Tag: Pedro Porro

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 1-0 Liverpool: Four Tottenham Talking Points

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

1. Kinsky

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2. Bergvall

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

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

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

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

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

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

3. Spence

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

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

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

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

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

4. Ange Postecoglou, Tactical Genius

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 1-2 Newcastle: Four Tottenham Talking Points

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

1. Austin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2. The Spence-Gray Partnership

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

3. Porro

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

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

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

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

4. General Mood

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Spurs match reports

Forest 1-0 Spurs: Three Tottenham Talking Points

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

1. Not A Particularly Bad Showing

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2. The Art of Midfield Tackling

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

3. Individuals

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

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

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

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

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

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 3-6 Liverpool: Five Tottenham Talking Points

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

1. Disclaimer: Liverpool Were Jolly Sharp

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2. Individual Errors

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

3. Son

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

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

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

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

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

4. Kulusevski Central

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

5. Spence

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

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

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

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

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Spurs 4-3 Man Utd: Three Tottenham Talking Points

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1. Forster, Good Grief

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2. Solanke

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

3.1 Other Handy Showings: Bissouma

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

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

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

3.2 Other Handy Showings: Gray

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

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

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

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

3.3 Other Handy Showings: Spence

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

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

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Spurs match reports

Rangers 1-1 Spurs: Four Tottenham Talking Points

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1. Werner and Ange’s Comments

An early vox pops suggest that AANP is in a minority on this one, but I raised an eyebrow at Our Glorious Leader’s post-match critique of Timo Werner.

A bit of admin is probably needed here in the first place, just so that everyone knows where they stand. For a start, there’s Ange’s own take on it. From the horse’s mouth:

“He wasn’t playing at anywhere near the level he should be. Timo’s first-half performance was not acceptable to me. I told Timo that he’s a German international, that I need everyone to be trying to give their best and this wasn’t an acceptable example. I expect a lot more from the senior guys.”

And if you want a sense of the tone in which he soliloquyed, think Angry Bear Tries To Use Looks Alone To Kill Press Conference Attendees.

Next up there’s AANP’s own take on Werner’s 45 minutes’ worth last night. For clarity, I’m hardly defending the chap’s performance. If you close your eyes, block out the background hubbub and try to imagine literally any Timo Werner performance in our colours over the last 12 months, you’ve probably hit the bullseye. It was that.

More specifically, his finishing was poor and his crossing was poor, but he seemed as willing a runner as ever. He tried, as he always does; and his output was exasperatingly off, as it always is. (He also embellished things, if that’s really the word I want, with one moment in which he miscontrolled a whopping pass from Fraser Forster, which would have had us off and away, so that made for a conspicuous lowlight – but it hardly seems fair to throw him down the pan for a single doltish moment.)

The point I’m getting at is that this just struck me as standard Werner fare. By which I suppose I mean it was actually pretty sub-standard, but still exactly what we’re used to.

And precisely because it was all so normal, I’m slightly taken aback by Ange’s post-match sting. Not like him to single out a chappie and pour hot oil over them, what? If he’s going to indulge in a spot of Werner-bashing, why now? He’s had 25 appearances for our lot, most of which have been around the same level, after all.

On top of which, if he’s going to bash anyone, why Werner? Let’s face it, there have been no shortage of performances from various amongst our number that have stunk the place out over the past 18 months or so.

It might have been a carefully choreographed spiel, part of a wider plan to ensure that all squad members see a spot of public lashing and think to themselves, “Crikey, I’d better pull up my own socks”; or it might be that Ange’s patience with Werner’s constant butchering of his lines has finally run out. Either way, though, I gave the chin a bit of a stroke at that one.

2. Dragusin and Gray

It’s becoming a big day for AANP failing to read the mood in the room, for when I cheerily put it to my Spurs-supporting chum Dave that Dragusin was doing a bit better than normal (a low bar, admittedly, but let’s crack on), he hit back with some pretty scything patter, the gist of which seemed to be that last night was the straw that had broken the back of that particular camel, and that he had given up on the fellow.

Now I appreciate that Dragusin’s passing was somewhat errant. Indeed, he seemed to have decided to create his own entertainment for himself, in closing his eyes, picking a random direction and firing out the ball in said direction. Endless fun for him; a bit less thrilling for his teammates.

However, putting aside his curious distribution, when it came to the fundamentals of central defending, I chalked this up as one of his better days. There was none of the Romero-esque charges upfield to challenge for loose balls and thereby leave yawning gaps behind him. Instead, Dragusin adopted generally sensible positions, and did a solid enough job of blocking, intercepting and in some instances politely shoving.

Rangers at various periods gave us a bit of a hammering; Dragusin was generally there to help repel them.

And I thought that young Gray could be similarly marked, in terms of making a mess of things in possession (via the medium of dribbles from the back that were abruptly ended, rather than errant passing) but also putting in a pretty solid showing when it came to the basics of defending.

Gray probably merits a slightly extended wittering, being not only inexperienced as a player but completely new to the position. To be thrust into that sort of environment, in a role for which he has had precious little training over the years, and plough through the full 90 without any notable errors, merits a tip of the cap.

As mentioned, he did run into trouble pretty much every time he tried to bring the ball out of defence, but even there I’m inclined to turn him a kindly eye. If Romero, VDV, Dragusin etc peeled off that sort of thing I’d admittedly unleash both barrels. But, truth be told, I was actually rather impressed that Gray had the confidence to try carrying the ball forward from the back. He’ll perhaps need to learn when to finish sashaying and when to pass the thing; but he seems to have the ability to do it. All in all, a fairly impressive first stab in the role from the young imp.

3. Porro and the Same Old Goal

A few weeks ago some footage sprung up on the interweb of our lot conceding three or four different goals, in near-identical fashion. In each instance they were deliveries from the opposition right, which reached the far post, an area nominally the domain of one Pedro Porro – but the punchline here is that in each instance young P.P. was a long way off current events, and the relevant opposition bobbie was able to convert unopposed from a slightly-left-of-centre area.

Well of course, it happened again last night. One might point out that the detail around the edges was a little different – this one emanating from a cross from deep – but the principle dashed well remains. Whatever the hell goes on between the Porro ears, one can bet one’s mortgage on it not being anything about defending at the far post.

He might angrily wave a hand or two and complain that actually he was in the vicinity, closer than anyone else in fact. However, were he to do so, by way of riposte I’d remove a shoe, throw it at his head, and yell at him that being in the vicinity is no good at all if he’s going to let the opponent wander goal side of him, with a neat circumference around him of two or three yards that is exclusively his, in which to conduct himself as he pleases.

Porro, in common with most defenders in Ange-era Spurs, seems to consider that the principal role of a defender is to contribute to attacks, preferably by stationing himself north of halfway. It makes the forehead veins absolutely bulge to popping level to see him constantly five yards behind his opposing forward whenever they counter-attack.

This was all the more galling yesterday, given the considered efforts of Gray and Dragusin to put out fires more centrally. If Ange really did want to have a pop at those players gumming things up, he might have just as easily have picked on Porro.

4. Midfield Lack of Bite

As always seems to be the case, it felt that whichever team had the ball last night looked they would score within a pass or two.

When our lot purr they look capable of scoring against the best defences around, and our goal yesterday was lovely stuff – patience at the back before a few slick, one-touch passes to get us from A to B, and then a spot of smart decision-making around the edge of the area.

Equally, however, when having lost possession, alarm bells sound all over the place. And much of the reason for this is the wisp-like nature of our midfield. Slap bang on the five-minute mark, Bentancur was barged off the ball and into a different dimension by a Rangers sort (quite likely that Raskin chap, who made a habit of it all night), and it struck me as summing up not just the current Tottenham vintage but every Spurs side I’ve seen since first casting eyes upon them in the 80s.

Earnest beans like Johnson, Maddison, Son, Werner, Bentancur, Bergvall (who I thought gave his best performance so far last night, very Bentancur-esque) and so on will all bob about in the right places when we lose possession, and make a bit of a demonstration of trying to dip in an impeding foot, but it’s all pretty much decorative. They know, we know and the opposition know that our midfield really isn’t going to stop anything. The real business begins when the ball is shoved straight past them, and Forster and the back-four have to defend the penalty area.

Whether this is due to individuals just not winning their own personal duels, or something more structural, is beyond me. Whatever the reason, we remain alarmingly easy to attack, and end up simply rely upon scoring enough, rather than preventing the other lot.

Bissouma is the one chap upon whom much of the responsibility lies actually to prevent opposition attacks at source, and while he generally pops up two or three times per game with a useful enough tackle of some species, in general he’s not really demonstrated an ability to hold down the entire fort single-handedly.

So it’s a bit of a pickle, but that, I suppose, is why Our Glorious Leader is paid the fat envelope.

Credit to our lot nevertheless, for coming from behind, evidently not an easy thing to do in the circumstances. At full strength I’d have expected us to rock up and win against that lot, but given the current list of absentees, and the fact that we were second best for much of the night, a point represents pretty healthy stock. One hopes that those in the corridors of power are starting to take the hint, and will be dusting off their chequebooks this January.

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Spurs Books Uncategorized

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 3-4 Chelsea: Four Tottenham Talking Points

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

1. “It’s All Ange’s Fault”

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

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

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

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

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

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

2. “It’s Not All Ange’s Fault”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

3. Romero, Van de Ven and the Injuries

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

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

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

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

4. Solanke

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

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

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

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

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Spurs match reports Uncategorized

Spurs 1-1 Fulham: Three Tottenham Talking Points

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1. Dragusin

Radu Dragusin reminds me a little of Eric Dier. Now I suppose if you’re a particularly kindly soul, you may clasp your hands together in joy, a beaming smile across your map, and murmur, “Oh, how charming!” or something similar.

Unfortunately, if this were the case I’d have to step right in and cut you off mid-flow. The Dier-esque epithets I toss at Dragusin are hardly complimentary. Quite the opposite, in fact. This is not to suggest that Dragusin stank the place out from first bell to last. It’s more to suggest that so far in his lilywhite career he seems more brawn than brain, and specifically brawn of the slow-moving, slightly lumbering brand. Dier-esque, one might suggest.

And if you’re stroking the chin at that, I’d direct you towards yesterday’s offerings to ram home the point. In fact, I could direct you towards any one of Dragusin’s recent string of four or five games. Perhaps generously waving aside that Galatasaray game as an exceptionally off-night, his outputs have generally failed to inspire confidence. Admittedly he has, without fail, puffed out his chest, chewed his gum and certainly looked like one who considers himself master of all he surveys. But when it actually comes to the delivering as pledged, one does scrunch the face a little, and politely point out that he’s messing up some of the basics.

The early signs yesterday were promising enough, as his first major involvement was to shove out of possession some Fulham scamp who was trying to beat him for pace on the flank. In the appropriate context, Dragusin is clearly capable of applying some upper-body mass to lend force to an argument.

Not long afterwards, however, his Eric Dier Tribute Act really gathered momentum when he made a bit of a lunge around halfway. It was the sort of challenge which is fine in principle, but in practice does require a certain sharpness from the blocks. Dragusin, however, is not really the sort who can spring in lightning quick fashion from a standing start. I’m not sure he can spring in lightning quick fashion from a running start either, to be honest. Anyway, for whatever reason, the Fulham lad’s nipping away of the ball was carried out at a far quicker speed than Dragusin’s lunge, and Fulham were away.

I also noted that the two clear-cut chances Fulham made in the first half, were presented to the man who Dragusin, along with the ever-vacant Porro, was supposed to be monitoring.

So far, so Dier. What then emphasised the likeness in my eyes was a couple of his attempts to distribute the ball further north. These, quite simply, missed their target, gifting possession to Fulham around halfway and thereby prompting an about-turn from all in lilywhite.

Now it’s worth emphasising here that in criminally misdirecting passes of between 5 and 15 yards, Dragusin was by no means the sole culprit. It was indicative of a generally horrendous performance amongst the entire outfield mob that seemed utterly incapable of stringing a few basic passes together without the radar shutting down and the ball hitting a red shirt.

Nevertheless, this hardly excused Dragusin. Neither did it do much to instil confidence.

As mentioned above, this was not unadulterated filth from the chap throughout. He had good moments as well as bad, I simply noted a bit too much in the Debit column for my liking. He ended up with a big thick tick in the Credit column, however, with that stoppage-time clearance off the line after Ben Davies’ solid, retreating trundle saw him beaten for pace. As such, I suppose that as third or fourth-choice centre-back he’s competent enough. Moreover, it can take a good year or so for these foreign fellows to find their feet in the Premier League, so he might yet improve considerably. I just found myself shaking my head at him once too often yesterday, and recalling a former member of the parish.

2. Forster

AANP occasionally watches a spot of tennis to pass an idle hour, and one notion that occurred to me on seeing Andy Murray recently call time on his career, was that it was rotten luck for him to be born when he was. Not much he could have done about it of course. In my experience babies will often delay things for a week or two, for sport, but there’s not much scope for them to press pause for a whole decade. Not the done thing.

So Murray was stuck with the era in which popped up, and as such had to look on a little forlornly as three of the best players ever hoovered up most of the gongs. And in a roundabout way, having watched Fraser Forster pull off  a number of goal-worthy reflex saves that kept us in the game yesterday, the thought occurred that, in a different era, he too might have been feted one of the very best in the business.

Certainly his shot-stopping, in his couple of engagements so far, has been of the highest quality. In general too, being of sturdy construction and about fourteen feet tall, he deals with crosses in pretty dominant fashion. With such qualities to his name, had he sprung up in the 80s, 90s or 00s, for example, he might well have been regarded as one of the elite.

These days, however, the standard goalkeeper plucked from the street is expected first and foremost to pass from feet. From the back, and over short distances. Show composure and accuracy with the ball at your feet, seems to be the instruction, and the stuff with the hands can be tacked on later.

Gone are the days when the goalkeeper’s work was done upon having grasped the ball, and they could simply kick from their hands over halfway, and lean back against the goalpost for a snooze. If they can’t pass ten yards to their nearby colleagues, and occasionally bypass half the opposition with a 20-yarder through the lines, then they won’t get a look in.

When it comes to passing from feet, Forster actually competent enough, from what we see, but one wouldn’t really grade him any more highly than that. One or two of his passes yesterday did go a bit rogue and land at Fulham feet. I suppose one might argue that that can happen to the best of us from time to time, but the point is that he does not really come across as one whose greatest forte is as a ball-player.

To repeat, however, his saves won us a point yesterday. Due to a general air of incompetence from those around him, Fulham were allowed far too many efforts on goal, several of which were of the clear-cut variety, and at least two required Forster to churn out some point-blank stuff. And let’s face it, point-blank saves are as close as goalkeepers will get to scoring themselves.

3. Quite the Off-Day

Forster and his shot-stopping aside, it is difficult to muster up too much enthusiasm about any other individuals. Maddison beavered, and picked one or two passes that quickened the pulse, but one would only describe him as a constant menace, or something similar, if one had fingers crossed behind one’s back and a pretty guilty-looking expression etched across the face.

There some extenuating circumstances, for Solanke soldiers away like an absolute trooper when available – and one of those troopers who delights in getting covered with filth if it helps the collective – so his absence, and the unavailability of Richarlison, hamstrung us like nobody’s business. It might have been a day to start young Lankshear, but that’s not a grumble into which I’m going to put much lung-power. The lad still looks a tad undercooked.

Without a dominant focal point our lot were unable to hold up the ball, and generally seemed a bit lost as to what the point of the whole thing was once they gained possession. As front-threes go, it is difficult to imagine a more soft and delicate combo than Son, Werner and Johnson. One understands the decision to give Kulusevski a bit of a breather, but no Solanke or Richarlison about the place either, it left us frightfully lightweight in attack.

AANP has generally been pretty forgiving of Angeball and Our Glorious Leader. When we lose games having had 20 shots on goal, I’ll tend to shrug it off, on the grounds that, by and large, playing that way we’ll win (and handsomely so) more than we’ll lose/draw. Indeed, hearty batterings of various half-decent sides this season seem to bear that out.

Where the mood darkens, however, is when a general insipidity washes over the collective from start to finish. The fact that Fulham can beetle up to our place and conjure up more shots on target,  and slope off feeling aggrieved not to have won, is pretty troubling. As mentioned, generally when we fail to win it’s just because a stream of shots failed to find the net; but yesterday (and against Palace a month or two ago), darker forces were at work.

Bizarrely, we remain only 5 points off second, but if anything this hammers home the frustration of having dropped more eminently winnable points.

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Spurs match reports

Man City 0-4 Spurs: Three Tottenham Talking Points

1. Kulusevski

If you ever spot Dejan Kulusevski sloping about the place, and you notice he looks a bit down on himself – gloomy expression, dragging his feet, that sort of thing – it turns out there is one thing absolutely guaranteed to buck him right up and set him skipping gaily down the street. You simply have to tell him that his next opponent will be Man City, and watch him burst into life like a firework that’s just been lit.

Quite what it is about that mob that puts the joys of spring into him is anyone’s guess. They’re one of the last teams I’d want to spend 90 minutes chasing around a field, but there we go. Once Kuluseski clocked whom it was he was up against, he went into absolute overdrive.

There have been times this season when one has speculated that the only thing that might stop Kulusevski in full flow is if he himself decides to stop. Certainly the opposition don’t get much say in it. Yesterday was an absolute prime case in point. If Kulusevski decided to put his head down and barrel his way across half the City team, they were powerless to intervene. Essentially, they were reduced to the role of decorative ornaments, scattered about the place for him to dance around.

Take that first goal. Dragusin began things by lofting a pass in his general direction, and there was not a great deal about it to arrest the attention. Nothing particularly wrong with it, mind. It was perfectly acceptable stuff. Neither, however, did it seem to be of much consequence. City had hardly been carved open. It was essentially a waft. Kulusevski, upon gathering the thing in, one suspected, would have to put in some elbow-grease if he wanted to generate any mileage from it.

But in the blink of an eye, this season’s new, supercharged iteration of the Swede had not just generated mileage, he’d set up an opportunity for Maddison that, if not quite on a plate, was about nine-tenths of the way there. In the first place he niftily turned infield, and then gave that Gvardiol fellow a friendly shove to clear the paths.

That might not sound like much, but if you’ve ever had the honour of drinking in the full dimensions of Gvardiol from close quarters, you’ll be aware that his physique has much about it of a sturdy tree trunk. To illustrate the point, if I were to try similarly attempt to hand off Gvardiol, I’d wager that I’d quite likely sprain a wrist, and possibly also bounce off him and over the advertising hoardings.  Kulusevski however, shoved him aside, and aside he remained. And this highlights one of the principal merits of the fellow: he’s a meaty young blighter.

We then benefited from a timely dart from Pedro Porro, up the right flank. While Kulusevski deemed this offer of assistance beneath him, that Gvardiol lump was sufficiently distracted to take a step or two to track the run. Kulusevski did not stop to enquire how that detour was treating him, but instead beavered infield into the vacant space.

At this point, one might report that he swung in a cross, and such an observation would, I suppose, hold up in court. Factually correct, I mean to say. Not a syllable of untruth contained therein.

And yet, simply to say this and no more would be to understate the thing like the dickens. It would be like stating that Van Gogh painted flowers. No denying it, but by golly you’d shoot an enquiring look and wonder when the juicy detail would kick in. So it was with Kulusevski’s cross, for it was a specimen of the highest order. One ought really to cart it at the next awards ceremony and give a short speech in its honour.

To give it its due acclaim, all the key mechanical elements could be ticked off for a start. That is to say it was of the appropriate height, and weight, and so forth. Layered upon all these, though, were what you might call the standout features. The cross was flighted perfectly over the head of the patrolling central defender, for example, removing from him the option of simply standing and heading clear, or even of leaping a foot or two and heading clear. It was one of those crosses that to all intents and purposes wiped the p.c.d. briefly from existence.

And having had requisite height to do what might be termed Part One of the operation, the cross then similarly ticked off Part Two, by dipping sufficiently so as to allow Maddison to meet it with a well-timed foot. Not too high, not bouncing awkwardly, not too far in front of him; but weighted just so.

On top of which, this was one of that eye-catching class of crosses that does not simply drop to someone’s feet, but is whipped into a vacant space. Now while further applause can be directed Kulusevski’s way, this aspect also requires a partner in the operation, who is tuned into the same wavelength, and is willing to gallop into the vacant space. And this was where Maddison chimed in so sensibly.

All these elements neatly flowed together, both Maddison and Kulusevski timing thing as if they’d been rehearsing for weeks. As will be expanded upon below, Maddison deserves top marks for his role in the drama, but the genesis of the goal, and frankly the whole victory, was brought by Kulusevski.

Thereafter, the chap simply would not be silenced. It was an odd sort of game, in that we could hardly be said to have had control of things, particularly in the first half and particularly when out of possession. We largely relied upon City to mangle their opportunities, rather than preventing them from having any. However, similarly, when we were in possession, we led City a pretty merry dance, and Kulusevski was at hub of most of our incisive work.

The third goal was another example of this. It should be emphasised that the goals lend themselves as rather obvious illustrations of his evening’s work, but his contribution was not limited to these and these alone. It was not the case that he bobbed up on these two occasions and clocked off for the remainder, content to loiter in the background and shirk his duties. Kulusevski was menace to City every time he gathered the ball.

The goals do stick in the memory though. The third started with the Swede embracing in his inner Maradona, and twisting the living daylights out of every City player in his path. The naked eye could barely follow what was happening, such was the twinkle-toed nature of his burst. His little dribble was all the more pleasing for leading eventually to a goal, for when such moments of trickery lead to naught they can sometimes be lost in the mists of time. On this occasion, however, having danced his way past several flummoxed opponents, Kulusevski then played a delicate one-two with Sonny before haring off down the left.

His pass for Solanke thereafter was actually probably a little overhit, but the latter did a solid job of recycling things, before Porro applied the finishing touch.

A couple of standout moments then, in an altogether rip-roaring outing from the chap. Once he gets going, there really is no stopping him.

2. Maddison

The other outstanding performance was posted by young Maddison, which I must admit surprised me a little. It was just about a year ago that the young imp hobbled off against Chelsea on that fateful nine-men-on-halfway evening, and since then he has looked decidedly short of the old pep. Bit of a shadow of his former self. Always happy enough to muck in, to his credit, but rarely doing too much to stop the casual observer in their tracks and have them mouthing, “By golly” or something similar.

Yesterday, however, Maddison returned to form; or, more accurately, it seemed to me, discovered two new and hitherto untapped areas of form, which he claimed as his own. What I mean is that previously, and in the first few months of his Tottenham career, back in the summer of 2023, Maddison seemed to strut about the place creating opportunities for others. He’d collect the ball in advanced positions and thread, this way and that, some passes of the exceptionally cunning variety. Creator-in-chief, one might say, and well we needed him.

Quite a different beast on show yesterday though. His goals, for a start, had about them much of the Scholes, Platt or Dele. The first in particular was a triumph for the fine but oft-neglected art of surging forward from midfield, reaching the edge of the area and then carrying right on with the surging. In a system such as ours, in which poor old Solanke can quite often be found knee-deep in build-up muck, a goodish distance from goal, all manner of bribes and incentives ought to be flung at the midfield posse to elevate to the top of their To-Do List the essential role of arriving in the area for scraps.

And Maddison did that yesterday like a pro. As elaborated upon above, Kulusevski played his part in that opening goal with aplomb, but it would have resulted in a sigh, a little pirouette on the spot and some further sideways and backwards rot, if Maddison had not carpe’d the diem.

Having bust a gut to get there, Maddison also deserves credit for controlling his volley, which I think is the technical term for those moments when one avoids lashing the ball over the bar and off into the thinner part of the atmosphere.

His role in the second goal was even better. When the press exerted by various chums brought about an errant City pass, Maddison seized upon it like a hyena who’s spotted one of the slower members of the Serengeti gang loping his way. In a trice Maddison had collected the ball, nor did he dawdle in shoving it at Sonny. Importantly, having shoved, Maddison did not stop to admire his work either, but was struck with the winning notion that he might as well race off to the other side of the area.

One exquisite Son flick later, and Maddison was in on goal; but if one were to sit back in one’s seat and opine that all he had left to do was tap the thing home and welcome the acclaim, one would need a pretty sharp correction.

For a start, travelling at pace, Maddison’s first touch needed to be top-tier stuff. Too soft and the ball would be left behind; too hard and it would bounce off him and away. He therefore did an impressive job of dragging it along with him, even while on the gallop. The sequel that immediately followed was even more impressive, for who amongst us does not enjoy a dinked finish over an onrushing goalkeeper? Credit, then, by the bucketful. I did not know he had such things in his armoury.

These goals having been despatched, Maddison then devoted the rest of his evening to produce from an entirely different genre altogether. He seemed to dust away all his attacking gear, and lock it in the attic for another day. The focus of the remainder of his evening was to collect the ball from Vicario and chums, in his own defensive third.

If you’ve regularly passed by this corner of the interweb you may know that AANP is not too hot on this business of playing out from the back. And when I say ‘not too hot’, I add a thick layer of scorn, and a pretty evil eye. Dashed nuisance, if you ask me. It regularly leads to us ceding possession in dangerous areas; and even when it does work, it rarely gets us as far as the halfway line.

Anyway, we were at it again yesterday, of course, so I took a deep breath and duly braced myself. However, what unfurled was arguably our finest hour and a half of peddling this building-from-the-back gubbins. It actually worked, pretty well and on repeated occasions. And there at the heart of it all was Maddison.

His juices presumably flowing like nobody’s business after his goals, every time we had a goal kick he availed himself of possession in the most precarious positions conceivable, right on the edge of his own area, and seemingly unfazed by the close attentions of City bods lurking on his shoulder. And I’ll be dashed if each and every time he did not successfully hold onto possession. He dipped his shoulder as appropriate and swerved away from danger, protecting the ball and finding a chum. It was an approach that absolutely dripped with risk, and yet Maddison pulled it off every time.

This was remarkable in itself, but it also meant that, having bobbed and weaved past the City press, he was able to set us off on our way, over halfway and on the counter-attack.

Whether or not he can do this every week we’ll have to wait and see I suppose, but yesterday he orchestrated things from deep like it was the role for which he had been preparing since birth.

3. Our Defence

With VDV and Romero still poorly, we had to make do with Davies and Dragusin at centre-back, and I suppose the record books will now show for eternity that the pair of them kept a clean-sheet, so well done them. However, that they did so, especially in the first 10 minutes or so, seemed to defy physics.

I touched earlier upon the peculiarity of this one, in terms of our lack of control in the first half in particular. If you happened to grab the Sunday morning papers and cast an eye over the score-line, you might well have cheerily assumed that City failed to lay a glove, given it not a moment’s further thought and duly flicked over to the Sudoku puzzle, a cheery whistle on your lips.

This, while understandable enough, would have been a wild misdiagnosis of events. City most certainly did lay gloves upon us. In fact, several of their punches landed and left us staggering drunkenly about the canvas – as, it should be pointed out, ours did them. Essentially, whichever team had the ball looked like they would score within two shakes of a lamb’s tail. That City didn’t owed a lot to some off-colour finishing, as well as an exceptional display of limb-extension (and at one point, torso-existence) from young Vicario.

Credit where due, in the second half our midfield five rolled up their sleeves and formed a tight unit in front of the defence. This seemed to cheese off the City mob sufficiently, forcing them off into all sorts of scenic routes on the peripheries. They still eked out a fair number of close-range chances, mind, any one of which, if converted, would have had the nervous glances firing in all directions. However, as the game wore on, and our goal tally racked upon, the light in their eyes rather died.

Few would have predicted that, after an opening 10 or so in which they trampled all over us. And while Davies and Dragusin undoubtedly drew short straws in having to face up to Haaland, Foden et al for this one, they didn’t exactly help themselves in those opening exchanges.

Haaland missed two pretty straightforward knockings early on. The first of which emanated from Davies darting forward to win the ball high up, missing the ball, and duly finding himself out of position while City went on the charge. When the ball eventually squirted out to Haaland he had the freedom of the penalty area, but oddly decided to pause and reflect on things, in which time Davies was able to scamper back and effect a block.

Full marks for scampering back and blocking, of course, but the whole episode might have been avoided with better judgement earlier on in the piece. (A quiet chiding here, too, for Bissouma, for not having the presence of mind to step back into Davies’ vacant spot and fill in for him when he disappeared a-wandering.)

Not to be outdone, a minute or two later Dragusin pulled an identical trick, lunging for the ball and finding himself kicking at thin air as Savio tootled away. Again, no ill transpired, but the omens hardly filled one to the gills with confidence.

Thereafter, at least, the pair had the decency to keep their noses clean. It is only fair to applaud them for sticking to the task for the remainder, and without huge alarm. As mentioned, we did still rely on Vicario an awful lot, but one imagines the pair of them will feel a heck of lot better for having a clean-sheet to their name, against that lot of all lots.

And ultimately, with a tip of the cap to Herr Werner for doing what very few have ever done before, and skinning Kyle Walker, we rode off into the sunset with one of the finest score-lines of the Postecoglou era.

Of course, none of it counts, as Rodri was injured, and that simply is not fair on City; but is there anything more maddeningly Spurs-esque, than to lose at home to Ipswich, before travelling to City and hammering them? Marvellously entertaining, of course, and if we ever stumble upon some consistency we’ll be a heck of a force to be reckoned with, but for now I try not to think of whatever shock defeat is forthcoming, and simply enjoy the moment.

Need a Christmas stocking-filler for the Spurs-supporter in your life? Keep your eyes peeled, for a new AANP book will soon be arriving on this site.