Tag: Rodrigo Bentancur

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Spurs match reports

Everton 3-2 Spurs: Five Tottenham Talking Points

1. The New Formation’s Perks

With the infirmary tent now bursting at the seams, Our Glorious Leader had what by his standards was a fully-fledged breakdown, and tweaked his tactics. Out went the 4-3-3, and in came an intriguing get-up that had a 3-4-2-1 sort of look to it.

On paper it actually made perfect sense. Square pegs and whatnot, don’t you know?

Ben Davies has spent half his life on the left of three centre-backs. Any self-respecting taxonomist would take one look at Spence and Porro and classify the pair as wing-backs. Kulusevski and Maddison are both, in theory, the sorts of beans who are happiest honing their sights on the opposition goal. Dragusin has many, many defensive weaknesses and precious few strengths, so why not surround him with as much defensive-minded assistance as possible? And so on.

And actually, if you don’t mind me punctuating the doom and gloom with a spot of sunny, glass-half-full cheer, in an attacking sense it wasn’t too shabby at all. Sonny was presented on a silver platter with a couple of the more straightforward chances we’ve had all season – tips of the cap here to Davies and Porro, for the rather dapper long passes that set these up.

We also might reasonably enough have had a penalty. While AANP, as ever, accepts the referee’s decision with a stiffened upper lip and some stoical resolve, next time I need to submit a video application for the award of a foul, I may well use the clip of Sonny being unceremoniously bundled to terra firma inside the area by that Everton nib. It did appear at first – and indeed second, third and various further glances – to be a fairly straightforward little number.

So on the front-foot, whilst hardly the best we’ve played all season, there was enough in the first half-hour to suggest that the new formation had some shiny attacking components.

2. The New Formation’s Woes

Further back, however, it’s fair to say that our lot fashioned quite the pig’s ear. If you’ve ever drunk at this particular cabinet before you’ll know that the tactical side of things is not really the AANP forte, so take the following with a generous pinch of salt, or splash of bourbon, or just let the mind fog over for a few paragraphs; but it struck me that each of Gray, Dragusin and Sarr were playing their own individual matches, with nary a concern for the roles of those around them. Communications and teamwork was at a minimum.

Take the second goal conceded, for example. Everton were biffing the thing around inside their own half, as was their prerogative. Young Gray, seeing this and not taking too kindly to it, opted to leave his right-of-the-back-three post, and make a few brusque enquiries. Reasonable enough, one might have noted. One of the delights of a back-three, of course, is that any given member of it, at any given time, has the licence to stretch his legs further north, safe in the knowledge that the defensive cupboard will remain well-stocked behind him.

So off Gray toddled; but trouble began to brew when, alongside him, Sarr seemed gripped with a similar idea. Identical in fact. Actually, the pair came close to tinkering with the fabric of the universe by very nearly occupying exactly the same space at exactly the same time.

One could have advised that this would not end well. With Gray having rushed 20 or so yards out of position, our lot really needed someone to drop into the spot he had vacated, or at the very least station themselves within 10 yards of him, to mop up the mess.

The most obvious candidate would have been Sarr – but Sarr, as mentioned, had been gripped by precisely the same idea as Gray. Poor old Dragusin was the next to whom we all looked for a spot of useful input, but he was so far behind play one struggled to pick him out with the naked eye.

The Everton laddie set off around halfway and kept going, utterly unopposed. In fact he made it all the way to the penalty area, and even then young Dragusin was not really in the market for decisive interventions. He hovered in the vicinity, lost his bearings and I think almost fell over, but by then the Everton chap was already unveiling his celebration.

From what I could make out, the underlying problem here was absence of a basic level of communication between the protagonists. Idle chit-chat. Even just a pointed look, and knowing nod. Either way, the constituent members of the back-three seemed not to let each other know what they’d be doing.

3. Bergvall

With three goals having been shipped and Dragusin having been clouted about the loaf, one hardly batted an eyelid when Our Glorious Leader reverted to 4-3-3 type for the second half. One may have wanted to clear the throat and politely mention something about horses bolting, but nevertheless the switch back to the familiar seemed judicious.

Whether it was the formation, the fact that Everton already had three goals in the bag and eased up a tad or any other reason, our lot at least had the decency to look like they cared in the final 20 or so.

Young Bergvall, however, did not seem to mind which formation he was dropped into. He just set about doing one decent thing after another. It’s taken a couple of months, but the chap seems to have found his feet, and by my reckoning was amongst our best-performing squirts yesterday.

There was one fine sliding tackle early on in the piece, the sort that tends to prompt a nostalgic sigh as well as a nod of approval from this quarter; and halfway through the second half he pinged a dreamy 50-yard pass, up the right flank and perfectly weighted inside the full-back, to an onrushing winger.

And beyond these little highlights his overall contribution was neat and tidy as a minimum. Here is a chap fully aware of his responsibilities in chugging back to help out around his own penalty area, whilst also needing not too many invitations to pick up the ball and go wandering beyond halfway to see the sights.

4. Spence, Kinsky, Moore

As mentioned above, Spence was quite the attacking threat. As with Bergvall, one can imagine him impatiently waving away any instruction about formations and the like, preferring instead just to get his head down and gambol forward.

I’d suggest that he did not have his greatest day defensively, although plenty others also wore that particular badge yesterday. Going forward, however, Spence seemed to develop something of an obsession with the concept of weaving his way into the Everton penalty area and making merry.

A slight shame that his delivery for Sonny early on was not quite into the latter’s path, but if one can survey the entirety and conclude that we did not massively miss Udogie’s forward contributions, then there’s a feather for the Spence cap.

Young Kinsky once again did what could reasonably have been expected of him. Experts in the field might suggest that he went to ground a little early for the second goal, but that aside he produced more than his fair share of full-stretch, leaping saves.

This business of insisting on short passing from every goal-kick does, of course, drive to distraction most right-minded lilywhites, but it is presumably a tactic that is here to stay, and on instruction from above. Kinsky did foul up his record book with one particularly ghastly pass from the back, early in the second hlf, but by and large he seemed comfortable enough with the ball at his feet.

Nor is he a cove who sees the ball up beyond halfway and takes the opportunity to indulge in forty winks. Nice and alert throughout, he had to race from his post once or twice, to extinguish a couple of threats caused by those in front of him.

And in the latter stages we were treated to a cheery little cameo from young Mikey Moore. It’s a low bar, but he seemed to cram more into his 20 minutes than Sonny has produced in his last half-dozen games out on the left.

My Spurs-supporting chum Ian did note that Moore’s presence might actually have stifled Spence somewhat, the pair seeming to occupy the same lane if you get my drift, but on a day on which we made Everton look like Barcelona I’m hardly about to chide Moore for that.

He shows a directness of intent that is complemented by the trickery in his size eights, and as he demonstrated at the death, is well capable of delivering a cross of the delicious, convert-me variety.

5. Midfield Bite (Or Lack Thereof)

One can bang on until blue in face and coarse in voice about injuries and fatigue of course. One can find a way in which to voice the sentiment, preferably in a catchy, rhyming verse, that the manager ought to be removed.

However, the AANP gripe de jour is about our midfield. It’s actually a gripe that has bubbled away beneath the surface for a while now, but shot to prominence again yesterday as I observed various Everton bods amble unopposed from midway to our penalty area.

Expressed in the most basic Anglo-Saxon, our midfield desperately lacks a spot of back-door security. This could take the form of a tough tackler, although I’m not convinced we even need to make tackles. Someone who races around harassing and intercepting would suffice. Just to stop opponents waltzing straight through us, you understand.

Now credit where due, it seems that whichever lilywhites are picked in midfield will scurry urgently enough from Player A to Player B. No shortage of willing. The issue is that it’s all to no effect. Opponents simply pass around us and escape, without too many beads of perspiration spraying about the place.

By contrast, when, for example, Maddison takes possession for us, more often than not the opposition will close down the space and force him backwards. When I see such an episode play out, I do shoot a rather covetous glance at the opposition. That sort of thing would help our defence in spades. If our midfield can’t make tackles – and it’s always seemed a big ask at N17 – could they not at least prevent opponents advancing, and force them to pause and go backwards?

Each of Bergvall, Sarr, Maddison and Bentancur have their merits, but none seem particularly well sculpted for the aforementioned defensive roles, and I’m not sure it’s something that Bissouma on his own can carry out. It does seem to need a spot of collective effort.

Just another one for the Postecoglou in-tray I suppose, but this is an issue that has existed throughout his time around these parts, and frankly for most of the decades I’ve been watching our lot. Hoffenheim, Leicester and Elfsborg now become pretty seismic fixtures, which dulls the sense like you wouldn’t believe, but there we go.

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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

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 2-2 Roma: Three Tottenham Talking Points

1. Who We Are, Mate

After losing at home to the bottom side and then tonking the champions away, I suppose it actually made perfect sense that our heroes spent the entirety of yesterday lurching wildly between rip-roaring attack and what you might call pretty vacant defending. In short, every time either side attacked – in fact, every time either side won possession – they looked like they might score, and once we’d got past all the VAR calls and shots off the woodwork and other-worldly saves, we might have had a scoreline of around 8-8.

To suggest that this approach is universally popular would seem to misread the mood about the place somewhat. Here at AANP Towers, naturally, we lap it up, but there are plenty who cross their arms in disgust and give tongue to a few choice complaints, in increasingly irate tones. No point entertaining if we’re not going to win anything, is, I understand, the gist of the objection.

Not that Our Glorious Leader is about to budge on the matter, judging by his post-match remarks, in which he essentially tossed into the nearest bin the very concept of grinding out some 0-0s and 1-0s to ensure qualification. Entertaining football remains very much the key ingredient where he is concerned, so we can expect last night’s madness to be bottled up and uncorked on a bi-weekly basis for the foreseeable. AANP will be at the front of the queue.

2. Forster

Poor old Vicario deserves to have a medal pinned to his chest at some point, for playing a full hour with a snapped ankle at the weekend, in what was quite the commendation of the virtues of adrenaline.

The upshot of it all was that Fraser Forster was shoved into the spotlight for his 90-plus yesterday. Forster, of course, is a lad who Nature started building but then got distracted and forgot to stop, with the result that he is about two persons’ worth shoved into one. This at least makes him a handy chap to have around at corners, with any dastardly opposition plans to buffet him à la Vicario unlikely to bring home much fruit.

The narrative doing the rounds was that being built like a small oak was all well and good, but Forster would come a cropper the moment he was required to rearrange the feet and do a spot of short-passing-from-the-back. The air was therefore thick with anticipation when the goal-kicks started flowing and Forster obediently played short, but anyone hoping to point a triumphant index finger at him and scream, “See? I knew it!” was to be left a little disappointed. We did butcher several of those play-out-from-the-back routines, no doubt about it, but in truth Forster was not really the culprit.

One would not say he was particularly inept in this field. Not particularly sensational either, for one must take the balanced view. But rumours of his inadequacy with ball at feet were evidently over-played. Forster popped the ball left and right (mostly left, actually), accurately and sensibly enough, and Davies and chums got on with things.

As mentioned, things went awry thereafter, on a pretty regular basis in the first half, but this seemed to be down to the infuriatingly flippant attitude of others in lilywhite, who seemed convinced that Roma players would obligingly look the other way and allow the ball to be played around them. Forster himself seemed accurate and sensible enough with his passing.

More of a pre-match concern to AANP had been Forster’s shot-stopping. Working on the rationale that an enormous oak, when sawn off at the base, will take a good, elongated second or two to fall to earth, I gnawed a slightly nervous fingernail at the prospect of Forster being called into lightning-quick reflex activity. Toss the ball high into the crowd and Forster is your man, went my thinking; fire a shot low to his sides, and things might get sticky.

Those fears were hardly assuaged by the first Roma goal. Although directed high rather than low, it nevertheless stood out as a moment of ignominy for our resident giant, as rather than skip across his line to engineer a position closer to the ball, he opted to leave his feet planted firmly where they were, and sought to remedy matters from a standing start. Well, it did not take an expert in the field to see that this approach was laced with difficulty, even for one standing at approximately nine foot eight. Forster’s leap amounted to little more than a footnote, he getting nowhere near the ball. Those pre-match concerns about his agility, or lack thereof, played on repeat and with some extra volume.

However, the strangest plot twist unfurled thereafter, for on the following occasions on which he was called into shot-stopping action, with activity requiring a far sharper grip on things than that goal, Forster suddenly donned a cape and revealed himself actually to be possessed of superhuman reflex-saving quality.

One shot towards the end of the first half seemed almost to be behind him, and travelling along the ground. And when I state it was travelling on the ground I do so not merely to pass the time. To move from the thinner parts of the atmosphere, which Forster’s upper parts inhabit, down to the floor, would require most of us to descend a flight or two of stairs, a procedure that would take some time to effect. By contrast, Forster somehow flung himself this great distance and direction in the absolute blink of an eye, shooting out an appendage whilst doing so, to pull off a save that any physics student would goggle at.

He was at it again, at the end of the second half, with a save that ought to have won us the game, only for the resulting corner to bring their goal. Whilst not so low down, this one was still a shot from close-range, and still of the ilk that one would expect to bypass such a large and cumbersome construction as Forster. He was equal to it though, again rattling off some of that faster-than-the-naked-eye-can-discern business, to produce one of those saves that is really worth a goal.

Numerous further tests await, of course, but for now I mark him down as competent with ball at feet, and jolly impressive in shot-stopping.

3. Ben Davies

As mentioned, there was plenty to admire about our work going forward, and frankly AANP was drooling over some of the speed and smoothness with which we motored along from nondescript midfield spots to goalscoring positions. Not for the first time, some slightly more accurate finishing would have had us comfortably ahead by the closing stages, but I suppose one can’t have it all.

Kulusevski was, at times, once again pretty majestic. It seemed sufficient for the likes of Son and Johnson simply to turn up at the appointed hour and location, because Kulusevski was pretty comfortably carving apart Roma single-handedly, at various points in the first half.

I also thought Sarr again buzzed about the place like a man possessed, patrolling high up the pitch to win possession seemingly at will, while Bentancur was similarly effective about 20 yards further south. Annoyingly, many of these positive traits rather faded from existence in the second half, as our lot stopped giving too many cares about retaining possession, and then constantly found themselves outnumbered at the back.

However, during the entirety, Ben Davies seemed to accept whatever the Fates through at him, stiffen the upper lip and crack right on. There were times, of course, that Roma poked and pried in what were not Designated Ben Davies Zones, and consequently got round the back of our defence to cause a spot of alarm. Quite a few times, in fact, this happening relentlessly in the final 20 or 30.

But when matters did more directly involve B.D., he seemed well up to it. All reassuring stuff, given the absences of the first-choice pair. Moreover, with Destiny Udogie given the night off, Ben Davies also had to juggle the day-job with a spot of babysitting, of young Gray alongside him (who fared a lot better than on his previous forays at full-back).

Davies was on hand to peddle a lot of timely interventions and blocks, and while the general structure creaked a bit it seemed to be despite, rather than because of, his efforts. There was also a useful charge upfield with ball at feet, for those who like that sort of thing, only terminated by having him uprooted right outside the opposition area.

Most eye-catching to AANP, however, was his pass from deep in the first half, which bypassed the entire Roma midfield and set Kulusevski off on the gallop that led to him hitting the post. It would have been a charming addendum to his evening’s defensive work; instead, the whole thing looks vastly less impressive due to a late goal conceded and couple of points dropped, in this whole curious Europa format.

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.

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Spurs match reports

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

1. Dragusin

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

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

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

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

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

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

2. The Youth

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

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

2.2 The Youth: Bergvall

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

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

2.3 The Youth: Gray

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

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

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

2.4 The Youth: Lankshear

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

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

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

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

3. The Cavalry

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 2-1 Man City: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. A Tip of the Cap Towards the Team Selection

You may be surprised to know that prior to this one AANP was feeling pretty sanguine about our prospects. Those who encountered me pre-kick-off would have gasped at the air of quiet confidence that I radiated. Not so much on account of anything going on at N17, mind, as much as being due to the previous declaration from Pep that he considered the Carabao Cup beneath him and was only going to sit through it because contractually obliged. I paraphrase somewhat, but that’s the gist, and as such I went into this one thinking we might oil our way through in credit.

And we did precisely that, which is pretty ripping. The fact that our heroes, to a man, saw fit to input every last drop of perspiration was simultaneously warming and mildly depressing. Warming, for obvious reasons. One wants to win. One wants to beat Man City. One wants some dashed silverware in one’s mitts. Working off one’s socks helps bring to fruition such heady projects.

The depressing aspect was that all this honest industry was so conspicuously absent on Sunday. Far be it from me to cast aspersions, but it was almost as if our lot were infinitely more motivated for a match against the reigning champions of the land than against some winless mob in the relegation zone. Slanderous stuff I know, but I’d be deceiving my public if I swore that such a thought had not crossed my mind.

However, experience has taught me that nobody likes the chap who punctuates a merry shindig with a gloomy anecdote or two about life’s ills, so I’ll let that particular topic lie. The hot topic of discussion is that last night we triumphed, and thanks in no small part to the ceaseless endeavour of all involved.

One striking aspect was that this was one of those rarely-spotted binges in which our lot were largely starved of possession. Not by design, I’d suggest, Our Glorious Leader never knowingly advocating an approach of surrendering the ball and sitting deep, but such was the ability of the City mob that from about the half-hour mark onwards, Mother Nature seemed to shrug her shoulders and decide that that was how life was to be.

So a different sort of assignment for our heroes, but in this respect I rather thought that Ange nailed his team selection. Game by game I imagine he does a spot of the old inner monologuing on the topic of James Maddison, and in this instance the decision to leave him in the pews and start with more defensive-minded crows about the place was a sound one. Pretty obvious, granted, but sound nevertheless.

I also liked the idea of Johnson, Kulusevski and Werner being unsheathed for battle from the off. I possibly pay Ange too much credit here again, for I’m not sure there was a massive abundance of alternatives, but the pace of these two – rather than, for example, the gentler bobbing of Richarlison – seemed another of those moves that one greets with a sage tap of the nose. For if this were indeed to be a game in which we were to be forced deep and starved somewhat of possession, then pairs of legs as quick as the wind itself were a pretty essential piece of kit to pack.

And thus it transpired. Angeball is not traditionally a system designed for counter-attacks, but when need arises Messrs J., K. and W. can whizz away up the pitch like the best of them, and that opening goal was a triumph for all disciples of the art. There should have been a couple more in the second half too, the strategy of soaking up pressure and then haring away like the wind proving a dolly of a scheme. 

While we rode our luck at times at the back, both the setup and the attitude were spot-on, and if there were a few self-satisfied back-pats and smirks in the changing room afterwards then they’d have had the AANP blessing.

2. Timo Werner

To describe Timo Werner as ‘Much-maligned’ is to undercook things so severely one risks a salmonella outbreak. The honest fellow remains admirably backed by manager, players and fans, but the groans that accompany each duffed finish are pretty audible, as is the exasperated chatter in the immediate aftermath, as the dust settles and we all vent to our neighbour.

And in that context, Werner’s performance in general, and goal in particular, gave the insides a pretty warming glow. One would have needed to possess a particularly stony heart not to have wanted to serve oneself a generous splash and toasted his moment of success.

Starting with his goal, there has been not so much a mere train of thought as one of those lightning quick contraptions that whizzes through Japan, suggesting that part of Werner’s problem is that he has too much time to think in front of goal. And here AANP empathises. Click the fingers at AANP and ask him to pick A or B, and it’s a done deal, lickety-split; suggest to AANP that he can take a second or two to mull it over and he’ll crack open a spreadsheet and overthink like the dickens.

Werner’s recent history of goalscoring opportunities is choc-full of examples of him sticking data in spreadsheets rather than simply making a choice and pulling the trigger. Yesterday’s opportunity, however, seemed almost to straddle the line between the two scenarios.

On the one hand it could be argued that he did not have time to take more than one touch. The ball arrived, a defender hove into view – if an orchestra had been present they’d have skipped the gentle build-up and gone straight to the roaring crescendo. In such circumstances, the decisions were largely made for Werner, and he cracked the thing home with aplomb.

On the other hand, though, the delivery from Kulusevski took just about long enough to reach Werner that the latter did have time for a few disturbing scenarios to flit to mind and torment him a bit. There was just sufficient time for him to have considered shooting at the near post, or even to have considered taking an additional touch to see what new adventure would follow.

In short, this was not entirely in the realm of the instinctive tap-in. Werner had his opportunity to overthink things, and it is to his credit that he used that time rather more productively – specifically to adjust his body-shape – before finishing like a consummate professional.

And thereafter, for his remaining hour or so, I thought he did a decent enough job of things. The chance he missed in the second half, when he sprinted from halfway, was only a couple of inches off target, although admittedly he also put another one a lot further wide, and stuck one down the ‘keeper’s gullet in the first half.

But in other respects he pootled about handily, putting some height and whip on his crosses, making good use of his pace and certainly indicating some smart thinking when it came to linking up with colleagues, even if his execution was at times slightly off.

Man of the match stuff it was not, but within a counter-attacking unit this was pretty solid fare, and arguably more than Johnson offered on the right. One hopes that the goal might settle him down a tad for any similar upcoming scenarios, and given that that particular demon has for now been exorcised one also rather hopes that his injury is nothing too severe, not least with Sonny and Odobert similarly bandaged up.

3. Archie Gray

Another midweek game, another viewing of the Archie-Gray-at-Right-Back experiment, and, not wanting to be too damning, I’m struggling to see where this is all leading. The most useful conclusion I could draw was that the medical gang ought to give Djed Spence a couple of extra rehab sessions each week to get him back up and running, because whatever commendations one showers upon young Gray, “Masterful right-back” is unlikely to be amongst them.

The left-winger against whom Gray was pitting his wits was known in the registry office as Matheus Nunes, and while apparently not in the running for the recent Ballon d’Or, he was nevertheless evidently the sort of chump who knew his beans. A good test for any aspiring right-back, one would suggest. I dare say that even Pedro Porro would have had a task on his hands keeping the blighter under wraps, so in many ways this was the perfect way to check up on the nous of young Gray in this position.

Alas, for the most part, Nunes had Gray on toast. No aspersions whatsoever cast upon young Gray for effort, the lad hitting a solid 10 on that front. And there were occasional, fleeting moments in possession, particularly in the second half, when he demonstrated the sound touch and technique that have marked him out as a bit of a one for the central midfield positions.

But on this day of all days young Gray needed to be on his mettle defensively, and even with Brennan Johnson dutifully doubling up, that Nunes creature seemed to have the measure of the left wing, happy to waltz through and get up to mischief whenever the whim seized him.

I’m not sure which of Gray and Johnson deserves the Jabbing Finger of Blame for the goal conceded, but even aside from that, this was pretty inauspicious stuff from the former. Staple it together with the recent Europa displays, and the body of evidence begins to take a bit of shape, like a liquid metal terminator going through its reforming motions. Something begins to emerge, and early indications are that it’s not overwhelmingly encouraging.

I suppose for the purposes of early-stage Cup jousts we can probably get away with the ultimate Square Peg at right-back, but if this is the option to consider in the eventuality of a significant Pedro Porro injury, then I fancy I’ll emit a pretty audible gulp and start looking frantically about the place for alternatives.

4. Richarlison

I probably ought to pay a little tribute to Kulusevski for his incessant beavering; or tip the cap towards Bentancur for a display as useful as it was busy; or use far more words than are necessary to make the point that Dragusin has yet to convince me as first reserve at centre-back; or note that Johnson’s flick in the build-up to the opening goal was exquisite, but that that aside his distribution was pretty unremarkable – but I won’t.

And in large part the reason is that no matter how hard I tried to concentrate on matters elsewhere, the gaze was repeatedly drawn back to Richarlison.

I should emphasise that, in a pretty thrilling turn of events, I come to praise Mr R., not to bury him. Well, ‘praise’ might be a bit heavy, as it’s difficult to get past that late miss of his, but when I mentioned I was not here to bury him I spoke sooth. I suppose my sentiment towards him last night was one of fascination. I couldn’t quite make up my mind about him.

For a start, I’m not sure left wing is really the role for which he was knitted while forming in the womb; but then when one sees the calamitous mess he makes of finishing, one is hardly inclined to advocate he patrols the centre-forward position.

However, all that said, he actually took to the task of being representative of the left side of attack with surprisingly good humour last night. At one point he produced a trick of the feet of which I would not have believed him capable in a thousand years of trying, to skip past an opponent and set us on the counter – and nor was this an isolated incident, he turning into quite the useful conduit for transforming defence into attack out on the left, as well as taking every opportunity to muck in with the lads at the back, chasing down City players like a canine who’d spotted a particularly enticing stick.

All of which might sound pretty encouraging stuff to the uninitiated, but rather irritatingly several of Richarlison’s best-laid plans slightly nose-dived when it came to the end-product, he more than once spotting the perfect pass but then failing to execute just so.

Ad then there was the miss, from the opportunity gifted to him by a most errant throw from City. With the goalkeeper as taken aback as everyone else in the arena, and therefore a little slow to dash from his line, it’s not too great an exaggeration to suggest that the entire goal was gaping. Left and Right seemed the key options, looming large ahead of Richarlison. They appeared to be the safe zones. Either of those rough ball-parks, and the ‘keeper was out of the game. Basically, the only thing to avoid doing, to guarantee a goal and safe passage to the next round, was to jab the ball straight at the goalkeeper.

So of course, Richarlison, being Richarlison, ignored all of the above, snatched at the chance and struck the ball at the feet of the goalkeeper like a cricketer shying at the stumps. It should not detract completely from the fact that his was a bright and breezy cameo, contributing in defence as well as attack, but nevertheless. When you’re a forward, and in the dying moments you have presented to you on a platter a chance to win the game and be the hero, conventional wisdom dictates that you don’t mess around.

Merrily, it did not cost, and nor did any of the other misses scattered about the place. This whole business of failing to bury eminently presentable chances is an absolute nuisance – and may ultimately end up as the epitaph on the managerial gravestone of Ange – but in a pleasing break from tradition, this time at least, it did not rob us of the win.

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Spurs match reports

Man Utd 0-3 Spurs: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. Micky Van de Ven

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

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

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

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

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

2. This Week’s Angeball

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 3-1 Brentford: Three Tottenham Talking Points

1. Maddison and Kulusevski

Some good stuff peddled by the forward line yesterday, what? And ‘forward line’ is a term I use pretty loosely, including Udogie (although not the oddly-muted Porro), and giving an honourable mention to Bentancur, who generally sat deep – and did a fine job of it too – but had the good sense to follow up well-timed interventions with some quick and meaningful forward distribution.

But it was the bona fide attacking mob who caught the eye. Solanke, Son and Johnson were all fully signed up to the whole business of the high press (and bless them, Brentford were pretty accommodating in this respect, offering one opportunity after another to our lot to make hay), and there was also a pleasing commitment amongst our lot to do whatever they had in mind at double-quick speed.

As it happens, I’ve personally been pretty happy with our attacking in general this season – tending to get into the area and create some sort of chance, rather than just shuttle left and right from thirty yards out – but yesterday the speed with which matters were shovelled forward was particularly pleasing, and in this respect James Maddison had possibly his finest hour and a half of 2024. Now the more mischievous amongst us may suggest that it’s a pretty low bar, but let that not detract. This was wholesome stuff from our No. 10.

For a start, his passing seemed often to be disseminated with a view to cutting a swathe through the Brentford back-line, rather than the approach of too many previous games, of being content to pop it sideways and await inspiration from another source. There was some good incisive stuff from his size nines from central positions; on top of which, in the first half in particular, he was also surprisingly jaunty about his prospects when breaking into the left-hand side of the area and firing a pull-back into a populated area.

But more than his passing, I was particularly taken by his tendency to collect the ball, put his head down and get wriggling. Frankly, I wasn’t aware that Maddison had it in him to dribble past two or three thrashing legs, but having given it a whirl early on in proceedings he quickly developed a taste, and could be spotted on numerous following occasions doing more of the same. And very impressively he did so too, turning out of two or three challenges to turn a moment of stasis into an attacking opening.

On top of which, his own contribution to the press brought about our second goal, and he took his own goal most confidently. It’s the version of Maddison of which we need to see a lot more.

Kulusevski was the other soul who made himself a constant menace, albeit in a manner less refined but every bit as effective as Maddison. In what I had hoped would also hammer a nail in the coffin of the idea of him as a right winger (only to see him reassigned there after the substitution of Johnson) Kulusevski had a rare old time bludgeoning his way through the centre.

With Solanke demonstrating a pleasing openness to the notion of dropping deep to chivvy things along, Kulusevski did not need too much encouragement to get involved in the central attacking spots. He contributed to the high press, contributed to the neat link-up play in and around the area, gave a few reminders of those deceptively quick feet inside the area and lent his bulk to the general mass of bodies lining up to apply the coup de grace whenever our attacks made it inside the area.

An approving nod too to The Brains Trust, for taking one look at Sarr and Bissouma, and deciding that the situation instead called for an attack-minded cove to complete the midfield triumvirate alongside Bentancur and Maddison; but top marks primarily to those out on the pitch, for going about their work with a pleasing urgency right from the second minute.

(Although before I move on, a slap on the wrist to Sonny for a couple of fat-headed decisions when clean through on goal with the game still in the balance, one in each half.)

2. Vicario

To say the mind boggles hardly scratches the surface. Scalpel open the fellow’s head and peer inside, and I rather suspect that in lieu of three pounds of brain one might discover a small army of frogs hopping about the place, for young Vicario is the most extraordinary specimen, within whom the sublime and ridiculous indulge in an absolutely riotous co-existence.

At 2-1, while Sonny up the other end was fluffing his lines when twice through on goal, Vicario did the opposite by pulling off two smart saves – one of which was absolutely outstanding, featuring a full extension of the frame and the clawing back of a ball which appeared to this beady eye to be already well past him.

However, as if to lend particular emphasis to the notion that he cannot simply go about his daily life as a remarkable shot-stopper and free of drama in other areas, approximately a minute later he rose unchallenged for a long throw into the area, and instead of simply catching the dashed thing and being done, he launched himself into a pretty spectacular flying leap, tumbling over the nearest body and cartwheeling to the floor, his paddling of the ball behind for a corner almost a footnote to the whole routine.

And if this were the extent of his lunacy I could probably have dismissed it as a minor blot on an otherwise pristine escutcheon. But this being Vicario, madness lurked at every turn. Unannounced, and without any prior indication, he simply introduces the most whacky behaviours, leaving all around him scrambling to pick up the pieces, and sending the AANP pulse-rate into orbit.

That moment in the first half, for example, when he received a pass to feet, and instead of dispensing with the ball to the nearest chum – or indeed the furthest chum, or any other chum in between – he waited until the Brentford lad was upon him, and, showing admirable resistance to the notion of just extinguishing the danger by conventional means, then let the same Brentford lad nick the ball from him and lay it off to – note well – his nearest chum, to shoot. But of course, this being Vicario, he then redeemed the situation by saving the resulting shot from point-blank range.

The piece de resistance was yet to come of course, Vicario picking a moment in the second half to bestow upon the ball a gentle pat of the hand, with scant regard for the geography of the penalty area. Even had it been spotted it would presumably have amounted to little more than a free-kick and a caution; but that seems to miss the point. As if our defence is not madcap enough, with its halfway line starting point and licence to charge forward, we have a certified madman behind them tasked with bestowing the all-seeing-eye upon the whole. As my Spurs-supporting chum Ian noted, it was all rather reminiscent of Heurelho Gomes.

3. Angeball

The mood around the campfire had apparently been souring a bit in the last week or so, by all accounts, which certainly makes me hoist an eyebrow, but to each their own.

As mentioned above, from the AANP perspective there hasn’t been much to complain about this season. Now I appreciate that such a sentiment will have various readers spitting out their evening bourbon in apoplexy, but as I saw it, our lot had given each of Leicester, Everton and Newcastle a battering, failing only in the department of popping our chances away, and doing so playing football a few million times better than the dirge peddled under Jose, Nuno and Conte. While stubbornness over set-pieces and the high-line admittedly had me tutting away like the best of them, and making nine changes for the Coventry game turned some of those tuts into audible grumbles, in general the sentiment here has been that Angeball is entertaining and will generally win us games, so I’ve been happy enough to sit back and let him crack on.

However, it takes all sorts, and evidently there are growing swathes of the lilywhite population popping up all over the place to thump a fist on the nearest table and declare that enough is enough, and Our Glorious Leader should be elbowed out onto the High Road.

All that is a slightly roundabout way of saying that I thought yesterday was pretty standard stuff from our lot. As has happened in most games so far this season we largely bossed possession and made a decent handful of chances inside the area – not the clear chances that need only tapping into an empty net, but those of the vintage that don’t really invite a pause and considered mulling of options, and instead require a pretty immediate tug on the trigger before an opposing swarm does its thing.

As mentioned, yesterday we transported the precious cargo about the place a spot quicker than in previous weeks, but by and large I saw against Brentford what I see most weeks – except with the pretty crucial caveat that this time we took more than one of the many chances created.

The defence was still massively exposed without too much effort on the part of the opposition, and in truth we were still pretty profligate in front of goal, but rather than scoring once and duffing things up thereafter, this week we took a couple more chances.

As such I suppose that those who were dissatisfied beforehand will remain so now, but here at AANP Towers I remain pretty content with life. Angeball is, of course, massively flawed, but as I mused after each of the Leicester, Everton and Newcastle games, so I muse again today – if we continue playing this way, we’ll win more often than not, and it will be dashed entertaining stuff too.

Categories
Spurs match reports

Coventry 1-2 Spurs: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. Team Selection

I’ve always thought that Big Ange and I got on rather well. Admittedly we’ve never actually met, but skirting past that rather moot point I’ve always backed the man, and just sort of assumed that he’d do likewise as and when the situation ever arose.

Well, fair to say that after last night’s reveal of the teamsheet, A.P. and AANP might be entering the territory of a first ever lovers’ tiff. For context, the line about not changing every bally name on the list just because the opposition are lower-division is one I’ve been peddling since being dandled on my mother’s knee. Common sense stuff, if you ask me. Make eight or nine changes, and even if you’re bringing in peak Hoddle, Gascoigne and Bale amongst half a dozen others, they’ll take a while to get up to speed on the quirks and preferences of those around them.

And that’s if you’re bringing in such luminaries as G.H., P.G. and G.B. Bring in, instead, Dragusin, Gray, Werner et al, and those in attendance waiting for all protagonists to slip smoothly into gear alongside one another might be advised to bring along a pack of cards to pass the time, because the chemistry will take a while to develop.

As such, the AANP approach to Cup games vs Coventry or whomever is to maintain the spine, and bring in at most four of the less regular cast members. The challenge here, of course, is that not everyone gets a night off, and this approach might tire the limbs as the season progresses – but if all goes swimmingly then five more regulars can be hooked as the game progresses.

And more to the point, retaining a core of seven regulars ought to be enough to despatch even a highly-motivated Coventry on their own patch; whilst also helping the four newbies settle into a fairly well-oiled machine. Put another way, might we not have had a better idea of Archie Gray’s capacity for right-backery if he had regulars to the west and north of him?

Anyway, Our Glorious Leader wasn’t having any of it, and twelve months after a nine-change gambit backfired in the League Cup away to Fulham, he duly made nine changes in the League Cup away to Coventry. After a soulless first bunt in which our heroes looked, funnily enough, as if they’d never played together, things took a sharp lurch in the second half as Coventry started to give us a bit of a battering.

Established XI or not, the rest of the mob don’t seem to care much for helping out the defence, preferring to watch from a good 20 yards or so away as the back four desperately sprint back towards goal and stretch every sinew in the cause, and as a result we had the mesmeric quality in that second half of finding ever more ingenious ways to allow Coventry in on goal.

Credit where due, as in the closing stages our lot became good value for a goal or two, but I do wonder if the whole nerve-jangle could have been avoided by starting with a more recognised XI and putting the game out of reach within the first hour.

(All hypothetical, of course, but it has also been quite reasonably pointed out by my Spurs-supporting chum Dave that had we started with something like the usual XI they would arguably have been too complacent and found some other way to make a complete pie of things.)

2. Werner

Tempting though it was to headline this section “Werner: ” followed by a few choice oaths, I reasoned that decency probably ought to prevail. One never knows when the impressionable sorts are stopping by, after all. But goodness me, the earnest young Bohne was doing his damnedest to push all AANP’s buttons last night, make no mistake.

His pseudo-re-signing was not really the main headline of the summer, that honour probably being reserved for another on the long list of eggs earning full marks for effort but some pretty embarrassed looks for output, in Dominic Solanke. But back in July or so, the AANP take on Werner’s return on another loan was that all things considered it just about made sense.

The cost was minimal, it being a loan; the chap has pedigree in the Premier League, Champions League and internationally; wouldn’t need time to settle having already ticked that box last season; and while no-one in their right mind would place a starting bib over his neck for the crunch stuff, with a guaranteed glut of Europa games, plus potential domestic cups, having a few competent reserves in wide areas would be required. So, to repeat, it seemed to make sense. Note, however, the past participle: it only seemed to make sense.

The reality, as hammered home last night, is looking a dashed different state of affairs, for all of those aforementioned neat and logical arguments come absolutely crashing down when Werner scurries out onto the pitch and gets down to bricks and mortar.

Did he put a single foot right last night, at any point? I’ll answer that one myself actually, because I even made note of the exact timing of Werner’s one positive contribution, it being such a collector’s item. 59 minutes, if you want to rewind the spool and check for yourselves. At that point, having collected a short corner, Werner made for himself a yard of space and then curled in a pretty inviting right-footed cross that deserved better than to be headed clear by the first Coventry head.

That, however, was the zenith of his evening. As for the low-points, my first thought is to wonder how much space the interweb allows. His passes were misplaced; his crosses were overhit; his dribbles typically tended to result in him cycling backwards, or at best sideways. His pace – his greatest asset – was never really utilised, and it is probably for the best that he was not presented with a clear sight of goal, because I suspect the universe might have collapsed under the weight of the subsequent abuse that would have rained down on him from all sides.

I suppose The Brains Trust would argue that Werner’s style suits the system, and his work-rate and off-the-ball contributions go unnoticed. And in his defence, I did notice him track back at one point in the first half to put in a solid block on an attempted cross.

So a modicum of credit is grudgingly bestowed; but I maintain that the primary role of a winger is to wingle, in the attacking sense and with ball at feet. The defensive guff that accompanies it might well be necessary, but ought to be in addition to rapier-like thrusts that leave the opposing defence begging for mercy. In the same way that I yell and screech at Romero to get the defensive basics right before he goes trotting off on some adventure beyond halfway, I similarly give Werner a few lungfuls in the cause of adding a spot of end-product to all his forward scuttling.

Of course, one sympathises with his injury, rotten luck for any fellow no matter how bow-legged and utterly incompetent, and with Odobert also chipping a fingernail this might cause a problem for Europa engagements in the coming weeks. However, last rather hammered a nail in the coffin as far as AANP was concerned. No more, I beg of you.

3. A Quick Word on Fraser Forster

Werner was not the only one to prompt endless eye-rolls and muttered imprecations. I’m not sure Archie Gray really knew where he was supposed to be at any given point; Sarr had a bit of a stinker; Ben Davies, for all his willing, seemed to illustrate that we remain a centre-back short for the fixture slog to come; and Solanke gave his most Solanke performance yet.

A curious one for me was the enormous frame slowly ambling between the sticks at the back. Looking back at it objectively, Fraser Forster, in an admirable act of solidarity with most around him, had a pretty middling evening, put generously. Beginning with the inaccurate first-minute pass that put young Bergvall in trouble; extending to a second half flap at a corner that completely missed the ball; and capped, without doubt, by the mid-pitch collision with Dragusin that quite likely registered on the Richter scale as both behemoths tumbled to earth in slow-motion, this was hardly a low-profile, neat-and-tidy sort of showing.

And yet. For some reason, whenever the opposition had a corner, a most unusual sensation of equanimity passed through my entire being. Even as I surveyed the growing melee in the six-yard box, even as Forster demonstrated not so much rustiness as corrosion – something about the fact that it was not Vicario in goal at a corner put the AANP mind at ease. He may not have claimed every flighted cross as if picking an apple; he may have required a nearby chum to wind him up before he was able to move the limbs; but just not being Vicario at set-pieces earned Forster a huge rosette and garland from over here.

And if that’s the sentiment from the comfort of the AANP sofa, I do murmur to myself “Golly”, and wonder how the poor souls tasked with defending the penalty area at corners themselves feel about having Vicario as commander-in-chief, hopping and yelping about the place like a poorly-trained puppy.

4. The Goals, And Other Positives

For all the first half frustration, and second half panic, the arrival of the cavalry for the closing stages pepped things up a bit.

Maddison, while hardly controlling things, contributed a couple of those neat forward passes for which we’ve yearned so far this season and for much of the latter half of last season – the sort of slick pass that bisects a couple of defenders and finds a yard of space for a forward. His first-time dink around the corner in the build-up to our equaliser was one such moment, and given his contributions to date this season I am rather minded to camp outside the honest fellow’s abode with some sort of home-made banner imploring him to put to one side all the usual fluff and just deliver one or two more of those each game.

Kulusevski was even more prominent, not really bothering with polite introductions and handshakes, and instead just crashing around the place as soon as he was unleashed, and to good effect too. His contribution to the first goal was surprisingly delicate, and added neatly to an overall excellent aesthetic quality to the move, but in general one got the impression that the Coventry lot were in need of an illustrated manual on how to cope with the chap.

A congratulatory word also for Bentancur, for a glorious pass to release young Johnson for the second. Bentancur, while another who cannot really be said to have imposed himself upon the match, did, like Maddison, pick out one or two eye-of-needle passes, and the spotting, directing and weighting of that pass for Johnson could not have been better, so one can only presume he treated himself to a celebratory splash or two of the good stuff before hitting the pillow last night.

Of course, it was also pleasing to note the identity of the two goalscorers. Young Spence, I get the impression, is being powered along in each game by a surge of goodwill from the massed ranks of Spurs fans both inside the stadium and beyond, each one desperate for him to do well. He’s drawn a bit of a short straw in ending up at left-back in each appearance, and how he quite fits into the inverted full-back system makes my head swim a goodish amount, but in the simpler context of being an attacking sort I do rather like the cut of his jib. The sort whose eyes light up a bit once he’s nearing the opposition penalty area.

And as for Brennan Johnson, by golly he needed that. Worryingly, he has much about him of Timo Werner – principally in terms of repeatedly banging his delivery into the first defender – but when it comes to popping away his goalscoring opportunities, mercifully he stands head and shoulders above the German, and his finish was another that can be filed under “Pretty-Looking, As A Bonus”.

And in parting, a polite word of praise for young Bergvall, whom I made probably the pick of the first half bunch. Energetic, and in the wholesome habit of shoving the ball on quickly, I’d estimate that he did more than any other in lightish green (that completely unnecessarily clashed with the Coventry kit, for heaven’s sake) to burrow a way through the massed opposition ranks. Hardly the finished article, but he receives the approving nod nonetheless.