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1st March 2010 - Another Sad Day for
Football The League Cup Final specifically.
I’m not particularly fond of Villa; they’re a naturally defensive team who seem reluctant to shed their underdog status, and, much like Spurs teams of the recent past, seem to believe that playing a contingent of young Englishmen somehow makes their deficiencies unique from those of other unremarkable sides. Prouder fans of each club will argue that, for way of one triviality or another, their team is a superior proposition to the others, but in reality ourselves, Villa and Everton are uneasy but undeniable bed fellows. Villa have perhaps being going through the motions a bit longer but all three clubs have developed an unenviable cycle where they build to the point of the seemingly impossible top four penetration (always on the precondition that Arsenal or Liverpool have one of their occasional off years), before their best players are poached in tabloid fuelling sagas that ultimately destabilize and lead to a season or two of toiling it out with Fulham and Sunderland (there’s few things sadder come April than the old war cry of ‘playing for pride’). From here they begin again. And so my
heart went not only to Villa fans yesterday, but to the majority of football
supporters. Villa were an interchangeable component; it could have been us,
or Everton, Sunderland, Even so the match progressed on fairly evenly until the introduction of Wayne Rooney. Recently Harry Redknapp suggested that it is less a matter of how many good players a team has than the number of great players. Yesterday’s game would support this theory. Two teams of good players battled it out fairly evenly until the one undisputable world beater took to the pitch. From there on in it seemed so much a formality that Utd looked bored by it all; once the deciding goal had gone in Villa were sweating blood to get any hold on the game while their opposition nonchalantly broke up the field at will. There was an assortment of indications that the winners were (perhaps, sadly, justifiably) complacent about the whole thing. When Rooney hit the post with a header he wore the look of a man mildly irritated that mere millimetres had denied him a gem of a goal, and not the drop to the knees anguish one might expect a player to feel having come so close to putting a cup final beyond doubt. Berbatov too could only manage a wry unconcerned smile having ballooned a similar opportunity. Later in the game no one seemed to even notice the reluctance of their players to make a run up the pitch when Valencia made a break or, even more bizarrely, when Rooney was taking a corner (at a complete loss as who to pass to, understandably). After winning the game the Utd players gave a bit of a cheer, giggled amongst themselves and gave smiling, composed and coherent interviews. Their demeanour was less cup final euphoria than last day before school holiday giddiness. The Villa men gave sweat soaked panting interviews, pale complexions and wandering eyes leaving no doubt that disappointment was too small a word. Martin O’Neil, looking as though he had aged thirty years in two hours, was so despondent when talking afterwards that it was uncomfortable to watch. The
indifference on the pitch was matched off it. A result for Villa, you get the
feeling, would have led to a week of sore heads and days scived off work in One last finger raised in the face of the midlanders was the number of seats reserved for corporate clients. Although in theory this was an affront to both sets of supporters, in truth many of the champion’s fans would probably have exchanged their ticket for any one of a half dozen league fixtures. For Villa fans, who had been waiting a decade for such an occasion, it must have hurt to see so many empty seats go unoccupied as the well to do and connected refused to let a mundane football game hurry them from their half time beer. Why such a big rant about a Villa match on a Spurs site? Because it could have been us, it has been us, and it will be again. As a small
endnote, if the League Cup Final was a poor advertisement of how predictable
and top heavy the game has become, the I find it hard to concede that if they were in Michael Bridge’s position that they would accept a handshake from their estranged friend and shrug their shoulders, perhaps sharing a joke; ‘women, eh?’. In fact I find it hard to concede that they wouldn’t take a shovel (or some equally effective object) to his head. It makes you
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20th January 2010 - World
Class Players Yet another poor home result. But
I’m not too disappointed. I suppose it’s because I don’t believe we’ll make the
Champion’s League and as such see these things as bum notes in an otherwise
enjoyable season rather than missed opportunities. I’m too long in the tooth
for it all (Lasagnegate was the nail in the coffin) and frankly I am too busy
enjoying Spurs’ not being rubbish. You don’t have to go back too far in
history to find similar home results where these score lines actually
reflected the game. Teams are now increasingly
approaching fixtures at The good form (particularly that
of Lennon and Defoe), the media savvy of Redknapp, and perhaps the Of course Utd, Arsenal, Liverpool
and Chelsea have for years been presented with the same challenges of playing
teams who’ve their backs to the wall from the off and are composed of good dogged performances from otherwise
average or lazy players who have suddenly upped their game for the occasion.
But they get the pros as well. For every team who produce heroics at At present we seem to be taking the pitfalls
of our elevation with less of the perks. Put plainly we instil enough fear in
the opposition for them to employ extreme caution, but we do not yet induce
them (or the officials) with the sort of terror that gives rise to gifted
goals. ‘Bottling it’, so to speak. This is only half the story
though. Less in fact. A third of the story perhaps. The overriding truth is we
that we fail to beat such teams because we have yet to find the ruthless
ability to win that has made the top four just that. Also, rather simply, we
just aren’t as good as them yet. But we are not far off. Redknapp recently
alluded to the fact that it is less a matter of how many good players a team
has as how many top players. Arsenal, he figured, had two, in Fabregas and
van Persie, whilst we had Modric. In reality we probably have none
but come close to having four. Modric is almost certainly world class but was
injured just before it became a given (the same could be said of van Persie
(annually) and barring one of those tragic cases of ‘wasn’t the same since
the injury’ both should comfortably achieve these standards). Defoe and
Lennon are half way there. King too is world class but even his greatest
supporters must sheepishly admit that this is sadly academic so much of the
time. I find it too difficult to
extrapolate these facts to the conclusion that Spurs are perhaps mere players
(or maturation of existing players) away from being a real football team.
That would be on par with the disproving of Newtonian physics, one of those
fundamental principles that shapes a man’s understanding of how the world
works. Instead I will draw the conclusion that we have a good chance
tomorrow. And if we are in the same position
come May only to draw against Bolton or Burnley you will find a lot of what I
wrote in the first paragraph was pure crud. 12th
January 2010 - Ten Years Gone This is very much a companion
piece to the articles of Sean Morley and Robby Sumner in review of the
previous decade, where I position myself somewhere in the middle. Like a
successful but ultimately useless politician I suppose… It was a mediocre decade, poor
even, but in an alluring way. Put frankly, it was never boring, comparable to
seeing a band murder song after song because they’re half cut, under
rehearsed, and clearly can’t stand the sight of one another. ‘Car crash’, I
believe, is the term used. We had heroes (Campbell, Carrick, Berbatov,
Keane), villains (Campbell, Carrick, Berbatov, Keane), comedy relief (Ramos,
Santini, Gomes,) redemption (Gomes, Lennon, Defoe) and what was intended to
be redemption but never really worked out that way (Pleat, Bentley, Keane).
Throw in the bloodied corpses of Jol and Hoddle and some shadowy shots of
Comolli, Pleat, Arnesen and Levy lurking menacingly and it all adds up to a
messy pot boiler which you can’t quite distinguish between being so bad it’s
good or just plain bad. It was quite literally a decade of
pure transition which only ended with the appointment of Redknapp. To turn a
Tottenham fan’s pint sour you need only say the name Arnesen, Comolli, Ramos,
Pleat or Santini (never mind Dean Richards or Gary Docherty). But for me the
lowest point was Hoddle’s reign, which felt like a continuation of the
nineties; a bleaching away of any colour from the club, a process which began
with Francis signing Chris Armstrong (noted by Sean Morley) many years
previously. Which brings me smoothly along. A great myth is that fans want
stability. Sometimes we believe this ourselves (almost always in the midst of
a relegation battle) but in truth the only fans who enjoy one season being
the same as the last support Manchester United. For eight years we had
stability in the form of Francis, Gross, Graham and Hoddle; four managers
perhaps, but all seamlessly steered forgettable players to forgettable positions
whilst playing best forgotten football. There was the constant caveat that
the bilge on show was merely the first tentative steps in a long term
strategy, the manure on the flower bed so to speak. Those flowers never did
bud though and we were left to swoon over the odd dandelion that sprouted
from the stinking brown sludge. It was numbing. And this is why, for all that
it was an underachieving, shambolic, laughable (even to us), mostly mediocre
mess of a decade, I enjoyed the noughties. It was nice to feel something
again. But at the same time I do agree
with Sean. Not so much about Spurs, but about football in general. The game
has become static, turgid and exclusive. Success usually breeds success; in
modern football, success breeds success and then sends it to the sort of
school where the general public are not only unwelcome but their existence is
seen as sort of a vulgar but amusing joke. If you are to exclude the big four
and compare the achievements of every other club to pass through the top flight
you will find it is a quite miserable pissing contest. The winner is probably
For English football it was a
miserable decade. The seeds of elitism and monopoly were sown and sprouted in
the nineties, but came fully into bloom in the last decade. The Champions
League has bloated into a lavish high society party where the guests swoon
down the red carpet avoiding eye contact with the rest of us as we struggle
behind the velvet ropes in the hope of slipping in should the doorman become
momentarily distracted (Everton once achieved this but were hauled back out
in a chicken wing). There was a time we could angle for an invite to such
parties if we were charming enough in the fashionable UEFA Lounge, but that
became a tawdry run down establishment and was eventually replaced by a Wetherspoons.
Sadly, fewer and fewer teams have
any pretence of ambition. Every year it seems another club acknowledges there
is just no possibility of success and accept themselves as fodder. It has
recently happened at Middlesboro and Charlton and currently seems to be
taking hold at West Ham and Enter in the Champions League and
then look to win it? Well, steady on
there... Use our new status to build a side capable of winning the
league? Now let’s not get carried away
here… It is frankly impossible to
imagine Spurs winning something significant without a sea change in the game.
Sadly, more and more of us seek this change from the financial predicaments
ongoing at other clubs, such as the latest upheaval at But, I will end this article on a
positive note, simply because the decade has. There is presently a good
feeling about the club. The manager has brought sense, stability and
personality where there was waste, division and faceless bureaucracy. The
squad is young, compact and exciting while a shiny new stadium is promised to
replace our much loved but uncomfortably ‘small club’ home. Despite the insistence on focusing
on material from the new Celtic/jazz fusion album which charted only in
Germany and Japan, despite the endless, pointless inebriated guitar and drum
solos, despite the bass player walking off half way through, despite the
singer threatening members of the audience with physical violence, despite
being an hour and a half late on stage in the first place, the band has come
on for an undeserved encore and for fifteen minutes, with whatever it is that
keeps them going fresh in their veins, are actually pretty. So everybody goes
home happy, humming the hits, what went before almost forgotten. But not
quite.
27th November 2009 - Wigan Weren’t All
That Bad I genuinely mean it. Though I think I’m pretty much alone
in this opinion. The Times gave their entire defence a performance rating of
one out of ten, and even then there was a grumble that this flattered our
somewhat less than alumni Edman. Their players took note and have
subsequently refunded fans from their own pockets. If Spurs had adopted the
same approach through the years many players would probably now be living on
the As per the title, I actually don’t
believe they were so awful as the score line and subsequent reaction would
have people think. They more or less held their own in the first half and
perhaps even had the better of the game for 20 minutes or so (with only
halftime breaking their momentum). Their midfield was happy to scrap and
their forwards, even if somewhat agricultural, looked as though they might
have bludgeoned their way through our rearguard eventually. This is academic really though as
drubbings rarely begin from the first minute and last the full 90, but
instead usually hinge on a point of no return when heads fall and legs wonder
what the point is. For Now I am not blinkered. Recently
after the None of the goals against We have been the other end of such
goals ourselves. Palacios and King’s keystone cops routine for Fabregas’ goal
at the Emirates is an example of defending that, though dismally poor, would
generally go unpunished because so few players would be capable of scoring as
he did. Though not exactly helping their
own cause, It could be argued that even if
the goals were good the opportunities, marginal as they were, should never
have arisen. But once again the build up play was of the sort that a team
will rarely have to defend against because it so often encountered; so many
of the scores came from assists that were as perfect as they could have been.
In stark contrast, against If We will probably lose to Villa. But maybe that’s the Tottenham in me again. 1st November 2009 - We’ve Got Our Tottenham Back ‘You never give me
your money, you only give me your funny paper…’ Well they say domestic bliss makes
for terrible art. So if you want to be, say, a great songwriter, you’re best
neglecting the love child(ren) you’ve no memory conceiving whilst sabotaging
every adult relationship you have amidst a cloud of alcohol and substance
abuse. Or you could try supporting Spurs. But perhaps that would suit you
better if comedy was your calling. It worked for Peter Cook. We definitely have the comic
timing. Our seasonal declaration of Top Four intention was a while coming
this year but it was of course followed by a home loss at the hands of Stoke
days later. The annual humbling. There could of course be only one response
to defeat at the hands of this supposed fodder; declare in the press we’re
better than Arsenal. Oh no were bloody not. It hurts me
to say it but our squad is the polar opposite of theirs. Where they seem to
have a plethora of intimidatingly talented teenagers an opportunity away from
storming the Premier League, we have tens of millions of pounds worth of
lethargic complacency who shirk away from every challenge presented. I’ve
heard more about Pavlyuchenko’s agent than I have him this season. I’ll try not to be knee jerk. We
have lost Defoe, Woodgate and Lennon. Arguably three of five best players. We
have also lost Modric. Inarguably our best player and a man who gives a sheen
of class to an otherwise unspectacular team (no harm in having a talisman;
apparent Real can’t buy a win since Ronaldo was injured, and they are a team
extremely fond of buying). What alarms me is that with a squad as expensively
assembled as ours you would hope that these absences would detract from the
team rather than pull it apart completely. It was much more palatable when a
few injuries resulted in David Kerslake or Stuart Nethercott staring in a
depressingly unconvincing defeat. But when the Spurs bench is the most
expensive real estate in Haringey it’s hard to stomach. We have more dead wood than the
average bog. Alan Hutton; fair enough he didn’t
buy himself for nine million, but when you spend that sort of money on a full
back you really anticipate some special things. Is it unreasonable that
defending was one of them? Gareth Bale; I actually like
Gareth and while he can’t be let anywhere near the defence and the
responsibilities that come with it, I would like to see him given a few run
outs as a left winger. But he’s endemic of a Spurs problem. If he were at
United or Arsenal he would be a teen idol maturing nicely into a full on
superstar. At Spurs he’s talked about like a friend who recently suffered a
sensitive illness (‘how did Gareth play?’ ‘He played well. Considering’
‘Bless’). Dos Pavyluchenko; I don’t understand
the patience granted to him from otherwise fickle fans (not a stab at Spurs
supporters but football crowds in general. Compared to some we’re actually
quite patient). He doesn’t play well, he looks bored when he does, and to
back up his lack of performances is an agent who makes veiled treats in the
press every three weeks or so. Is it incomprehensible his client would state
his case by, I don’t know, playing the sort of football that would legitimise
his lobbying for first team action. The ultimate Carlos Kickaballski in my
humble opinion. David Bentley; we paid well over
the odds and I think everyone deep down had a bad feeling. He was the
archetype custard pie faith likes to fling at Spurs fans. What’s this? A
player casually jettisoned by Arsenal only for him to become a national hero
for their arch rivals? No actually, turns out they were right all along. A
couple of years running club nights in the Balearics and wrapping the odd
Porsche around a lamppost before being flogged to Everton for an undisclosed
figure. Because no wants to disclose we recouped a half a dozen footballs and
three fluorescent bibs from our original outlay of fifteen million. Jermaine Jenas; the ‘Where’s
Wally’ of Tottenham. I still haven’t found him. Tom Huddlestone; the only player I
truly hate (as a player. I’m not the sort to start yelling, or believing, a
footballer is a c*nt because of inadequate performances. Though it is hard,
and in many cases I’m sure I’d be proved right if I did). He defines the soft
underbelly, pretty passes when comfortable, anonymous when up against it,
he’ll come good eventually, dross forgiven for some flimsy flash, that has
held Tottenham Hotspur back for decades. I really see Tom being one of those
players whose undoubted skills one manager after another invests faith in
before conceding he’s a lazy sod. You know the sort, might go from Spurs to
Villa, start well there, everyone says ‘why did we sell him?’ then he fades
away and is eventually sold to Fulham, where he starts well and Villa fans
say ‘why did we sell him?’ and then he fades away again and is sold to Stoke,
where he starts well…repeat until he’s in his mid thirties. Robbie Keane; I’m a big fan of
Robbie who at once forgave him for his lost weekend up North. But my patience
is waning now. Though not scoring much, his form at the start of the season
was perhaps the best I’ve seen from him, producing genuinely visceral
midfield performances. Since then he’s reverted back to being a striker. And
a bloody poor one at that. He currently looks like a youth player failing to
grasp the tempo of top level football and not really looking like he’s going
to make it. Something must give. The entire defence; as Martin
O’Neil proved with Richard Dunne and some fella from West Ham no one had
heard of, decent players playing together week in week out make a better
defence than great players on rotation. Strong decisions needed. Sorry if I went on a bit there. To bend the knee back into place I will
finish on this note. The Spurs team I saw at the start of this season were
the best I have ever seen. But that’s not difficult considering the insulting
rubbish we have been exposed to over the years. The bad smell still lingers.
It’s going to take Harry some time to air it out. 22nd Sept 2009 - Don’t Know What You’ve Got Till Its Gone Does anyone remember Unlucky Alf
from the Fast Show? Poor old Alf would begin every scene waiting for his
inevitable bad luck to come in. But then when nothing ill occurred he would
briefly be lulled into a false sense of security, managing a nervous smile,
almost bemused to have experienced no poor fortune. And then a signpost would
drop on his head. Or a cat would knaw his crotch. Or a freak gust would blow
him into a hole. Or the roof would fall in on top of him. ‘Bugger’ would be
his conclusion. There are teams I hate worse than
Manchester Utd, but there is no one I hate losing to more. This is partly
because we never beat them ever. It’s partly as well because they still have
a hex over us. In recent seasons we’ve gone someway towards making a dent in
our woeful records against the rest of the big four, and turned out some
positive performances to boot, but at the mere sight of a Utd shirt and we
revert to the pluckless wanderers of the Sugar years. Another reason though is that it
is hard to shirk the feeling you are losing to a media entity. In Britain and
Ireland certainly, very possibly in all Europe, and perhaps even in all
Western society, no sporting institution has had so many players that have
crossed over to become mainstream media stars, be it Sharpe, Keane, Cantona,
Rooney or Ronaldo. Beckham of course is peerless and Alex Ferguson himself
feels like the They played us off the park too.
Some have correctly cited that the officiating was less than impartial but in
truth we could have had the referee from ‘Escape to Freedom’ on our side and
it wouldn’t have made all that much of a difference. Sad to say, but at our
place with a man up and it still felt as though had they been bothered they
could have notched a couple more and made a comprehensive defeat a
humiliating one. Only Assou Ekotto seemed in control, the rest was an
assembly of below par or poor performances. Some players can give valid
excuses; Keane likes to wander out left but not remain there and he never
adapted to being out of position; his easy nullification left Lennon as the
only creative outlet and as such he was easily marked out of the game; Crouch
looked clumsy but in reality his unique gait gave a farcical appearance to
what would otherwise be considered a fairly standard performance for a
forward having hopeful balls lobbed listlessly at him; the static displays
around him opened none of the cracks that Defoe needs so few of to be deadly.
Palacios, despite being jetlagged, looked like the little boy with his finger
in dyke, all alone against the looming currents. Which brings us to Huddlestone. We
needn’t rehash the old debate as to whether he is a genius stroker of the
ball on the verge of blossoming or a light weight luxury only a competitive
opponent away from exposure. Those such as myself who argue the latter will
feel a certain disappointment at being handed additional weight to our
claims; it’s always nice to proved wrong on such matters. Hutton too was
poor. Though not at sixes and sevens he is becoming liable to one crucial
error per game and much like Bale and Tactically Harry probably got it
wrong and acknowledged as much after. Keane out wide was an experiment that
would not be repeated. But then how tactically right can any manager be in
resolving a problem such as losing Luka Modric. Perhaps it is because he was
a slow starter and a gradual improver; perhaps it is because his game is
subtle rather than spectacular; perhaps it is because he has yet to have the
headline making moment that would officially declare him amongst Premiership
elite; but I have chronically underrated the man. In a Paul Daniels’ style
‘now you see it now you don’t’ moment, only after his injury did it became
apparent to me what we have lost. Expecting, as I have done of late,
to be treated to some Michelin Star Spurs, I was rather less than pleased to
find the helpings to be more of the Little Chef variety. Defoe can be lethal,
Lennon on form is relentless while Palacios and Keane are passionate and
resourceful. But Modric has that something else. It’s there in his movement,
his vision, his passing; his class. Watching Robbie cringe in confusion as
the game passed him by it became apparent how Modric has made an art of
influencing a game from the left without overtly sacrificing width. Watching
Huddlestone knock the ball forward because he was in the opposition’s half
and it seemed like the logical thing to do made me miss the purposeful
intelligence that Luka graces us with. Redknapp commented when the injury
occurred that it was like When he does come back hopefully
we can improve along with him but with his current exponential rate of
development it seems unlikely. As mentioned the headline making appearance
has yet to materialise but this is only a matter of time for a player of his
abilities. When it does expect the media incredulity that such a player
should ply his trade at Tottenham and their subsequent demands we guarantee
his passage to Old Trafford. I was going to leave the final
word to Dear Mr Levy who downplayed some of the overreaction (verging on existential
crisis) that accompanied the defeat; ‘Spurs lose, deal with it.’ I think instead though I’ll go
with Unlucky Alf. Bugger. 26th August 2009 - The Barefaced Audacity of Hope I think everybody has at some
point known at least one person who drops the words ‘no offence but’ into a
sentence and then proceeds to say something completely offensive (‘I’ve just
met your wife…no offence but…I presume it’s one of those convenience
marriages I keep reading about? No? Oh really? I see, I see’). It’s with no
little regret that I admit to been his only slightly less despised first
cousin, the one who says ‘I’m not being negative but…’ And is then
completely, utterly, sappingly negative. So, without further a due; I am
not being negative but I think it is time to open a window and take a deep
breath. Success to a Spurs fan is like female flesh to a Victorian gentleman;
we need only see an inch of an extremity and we become red in the face,
teetering between ecstasy and guilt as long suppressed emotions come pouring
light headedly out. How do I deal with this plight? I do what any proper sort
should do; try to pretend nothing has happened and find comfort in making
underhanded criticisms. And, regardless of everything, I
do have criticisms. We have won three, but only truly bossed the I look forward to Woodgate
returning. Despite deserved praise for the quickly settled Bassong and the
medical miracle that is Ledley King, our defence has yet to achieve the
satisfyingly boring composure of last season. There is just a little too much
action back there with last ditch tackles, pivotal headers and balletic
blocks. Huddlestone has been praised for
his contributions but I am still unconvinced. A great passer yes but he still
seems an anomaly, or a weak link if I’m to be cruel, in a team that is
increasingly characterised by the grit ‘n’ glamour players Modric, Defoe,
Keane, Lennon and Palacios. Those who say he seems to have added aggression
and drive to his game are correct, but by his own standards rather than those
of Palacios, or even, say, Lennon. But there’s the rub. In my VoxPop
I reminisced to a time when it seemed one or two players could really make a
difference. Creeping in, without anyone noticing, that time seems to have
returned. Like the Victorian gentleman behind a carefully locked closed door,
I remove my stiff upper lip and, against everything I stand for, can think of
nothing but the hint of titillation I’ve been exposed to. And there has been a
lot to salivate over. Defoe has raised his game a level and currently looks
one of those rare strikers who, if given any chance whatsoever, will score.
People should no longer question whether he and Keane can play together
upfront because in reality, and regardless of how BBC graphics present the
line-up, they don’t. This season Keane
has been sitting so deep he surely must be considered an attacking
midfielder, with far more in common with Fabregas or Gerrard than Owen or
Anelka. Those who acknowledge this adjustment agree Robbie played some of his
best stuff against Liverpool and Another player I feel
slightly misunderstood is Wilson Palacios. Alongside Keane he is the
heartbeat of the team, constantly moving, tackling, finding space, covering
back, offering a constant channel between defence and attack. But he is not a
defensive midfielder (though he still shields more than his predecessor
Zokora who in theory was one). It is the intelligence and intensity of these
two players coupled with the brimming quality of those they are feeding which
has so far defined this side and this season. I have repeatedly stated the
hope Modric would be played centrally but having seen this team come together
I now totally retract this. Rather, like a spoilt child, I now want a
defensive midfielder, the uncomplicated Makelele inspired sort, who will
release Palacios, release Keane, release Modric and Lennon, and let them do
as they will. But this is a minor
and immature quibble. What truly matters and what cannot be bought or sold,
loaned in or traded, is belief. I have never seen it before. Not at Spurs.
But belief, or something awfully like it, appeared to be there against
Liverpool when they equalised and, ignoring our cue to hand them the game, we
simply pressed on; against Hull when we resisted a trade mark capitulation at
2- 1; and above all against West Ham when, after equalizing, we had the
audacity to chase a win when surely being happy with our lot was the proper
order. Maybe it is a false dawn, and we will lie down as Perhaps,
on reflection, I do want to be negative. It’s safe, you never look like a
fool and keeping your distance you can never be hurt when it comes crashing
down. Yes, I would prefer to be negative. It’s just quite difficult at the
moment. 13th August 2009 - Stop Me If You’ve
Heard This One Before There seems a minimalist approach at White Hart Lane this summer, almost as if apologetic for the bombast of the past; it’s like the soft acoustic introspective album a stadium rock band releases when their last one flopped. Selling Bent
and Zokora went someway towards exorcising the ghost of big money mistakes
past. Twittering aside both seemed nice sorts but for me they represent,
alongside perhaps Kaboul, our worst signings since the Premiership began
(without actually being all that bad). There were worse footballers, (far,
far worse) but they came during a very small window in our recent history
when finding the right player could truly have made a difference. Though only
two years past that seems like an eon ago now and the new benchmark is Villa
or Everton rather than But by and
large I’m quite happy with this transfer window. There’s been no aimless
glamour signing (unless you count Abi Clancey) and no one has been bought for
exuberant money simply because they are young and English. There were of
course some of our old habits; we signed two young players, Naughton and
Walker, seemingly so no one else could. Funnily enough both were right backs,
another commodity we simply can’t appear to get enough of (although being
fair three of the current four are as much utility players). We even signed a
young foreign defender no one really knows all that much about, (despite, or
perhaps because of, playing for And still we refuse to sign a left winger and I’m quite confident Modric will start there now (though I would rather him centre midfield a previous comment that would we should play him in the middle or sell him is the only thing I’ve written on Topspurs that makes me feel a bit ,well, silly). A midfielder, whether it be left or centre, is the still the prerogative as far as I’m concerned. O’Hara is not the part, not yet anyhow, Jenas is a classic ‘jack of all trades, master of none’, while Huddlestone I can only see as an impact player, used to pick holes in tired or disorderly opposition (for all the criticism of Jenas, his worst is considerably better than that of Tom’s, who, when confronted with even only average but organised opposition such as, say, Fulham, carries the helpless look of a schoolboy sitting an exam he never opened a book for). Whether the like of Parrett, Bostock or Taarabt are ready for such a role is really only speculation. At the same time, while trying not to contradict myself, I think the success of the season lies with the central defence. The midfield (and forwards) are relatively known quantities, their strengths and weaknesses are apparent. But the defence could perhaps go either way. It is easier to imagine Dawson and Bassong having to put in a combined 60+ league games than it is King and Woodgate playing a similar number. With the marshalling of the later, the like of Corluka, Hutton, Ekotto and Gomes could combine stingily whereas the uncertainty of the younger players could spread malignantly. But then there’s a possibility Dawson or Bassong, or both, could be a revelation, or even just quite good, as last season hinted. I don’t think we will come anywhere near the desolation of last season, nor do I think we will approach the giddy possibilities of the Jol years. At worst it will be the sort of expensive wavering mediocrity endured by Man City fans last season, at best it will be the eurphoicless high of Everton’s distant fifth. My prediction; between fifth and tenth depending on our centre backs and also whether another midfield, new or existing, steps up to the plate and fills the hole in between Lennon, Palacios and Modric. Between our four forwards some winning combination should be found but I imagine at least one will quickly find himself frozen out and deteriorating. A cup run may be likely, seeing as we have no grey European obligations to worry about, but I could imagine a lot of clubs having the same ambition seeing as there will be perhaps more good mid-table teams looking for something realistic to win than there has been in many years. And my saddest predictions of all, Chelsea to win the league while the good old ‘Big 4’ huddle together for one last season before Arsenal’s eviction. 4th June 2009 - The Cynic’s Guide to Surviving the Summer As with Jim, probably my last
piece until August when I’ll be posting a prediction that we should finish
somewhere between fifth and seventh even though I’m not entirely enamoured
with the signings. During these months the internet
becomes a bit insufferable for the tabloid rot, rot which within hours of
being made up down the Dog & Oak is regurgitated all over the web. I’m
sure clubs tolerate it, if not actively encourage it; being linked to Samuel
Eto or David Villa does little harm, except, that is, to the fans who are
left with Kevin Prince Boateng. What has pushed the phenomenon
from irritating to plain daft is the wide eyed eagerness of many fan sites to
join in the fun. No sooner has the
Daily Load of Old Trousers declared that we are ‘linked with’, say, Van der Vaart (in ‘what would be’ a sensational
masterstroke nonetheless) than a fifteen hundred word article will appear on
NewsNow analysing his ability to play in the Premiership, questioning how he
would line up with Modric, his expected gaol tally, before finally finishing
up by congratulating Harry on the coup. You also get the Championship
Managers coming out from the woodwork, interested again now the inconvenience
of the actual football season is out of the way (that’s not written smarmily
– its an inconvenience for me too).
They come in all sorts. For instance you have the Wish
Listers, who propose a squad with eight or nine international class additions
with tactical outlines of how they will play (“Bastos can then switch with
Muntari during attacking play, feeding the ball to Chamakh. Alternatively
Aiden McGeady or Cissoko or Another worth a mention are the
youth vote who declare without hesitation that it is time for Taarabt,
Bosock, Parrett, Mason, Rose, Obika and friends to take their place in the
team. This is a very noble cause but the truth is the number of fans who are
so involved they regularly attend academy and reserve matches, and as such
have some insight into a young player’s development, can be measured in the
hundreds while it is likely only a portion of these people again express
their view in blogs and suchlike. As such it hard to totally dispel the
suspicion there is absolutely no weight in these opinions. For instance I
consider myself a quite up to date supporter but honestly I have no idea how
a player such as Bostock is developing. He might be completely off the rails
for all I know. There is rarely a straight safe road between potential and
its realisation. To be totally cynical I expect most the players mentioned,
if not all, to go the Spurs way sooner or later; a quiet note on the website,
thanking them for their few token first team minutes. The club seems to view
young players, funnily enough, as antiques. Buy them before anyone else
realises their value, store them away safely for a few years and hope their
price soars. To be thrown in the neighbours skip on the sly if it doesn’t. But my favourite are the ‘player
like’ crowd. Every summer articles are uploaded, blogs posted and message
boards crammed with the view we should sign a ‘player like such.’ The player
‘to be like’ in question will doubtless be of the vintage somewhere between
confirmed great and possible legend. For example, ever since Jenas has played
for Spurs there have been calls that he is not good enough and we should
instead sign “a player like Gerrard, Lampard or Essien”. I guarantee that you
will be able to read this line, or something similar (“we need a player more
like Rooney upfront and a player like Terry to replace King”) on every other
Spurs site any day now. It’s as though Gerrard, Rooney, Terry and their ilk
are merely brand name products and there are plenty of equally good buys to
be had if we go for a generic brand. Unfortunately this is not true; they are
they best players in the world, thus they are few and far between and almost
universally play for the best clubs in the world which means every other club
is looking for the sparse few who have temporarily fallen under the radar. I
imagine the ‘player like’ fans are those who are caught somewhere between
ambition and realism, aware it is impossible we will sign Frank Ribery but
finding it too depressing to accept Stewart Downing. My own aspirations? As stated
repeatedly and miserably I don’t think it matters all that much. We could
spend our way into bankruptcy from transfer deals or turn a tidy profit and
still we would have roughly the same outcome. We are competing against a
closed shop. Still I would like to see a top forward bought, one who can find
it in him to score a second goal against I would just like to finish this
season by apologising should there be anyone reading who goes under the
pseudonym Yids4Eva or NewFoundLandSpur. These names where randomly contrived
and I have never read an article by either on the topic of transfer
speculation, though I am sure if there were such pieces they would be very
insightful and well written. Here’s to a June and July of not caring!
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Disclaimer:
Please note the words on this page are the opinion of the topspurs columnist and
are just that, opinions, not facts and are nothing to do with Tottenham
Hotspur Football club PLC. Just a supporter having his say nothing more
nothing less. Any commentary on betting is meant for discussion purposes only
and does not constitute any form of advice or recommendation. |