Tag: Premier League

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Spurs match reports

Forest 3-0 Spurs: Three Tottenham Talking Points

1. The Hangover

I took the liberty of indulging in a rare evening out in the metropolis yesterday, sinking a few in one or two of London’s watering holes, and shaking a leg on the occasional dance-floor, so it was a well-oiled AANP whose head hit the pillow in the wee small hours. As such, Sunday lunchtime did not catch me in my rarest form. The head throbbed, the breathing was deep and the exhalations were quite likely flammable. A gentle, restful afternoon beckoned.

This, however, was all acceptable enough, because I was not due to run out onto a football pitch and play, a princely sum having been thrust into my back-pocket for the privilege, with the expectation of being somewhere near my physical peak for the following 90 minutes. Put another way, I could be excused for moping about the place, the very embodiment of lethargy. For our heroes out on the pitch, no such excuse existed.

And yet. I’m not sure that in the entire match our lot strung together three consecutive passes of any meaning. Apart from Archie Gray’s instinctive turn-and-volley in the first half, I’m not sure we managed a shot on target either. AANP has never really been one for xG, the details of that particular data-point seeming to me often to obscure the actual game as it unfurls before the eyes; but its broad principle I do understand, and for our lot yet again to have failed to hit 0.5 xG in the entire match tells a gloomy tale (and not whilst playing any of Europe’s elite, mind, but a Forest side casting a nervous glance over the shoulder at the relegation spots, dash it).

To a man, our troupe looked thoroughly undercooked, from first whistle to last. As mentioned, the inability to string together more than a couple of accurate passes was bewildering, and every time someone or other did have the bright idea of swooping in to win possession, this minor triumph was fairly instantly sullied by an errant pass following it immediately.

The complete absence of quality throughout was loosely mirrored by a fairly minimal level of energy, all of which left me wondering by the end if the gang in yellow on display this afternoon had also been lurking in those drinking-spots and dance-floors, into the wee small hours last night.

2. Vicario

I prattled on a couple of weeks ago, in the wake of Vicario’s grade A blunder against Fulham, that the chap really needed to keep his head down and his nose clean for the foreseeable, and generally avoid drawing any attention to himself.

It was a sentiment that drifted to mind as I buried the head in the hands circa minute 50, at which time the ball gently rolled around inside the netting, Vicario having immersed himself in quite the pickle when dealing with a misdirected cross.

I didn’t hang around for the post-match niceties – the AANP hangover was bad enough after sitting through that 90-minute performance – so I couldn’t quote back to you the key points made by Master Hudson-Odoi when quizzed, as he presumably would have been, about whether that was intended as a cross or a shot. It seems a pretty safe bet, however, that when the moment arrived, shortly after he had twisted Bentancur’s blood to a level bordering on the inhumane, that on looking up from the left corner of the area, his strategy was to deliver a cross and rely on better-placed chums to do the rest.

Not being a goalkeeper, I’m not really qualified to opine in any real depth as to what specifically Vicario ought to have done, but in a broader sense, several decades of watching and occasionally playing the game has taught me that goalkeepers ought not let crosses drift past them and into the net.

So, wiser minds than mine would presumably be able to lay out the specifics of where Vicario ought to have planted his feet, and how his body-weight ought to have been distributed and so forth – but ultimately, surely, the drill would have been to have prevented ball from entering net. In this he spectacularly failed. While it was probably not the worst error a goalkeeper could ever make – frankly it was not the worst this specific goalkeeper has made in the last month – a goalkeeping error it nevertheless was, and the logbook of such misdeeds is now growing to troubling heft.

If he were in any other position in the pitch, I suspect Vicario would by now have been quietly demoted to the sidelines, with a view to clearing his head and returning a few weeks or months hence, fit and bronzed and ready to give that penalty area a jolly good marshalling.

However, he is not in any other position; he is in the unique position of goalkeeper, and Our Glorious Leader is therefore facing a rather delicate balancing act. The first reserve, young Kinsky, has shown himself to a goalkeeper possessed of various fine qualities, but also never too far away from an out-of-the-blue howler himself. While there is a legitimate question, of quite how bad Vicario has to be before he is dropped, the waters are slightly muddied by the fallibility of the first reserve. No point removing Vicario, I mean, if the chap who replaces him is just as creaky, what?

3. Thomas Frank

Talking of chaps whose performances are creaking like nobody’s business, at what point do we need to start talking about The Big Cheese?

As my Spurs-supporting chum Ian pointed out during the morbid, post-match back-and-forth, Forest are on their third manager of the season, yet the Dyche chap, approximately 5 minutes into the gig, seems to have slapped together a unit with some degree of identity – by which I mean that they have a shape, a playing style, and personnel each of whom seem to know their jobs.

Compare and contrast to our own Glorious L., and identity – as defined above – is rather awkwardly lacking. “A work in progress”, one might generously offer, and if still in generous mood one might also point to the notable absentees amongst the cast list – Messrs Solanke, Kulusevski and Maddison still all apparently chugging paracetamol.

However, to this I emit a rather cheesed off sort of tut, and point out that absent though that lot might be, the next cabs on the rank are hardly unproven youths from the academy, but multi-million pound A-listers such as Kolo Muani, Simons and Kudus (AANP has a moral objection to the classification of Richarlison as an A-lister, so I’ll stick with those three for now). Even making the presumption that Frank is prioritising the defence first, he ought still to be able to get some sort of tune out of that front three.

Irritatingly, our lot seem to have regressed since that Super Cup performance against PSG. The whole thing would drive me potty if watching it had not already sapped every ounce of enthusiasm from my being

 All three goals conceded were today had about them a touch of the unlikely (although I noted a compilation of long-range goals conceded by our lot this season ran to around a dozen, so something in the apparatus clearly isn’t quite working), but what sucked my will to live this afternoon was not so much the goals conceded as the complete absence of creativity or strategy in the other direction.

As ever, the gist seemed to be nothing more nuanced that Go Wide And Hope. Moreover, this GWAH gambit seemed explicitly to exclude use of the left wing, where Kolo Muani is rather mystifyingly square-pegged, leaving all our eggs in the Mohammed Kudus-shaped basket. (I slosh over the details of course – Djed Spence, for example, seemed task with much of the heavy lifting out on the left – but the vague point remains that we were oddly short of ideas beyond going wide and keeping fingers crossed.)

Four months into the season both results and performances are dreadful, and the occasional stroll against a European minnow is doing little to paper what is not so much a crack as a great yawning chasm. Frank needs to buck up his ideas and pronto.

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 1-2 Fulham: Three Tottenham Talking Points

1. Frank’s Insistence on Crosses, Crosses and Nothing But Crosses

One can well imagine the creased brow with which Herre Frank glugged down his morning brew at the breakfast table today, because the shipping of disastrous goals, and ceding of points to a team that, for all their merits, peddle utter bilge each away day without fail, doth not a happy camper make. Speaking as one man about the world to another, I do of course, incline the head sympathetically towards the chap. No-one really likes to see one’s fellow man take a bit of a kicking, especially when that fellow m. is an egg as laden with sound moral fibre as Thomas Frank.

This, however, is not a business for sympathy and consoling cuddles. It is, simply, a business for scoring more goals than the other lot – preferably doing so while swanning around the place playing the sort of breezy football that makes onlookers go weak at the knees and purr with admiration. And Thomas Frank does none of the above.

The drill is, presumably, to sort out the defence first of all, and peddle some pretty basic attacking fare up the other end, to help keep results ticking over. Now the word “presumably” is doing some generous grunt-work in that sentence, because our defence in its current state is anything but “sorted out”. And should any smooth-talker try to convince me otherwise, I would wave at them the 11 goals we’ve conceded within the last week alone. No matter the standard of the opposition, 11 goals in a week is laying it on a bit thick.

So after three months at the big desk, Frank has hardly worked wonders at the back. One might wave a forgiving hand. Ours, after all, is a defence that has creaked away for several decades.

Where AANP cracks his knuckles and shoots the inscrutable glare, however, is in the attacking third. Specifically, it’s Frank’s seeming insistence that the road to goals is paved with crosses from the wing and crosses from the wing only.

The chap seems to labour under the misapprehension that to build niftily through the centre is to commit some foul abuse against humanity. Of zingy one-touch football in the middle lanes there is no sign.

For clarity, I have no significant allergy to crosses from the wing. When delivered well they tend to be mightily effective, That Beckham character may have long ago disappeared under the detritus of celebrity, but once upon a time his crossing from the flank was an instrument of considerable impact. Indeed, as and when Senor Porro gets round to reading this, I don’t doubt that he’ll start gesticulating wildly and scream forcefully in my direction about how effective his deliveries can be.

However, by and large, crosses can be defended, if the unit tasked with so-doing know their defensive onions. One only needed to keep an eye on proceedings yesterday to note how the whole attacking strategy can be rendered null and void if the defenders arrange themselves at the appropriate coordinates. Our lot seemed to lob a decent number of crosses towards the area in each half, almost all of which seemed promptly to be repelled. To say that the plan had limited efficacy would be to undersell the thing.

The alternative, of a spot of midfield guile, seems to be well down the agenda. A stat before the midweek CL game suggested that our heroes had racked up a grand total of 4 through-balls all season, and I don’t know about you, but that one boggled the dickens out of my innocent little mind. I make that about one through-ball every 4 matches, which speaks volumes for the level of creativity spouting forth from the lilywhite midfield. That Simons has been banished to the bench in recent weeks says much.

As mentioned above, I can only assume that Frank considers defence the current priority, during which period of stabilization he will instruct the forwards to adopt the simplest route to goal, by going wide and crossing. AANP does not like the whiff.

2. Vicario

Mind you, Frank might have had the best plans in the world, but there’s no real legislating for a moment as knuckle-headed as Vicario’s little wander-and-kamikaze routine. Golly. As howlers go, it was a pearler. Credit to the Fulham chappie I suppose, because he was hardly presented with a tap-in; but nevertheless, the headline of that particular episode was the dreadful mess single-handedly crafted by our resident gatekeeper.

The reaction to Vicario thereafter – and I refer to the ongoing booing that followed the young bean throughout the game like a nasty spectre, rather than the immediate release of astonished vitriol in the 20 or so seconds after the goal – was not really cricket. Flag that he’s made an error, by all means. Bestow a dozen or so curses upon his lineage, of course. But thereafter, once the deed has been done and the head hung in shame, upon the restart of the game there is no real reason to keep giving him the bird throughout. Not really sure what purpose that served.

Back to the error itself, however, and as a lad who’s not exactly garnered universal acclaim during his lilywhite career, for one reason or another, you’d have thought that he’d have had the good sense to minimise the risk of increased opprobrium, particularly the sort brought upon oneself at a time of minimal preceding risk.

And minimal preceding risk was abundant in N17 when Vicario first wandered from his post to inspect the left touchline and take possession. Pedants might point out that a Fulham nib made a perfunctory toddle in his direction, but I’m not sure any jury would accept that the match had entered a high-stakes moment at that juncture. Any onlooker of sound mind would have advised the basic two-step: “Clear the ball, return to the goal”.

Whatever the hell then crossed Vicario’s mind next is a little tricky to fathom, but the takeaway, particularly amongst those who have viewed him with a suspicious eye, was that he tries to be far too clever, rather than sticking to the goalkeeping basics.

There was not a great deal he could have done about the first, nor indeed about any of the five that flew past him midweek – but drop a clanger of yesterday’s ilk, and precious few in attendance will shout from the rooftops about how innocent he was during the preceding half-dozen conceded.

No doubt Frank will stick with him, and we are hardly overflowing with obvious alternatives; nor am I particularly calling for his expulsion from the unit. I do advise the chap, however, to keep his head down and keep things as inconspicuous as possible in the coming weeks. There is a time to draw attention to oneself, and a time to melt quietly into the background; and the age in which we live is very much the latter.

3. Kolo Muani

Finishing off on a brighter note, as goodness knows we need one, it’s at least encouraging to see young Kolo Muani start to deliver on the sunny optimism that greeted his arrival, at least at AANP Towers.

It was a different era, of course, all joviality and positivity, but when he and Simons scrawled their initials on the dotted line, a couple of little jigs were danced around these parts.

Naturally, this being N17, there then followed the standard spate of injuries, but in midweek at PSG, and then yesterday, I thought that he at least started to look the sort of fellow who, quite frankly, seems too good for our lot. Obvious though it may seem, I was particularly enamoured of the volleyed goal in Paris, and while in yesterday’s second half there was a general uptick in performance across the suite, Monsieur K-M also struck me as the standout performer in the first half.

The bar is pretty low, admittedly. Richarlison gives the impression of a fairly moderate player near the peak of limited powers; Kudus has evidently something about him; but Kolo Muani, by virtue of his technique and ability to do naturally what most others would probably consider pretty exceptional, strikes me as quite the diamond in the rough.

It would, of course, make more sense to wax lyrical about the chap after a match in which he actually saves the day, or embellishes the day, or in general just peddles his wares on a slightly more positive day for our lot – but given the doom, gloom and general exasperation brought on by results of the last week or so, a dollop of silver linings does no harm, what?

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Spurs match reports

Everton 0-3 Spurs: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. The Formation

If you had caught a glimpse of AANP during the opening exchanges of this one,  you’d have spotted him viewing proceedings with eyes narrowed and brow furrowed; and if on the basis of the narrowed e. and furrowed b. you’d inferred that he was having a dickens of a time trying to work out the formation adopted by our heroes, you’d have been bang on the money. Which, ironically enough, is precisely what AANP was not bang on when trying to decipher that set-up.

The first thought that floated between the AANP ears was that Our Glorious Leader had gone with two right wingers at the same time. Which, if true, would have been Thomas Frank’s prerogative, of course. He’s the shot-caller, after all. If he wanted to go down the Not-Typically-Done route then he had every right. As long as it works, went the AANP take, then do your damnedest.

But while I was lustily supporting this little tactical quirk, it dawned on me that whatever our formation was, it wasn’t one featuring two right wingers. The next notion to spring to mind was wing-backs, but this did not seem quite right either. Spence, perhaps, was adopting wing-back-like poses on the left; but out on the right, Johnson didn’t really appear to be signing up to the “back” part of the wing-back arrangement.

And what, I asked myself, was Kudus? Or perhaps more pertinently, where was Kudus? Because for what I assumed was a Number 10 sort of role, he seemed to be drifting out to the right an awful lot.

Anyway, the main takeaway of all this was that it’s a good job I’m not a manager, as I’d have spent most of that first half simply goggling at the lilywhite formation rather than doing anything useful.

With the dust settled, I guess it was a 3-2-4-1 sort of get-up, in possession at least – with Spence and Johnson up the flanks, and Simons and Kudus inside them. Frankly, the label matters little at this point, for the gist is that it ought to have provided a few more passing options whenever we advanced up the pitch, as well as the standard defensive stability of the Palhinha-Bentancur double-act.

I suggest that it “ought” to have provided more passing options going forward, because in practice the quick passing routines didn’t really register. Not that it mattered too much today, given that our set-piece sequences were immaculately choreographed, and all defensive parts in fine working order at the other end. But I nevertheless noted, with a sigh that was two parts patience and one part disappointment, that despite a Spence-Simons-Kudus-Johnson line supporting Kolo Muani, we remained a little light on the old whizz-bang when trundling forward.

2. Set-Pieces

One can’t have it all, however, and to criticise in the slightest a 3-0 away win at a mighty imposing estate would be pretty off. With two goals nodded in from set-pieces this had the Frank fingerprints all over it.

I view set-pieces much as I view technology, in that it ought to supplement rather than replace the honest sweat and endeavour of the good souls involved, and our heroes used it marvellously today, supplementing things like billy-o.

There was the delivery, for a start. The Porro corner for our second contained a level of spite that ought really not to be allowed before the watershed. It absolutely fizzed into the area, to such an extent that had it not been converted one would really have had no option but to launch an independent enquiry to understand why not. Mercifully, Van de Ven had the good sense to give the ‘keeper a knowing shove and then angle his head appropriately, but while it was the Dutchman who drank in the plaudits, the AANP glass was raised to Porro.

While the delivery for the opening goal (courtesy of Kudus) did not necessarily carry quite the same level of menace, it being swung a tad more gently towards the far post for Bentancur, I did nevertheless applaud its accuracy. A yard higher or lower and the whole operation would have crumbled in its infancy. Kudus, to his credit, dropped the thing at the designated coordinates, and at the designated time and – critically – at the designated height.

Interestingly, although that aforementioned D.H. was, specifically, head height, Bentancur took it upon himself to improvise a little. And there was no harm in that at all. If a little innovation was good enough for Thomas Frank when doodling his formations, then it was good enough for Bentancur when arriving at the back-post. One might well have spotted Bentancur mouthing the words, as he shimmered towards the back post, “Just because it’s called ‘Head height’ does not preclude me from using my shoulder, what?”

The moment of improv. worked swimmingly, and VDV’s head-angling got its first taste of action. And let’s face it, if the t’s are crossed and i’s dotted on set-pieces as meticulously as that, then there is a little less pressure on the front five to string together too many slick passes.  

3. Danso

As mentioned, VDV knew a good thing from approximately two yards out when he saw one, and full credit to him, but with Romero again missing – that innocuous pre-match ‘knock’ of last week proving a dashed sight more sinister than we had initially been led to believe – I once again adjusted the monocle and subjected young Master Danso to feverish scrutiny throughout.

And once again – for the third time in a week, in fact – the fellow emerged with a laudable report card. One doesn’t have to search too hard to find a fish of lilywhite persuasion who will fold their arms, tilt their head and remark sadly that the absence of Romero deprives us of some incisive passing from the back, the undertone being that we might as well all pack up and go home in the absence of such line-breaking gold. AANP, however, is a more traditional sort of egg, brought up to believe that a defender’s purpose in life is to defend, and it was with this anthem on my lips that I meted out the approving nod and slapped the approving thigh each time Danso unveiled another of the defensive basics.

I think I heard within the post-match burble that Danso rattled off more clearances than anyone else in the vicinity, and while I couldn’t put a hand on the Bible and swear to it, I certainly would not be surprised. He seemed fully committed throughout to the basic notion that Ball Near Goal was Bad, and Ball Away From Goal was Good – and frankly it was an attitude that I could get on board with.

He might not necessarily be the sort of fish we want manning the helm when Europe’s elite come to town, but for an hour and a half in the pouring rain in Everton, he put the fevered mind at ease.

4. Vicario

A congratulatory word also for our resident back-stop, who had seemingly been convinced that the final whistle at Monaco still had not sounded, and consequently just carried on where he left off there.

Two second half saves in particular were of the absolute highest order. Admittedly I say that from a position of general ignorance when it comes to this goalkeeping lark, but to stick out a paw from point-blank range when the opposition chappie is pulling off an overhead kick seemed to take some doing; while the save from a shot that took two deflections really did have me purring in admiration. Reflexes, one was inclined to murmur, maketh the top-notch save.  

My views on Vicario at corners remain a little more mixed – for every successful punch to the edge of the area there seemed also to be one rather sorry attempt to propel himself forward that was aborted midway through when he ran into a jungle of bodies. However, this was a day to salute, again, the fellow’s fine shot-stopping, and those two second half saves were essentially worth goals.

A second clean sheet, on the road, within three days, is not to be sniffed at, and certainly provides a useful base upon which to build a hale and hearty future; concerns about creativity can wait for another day.

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 1-2 Villa: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. Curious Under-Use of Proven Tactics

And it had all started so well. Here I don’t just refer to the early goal, although that sort of breezy input does always raise the spirits and un-jangle the nerves and so forth. I refer additionally to the manner in which we came about the goal, which is to say the corner was won in the first place by some well-executed beavering by Mathys Tel, a sure sign that the fellow had bought into the notion of the high press.

In fact, while Bentancur was mobbed by his chums for then scoring from that corner, if AANP had been on the pitch and involved in the mobbing, he would have made a point of accompanying his congratulations with the message that the back-slaps and embraces were more for Bentancur leading that high press in the first place, as for the scoring the goal. Joyous though the moment may have been, such communication nevertheless matters.

Barely a minute later we had the ball in the net again, albeit young Kudus had shown that tendency for instant gratification that is so common amongst the young folk, and set off on his gallop a smidge too early, prompting the offside flag. A shame, because he executed the rest of the operation with a deadly boot.

Anyway, by this point, AANP’s spirits were considerably buoyed. Here, I thought, was a blueprint. The road to success, continued the thought, was paved with the dual approaches of pressing the other lot high up the pitch, and playing in behind their high line.

This having resulted in netting twice within the opening six minutes, I just rather assumed that, upon realising we were onto a good thing, we might double down on the tactic and try it repeatedly until the ref took mercy. Or, failing that, at least try it once or twice more.

Alas, those tasked with carrying out on-pitch operations were evidently of different mind. The train of thought of those in lilywhite seemed to be more along the lines that any approach that brought home a rich harvest ought then promptly to be locked away for another time. Replication was to be avoided. Further success ought to be achieved by alternative means.

This I wouldn’t have objected to particularly if the alternative means had seen our heroes tear into Villa and barely allow them to pop their heads up for breath. To my considerable chagrin, however, our lot spent the next 40-odd minutes of the first half, and all but about 5 of the second, generally meandering rather aimlessly.

Worse, the one tactic that seemed firmly to have been adopted was that brain-meltingly dreadful gambit of playing out from the back, a strategy that I am convinced is statistically proven to create more attacking bounty for the opposition than the team in possession. This, alas, seemed to be the approach de jour, and no amount of bashing my head against a brick wall could prevent it.

In fairness, our lot did also repeatedly shove the ball at Porro and Kudus, and then stand back and watch with expectant faces, under the assumption that these two have magicked up chances before so they would presumably not require any further help to do so again. If on the pitch and conscious, seemed to be the thinking, then Porro and Kudus could be left to do it all themselves.

There were also set-pieces – this afternoon including Danso long throws – and AANP is certainly not too proud to bellow some hearty approval when these cause havoc; but I do occasionally want to submit to The Brains Trust that such inputs ought to supplement rather than replace bright ideas that originate from open play.

Alas, after those halcyon opening six or so minutes, and that brief flurry at the start of the second half, the well rather ran dry, and the gloomy realisation dawned that additional time could have gone on for another half an hour and we’d not have looked like scoring.

2. Tel

I’ll keep this one brief, but the early signs are that young Master Tel is a prime candidate for that roster of chappies whose actual purpose in life is a bit of a mystery. On my particularly cantankerous days I sometimes include Bentancur in that gang, so Tel is in good company, but we’ve cast the beady eye upon him for several months now, and while one doesn’t want to knock the poor fellow, I do regularly draw a bit of a blank. (As does he, one might add.)

He has not previously shown enough in the way of dribbling, or indeed crossing, to suggest that he’s a bona fide winger, or even an auxiliary winger, come to think of it. And he certainly lacks the physical presence to lead the line as a centre-forward. If you want your central striker to be tossed around by the centre-backs like a ragdoll and look plaintively at the ref while sitting on the turf, then Tel is very much your man. When it comes to holding up the ball, however, and battering the other lot into submission, Tel has the look of a young welp who skipped lessons on that particular day.

More concerningly, there was evidence on show this afternoon that he has no natural instinct for goal. When a ball is pinged across the face of goal, one expects to glance across and see a Number 9 on the balls of his feet, straining at the leash to tap in from a couple of yards and race off to general acclaim. Tel seems not to be possessed of this urge. It does not augur well for any would-be central striker, particularly one lacking in the heft department.

Frankly, if Tel could be described as anything it might be ‘Sprinter’, and if that is indeed the case then never mind the formation, I’m not sure that we are playing the appropriate sport.

(One might object that young Simons was even more anonymous than Tel today, and it would be a reasonable point; but in the former’s defence I have at least seen the chap sprinkle the odd flash of stardust about the place on the European stage in recent years, so am inclined to give him time to bed in as a creative sort of bird.)

3. Danso

Immediately pre-match there was a bit of doom and gloom sloshing about the place when news filtered through that our captain had overdone things in the warm-up, and a Danso-for-Romero exchange was being hastily arranged.

And while the logbook might not necessarily make spectacular reading, recording two goals conceded and an undisputable yellow card, the evidence of the eyes was a bit kinder on young Herr Danso.

I thought he did a decent job, and if you identify traces of pleasant surprise in my voice then you’re spot on. I’ve yet to be convinced by the chap to date, and while it will take more than one match to move that particular dial, I did at least give him the approving nod today.

Boxes were generally ticked. There was one first half moment when he was left to fix a burgeoning problem on his own, as a Villa sort raced straight through the middle, and Danso went racing alongside him, causing a few of us in the cheap seats a sharp intake of breath. To his enormous credit however, Danso matched the Villa rascal stride for stride, and then had the good sense to lean into him and apply some good, old-fashioned upper-body strength, muscling him out of the way without risking a foul, in a nudge-nudge-wink-wink sort of fashion.

This was a bit of a highlight, but in general and at various points in the piece I did spot him doing the defensive basics well – a covering challenge here, a timely block there – and murmur a positive word or two in his direction. A full-blown panic will set in whenever VDV next rolls an ankle and hobbles off, but as Romero-filling goes, Danso seemed to manage well enough.

4. Joao Palhinha

And to finish on a silver lining, that lad Palhinha continues to look exactly the sort of uproot-incoming-opponents midfielder for which we’ve been crying out for years. To pick one apt example, I’m fairly sure that last year against these same opponents – possibly in the FA Cup, on the occasion of Tel’s debut – Villa were allowed to dance their way straight through the centre of the pitch, with nairy a lilywhite leg waggling to prevent their access.

Well today, whenever they tried a similar ruse, they were generally upended and left in crumpled heaps about the N17 turf. Palhinha loves a crunching tackle (he does a decent line in interceptions too), and crucially he tends to execute them in a manner that those in authority are able to wave along without intervention. Whereas, say, Romero might slam into a player in entertaining enough fashion, but in a manner guaranteed to prompt a weary ref to wave yellow at him, Palhinha seems to have nailed a technique that earns little more than a dismissive shrug and a cheery “As you were” from the officials.

It might not have come to much today, and in fact Palhinha was one of those who might be chided for failing to prevent the Rogers goal, but he does give the impression of having addressed one pretty glaring historical flaw. Now we just need to fix the rest of the group, what?

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Spurs match reports

Leeds 1-2 Spurs: Three Tottenham Talking Points

1. Vicario

AANP missed the real-time screening of this one, having popped out of town for a wedding, so found himself in that curious position that is occasionally thrust upon one, of being fully aware of the scoreline and general talking points by the time a chance arose to settle in and watch from start to finish.

As such, I was already aware of murmurs amongst various Tottenham folk that our resident backdoor-minder had not covered himself in glory. While it would be a stretch to say that my fingers therefore drummed away at the guillotine in anticipation of a few Vicario howlers, I did nevertheless brace myself.

It seemed that aside from the mundane to-ing and fro-ing, there were four eye-catching moments to his afternoon’s contributions. The first was that item early on when one Joe Rodon – formerly of the N17 parish – planted a back-post header against the post. It might get lost in ensuing debate that Destiny Udogie did just about enough whispering in the Rodon ear at that particular juncture to force the man a little off-balance, so congratulatory tap of the hat-rim is probably due, before we start dissecting the life and times of Vicario in the preliminary seconds.

Put bluntly, Vicario seemed completely to lose his bearings. As the cross was swung over, from the right, the curious young eel began wandering from his line without any clear purpose, looking rather like an abandoned puppy that had scented food in the mid-distance and was uncontrollably drawn towards it.

The ball sailed over him at the sort of height that Vicario-on-a-step-ladder might have had a job handling, but the problem was that once gripped by the urge to wade off into the masses, it was rather tricky for him to undo this. Indeed, even when struck by the error of his ways, he could do little more than shoot a vaguely horrified glance in the loose direction of where the ball was dropping, and perhaps give tongue to a muttered Ave Maria.

As mentioned, Rodon at the back post could do no more than steer the ball against the frame, the sort of outcome that presumably will spare Vicario too dedicated a media spotlight, but those of lilywhite persuasion have seemingly chalked it up as the latest blot in what is becoming an increasingly crowded copybook.

Vicario was less fortunate with the next eye-catching moment, the one that saw him repel a shot from inside the area, but somewhat gum up the following chapter, by spilling the thing into the path of a conveniently-placed Leeds sort. Here, I should point out that just as AANP giveth with one hand, AANP taketh with the other, for while Udogie was earlier to be praised for his alacrity in defence, for the Leeds goal he did switch off long enough to allow Okafor to poach away to his heart’s content.

It was, however, an untidy piece of work from Vicario that presented the opportunity so neatly. Having reacted to the initial, deflected shot pretty well, Vicario then – as is becoming something of a trademark – did not really pay sufficient care and attention to the geography of the occasion. This tendency of his to shovel the ball straight into the path of chappies lurking for scraps has proved his downfall before, and needs a spot of care and attention. The whole routine of saving close-range shots is negated if at the end of it all he is simply going to present a two-yard tap-in to the next fellow in the queue.

Hammering home the point, he made an excellent couple of stops deep in stoppage time – but the second of these resulted in the ball popping upwards and most fortunately into the path of that man Udogie once again, who was able to nod it behind for a corner, when a yard either side there would have been yet another tap-in for the waiting scavengers.

It does make one scratch the head somewhat in truth, as to precisely where Vicario should be depositing these incoming efforts. Conventional wisdom has it that they should not be padded straight out in front of goal, and by and large he avoids this. However, this is certainly not the first match in which, in attempting to shovel matters out wide he has succeeded in not only laying them into the path of an opponent, but seemingly shaving the power off them too, making them that much easier to reach. I wonder if he might divert them behind his goal instead, or push them wide but with a bit more force, so as to send them out of the area.

Either way, there seems something slightly rummy about the current approach, of teeing them up at a gentle dribble for a short-range tap-in from an angle.

2. Kudus

On a brighter note, one of the grumbles of recent weeks had been that the creative well seemed to have run pretty dry, and while it would be a stretch to say that shots now fly in from every angle, two of the attacking mob in particular seemed to bound about the place with heartening vim and zest.  

Kudus naturally grabs headlines on account of having struck oil, but even aside from his goal his general attacking play had much about it of the useful sort of pest. Not only does the fellow come across as the sort of chappie against whom one would rather not defend, but he does so across multiple formats.

By which I mean there is Kudus the Wide-Man – hugging the touchline and dipping multiple shoulders this way and that, with a view to whipping in a teasing cross, if not seeking out a chum better placed to do the same; then there is Kudus the Inside-Right, whose goal in life is not so much the whipping in of wicked crosses as the twinkle-toed foray infield, to cause mischief around the outside of the area – which may take the form of a shot, as demonstrated yesterday, or may take the form of link-up play with nearby comrades.

As has been remarked upon before, the earnest bean’s combination of strength, close control and low centre of gravity appears to make him a fiend of an opponent, and while he has clearly had the occasional quieter afternoon, when on song – as yesterday – he is quite the asset.

3. Simons

Further east, there were more glimpses of young Simons finding his range. Officially, I suppose, assigned the Number 10 role, Simons seemed pretty insistent about his coordinates, coming across as the sort of egg who, if not allowed to take up a specifically inside-left sort of spot, would simply fold his arms and refuse to engage. Luckily, those about him in black were all for it, and the young bean saw plenty of action.

Intriguingly, his was an afternoon less of mazy dribbles, and more of furtive darts that were followed by the picking of some eye-of-needle passes, of the ilk intended to really carve open an opposition defence.

I was all for it. These weren’t your standard roll-the-thing-square-five-yards variety; rather, Simons was in the market for a diagonal that scythed open Leeds and took out three of their defenders in one swoop, while Udogie (him again) burst in from the depths. At one point Simons scooped a pass up, above and behind the Leeds back-line, for Porro to gallop onto, which really did whiff of a man starting to take a liking to life in his new surroundings.

An underlying concern to all of this was that it meant our lot were relying a little too heavily upon moments of individual ingenuity, rather than any obviously well-constructed patterns and build-up play involving the entire entourage – but one takes the wins, what? It was only a couple of days ago that I was grumbling about the lack of anything approaching creative content at all, so to boast not one but two of the forward line prancing about the place with attacking juices brimming was a pretty welcome sign.

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 1-1 Wolves: Three Tottenham Talking Points

(With apologies for recent radio silence – a lot going on at AANP Towers)

1. Misdirected First Half Optimism, Featuring Bergvall and Kudus

Hindsight, as a rather wise old egg once put it, is 20-20, so I suppose I look a bit of a chump admitting it now, but back in the first half of this binge there were one or two moments when I nestled in my seat rather smugly, a look of satisfaction etched across the map, as if to say “I’m rather enjoying watching our lot go at it.”

Back in that halcyon age, while it would be a stretch to say we were running riot and biffing the other lot from all angles with gay abandon, once settled in (i.e. after about a quarter of an hour or so), I did get the impression that the key question de jour was “When?” rather than “If?” if you get my gist.

And this sunny rationale was based largely upon the plans and deeds of Messrs Bergvall and Kudus, both of whom, in their own unique ways, seemed to be having rather a time of things. Indeed, for the disallowed goal they even crossed the streams, so to speak, interacting and exchanging pro tips on how to go about carving up an opposition back-line to pretty impressive effect.

Bergvall was very much on brand in that first half. If there were any beavering to be done, in an attacking sense in particular, he was generally at the front of the queue, both in and out of possession. Busily scurrying about the place, he had the air of a young man who looked ahead of him and saw nothing but opportunity. The chap has fast become an essential cog in the machine.

Kudus, of course, is a pretty different beast, being the robust sort of chappie who puts a bit more emphasis on meaty brawn and upper-body strength than young Bergvall. In his own way though, he’s equally effective, and having racked up that early header that was pushed onto the bar, as well as the disallowed goal, I was inclined to murmur a prognostication that when we did eventually take the lead, the fingerprints of Kudus would be all over the critical item.

And had that first half never ended, I’m still inclined to think that Kudus and Bergvall between them would have rustled up a goal or two from somewhere, and we’d have all swanned off down the High Road pipped to the gills with the night’s work.

2. The Oddly Lacklustre Second Half

Alas, all such sunny optimism rather went up in smoke as soon as the second half started, our lot becoming oddly reticent about the evening’s activities.

With the stunning insight that marks out AANP as a fan rather than a coach, I struggle to put my finger on what exactly went wrong, but the symptoms were fairly clearly demarked. Every loose ball seemed to be won by Wolves, and when they took possession of the thing they seemed oddly to have an extra man on the field, everywhere one looked. Had this happened against PSG back in August, one might have waved the forgiving hand; but to find ourselves comprehensively bested in one duel after another against the mob that sit bottom of the pile, and boasting a record of five defeats from five, was bothersome to say the very least. Had

It was not so much that there was a lack of effort from our heroes. They seemed sufficiently motivated. They just ended up being second-best in almost every matter that required on-pitch thrashing out – as was particularly neatly encapsulated by the Wolves goal.

I suppose one or two of our number can probably be excused – Palhinha seems convinced that the point of a football match is to flatten as many opponents as possible; and Romero’s adoption of the captain’s armband continues to translate into him charging about the pitch like a man possessed.

But seeing the more featherweight sorts – Tel, Odobert et al – hare towards the ball only to reach it a moment too late, or find themselves bouncing off a lusty opponent, left me harumphing discontentedly in my seat, and occasionally flinging a frustrated arm into the air, like nobody’s business.

Coming as this did, not too long after the dreadful, toothless production against Bournemouth, this served as another sharp poke in the Thomas Frank ribs, to urge him to find ongoing ways to get the best out of his charges.

3. Vicario’s Role in the Goal (With A Wary Eye on Spence)

Now AANP can hardly claim to have canvassed opinion of all sixty-odd thousand in the shiny bowl last night, much less the watching millions drinking it all in from their sofas, but nevertheless a murmur of discontent did reach my ears regarding the conduct of our resident last-line-of-defence, in particular regarding his handling of the goal we conceded.

The charge, as I understand, is that in saving the initial header directed towards him he might have invested in a longer-term solution than simply shoving it straight into a bundle of waiting limbs to his right, the result of which action was a ricochet that fell kindly to the Wolves shyster S. Bueno.

Well. Here I really do I have to draw myself up to my full height and clear my throat with a bit of meaning. Now I’ve historically been as happy as the next man to lay it on a bit thick towards Vicario at the appropriate moment – a flap at a corner, or knuckle-headed distribution, or whatever – but in this instance I stand shoulder to shoulder with the chap. As far as I could make out, Vicario pretty much ticked the essential boxes with that save.

In the first place, he got there. Full stretch, and levering himself off the ground, it was one I suppose you’d expect an international goalkeeper to pull off, but nevertheless, it required a spot of the basic mechanics, and he did that well enough – particularly given that the principal protagonist, Bueno S, was swinging a boot at the ball from a yard away.

Having reached the ball, where Vicario seems to have attracted opprobrium was in then shovelling it to his right, and into the legs of Palhinha. Here again, however, I side with the case for the defence. Vicario’s second objective, having already stopped the ball from hitting the net, would have been to push it away from the centre of the goal – and this he did. That there was an onrushing Wolves sort arriving at a rate of knots stage right was slightly rotten luck, and an element that ought to have been the responsibility of one of the outfield mob, rather than Vicario. (Although I repeat, the ball actually bounced of Palhinha rather than the incoming Wolve).

Either way, I thought Vicario did all that could reasonably have been expected of him in that particular chapter. If I were to point an accusing finger and yell a spot of invective, it would be directed at young Djed Spence. This might seem a tad leftfield to the casual bystander, but look again, closely, at the details, and you’ll note that as the corner was initially delivered, Spence’s defensive responsibility consisted of chaperoning the Wolves number 4 – one Santiago Bueno.

Spence, however, seemed to shrug off this responsibility as soon as the corner was taken, immediately losing sight of his quarry and instead becoming distracted by the prospect of a header. He lost both the header and Bueno, allowing the latter to swing an initial boot at the ball as Vicario made his save, and then to poke in the rebound as it fell neatly into his path.

This level of defending drives me absolutely mad. It should not be so difficult to keep tabs on an opponent at a corner. One understands if a run is blocked off or a spot of wrestling ensues – but none of the above applied to Spence in this instance. He simply forgot his raison d’etre, and let Bueno have the freedom of the 6-yard box, forsooth.

Not that the two dropped points were the sole responsibility of Spence, of course, but those scowling and muttering about Vicario’s antics might adjust their aim.

A draw is, of course, vastly preferable to a defeat, but AANP is in no doubt that these are two dropped points that we’ll look back upon with regret come May. I’m not entirely sure that Palhinha read the mood in the camp either, whipping off his shirt and flying off in a frenzy after an equaliser against Wolves of all teams, when the drill was surely to return to stations and search for a winner, but I suppose for now we should simply be grateful for what we salvaged.

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Man City 0-2 Spurs: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. Sarr

There seemed to be pretty broad consensus that young Sarr was yesterday’s standout chappie, and who am I to disagree with the masses? Top marks to the young nib, as for the second consecutive game he took the opening whistle as his cue to break into a gallop, and didn’t stop until the credits rolled.

If you were the sort of busy cove who, finding your weekend diary packed full of frivolities, found only the team to catch the 5-minutes highlights package on Match of the Day last night, the principal evidence for Sarr’s non-stop running routine would have been his contribution to the first goal in particular. For this, to remind, he went bounding across the pitch to the right flank, on around halfway, all for the purpose of leaping a few yards vertically and applying a spot of the old loaf to the ball as it cruised by, sending it into the path of Richarlison, who combined with Johnson to do the necessaries.

And if this had indeed been all you caught of Sarr’s input, one could readily assure you that the moment was not just a triumph in and of itself, but also a most appropriate representation of the young scally’s overall performance. “Neatly encapsulating”, would be one way of describing it. “Summed up his afternoon’s work,” would be another. Or perhaps “Captured his performance in a microcosm,” if you wanted to add a scientific element.

While he obviously didn’t spend the entire 90 minutes creating one goal after another through his relentless pattering about the place, he did seem to spend the entirety haring about to every corner, chasing causes that were both lost, found and all points in between. It seemed to me that if the ball were in play, there was a strong chance that a quick scanning of the eyes a few yards to the left or right would reveal young Sarr to be in hot pursuit.

Pleasingly, this was not a performance that could obviously be labelled as distinctly ‘Defensive’ or ‘Attacking’ either, for it seemed to include generous helpings from both Column A and Column B. Admittedly the days of our lot being stretched at the rear and in desperate need of reinforcements to come haring back and straining every sinew to prevent disaster (or, for ease of communication, ‘Angeball’) are a thing of the past, but this was City away, and there was therefore understandable need for the midfield johnnies to don a helmet and muck in with their defensive chums. In this defensive respect, Sarr was present and correct whenever needed.

And yet, similarly, when the situation demanded that attacking apparel be donned, Sarr required no second invitation – as noted above, with that opening goal.

Another positive offshoot of Sarr’s mind-boggling stamina in charging about the place was that it allowed Bentancur and Paulinha to get on with their principal duties – which seemed to be interceptions and tackles respectively – without being dragged all over the place. At the risk of sounding like a commercial for a household appliance, Sarr did the running so that they didn’t have to.

2. Paulinha

On the subject of Paulinha, I was thrilled to my very core to see a fellow willing to embrace the oft-neglected art of the good old-fashioned tackle.

These days, with tackles from behind outlawed, and fouls awarded for tackles that actually win the ball but then crunch a leg or two as an afterthought, one would be forgiven for thinking that the powers that be are hell-bent on creating a world in which tackles are removed from the game altogether, and those purveying them are smoked out and publicly humiliated as enemies of the state.

All too often last season, AANP would look on with dismay as opposing sorts cottoned on to the fact that they could waltz unopposed straight through the centre of our team, encountering not so much a wall of steel as a soft underbelly.

With Paulinha at the heart of things however, there is a bit more resistance about our lot. The general setup is decidedly more circumspect, in fact. Where last week Gray sat, and Sarr and Bergvall beavered willingly further north, yesterday Bentancur and Paulinha seemed fully alert to the fact that their primary duty was to patrol the fences and wag a finger of censure at anyone who tried to slip through.

One hesitates to suggest that this was the perfect defensive midfield performance from Paulinha. Plenty more that could be done, of course, in various respects. However, I’m not sure any amongst us could fail to have been stirred by the sight of a fellow adorned in lilywhite (or, as the case was yesterday, that rather dreamy, plain black number) throwing himself with gusto into one meaningful and full-blooded challenge after another.

Paulinha and Sarr were also conspicuous by their participation in the high press, of which AANP is also a fully signed-up fan. If City must dominate possession – as they surely will, more often than not – I rather like the logic of letting them do so in their own penalty area rather than ours, and doing a spot of pack-hunting while they’re at it, just to keep them on their toes.

As an added bonus, Paulinha even found time for a goal, which was jolly good form. It came from more of that high pressing, so it immediately earned an AANP thumbs up, and while one might argue that there was nothing terrifically sophisticated about the young bean’s finish, I still give him credit for hitting the target when he had approximately half the City team stationed between him and it.

3. Kudus

A brief congratulatory word too, for young Master Kudus, for reasons that it would be easy to overlook. Following his presentations against PSG and Burnely I burbled away with some satisfaction about the strength and skill he demonstrated whenever he strode forward.

While these facilities were once again on show intermittently yesterday, what really caught the AANP eye was Kudus’ very obvious eagerness to come bounding back and muck in whenever City advanced upon Porro in or around our own area. Who knew that a fellow as fond of the glamorous, attacking side to life as Kudus, would be quite so dedicated to the grubbier parts of the job?

And yet this was no perfunctory contribution on the part of Kudus. He did not simply amble back to the general vicinity and watch on with limited intent as Porro did the dirty work. Kudus veritably sprinted back to assist, on several occasions.

These are, of course, early days, and one waits to see how long this eagerness to please his new employers remains a defining characteristic, but by golly I gave an impressed whistle or two as I watched it unfold.

4. Vicario

Part of what made this quite such an impressive win, quite apart from the obvious elements of the opposition and venue, was the fact that this was not one of those bashes in which our lot hung on for dear life inside our own penalty area and survived a bit of an onslaught at the end. Far from it.

In fact, close the eyes and whizz through proceedings in your mind, and you’ll struggle to pick out more than three or four clear chances conceded. We almost gifted City a goal in the second half, when we gummed up one of those dreadful short goal-kick routines; and Haaland headed over from close range at the end of the first half; but aside from those I only remember two Vicario saves of note.

However, those two saves were of the highest order, and simply to gloss over them on the grounds that City created little else would be to do a disservice to our regular overseer of the rear.

For a start, both saves were made at 0-0 in the first half, at which point, had he failed to do his shot-stopping duties, the whole pattern of the game would have turned on its head. We may, of course, have concede one or both of these and still gone on to win in handsome fashion; but on the other hand, we may not have done so.

The first of those saves saw Vicario make the sagacious decision to depart his goal-line at a pretty nifty lick, and head out to the right corner of the 6-yard box, to do a spot of healthy smothering of an incoming shot from a narrow angle. It was the sort that, I suppose, one would have been mightily disappointed to have gummed up and allowed in, but nevertheless it needed saving and save it Vicario did.

The second was drizzled in a bit more glamour, that Marmoush character finding himself clean through and at a much more welcoming angle. Those who enjoy a flutter every now and then would presumably have taken one look and shoved their chips in on Marmoush, for the odds were heavily in his favour.

Vicario, however, sped from his line and then spread his frame like a champion – arms outstretched, legs splayed and frame upright. The collective effort of these body parts proved sufficient. Marmoush’s effort was repelled, quite possibly by the chest or neck of Vicario, and parity remained.

To stress, this was not one of those afternoons in which Vicario could be spotted hurling himself this way and that every five minutes to keep City at bay – but what he had to do he did most effectively, and if after a moment’s thought Our Glorious Leader saw fit to pat him on the back on the way down the tunnel, it would have been an act of congratulation with which I could only have concurred.

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 3-0 Burnley: Three Tottenham Talking Points

1. The Exuberance of Youth

Young people, eh? A pretty unfathomable species at the best of times, the evidence of Saturday also did much to confirm that they are blessed with absolutely boundless energy.

Being a pessimistic sort when it comes to all matters lilywhite, I’d have pursed a brooding lip or two if our newest Glorious Leader had run by me pre-match his plan to stock our line-up to the gills with youthful sorts. A midfield of Sarr, Gray and Bergvall struck me as a little too green behind the ears.

Not for the first time already in his nascent reign however, Herre Frank proved himself a dashed sight more knowledgeable about these things than AANP, for the Sarr-Gray-Bergvall arrangement proved most effective, and chief amongst its attributes was a pretty eye-watering indefatigability amongst the protagonists.

One could probably sum up their contributions by noting that if the final whistle had not sounded around 5pm on Saturday they’d probably still be scampering about the pitch now.

Sarr had spent much of pre-season getting to know the sights and sounds of the upper end of the pitch, having been slightly curiously deployed as a Number 10; but on Saturday it was the more familiar environs of the middle third, and a general instruction to hover busily on the lookout for any loose balls carelessly deposited about the place.

He proved something of a master of the art. There was a long-ish period before half-time when our overall play stagnated somewhat, as we tried and failed repeatedly to pass from the back over halfway, but that aside, and when we were a little mor front-footed, Sarr was exactly the right man for the role of tidying up behind his more illustrious colleagues.

As an added bonus, he also delivered a doozy of a pass for our third.  AANP does love a perfectly-weighted pass inside a full-back, and Sarr’s offering on Saturday was one I’ll happily replay in the mind’s eye in the coming weeks.

As for Gray, it would be no dramatic stretch to suggest that this was his finest afternoon in central midfield in our colours. Now the caveat here is sizeable, for there is barely any competition in the field. Gray’s previous excursions in central midfield, at least in our colours, have been fairly calamitous, the sort of rot from which rabbits in headlights could learn a few things.

On Saturday, however, he seemed vastly more at ease. He offered positional discipline, if you don’t mind a spot of technical jargon, holding his positionally centrally and at the base of midfield and popping up to offer a spot of disagreement whenever Burnley looked to push forward, as well as providing an option for whichever of our lot were in possession. The second coming of Dave Mackay he might not quite have been, but he played his part.

And further forward, seemingly with a bit of licence to go haring off in whichever direction he happened to be facing, was Bergvall. The curious young egg seemed to have adopted that mindset that if the ball was in play he might as well tear off after it, followed by the sub-heading that if he then happened to get hold of the thing he would simply continue scuttling about, bringing the ball with him.

Within 20 seconds of kick-off he had popped up in the 6-yard box to force a save from the Burnley goalkeeper, and one imagines that the Burnley mob in general would have been sick of the sight of him by the time the credits rolled.

For my part, having soaked in an hour and a half of the midfield three racing around like small children on a diet of fizzy drinks and sweets, I rather fancied a quiet sit-down in a darkened room, with just a bourbon for company. Simply watching the young people was tiring enough for me. Marvellous work though.

An honourable mention too for young Spence. At 25 he is a few years the senior of the midfield three, but I’ll bung him into the same bracket, primarily on the grounds that he too was a bundle of energy throughout.

Technically, I suppose as this was a 4-2-3-1 sort of setup, one might have labelled Spence as an orthodox right-back, but he seemed to treat any such suggestion with a care-free shrug, and simply cracked right on with that business of scooting off into the opposition penalty area whenever the situation demanded, looking every inch a wing-back.

2. Richarlison

I’m not quite sure at what point isolated statistical occurrences become a trend, but it’s now two pretty dashing Richarlison performances in a row, and the regulars are starting to whisper excitedly.

After peddling some rousing fare in midweek against the other champions of Europe, Richarlison’s newest trick on Saturday was to dispense with any attempts to control the ball, and instead simply leather the thing first time. It was a stroke of genius. Seasoned Richarlison-watchers will be well aware that while hardly lacking willing, he can occasionally be stymied in his performances when it comes to some of the operational basics – such as being able to control the football.

However, at the weekend, he hit upon the idea of skipping from step 1 to step 3, as it were, and dispensing with the troublesome middle part. When Kudus crossed invitingly, any suggestions of trapping the precious cargo were dismissed from Richarlison’s mind. Instead, in a sequence that seemed to sit with him far more comfortably, he took to contorting his limbs at all manner of acrobatic angles, and thumping the ball into whichever corner of the net took his fancy.

It was a trick I remember him unveiling with similar aplomb at the last World Cup, since which occasion I have pretty regularly chuntered along the lines that he never produces such fare in lilywhite.

Well that particular wait is over. That second goal was a humdinger, attracting admiring noises from the gathered masses each time it was replayed on the stadium screens.

Frankly, after a pair of goals of that quality, Richarlison could have spent the rest of the afternoon quietly leaning against a nearby pillar watching everyone else work up a sweat, and he’d still have been feted from all corners. As it happened, he trotted out another pretty impressive all-round display, doing all the necessary running and shielding and buffeting one would hope for from a fine, upstanding centre-forward.

All of which does make one return to the original question with a pensive stroke of the chin – are these two isolated statistical occurrences, or have we stumbled upon a better, stronger, faster version of Richarlison?

3. Kudus

However, for all the merry chatter about the bright young things, and the reborn striker at the apex, it was Kudus once again who came across as the headline act.

The fellow’s sheer strength continues to make one goggle a bit, and will take some getting used to. Indeed, my Spurs-supporting chum Ian let pass from his lips the name Mousa Dembele when remarking upon Kudus’ brawn, and one takes the point, for the former was similarly possessed of a robust frame off which opponents simply bounced.

As well as which, young Master K. has all the party tricks to attract the wide-eyed admirers, coming replete with stepovers, feints, close control and whatnot. The moment in the second half when he controlled the ball with his left foot tucked behind his right standing leg certainly attracted the sorts of gasps and applause that would not have been out of place a magic show, but it was the neat shoulder-dip and burst from a standing start, to create Richarlison’s second, which earned him the decisive AANP stamp of approval. Trickery is all well and good for a social media post, but ultimately we’ll need Kudus to create and score goals. The chap seems fully to understand the remit.  

As an aside, the potential prospect of both Kudus and Eze in the same line-up would prompt a smacking of the lips, but AANP has learned to frame these transfer rumours with caution, ever since the days of Rivaldo. For now I’m simply grateful that Kudus is a fully paid-up member of the gang.

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 1-4 Brighton: Five Tottenham Talking Points

1. Bentancur’s Hangover Cure

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2. Gray

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

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

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

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

3. Danso

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

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

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

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

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

4. Tel

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

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

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

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

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

5. The Second Half Hangover

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Aston Villa 2-0 Spurs: Three Tottenham Talking Points

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

1.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2. Son

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

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

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

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

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

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

3. The Formation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

COYS!