucked into his post-match sauerkraut last night he himself would have been scratching the old loaf wondering whether his performance went down as a Yay or a Nay.

In the early stage I was impressed by his willingness to cut inside and worm his way into the heart of the Luton back-line, a spirit of adventure that I thought boded well, and had me looking forward to an afternoon of inroads on the left. I was a little disappointed therefore to note that thereafter he rather lost interest in that particular route, opting for the vastly more conventional approach of trying to outpace his man down the wing, and finding himself up against a pretty stubborn sort in that Kabore chap.

In Werner’s defence, our complete absence of any useful build-up play in the first half didn’t help his cause. Any good we produced in the first 45 seemed to come from pressing high and winning the ball in the final third, rather than any particular ingenuity from deep. An exception was the pass from deep from Kulusevski, alluded to earlier, which set Werner free to have a run at the Luton goal. I suspect that when he blew out the candles on his last birthday, Werner wished for someone to play the ball into his path from deep, allowing him to sprint onto it from the halfway line, because few situations better showcase his standout talent.

This, of course, is the talent for covering 20 yards in a blur of movement. Putting aside for the moment, the issue of what happens once the sprinting is done and life’s serious decisions creep up, when what is required is transiting from halfway to the penalty area with minimal fuss, Werner is up there with the best of them. I would hand over a decent portion of the weekly packet to see Werner, Van de Ven and Johnson duke it out over 60 metres or so.

And in fact, having ticked the ‘Sprint’ box in exemplary fashion, Werner then negotiated the second chapter with admirable skill, sending that Kabore chap this way and that, thereby creating room for his shot.

However, as has been well documented, this is where Werner really ought to have been directing those birthday wishes, because he somehow makes the job of manoeuvring the ball from his feet to the net look like the most complex operation in human history. Needless to say, after careful consideration, he deposited the ball a few inches wide of the target, and one just didn’t really see much point in chiding the fellow because he seems so pathologically incapable of depositing the ball anywhere else.

Which is not to say that he adds no value; far from it. As mentioned, this was a 90-minute package of every element of Werner’s game, and his role in our equaliser ought not to be understated. Johnson and Porro deserve tidy salutes for fashioning the chance, but when the ball was whizzed across the face of goal there arose a legal obligation for someone in lilywhite to come piling in at the far post, and Werner clearly knew his onions. Fortunately, however, he was spared the indignity of blasting the ball over from about two yards by that Kabore chap, upon whom Werner’s close attentions and whispered promises proved irresistible, forcing him to pop the ball home in a manner that Werner can presumably only dream of.

It’s not the first time our heroes have profited by one winger crossing for another, and even though the minutes of the occasion record it as an own goal, the value of Werner was there for all to see.

And to round things off he also played a critical role in the winner, providing assistance to Sonny on the counter-attack to great effect, first in carrying the ball from halfway to penalty area, as Luton backtracked furiously from their own corner, before getting his cross past good old Kabore and into the thick of things in the area, from which vicinity Johnson and Son tidied up.

So his usual mixed bag, but Werner certainly fits the system and contributes to the fun, in his own unique and loveable way. Another of Big Ange’s decisions in the coming weeks will presumably be whether to continue with him out on the left, or shove Sonny there instead, with Richarlison up top.

On a final note, I’m not sure I’ve ever witnessed two efforts in the same game roll across the goal-line without crossing it; but any inclination to bemoan our luck in those instances was neatly offset by the fact that both our goals featured generous dollops of luck the other way, comprising as they did an own goal and a hefty deflection. All such gifts gratefully accepted.

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 1-2 Wolves: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. Emerson

One did not have to be one of those medieval soothsayer types, who apparently were pretty sharp in matters of spotting what was about to happen, to feel a bit of the old dread creeping up when Big Ange gruffled the news that both of Messrs Porro and Udogie would spend their Saturday afternoon being patched up in some infirmary tent rather than fighting the good fight on-pitch.

No huge surprises in the identity of their replacements, Emerson on one side and Ben Davies t’other, and while their earnestness was never going to be in doubt, that wasn’t really ever going to be the point, what?

There was a general lack of the sharpened tooth about our play from starter’s gun to finish line yesterday, incidences of rapier-like passing that cut to ribbons the opposition being so few that one could count them on the fingers of one hand. Now of course it would be a bit much to lay all the blame for this at the doors of Emerson and Davies, and our endeavours might well have been similarly fruitless with Porro and Udogie at the roaming-full-back wheel, not least because the second half was pretty much a non-stop session of trying to pick a way through a back-ten in and around their own area.

But nevertheless. Particularly in the first half, when the game was a tad more open but our passing from deep-to-advanced was pretty uninspired, I did stare off into the distance and do a spot of yearning.

Emerson, being the sort of egg so curious that he merits his own unique category of one, could conceivably have offered a bit of attacking spark, if all his lights were on. While he is probably not one for a 40-yard Porro-esque pass onto a sixpence, I had hoped we might see him carry the ball forward and infield, and give the Wolves lot something about which to confer.

Unfortunately, with Emerson one has to take the bonkers with the smooth, and he gave a few early indications that this was to be one of his more exasperating innings. For a start there were a few horribly misplace passes, which I suppose can happen to anyone, but when emanating from the size nines of Emerson do tend to suggest that he is off on another planet. Confidence – or rather lack thereof – never having been an issue with this mad young bean, rather than rein it in a bit he simply carried on trying no-look passes and whatnot.

However, the moment that really made me tut and stew was when, having been lazily caught in possession and deposited upon his derriere, rather than bounce straight back up, hellbent on correcting his error, he remained in his seat and took to waving his arms for an imaginary foul. Wolves, meanwhile, simply got on with it, shoved their way into our area and almost scored, dash it.

Obviously I use the pen-wielder’s licence to colour the lad’s entire performance as unequivocally disastrous, when the truth is probably that he made plenty of quiet, positive contributions, but in the first half in particular too many of his inputs led to a skyward fling of the AANP hands, and a muttered imprecation as its soundtrack. In a first half badly lacking cohesion and threat, Emerson made a handy poster-boy for our troubles.

2. Ben Davies

Ben Davies, to give credit where due, was actually pretty solid defensively and expansive offensively. If there is a criticism of him – apart from the wild misdirection of that late header, which ought to have CPR-d the result – it is that he is not Destiny Udogie, which seems a rather cruel sort of mud to sling at a fellow. I mean, not much that one can do about being born as one person and not as another, what?

As mentioned, he did things well enough. The sort of willing chappie destined always to be in the ‘Supporting Cast’ category, he won a few early defensive arguments against his opposing winger, and also made regular visits to the Wolves final third. Truth be told, he was as effective an attacking spoke as anyone else, and if I could have toddled around the changing-room post-match and canvassed a few opinions, I suspect that Sonny, Maddison and Richarlison would have spoken kindly enough of his contributions.

But in a game in which we sorely lacked a bit of the old thrust, I did note that the most incisive first half passes into the final third came from Messrs VDV on the left and Romero on the right. A spot of Udogie from deep would have gone down well.

3. Kulusevski

The half-time mood was pretty dark at AANP Towers. There was no shortage of subjects of ire, and not really enough time to have the deep and meaningful rant that each of them deserved, but one point on which I (and a chum or two) were pretty clear was that the current iteration of Kulusevski was pretty seriously undercooked.

Naturally he then took 46 seconds to ram my words down my throat with a bit of meaning, dancing around defenders in that curious way of his that seems to defy physics (my eyes probably deceived, but I’m pretty convinced that at one point he ran literally through a Wolves defender – which I accept contradicts much of what we know of modern science, but there we go).

So bucketfuls of credit where due, it was a fabulously executed goal. However, I maintain that it was also quite the anomaly. Kulusevski’s outputs in general this season seem to have been pretty muted. Of the unstoppable buccaneer of Spring 2022 there is little sign these days. In his defence, none of the fifteen outfield players used yesterday had much attacking success, so I’m happy to slather some context about the place, but with Kulusevski these diminished returns have been evident for some time.

This business of constantly cutting back onto his left foot strikes me as constituting a hefty chunk of the problem. Funnily enough it does still catch the occasional opponent by surprise, but this isn’t much good given that it also tends to suck a decent gulp of momentum from the attacking move. Defenders who might a smidgeon earlier have been out of position and rushing back to their posts, with sirens for both panic and confusion sounding in their ears, are granted time to pack out the place and steady their feet. The diem passes frustratingly un-carpe’d.

Moreover, having completed the whole business of cutting back onto his left, Kulusevski very rarely then makes good on his pledge and does anything meaningful with the ball thereafter. When he first joined, a couple of years back, one lost count of the number of times he cut back and curled the ball either into the far corner or into the path of an onrushing forward sort. Whereas these days he just bunts the thing into the first opposing body and it bounces away, or else loops a shot high and wide.

Much of Kulusevski’s value has traditionally derived from his deceptive burst of pace carrying the ball from halfway onwards, which is fair enough, and a trait still occasionally in evidence against more adventurous teams playing higher up the pitch; but on the whole, and certainly on occasions like yesterday, when up against a deep-lying defence, there’s not much scope for such frivolity.

Towards the end of yesterday’s proceedings, when Our Glorious Leader adopted the Football Manager approach of shoving as many attackers onto the pitch as the rules allowed, we were treated to a brief glimpse of Kulusevski in a more central role, which, from my armchair, seems to suit him a little better. Again, however, there protrudes a spanner in the works, as with Maddison back one would not expect to see too much of Kulusevski at number 10.

As with Emerson, one could hardly lump all our woes into one neat pile at the door of Kulusevski and wait for him to solve everything, but it’s another of those charming little knots that Postcoglou et al will need to unravel.

4. Van de Ven and Vicario

On a positive note, both Van de Ven and Vicario were in pretty spiffing form yesterday, so that was a little treat for the gathered masses.

Rather a shame that it was all to no avail, but VDV’s recovery pace continues to make the eyes pop from the head, and will presumably receive greater acclaim on future dates, when deployed in a winning cause. It was not so evident in the second half, when the pattern of things shifted considerably, but in the first half every time Wolves got behind our high-line – the difficulty of which was right up there alongside taking sweets from babies – one could breathe easily in the knowledge that a locomotive in human form would pretty swiftly be arriving from across the pitch to hoover up the mess.

Vicario, similarly, took the opportunity to showcase his most eye-catching stuff. Point-blank save in each half were worth goals, and I have a feeling he had another chalked off by an offside flag, but it was enough to communicate the gist: here was a man in rare old form.

Moreover, given that so much hot air is now expelled on the topic of what goalkeepers do with their feet, there was a charmingly old-fashioned thrill in seeing our man stick out a reflexive paw a couple of time to execute some point-blank saves.

That said, both goals conceded were pretty maddening. The first in particular prompted a rather weary groan, an unmarked header from a corner of all things being the sort of offence that ought to have the lot of them docked a month’s wages and locked in dank cells. As for the second, it was pretty clearly scripted stuff by our opponents, which in turn reflects poorly on our Brains Trust. Much to ponder in the next couple of weeks.