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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 4-1 West Ham: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. Kulusevski

One of those knowledgeable sorts once told me, “There’s no ‘i’ in ‘team’”, which I suppose is true enough if you’re going to be linguistically pedantic about these things, and looking back I suspect that if I’d bothered to hear any more of what they had to say they may well have continued, “And there’s a dashed sight less creativity and energy in that same team if there’s no Dejan Kulusevski contained therein”.

This seemed to be an epithet taken to heart by the magnificent Swede himself yesterday, for he swanned about the place with all the majesty of a man upon whom has been the thrust the personal responsibility to conduct the afternoon’s entertainment.

Apart from what one might call his measurable outputs – goals, assists, chances created and so forth – I was particularly taken by the sheer joy with which Kulusevski seemed to oil about the place. Here was a big kid in the playground, who, upon receiving the ball, simply wanted to dribble towards goal (and, if at all possible, round the ‘keeper before stopping the ball on the goal-line, crouching down and heading it in along the ground).

If an opponent were in his way then all the better, or so seemed the Kulusevski mantra, as this merely presented an opportunity for him to reach into his box of tricks in order first to bamboozle and then to remove from consideration said opponent. Accordingly, he could be spotted dipping a shoulder, shimmying in between flailing opposition legs or simply using what I suppose you could call his trademark combo of pace and strength to bulldoze his way through trouble and off into space.

While there were decent contributions from the supporting cast – Sonny and Johnson certainly got into the spirit of things and played the game, in terms of contributions to the build-up or attempts to finish off the manoeuvres – Kulusevski was the pulse that beat at a merry old pace throughout.

Too often over the years a well-meaning lilywhite has received the ball just over halfway, with opportunity spreading itself in front of him, only for him to put his foot on the ball, have a bit of a think and play a neat but meaningless pass that does little to speed things along. By contrast, the present iteration of Kulusevski seems inhabited by a spirit of adventure that dictates that on receiving the ball he’ll charge towards goal, all else be damned. And who amongst us cannot cheer to the rafters such a cavalier approach?

A tip of the cap to the man as well, for the precision of his strike for our equaliser. I don’t doubt that there are some who would scoff, and label him lucky for having utilised both posts in striking gold; as one who regularly berates our heroes for missing the target rather than sympathising with them for lack of luck whenever they hit a post (I’m looking at you, Sonny – hit the target and I’ll laud you), I’m happy to lavish praise upon anyone whose shot has such precision as to strike first the left upright and then the right-hand one too before trickling in.

2. All Hail The Great Half-Time Tactical Switch

Much has been made of Our Glorious Leader’s half-time toggling of the knobs, with Maddison yanked from the stage and young P. M. Sarr shoved on in his stead. In fact, the adulation for this move has been pretty startling. To say that the corridors of the shiny THFC Stadium are still strewn with yesterday’s garlands is not to overstate things too dramatically. One could not jab a finger in the phonebook without it pointing towards someone queueing up to praise Big Ange for that Maddison-off-Sarr-on routine.

Truth be told, however, the AANP eyebrow has being raised skyward on a surge of bemusement and surprise at this particular element of the post mortem. I should probably whisper it, but I thought we were doing pretty well in the first half anyway, and was fairly confident that we would score more in the second half if the personnel had remained the same. Conventional wisdom over the last 24 or so hours seems to be that Kulusevski was practically impotent until Sarr was introduced to sit (I use the term loosely, as Sarr is the sort of young twig whose energy levels mean he can go about 48 hours non-stop without needing a sit-down) alongside Bissouma, and it was only thereafter that the Swede was able to cast aside his shackles and really impose himself.

Now this is a pretty violent desecration of history. Kulusevski was having an absolute whale of a time from the off, and didn’t seem to mind or care too much whether he had stationed to the rear James Maddison, Pape Sarr or Steve Sedgley. In fact, the entire attacking mob were on their mettle in that first half. Sonny, Johnson, Solanke, the so-called full-backs – everyone who could, was, if you follow my gist.

Come to think of it, the only member of the attack who wasn’t scooping up great armfuls of attacking goodies in that first half was possibly Maddison himself – not a particular criticism of him, as last time out at Brighton he dovetailed quite neatly with Kulusevski, as the deeper of the two attacking midfielders, but yesterday he seemed slightly neutered in what was presumably supposed to be a deep-lying creative role.

Anyway, all of the above makes me wonder if the fables of Sarr’s arrival releasing Kulusevski’s inner Maradona were actually just dubious media constructs, given a spot of the old polish in order to fit the narrative of three second half goals. The AANP theory is that Sarr’s great virtue was actually in helping to ensure that the back-door was kept firmly shut in the second half.

Within the opening 20 of the first half, the all-swinging-all-kicking Kudus had been allowed two unopposed shots from inside the area, despite West Ham barely having had a sniff of the ball in that period. The whole thing rather stank of that constant flaw in the Angeball set-up, that of being too open defensively. As has been harped on about relentlessly for about fifteen months now, with Porro and Udogie so fond of life in the final third, we regularly find ourselves desperately undermanned at the back, all of which has a tendency to undo all that attacking potential.

And given that Maddison was having a quieter time of things, the logic of replacing him with a chap whose defensive instincts register a bit more clearly on the grid made some sense. Sarr came on; the aforementioned attacking mob continued to attack just as they had in the first half; but, crucially, when out of possession our lot then had a bit more protection at the back. The gap between the two centre-backs and the midfield supporting cast was not quite as seismic as we’d been used to. In layman’s terms, Kudus did not fire off any more shots unopposed from just inside our area.

So I suppose I can allow a grudging word or two of commendation to escape my lips and fete the big boss, but as a matter of principle I emphasise that his achievement was in adding a layer of defensive security rather than in unleashing Kulusevski.

3. Porro (In The First Half)

Amidst all the chatter about Sarr, and the wholesome goodness of the second half, it seemed that the first half and its contents were rather banished to the vaults of history, never to be revisited. Fair enough, I suppose, but rather harsh on young Senor Porro, who I thought was contributing quite usefully in that opening 45, in his own unique way.

This is not to suggest that he was the standout performer amongst the general rabble; far from it. I was just rather taken by his contributions.

I suppose it stems from the fact that while all around him – and particularly those on the left – were trying to fashion increasingly intricate approaches into the penalty area, involving one-twos of ever decreasing distances, and feints and nifty footwork and so on, Porro seemed to see the value in the more rudimentary method of getting the ball out of his feet and whipping in a cross.

AANP was all for it. It gave the West Ham mob something different to get their heads around, and provided Solanke and the back-post mob some scraps to fight over. Moreover, peculiar though it is for me to fathom, the art of the cross from wide is one that precious few elite-level footballers seem able to master these days, but it is most certainly a string to the Porro bow, so if he is at all inclined to line one up then he has a fully signed-up supporter over here.

On top of which, as early as the first minute Porro also slid a delightful ball around the back of a defender for Solanke to chase – the sort of pass one rather hopes Maddison will churn out once or twice a game. He also very nearly scored one of the goals of the season when he arrived to meet an airborne cross from the left and decided, as any slightly unhinged sort would, that the best option to pick would be a mid-air karate kick. His choice having been made he did not hold back, and made a contact so sweet that the ball was almost scythed in half, shooting off like a rocket but unfortunately missing its mark.

A quieter second half followed, and as mentioned, we all focused on other things thereafter, but I did like the options he added on the right in that first half.

4. Sonny

Of course, it won’t be long now until Timo Werner races onto a through-ball and buries his one-on-one chance, leading to the confidence coursing back through his body and the emergence of a credible, menacing left-wing alternative.

Until then, however, we can all slaughter a small animal as an offering of thanks to the footballing gods for returning Son to the starting line-up. He did plenty of well-intentioned scurrying in the first half, and notably produced a gorgeous swivel of the hips and shoulder-drop that sent Wan-Bissaka out of the stadium, resulting in a curled shot just wide of the post; but it was in the second half that he really hit his stride.

In the sort of display that would be lapped up by mathematicians the world over, his contributions to each of the second half goals steadily increased in quality. The pass for Udogie, in the build-up to Bissouma’s goal, was expertly-weighted, and while there was still plenty of shovel-work to be undertaken (for which Udogie in particular deserves credit), the presence of mind and delivery of foot that Son demonstrated did much to create that initial crack through which the West Ham defence was pried open.  

Sonny then raised the bar a few inches with a similarly well-weighted pass in the build-up to the second. One would have to carry a heart of stone to fail to purr a little at a pass delivered with the outside of the foot, inside a defender and into the path of a speeding colleague, so that alone would earned a spot of the good stuff; but as befits any attacker worth his salt Sonny was then seized by the potential for glory at the other end of the production, and sped away in search of a return pass, benefiting no doubt from a spot of fine visual slapstick but still doing enough to earn the acclaim as the scoreline ticked over to 3-1.

As for the fourth goal, there are few finer sights – or, I suppose, few more terrifying sights, depending on one’s perspective – than Son Heung-Min at full pace and with ball at feet, throwing in no fewer than three mesmeric stepovers without breaking stride, before lashing the thing into the net. As well the ability and stamina and everything else, the fellow seems in those moments to be blessed with an exceptional sense of theatre, for the aesthetic value of that type of goal is sky-high.

One eagerly awaits the day when Timo Werner produces similar – surely only a matter of time now – but until then a Son Heung-Min fast getting back up to speed will, I suppose, suffice.

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Spurs match reports

Ferencvaros 1-2 Spurs: Three Tottenham Talking Points

1. Team Selection

AANP has prattled on a few times in recent weeks about the virtues of integrating up to a maximum of four non-regulars in a Starting XI, and conversely the vices of shoving in youths and extras until a Starting XI is bursting at the seams with lesser-seen faces, so I won’t bang on about it again.

Suffice to say, the eyebrow raised when news of yesterday’s Starting XI trickled through was not one of unrestrained gaiety and joy. Asking for trouble, was the gist of the rumbling over here.

As it turned out, Ferencvaros themselves made five changes, in a whopping endorsement of the new, endless, Europa format. And while, for the first half hour, our lot showed the usual sieve-like security of a defensive line stationed on halfway, we muddled through, by accident – and the impressive inputs of Vicario – rather than design.

One can only imagine the series of embarrassed and quizzical looks exchanged between Archie Gray and Ben Davies when informed that the former would start at centre-back and the latter at left-back. However, that was the curious defensive call made by The Brains Trust at the outset. To suggest it was a roaring success would be to inflict some pretty significant damage upon the English language.

I suppose part of the thinking may have been that if Gray could be found to include central defensive brilliance amongst his many talents then we would have an additional, ball-playing option for the fixture slog of coming months (and potentially one with a spot of pace about him, although I confess I’ve never observed the young tyke in a basic sprint). Anyway, it all turned out to be academic, because Gray showed himself to be as full of willing as he was bereft of expertise for the role, and having been caught out numerous times by fairly straightforward passes played behind the back-four and into space, the experiment was scrapped at half-time, presumably never to be seen again.

The midfield at least seemed appropriately fitted for the occasion. Bissouma, after an errant opening, made a pretty useful fist of things in front of the back-four, and Sarr seemed to enjoy the freedom to stretch his legs in the final third as the whim allowed, elevating himself, to the AANP gaze, to the heady heights of one of our two best performers.

Bergvall, frankly, had a slightly rotten game, happy enough to do all the running but regularly giving the ball away or tripping over himself. Hardly a crisis, as the young imp is evidently here for the long haul, but another Europa night on which he’s unlikely to dwell with too much fondness.

As mentioned, the midfield three were at least assigned appropriate roles, but not unexpectedly there was little rhythm or understanding between them, and one could almost see on one’s telly-box the looks of pleasant surprise whenever a little combination of passes clicked, betraying the fact that here was a group of young specimens who had never played with each other before.

The fact that beaverings in the final third slickened considerably once the cavalry arrived should be of little surprise to anyone. Off-the-ball the press was more intense, and in possession the various protagonists seemed to have an innate understanding of where to be and at which appointed hour, which helped chivvy things along. In short, the players who had played together regularly looked like a mob who had played together regularly.

As such, Our Glorious Leader, had he caught the AANP eye at the final whistle, would no doubt have directed a satisfied smirk in this direction. For all the naysaying emanating from my lips beforehand, he would be entitled to argue that he played his hand to perfection – blooding the younglings, giving minutes to fringe players, excusing the big guns from a full night’s work and then reaping a pretty solid harvest when he did eventually lob on the aforementioned BGs for a twenty-minute sweat.

2. Mikey Moore and Lankshear

Without doubt the biggest learning about Mikey Moore from last night was that, like Ben Davies, he is one of those coves whom one always addresses by their full combination of forename and surname. The next biggest learning was that he seems pretty capable of taking steps unaided in the big wide world.  

I mentioned above that I thought Sarr was amongst the top two performers, and alongside him I’d place Mikey Moore. Displaying a rather endearing fearlessness, every time he received the ball he seemed struck by the thoroughly commendable notion of doing something useful with it. As often as not this seemed to involve getting his head down and dribbling infield, to create a whole new world of options; but even when he stayed wide and was forced to use his right foot for something other than balance I thought he did a good job of things.

When ushered up on stage to receive his award and acclaim for yesterday’s work, I’ve no doubt that in listing all those to whom he gives thanks he’ll include Pedro Porro, for the slightly unhinged right-back seemed to do a good job of keeping an eye on him – giving him space to do his own thing but never straying so far away that he left the young pup completely marooned. Their combinations were amongst the more natural from our lot in the first half, and it was just a shame that when he was switched out to the left towards the end he didn’t gamble at the far post for what would have been a tap-in from a Johnson square ball.

As for young Lankshear, I suspect he might have a few self-inflicted welts on his own thigh today, from frustrated hand-slaps, but apart from not quite directing his chances within the frame I thought he made a good fist of things.

The fact that he was in the appropriate spot to miss a couple of chances was encouraging – a statement I appreciate might sound like lunacy of the first order, but my point is that, like any good striker, he took up the right positions, rather than watching from twenty yards south as the ball sailed harmlessly across goal.

He ought to have done better with the first half header from Werner’s cross, and he was unlucky that his scruffy second half effort from a corner bounced over rather than under then bar, but as Dominic Solanke can presumably attest, these things fall into place eventually.

Lankshear can also be mightily encouraged that he received a start in only the second game of this curious competition – with approximately eighty games left to play, presumably including one or two dead rubbers, there’s a good chance he’ll have more than just substitute cameos in the coming months.

3. Confidence, and Lack Thereof

I only studied German for one year at the old alma mater, so while I can pretty confidently assure you in that language that I’m fifteen years old, and can ask they way to the train station like the best of them, when it comes to screaming at Timo Werner to just bury the bally thing for heaven’s sake, adding that he’s supposed to be a professional footballer for the love of all things holy, I’m afraid I have to revert to the old mother-tongue, rather than conveniencing him with a spot of Deutsche.

As the hopeless young bean lay on the turf muttering oaths after his latest clanger, and then had the ignominy compounded by promptly being forced into a walk of shame around the pitch for substitution, I did muse – not for the first time – that he is both blessed and cursed by that turn of pace.

Blessed, of course, because it meant that when Mikey Moore set off on the right wing and looked up, there was nobody within a mile of Timo. And not for the first time. Only a Van de Ven would catch Werner, given a few yards headstart and clear path to goal.

Cursed, naturally, because here is a fellow who seemingly would be more at ease chewing off his own leg than finishing a one-on-one chance created by that pace. I’m actually inclined to suggest we re-purpose the chap as a centre-back, and see if we can put that speed to use in a sphere in which hitting a stationary target is not really a requirement.

Anyway, while I’ve never been anywhere near the professional game, the sages around me seem convinced that his do-anything-but-score approach to life stems from a lack of confidence, and as if to hammer home the point, Brennan Johnson then put his ten minutes to good use by cheerfully peppering the goal until he got one to stick.

The Johnson first-time effort that pinged off the crossbar was, lest we forget, inaccurate, but nevertheless spoke volumes – the audacity to see a ball rolled towards self, and greet this correspondence with a shrug of the shoulders and decision to forego all niceties and simply lamp the thing first time made crystal clear that here was a chappie who felt that he could do little wrong.

It was a conclusion emphasised by his goal a few minutes later, a chance that, on receipt of the ball, was hardly worth of the name, he receiving a bouncing ball when stepping backwards, and with a small line of defenders between him and the goal. To have the gumption to shift the ball onto his weaker foot and then place – this time with perfect accuracy – a shot off the post and in, essentially rubber-stamped the fact that he and poor old Werner sat at the extreme opposites on the scale of confidence.

I suppose if one had to raise the Werner spirits, one might yet point to his fine work in crossing for Lankshear’s first half header, and the fact that whenever he does decide to go outside his man and test him for pace, he generally wins. However, if Cheering Up Werner is the objective, probably best not to mention to him that young Mikey Moore prefers the left flank, what?

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 3-0 Qarabag: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. The Glorious Lunacy of Angeball

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2. Dragusin

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

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

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

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

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

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

3. Vicario

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

4. Solanke

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

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

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

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

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

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Spurs match reports

Newcastle 2-1 Spurs: Three Tottenham Talking Points

1. Angeball

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2. Johnson

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

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

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

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

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

3. Dragusin (and Romero)

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

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

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

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

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

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 4-0 Everton: Four Tottenham Talking Points

1. Odobert

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2. Bissouma’s Redemption

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

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

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

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

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

3. Romero

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

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

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

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

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

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

4. Smart Formational Thinking

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

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

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

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

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

Categories
Spurs match reports

Liverpool 4-2 Spurs: Five Tottenham Talking Points

1. Bissouma

Being something of a glutton for punishment, and having had younger members of the clan to entertain during the live production, AANP treated himself to a repeat viewing of this one, and was actually struck by the fact that, aside from a couple of key shortcomings, this was not quite the horror-show that a 4-0 deficit inside an hour might have had one expect. Now admittedly the phrase “A couple of key shortcomings” is doing a heck of a lot of heavy lifting in that opening soliloquy, covering both the fact that for an hour our attack was utterly toothless, and the fact that throughout the entirety our defence was utterly clueless.

But nevertheless, fans of silver linings would have been spoilt for choice in seeing our midfield give as good as they got, in terms of both pressing out of possession and moving things quickly when in possession. Put another way, there was a bit of urgency about the place.  

Bissouma caught the eye in this sense, because at least in possession he had what you might call a tidy little game. More than once I tipped the hat in his direction as he collected the ball on around the halfway line, two or three Liverpool bodies converging on him, and with a dashing swivel of the hips pirouetted away out of trouble and was able to shove the problem over to someone else.

None of it really stood out in the memory because our attacks tended to fizzle out in utterly forgettable manner whenever we reached the final third, but had the forward mob been firing we might have generously thrown at Bissouma such choice compliments as ‘The foundation’ and ‘The heartbeat’ and other such knowing tokens of appreciation.

All that said, I still expect a dashed sight more from whomever is sitting in front of the back-four in a defensive sense. Handy though Bissouma’s capacity for skipping away from challenges no doubt is, at least 50% of the Job Description involves patrolling when Liverpool race forward, and in this respect one might euphemistically suggest that he did not quite manage to blunt at source every Liverpool attack, given that they kept wandering into our penalty area at will.

The feeling nags away that there is a decent defensive midfielder lurking within the Bissouma frame – on the evidence of the first few months of this season as much as anything else – capable of both winning the ball from threatening opponents and bringing it forward with the care typically reserved for a protected species, but whether ‘tis he or some other, it’s a position in which the quality needs to improve a notch or three next season.

2. The Bentancur Conundrum

While Bissouma had me muttering “6 out of 10, I suppose”, I was decidedly less convinced by Bentancur. In fact, I was downright baffled by Bentancur. Not for the first time, I found myself wondering what his purpose was in this team.

For clarity, this is not to question his dreamy, silk-like technique. If I were to be invited as a guest to the training ground, I may well spend the entirety of my visit with eyes trained on Bentancur, just to feast the eyes on that technique from close quarters for a couple of hours.

But come matchday, and yesterday in particular, I trained the eye on the honest fellow with laser-like sharpness, and was left with one of those quizzical expressions etched across the map. He is neither a tackler like Bissouma ought really to be; nor a creator like Maddison ought really to be; nor a box-to-box ball of non-stop energy who does a neat side-line in doubling up on the wings like Sarr tends to be.

To his credit Bentancur did occasionally avail himself as a passing option, but even in this capacity he tended to do so in a manner so peripheral one would often forget he was still on the pitch. Apart from anything else it seemed a dashed waste of arguably the most talented player in our squadron.

 It would not take a great leap of the imagination to paint him, for example, as a Modric-esque deep-lying creative sort, as he seems to possess the required skillset. I’ve also heard the theory bandied about the streets of N17 that he was sculpted by nature as a box-to-box sort, but that the injury earlier this year put an understandable dent in his capacity in this sense. This may be the case, and I would certainly expect a fully restored version of Bentancur to potter about the place a bit more meaningfully next season, but within the current incarnation of Angeball I’m just not sure of his specific role – and at times I’m not sure he is either.  

3. Our Defence

However, for all the honest endeavours of Bissouma, Bentancur et al in poring over the midfield small print, the really sensational stuff was going off in the two penalty areas. Or rather, in one of them, because but for a couple of inviting Johnson crosses from the left that were duly ignored by all his teammates, all goalmouth activity occurred in our penalty area.

In recent weeks I have filled the atmosphere of AANP Towers with lamentations and curses about our defending at corners, noting amongst things that we still find ways to allow opponents free headers even when all eleven are stationed in the penalty area. And watching in particular the second and fourth goals sail in (Robertson’s close-range rebound and Harvey Elliott from outside the area, for those struggling to keep track) I noted that, as at corners, we were not conceding for want of defensive numbers filling the vicinity, but rather for want of any of the assembled having the bright idea of leaping into action in order to prevent damage manifesting.

Taking the Robertson goal, our lot had four members present and correct across the six-yard as things got toasty with a cross floated to the back-post. There then followed a rapid sequence of three opportunities for Liverpool folk to shoot – for not one of which was any attempt made to prevent a shot.

Taking them in order, Robertson arrived at the back post (he actually opted to square the ball, but certainly had the opportunity to shoot); Salah shot from a central position; and Robertson then tapped in the rebound from close range. Exciting stuff, I’m sure you’ll agree, but events with which any of our four defensive attendees might have interfered had the urge arisen.

Alas, the concept of preventing opposition shots from inside the area seemed well beyond their remit. As with corners in recent weeks, our heroes seemed to be operating on the premise that simply being in the vicinity was sufficient, and represented a pretty decent day’s work. Anything beyond that was evidently considered a bit of a stretch. One can only imagine the mystified looks and furrowed brows if the suggestion were put to them to rush from their stations and actually try narrowing the angle or blocking the incoming shots, or any other such progressive manoeuvres.

With the Elliott goal similarly, various lilywhite bodies were stationed in the area as the chap readied himself for his shot, but none seemed too concerned about any eventuality that might soon follow. Bentancur admittedly earned himself one small measure of credit by springing to life to effect a tackle, but immediately lost that measure by making a pretty perfunctory effort of it, letting Elliott skip straight past him and continue as if nothing had happened. Thereafter, both Bissouma and Sarr were on strictly watching duty only, and Elliott’s shot did not have too many outstretched limbs to negotiate.

But what rankled as much as the goals themselves was the fact that this same routine seemed to play out every time Liverpool attacked, dash it, in the first half in particular. Every time they strolled forward the pretty inevitable conclusion was that within a hop or a skip one of their number would be allowed a pop at goal, unmarked and from disturbingly close range. This sort of nonsense really should not happen as a one-off, let alone on recurring occasions, and yet by half-time it had become the norm, relying upon marginal offsides, goal-line blocks, the post, the crossbar, errant finishing or any other act of God to keep the score down to two.

And meanwhile, just to twist the knife in, up the other end a completely different set of principles were in operation, our attackers being denied the time even to consider the concept of a shot, before a flurry of red-bedecked limbs were upon them to crowd out the opportunity and ensure that the moment was lost in the mists of time.

(And just to tag on one final, supplementary complaint to the main body of complaints, our obsession with defending solely within the width of the six-yard box seems utterly empty-headed. The obvious flaw in this approach is the ample space it leaves for opponents to drift into beyond the back post – witness Salah and Gakpo’s goals – as such not so much preventing the concession of goals as providing a well-lit route to them for heaven’s sake. Moreover, if the squeezing of four defenders into the width of the six-yard box were a fool-proof means of blocking shots I’d see some merit in it – but, as indicated above, most of the time the blocking of shots appeared to be the last thing on the minds of our defenders.)

4. Emerson

While the collective were at fault for that maddening reluctance to prevent shots inside the penalty area, one amongst them was, rather predictably, destined to emerge as the poster-boy for their failings.

I suppose one ought not really to criticise a man before walking a mile in his shoes, on top of which every comment on Emerson’s performance ought to be heavily caveated with the acknowledgement that the poor lamb was playing out of position, a conventional right-back being asked to play as an inverted left-back.


And yet. Even with these very reasonable, mitigating circumstances, one still cannot fight the urge to slap him about the face with a wet fish, whilst simultaneously banging one’s own head against a brick wall, such is the array of means he lands upon to gum up operations.

Take that opening goal from Salah. A right-back on the left he might be, but really, would it have killed Emerson to interrupt his dozy afternoon sesh. of absent-minded ball-watching, in order to give a few moments’ thought to the whereabouts of one of the most dangerous Premier League forwards of the last decade? Salah was hardly operating by stealth, or putting to use some strange and unfathomable sorcery – he was simply standing behind Emerson. Emerson simply had glance over his shoulder, or open up his body. “Flail an arm, dash it man,” one wanted to yelp, “do something to keep track of the forward loitering the other side of you!”

Aside from that goal, Emerson had a pretty tough time of it, and here I genuinely do in fact sympathise, because frankly most people would similarly struggle. There’s no real shame in being bested by an eel like Mo Salah. So when Emerson simply found himself outfoxed, undone or turned inside out by the better man on the day, I kept my curses to myself and instead looked this way and that for help from the arriving reinforcements. Even when Emerson shrugged his shoulders, mouthed “To hell with this,” and earned himself a yellow card for a needless spot of wrestling of his man, I gave him the benefit of the doubt. A tough old gig, you see.

But where AANP’s sympathies abruptly end is when Emerson brings fresh ills upon himself pointlessly and avoidably. Casual, high-risk passes I mean, or tumbling to ground under minimal contact in areas of the pitch in which it’s far better to stay upright and stick to the task. This tendency for taking a position of serenity and needlessly turning it into a big old vat full of hot water, seemingly driven by the bizarre, quixotic conviction that he’s the finest footballer ever to lace a boot and impervious to misdeed, is what really drives me potty.

And this sort of fat-headedness was unveiled again for the third goal, when having actually done the hard work of inserting self between the ball and Salah, Emerson settled in to have a pause and weigh up the options, oblivious to the presence of that Elliott chap once again arriving on the scene, to whip the ball from his feet and set up another goal.

The excuse about him operating out of position, while true enough, only goes so far in excusing his carelessness. Right-footed or left-footed, the dithering to allow Elliott to pilfer the ball was simply lack of concentration.

Whether or not Emerson picked up an injury I’m not sure, but the replacement of him with young Skipp was an eye-catching move, and as it turned out not the worst one. The tendency of our substitutes, whoever they may be, always to play better than the fellows they replace, whomever they may be, continues to perplex, but Skipp made a decent fist of things at left-back. He did not need too many invitations to nudge forward – even contributing to a goal – and worked hard enough in the opposite direction. The thought has previously occurred that those who have cut their teeth as midfielders might be well-suited to the rigours of inverted full-back within Angeball, so the sight of Skipp at left-back made for an interesting little experiment.

5. Sonny’s Sudden Resurgence

One ought not to become too excited about the late fightback – and frankly there is not much danger of that, just about everyone who witnessed it recognising it as something of an oddity within the context of the match, facilitated as much as anything else by Liverpool rather losing interest and changing half their personnel with the job already done. (As an aside though, I would like to have seen a head-height challenge with the studs carried out elsewhere on the pitch than inside the penalty area – to settle a private debate you understand.)

That said, it was nice to see Richarlison giving another demonstration of some of the benefits that accrue when one fields a bona fide striker in the central attacking role. But while the sudden change in atmosphere and energy levels brought about by the introduction to the cast list of a new character is understandable enough, I confess to being a little stumped as to what brought about Sonny’s sudden explosion into life when shoved out onto the left.

Quite randomly, and without any prior warning – either yesterday or in previous matches in which he’s played on the left – he absolutely tore into his full-back. Every time he received the ball he ran at him, throwing in stepovers, forcing him backwards and leaving completely unpredictable the issue of whether he would stick to the outside or cut inside. It frequently required more than two Liverpool sorts to halt his charge, and with a little more consideration to his decision-making he might have earned us more than just the two goals.

In theory, it was the sort of cameo that ought to have us rubbing the hands a goodish amount at the prospect of more to come in future weeks; however, having witnessed the chap barely lay a glove on his opposing right-back in midweek, when taking on Chelsea from the same position, I remain a little hesitant about his prospects in this regard. Yesterday’s successful half hour struck me more as a swallow than a summer, if you get my gist.

That slightly baffling half-hour from Son on the left, the rudimentary but effective adventures of Richarlison in the centre and the inviting crosses that Johnson pings in each week from the right suggest that at least in theory our lot ought to have a bit more threat about them than they have shown in recent weeks.  – but having all the constituent attacking parts click, and at a stage in the game in which contest is still alive, rather than at which we have already taken a hammering, currently seems rather too much to ask.

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Spurs match reports

West Ham 1-1 Spurs: Two Tottenham Talking Points

1. Winger to Winger

It only took eight months, but with Our Glorious Leader reasoning that right-footed chaps on the right and left-footed chaps on the left might be a ruse with something about it, within five minutes we had drawn blood.

Bentancur, Bissouma and Maddison as a midfield three might have attracted a murmur or two of respectful query, having possibly a little too mich of the neat and tidy, on an evening on which I imagined more of a need for blood and thunder, but as it turned out in the opening exchanges the trio were keen to showcase their very best. They simply passed their way around the other lot, and lilywhite eyes about the place promptly lit up.

Young Herr Werner was the early recipient of their impressive output, and here was where Ange’s masterplan really kicked in. He’s mumbled a few times about the value of one winger finishing a cross from t’other winger, but with someone like Kulusevski skulking about on the right one just had to sigh a long-suffering one and let the imagination do the rest.

Yesterday, however, was different. In Brennan Johnson we have a cove with the standard distribution of strengths and weaknesses; but crucially, in the former category falls the inclination to scurry into the penalty area towards the far post and have a nosey about the place. Why Kulusevski can never motivate himself to do this too is an odd one. Seems an easy win to me. Either the cross from afar never arrives, in which case no real harm done; or it does arrive, in which case one can lick the lips and treat oneself to one of the simpler moments of glory.

Anyway, Kulusevski may not be in the market for the all-you-can-eat buffet, strange chap, but young Johnson has demonstrated a few times this season an eagerness to be first in the queue. Last night, once Werner had taken possession on the right, Johnson was bobbing about the penalty area with all the childlike excitement of one about to be let loose in a sweetshop.

Werner’s cross was sufficient, and Johnson, having the presence of mind to rearrange his feet – a skill that ought not to be underrated when observing the troubles Sonny had in controlling the watered ball all night – was able to pop the treasured orb the requisite yard or two into the empty net.

A highly promising start we can all agree, and I saw no need to ration the stuff. If Werner and Johnson had spent the rest of the night squaring the ball across the goal for the other to tap in, I’d have applauded long into the night. In fairness, Johnson seemed game, and actually appeared set on repeating the routine every time he got hold of the ball – possibly overdoing it, the loveable young rascal – but out on the right Werner’s wings were strangely clipped, and he instead seemed content to keep to himself for the rest of the evening.

His prerogative I suppose, but it didn’t really benefit the cause, what? And irritatingly, with West Ham pulling back into the penalty area every man, woman and child, we struggled to find any other routes to goal.

2. Defending Corners

This being a school night, and AANP being a man of all sorts of solemn oaths and promises these days, there are but two bullet points on the agenda. This business of corners, however, and specifically the wild and petrified horror with which our entire collective greet them, is one worthy of a bit of contemplation and debate.

For a start, someone at base camp ought to sit the players down and explain to them clearly and slowly that when we concede a corner, what is subsequently lobbed into the area is not some sort of laser-guided missile but still the same old toy that they’ve so merrily been knocking around amongst themselves all game.

Which is to say that any one of the troupe would be perfectly within their rights to extend their frame and try to stick a head on it. Such behaviour, the instruction ought to continue, is allowed, and in fact heartily encouraged. Whether or not such quiet and soothing instruction would do the trick is debatable, but it strikes me as worth trying.

I’m also rather perturbed by the positional approach adopted by our lot. ‘Zonal’ I suppose one would call it. The priority appears to be adopt a spot of turf and dashed well stick to it, no matter where the opposition blighters scuttle off to. One admires their discipline of course. Come hell or high water, our heroes will not be moved. But if a West Ham body positions himself a yard in front of one of our lot, one would think that common sense might kick in, and they’d consider it the sort of exceptional circumstance in which a spot of deviation would be just the thing.

On top of which, young Vicario still fails to instil any confidence in these situations. Mightily accomplished in the art of shot-stopping, and supremely confident in passing out from the back, he withers and shrivels once the ball is placed on the corner quadrant, routinely finding himself bullied by great lumbering opposition oafs, and flapping at the incoming cross with all the timidity of a newborn foal. I was rather shocked when right at the death last night he actually emerged from the crowd to make decent contact on an incoming corner, and fist it beyond the area.

It was maddening stuff, because corners (and our mistakes) aside West Ham offered nothing going forward, yet each corner they were awarded felt like a moment of impending doom. Nor is it the first time we’ve had to sit through this rot, and one can bet every last penny that there will be more of it to come. One doubts that the personnel will change too drastically from one game to the next, or even from this season into next, which means that somehow or other the current lot will have to magic up some solutions, and pronto.


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Spurs match reports

Fulham 3-0 Spurs: Three Tottenham Talking Points

1. Bissouma

Before spitting on one’s hands and getting into the meat of the thing one probably ought to clear the throat and make one of those frightfully dull public service announcements, along the lines that the singling out of Bissouma, Dragusin or anyone else for some forensic analysis in this instance does not mean that they are the principal rotters of the piece.

To be clear, in yesterday’s shambles the blame could be split pretty neatly eleven ways (if you want to dust off the old abacus and calculate what proportion the five subs merit, then be my guest). I pick out Bissouma because as the flames spread and the whole edifice came crashing down, the thought occasionally struck me that he was stinking out the place, but not really any more so than the rest.

Having made clear who’s responsible (all of them), and who would be welcome at AANP Towers in the coming weeks for a snifter and a few jolly back-slaps (none of them), I do want to bang on a bit about Bissouma. I suppose if this is the sort of forum in which a thesis requires one of those descriptive sub-headings, I’d maybe plump for, “Bissouma: What the Dickens Was He Contributing?”

After a pretty encouraging opening minute and a half, in which we didn’t let Fulham touch the ball, things took an abrupt slide, not so much downhill as over the edge of a cliff and to our collective doom at the bottom. Fulham kept wandering right into shooting distance within our penalty area, seemingly whenever the whim grabbed them. And not only was it one of those free-entry binges, they seemed to wander into our holiest of holies in precisely the same manner in each time: viz., some chappie lurking outside the area would dink a diagonal for a midfield runner to canter forward without any of our lot anywhere near him.

Now it’s one thing for the other lot to play a pass with a bit of dressing on it. Even as a Spurs sort since the womb, I can appreciate when the opposition unwrap a spot of the good stuff. But the notion that all present should then simply stand idly and gawp at this is decidedly off. Save the awe and wonder for the half-time chit-chat, I say. When a Fulham player pops one through the midfield and slap bang into the front-line, all in the vicinity ought to be racing to their posts, the extinguishing of imminent danger their absolute top priority.

To be clear, it’s not the case that each and every time a Fulham player snuck in and got their shots off in those early stages it was Bissouma’s man. Sarr and Dragusin, to name but two, were also responsible for rocking back on their heels and watching events unfold around them rather than taking a bit of initiative and piling in, or better still, anticipating the danger and cutting it off before it sprouted wings.

But Bissouma was definitely amongst the guilty parties, not least when Fulham got their second – which really did feel like the coup de grâce – early in the second half, the one that seemed to deflect in off the fellow’s thigh. On entering our penalty area that Chap of the Fortunate Thing (calls himself Lukic, apparently) was level with Bissouma, but our man picked a bad moment to drift off a bit, gazing about dreamily as the menace increased, and seeming to jog back on auto-pilot, enjoying the view a bit too much, rather than busting a gut to keep pace with (or indeed overtake) that Lukic fiend.

And indeed, during the genesis of that same goal, when Fulham won possession around halfway and knocked the ball into centre circle territory, the entire dashed premises appeared to have been vacated by our midfield. Once more, Bissouma cannot be chided alone, for there are at least two other midfielders, as well as two inverted wing-backs, each of whose job descriptions involve bobbing around in that neck of the woods.

Nevertheless, the complete absence of any semblance of control in midfield throughout does reflect pretty badly on Bissouma. Admittedly job descriptions in the Ange era are all a bit fuzzy, the general strategy seeming to be to invite everyone to wander off and explore any patch of land that catches their eye; but Bissouma is generally regarded as the chap all turn to for a spot of sentry duty. And yet when we were on the back-foot, I struggle to remember him making too many tackles or interceptions (which suggests that he needs to sit down with a map and compass, and position himself a bit more thoughtfully), or particularly standing out for being a bundle of energy, harassing the Fulham mob and generally bullying those around him.

Failing to match Fulham’s general energy was a collective foul-up, but once Fulham had beaten our high press and set off towards our goal, Bissouma was pretty easily bypassed. Difficult to know why his form has dipped, because in the early weeks of the season he seemed a man at the peak of his powers. Apparently he had a spot of malaria, poor cove, during his AFCON jaunt, which I can’t imagine does much for the constitution of the elite athlete, but whatever the reason he’s not really adding much to the cause at present.

2. Dragusin

Strange to say now as we survey the charred remains, but pre-match I was oozing with childlike enthusiasm, amongst other things at the prospect of giving young Dragusin the once over. The absence of VDV or course, would normally be lamented and with considerable concern, but like everyone else I’d drunk in the little video clips of Dragusin mastering various Serie A attackers, and felt appropriately buoyed.

On top of which, the fellow struck me as the sort whose drink one would not want to spill in a London nightspot, if you follow my meaning. Some bobbies, purely from appearance alone, strike you as the jolly, genial types; and some as mildly terrifying. I know into which camp I place Radu Dragusin.

Obviously most right-minded souls would exercise a few degrees of caution before passing judgement on a new signing, and as such AANP is hardly positioning himself as judge, jury and executioner after a few cameos and one 90-minute performance (particularly when that 90-m. p. involved all around him giving up the ghost and delivering solid 3 out of 10 stuff). With that caveat in mind, I thought Dragusin started fairly solidly, might have bucked up his ideas a notch for the opening goal conceded and thereafter was not really any better or worse than the rest.

One of his first tests involved him shuffling over to the right to escort some Fulham forward off the premises, and as suspected, this relying more upon brawn than brain seemed to be right up his street. He duly muscled the lad out of the way and got rid of the ball. A solid start, but on a couple of first half occasions, including the goal, I thought he might have at least pretended to care a bit more, perhaps by flinging himself full-length to block the incoming shot with one of those meaty legs. Dragusin, however, preferred to keep his legs to himself. Admittedly, if given the chance of a face-to-face interview with the young heavyweight in order to air my grievances I’d likely keep the lips firmly zipped and just agree with everything he said, the urge for self-preservation being strong in AANP, but from the safety of the armchair I’m happy to spout that he ought to have done better.

No particular blame attached to him for the third goal either, when he had a healthy swipe in an attempt to clear the loose ball, and took a chunk out of the goalscorer instead. Ideally he would have got there first, but one hardly blames him and him alone for the goal. And that sentiment rather summed up his evening – ideally he would have been a bit better, but the defeat was not really his fault.

One positive against his name was that he appeared not to be sent into a a frenzy of wild panic when the ball appeared at his feet, but generally has the good sense to pick out a nearby associate, and even on one occasion went for a stroll into Fulham territory, to see for himself. So that might be what the poets call a silver lining, but on the matter of quite how accomplished he is as a defender, we will presumably require a fair amount of additional evidence.

3. Complacency?

No doubt we will soon all be drowning in tactical hypotheses about precisely what went wrong yesterday, and apart from some superficial observations – Bissouma as mentioned above, Kulusevski continuing to fire blanks when out on the right, Udogie probably the best of a bad bunch – I don’t have much of value to add on that front.

One thought that did drift to mind as the whole bally thing fell apart in front of my very eyes was that I had rather expected our heroes to swan up and turn over Fulham, and this was swiftly accompanied by a second, related thought, that perhaps our heroes had themselves adopted precisely the same mindset. AANP has never tried his hand at shelling peas – wasn’t aware they came in shells, truth be told – nor at stealing sweets from babies, but by all accounts these are amongst the easier tasks known to man. And one got the impression that our heroes had greeted the dawn yesterday in agreement that there was a third activity to that list, that of rocking up at Fulham and collecting three points.

For a fan to think thusly is one thing. Ill-advised, no doubt, but excusable enough. But for the players to think similarly, and under-perform accordingly, is pretty rotten stuff. And the sight of them losing fifty-fifty challenges, and misplacing passes, and miscontrolling other passes – as well as failing to track runners or guard the wide, open spaces in midfield – generally gave the impression that here was a gaggle of lilywhites (albeit in natty dark blue) who were failing in what one might consider their principle duty, that of giving their every last ounce for the cause.

And it was all the more galling for serving as the sequel to the ultimately rampant performance last week, in which our lot did the hard yards in the first half and were therefore able to swan about like they owned the place by the end. I suppose it was precisely because they made such a good fist of things last week that they were so complacent this time around, presumably convinced that they would simply pick up where they had left off last week, evidently labouring under the misapprehension that life works like that.

It doesn’t, of course, so in the same way we can chalk up last week’s triumph as an example of the very best that Angeball can produce, this will serve as the polar opposite. Which presumably means that once the international break is over and everyone gears up for the final push, we can expect something in between the two extremes.

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Spurs match reports

Spurs 4-1 Newcastle: Six Tottenham Talking Points

1. Kulusevski Central

It would be over-stretching things to suggest that AANP is like a broken clock in stumbling upon a notion of some virtue twice a day, but, like a broken calendar, bang on the money once a year sounds about right – and having bleated away about the virtues of Kulusevski through the centre rather than on the wing, in the aftermath of the West Ham defeat, I was pretty pleased to see the pieces duly rearranged today.

Not that Kulusevski was necessarily the standout performer today. In fact, I’d shove him at least halfway done the list. Which is not to say he did much wrong, far from it, but various colleagues around him seemed to tick the ‘Above and Beyond’ box more obviously, and things ought to be done in right and proper way.

But having Kulusevski through the midfield seemed both to reduce the more vexing elements of his game (viz. the propensity, come hell or high water, to drag the ball back onto his left foot as if under contractual obligation) and also to lend a useful platform to some of his more amenable personality traits. These might be said to include but not be limited to: the thoughtful burst into the penalty area as delivery arrives from wider spots; the licence occasionally to bob up on the left; the application of what strikes me as pretty considerable body-weight forcefully into any of the opposing back-four dallying on the ball; and the generally wholesome practice of racing towards goal from a central berth whilst simultaneously weighing up options right and left.

In short, the shackles seem removed when he plays as a Number 10. Quite what reconfiguration occurs when Maddison returns is anyone’s guess, but if there’s a society for the Repositioning of Kulusevski From The Right To The Centre then they can count on my signature and enthusiastic attendance at fundraisers and whatnot. Keep him there, I say, or at least resist the urge to move him right again when Maddison returns.

2. Sonny on the Left

Of course, much like a butterfly flapping its wings out in the Amazon, one cannot yank Kulusevski from the right and re-position him centrally without all manner of implications rippling away across N17, so there would no doubt have been a few arrows scrawled across the pre-match whiteboard .

The fallout involved the remarkable sight of a right-footed player on the right wing, as Brennan Johnson won that particular raffle; which in turn necessitated a change in personnel on the left. One can well imagine Our Glorious Leader scanning the changing room, spying young Bryan Gil, and without even pausing to think just getting right on again with his scanning.

Sonny got the nod, and wasted precious little time in slotting back into the old uniform. Whether it was a first-time flick into the path of a chum while dropping deep, or a stepover-laced dribble into the penalty area topped off with some pretty inviting end-product, Son brought a healthy dose of A-game to just about everything he did out on the left.

And it was worth remembering, as he set about creating both first half goals in near-identical fashion, that the opposing right-back with whom he toyed was none other than the fondly-remembered Master Trippier, a chap who doesn’t surrender his territory too lightly.

Whilst the risk of deploying Sonny on the left was that it left things uncertain in the central striking role, the decision seemed a pretty smart one if only for the nuisance he made of himself throughout. For all their willing, it is difficult to imagine that Gil or Johnson might have brought home quite such riches; while Richarlison is more of a striker itching to move infield than any sort of left winger. This was pretty electric stuff from Son, who fully merited his late goal.

3. Richarlison

That Amazonian butterfly clearly put in quite the shift, for the after-effects did not end with Sonny’s move to the left. That, of course, left an awkward conversation to be had behind closed doors, given that Richarlison has spent the last couple of years since his arrival diligently pinging his shots everywhere but the nearest net, pausing only to occasionally trip over his own shoelaces.

And when a couple of missed half-chances in the opening 5 minutes brought that all-too-familiar Brazilian scowl, I did scuttle over to the nearest wall against which I might bang the old head a few times. The early signs were that this was a production I’d seen once or twice before.

Mercifully, however, after a conflab of twenty minutes or so, the gods evidently gave it a shrug and granted Richarlison a spot of respite. His first goal might not have been the purest strike of the weekend, but I doubt there’s a lilywhite in the land who gave too many hoots about that. If Richarlison has any sense of decency he’ll spot Sonny a slap-up meal at an over-priced restaurant in the coming days, for his captain did a spiffing job in moulding the opportunity that, if not quite unmissable, was certainly in not-too-much-work-required territory.

And in this day of the tedious knee-slide celebration I always consider that I can spot a man who really enjoys his goal, if he leaps into the thinner part of the atmosphere and swipes a clasped fist. Richarlison certainly enjoyed the moment.

Evidently, it takes more than one poacher’s goal to shed the alter ego and adopt a new persona completely, and the Richarlison of old swiftly returned when a presentable airborne opportunity ricocheted his way shortly afterwards, the man flinging himself at the thing a moment too late, as has been his wont for about two years now.

I also fancy he enjoyed another splash of luck with his second (footing another bill at one of London’s premier eating spots by the by, in gratitude to Pedro Porro), as his first touch when in on goal was not necessarily ideal. But to his credit, having taken a presentable chance and complicated it, he then redeemed himself in the blink of an eye, taking what had therefore become a complicated chance and despatching it, with minimal further fuss. One scratched the head a bit, but a joyous outcome is not to be sniffed at; and importantly R9 is a fellow the quality of whose next deed seems to depend significantly upon the quality of his previous deed – so this all bodes pretty well.

And as a sidenote, even before he was gaily tucking away his goals, I noted with great satisfaction that Richarlison could frequently be observed to commit his full body and I suspect a decent part of his soul to the act of tracking back and winning possession from the Newcastle mob. A well-executed slide tackle is always appreciated, and Richarlison delivered at least three of them. The young bean’s commitment to the cause has never faltered; that his radar began working again today was all the more pleasing.

4. Udogie and Porro

I mentioned above that there were a good few names above Kulusevski when it came to the matter of Star Performer, and both of Udogie and Porro would feature in such a list.

Udogie, I consider, rather owed us a stand-out performance, given that his entirely unnecessary two-footed lunge against Chelsea seemed to spark off the calamitous sequence that we have only just arrested. Admittedly he cannot be blamed for the injuries, and he actually got away with the lunge, but not being one to let the truth get in the way of a decent narrative I continued to murmur, “And well he should,” during the early minutes, in which he seemed to have assumed the role of String-Puller-In-Chief.

And by golly he was in fine old fettle. Even though it happens every week that he simply ambles up the field and presents himself as some sort of free-spirited attacking egg, I did nevertheless gawk a bit at the positions he adopted and the array of neat, sly passes he dished out.

Good of him to chip in with a goal too, and it says much about his role in the team that the sight of him tapping in from six yards did not raise too many positional eyebrows. This, it appears, is just what he does.

I hesitate to scribble, “And opposite Udogie,” when describing young Porro, because it is similarly difficult to pin down the latter, but he was also in attendance, and also having quite the night. The diagonal into the path of Richarlison for our third probably takes the spot on the mantlepiece for his most eye-catching contribution (and with perfect timing too, Newcastle at that stage having given it 15 minutes of honest toil, and threatening to make a game of things).

But in general, and as against West Ham, Porro combined intelligent positions with effective contributions, whether popping up in midfield to chivvy things along, or getting his head down in the final third to try to help finish things off.

5. Sarr: Outstanding

But from the AANP vantage point young Sarr took the gong today. For much of the game our heroes gave the impression of having a numerical advantage over the other lot, swarming them and not giving them the time to collect their thoughts and admire the sights when they were in possession;, and triangling the dickens out of them when we were in possession, regularly appearing to have an extra man at whichever point on the pitch the action was unfolding. And as often as not that extra man appeared to be Sarr.

I don’t know what sort of diet he goes in for but I wouldn’t mind finding out and dabbling, because the chap seemed not to stop running throughout. Which, logically enough I suppose, had the consequence that he seemed always to be involved. He was strongly in the market for tackles, interceptions, passes and then, in common with most of our heroes in those rather fun-filled final 20 minutes or so, shoulder-dips and dribbles out of tight spots. It was one of the more complete central midfield performances amongst our lot in recent times.

It also had the pleasing side-effect of making Bissouma look a bit more like his former self, and making me reflect, in idler moments, at quite what a difference there was between a team built upon Sarr and one built upon Hojbjerg.

6. Davies, Romero and the Defence

The individual performances helped no end, but it also made a world of difference that the now standard Dominant First Half was augmented by not one but two goals. To the list of teams comprehensively outplayed we can add Newcastle, but whereas in 4 of the previous 5 games we have had but a one-goal lead to show for some lovely build-up play and almost playground-esque possession, this time the world felt a much happier place when the cast trooped off at half-time two goals to the good.

There was still ample time to stuff up various further opportunities, and one does drop to the knees and implore the forward mob to take a tad more care in the final third and make sure of things, but it was a definite improvement.

And yet it might well have been to no avail, because at nil-nil we continued to look pretty open and inviting at the rear. It might be a consequence of full-backs being allowed to go wandering off, or it might be something else entirely, but whereas when our defence is arranged in a low block I feel that matters are relatively well contained, when we are caught in possession on halfway and the opposition counter, the whole thing does tend to unfold with a pretty alarming inevitability. Put another way, teams do not really have to work too hard to fashion clear-cut chances against our lot. Nab the ball on halfway and they’re as good as in.

And with that in mind I might take a few suggestions from Richarlison and splash out myself on one of those expensive meals, this time for Ben Davies, in commemoration of what was actually a scarcely believable intervention in the first half to keep Newcastle at bay. Pretty easy to let the mists of time do their thing and forget it ever happened, but when a Newcastle type on their left scuttled unopposed from halfway to our area, his square pass seemed to have doom scrawled all over it.

Davies flung himself at it full length, in what appeared to be an admirable but futile gesture. At best, I mused while wincing in expectation of the inevitable, this will be an own-goal. The laws of physics seemed to allow for little else, given that Davies was extending himself at full stretch and in the wrong direction.

Quite how he therefore managed to avoid poking the ball into this own net having made contact with it, was a conundrum of the highest order. That he additionally managed to do just enough to divert the thing sufficiently that the waiting Newcastle forward behind him then missed the target, was quite remarkable.

Mercifully, having figured out, at least for one night, how to apply finishing touches to all the gorgeous build-up play, it didn’t matter too much that we remain pretty open at the back sans Van de Ven. It helps that for the most part, Davies and Romero know their eggs when it comes to the sort of defending that isn’t just a flat foot-race from halfway.

But had Romero been sent off for his bizarre late lunge, the AANP teeth would have been ground with a fury rarely previously witnessed. The game was won, our heroes were bedded in and well into their stroke-the-ball-about routine, when out of nowhere Romero took it upon himself to wait for the ball to depart the scene and then leave his studs upon the lower leg/above-the-foot region of some Newcastle sort. Irrespective of any sort of provocation – and frankly there didn’t appear to be much – it was about as knuckle-headed as they come, particularly as the young fool has only just reappeared after the previous three-month ban. Egads.

Still, we got away with that, and more broadly, delivered the sort of walloping that we’ve been threatening in at least 4 of the previous 5 games (or at least first halves). Continue to execute three or four of the numerous chances created each week, and we ought to be pretty well set when Maddison and VDV return; but irrespective of that, the mood is lightened for the week.