Coming into this game we were on the back of a three game winning streak in the league including a traditional glory night in Europe courtesy of a very mediocre AC Milan but take nothing from it, our victory was well deserved. Now back on more familiar…actually not so familiar because most Spurtans may recall that we hadn’t played Blackpool away since our FA Cup meeting back in 1991 (we won 1-0).
The winning run was bought to an end at Bloomfield Road as two first half goals and a third 10 minutes from time saw the three points deposited in Blackpool’s Premier League account.
After being caught out twice in the opening 45 minutes, the team went all-out attack in the second with the introduction of Jermaine Jenas and later Niko Kranjcar and how our ‘goals for’ from this encounter remained at just one is one to ponder. A combination of resolute defending, inspired goalkeeping and a few wasteful finishes goes some way towards explaining.
The goal by Pavlyuchenko although overshadowed by the loss was straight out of the top drawer and a possible contender for goal of the season. No matter, we have ten days before our next fixture at Wolves and knowing Spurs, we will win that one and maybe in the process get back a few of our injured personnel which includes Redknapps ego. Spurtans rule!
Normal service resumed. Courtesy of All Action no Plot
Come now, really – did anyone in their wildest dreams expect that? Really? That was not just a victory away to AC Milan, it was an absolute ruddy masterclass in the much-vaunted but rarely achieved art of Navigating Fiendishly Difficult Away Legs in the Champions League. Novices? Fie upon the very suggestion. Our lot look like they were born to play in this competition.
First whistle to last our heroes stuck to the drill with a discipline that had me reaching for the whisky in disbelief. Like some super-computer sucking up knowledge at a rate of knots, ‘Arry demonstrated that the lessons of San Siro visits past have been learned, the days of “Just f*ckin’ run about” a distant memory as he adopted the most unlikely role, for one night at least, of tactical genius. Accordingly, our heroes carefully put to one side the gung-ho all-action approach they have spent the past couple of years perfecting, and instead donned monocles and mortar boards for a display of quite astounding maturity and bloody-mindedness. Witness Woodgate, not a cobweb in sight, clearing from a prone position on the floor in the final seconds; Modders orchestrating keep-ball in the dying stages; Corluka bearing a blood-stained ice-pack around his mangled foot; all of which left the Milanese stomping around with angrier and angrier scowls, like over-sized nursery kids, until one felt they might tear off their own limbs and beat each other with them, which admittedly very few nursery kids do these days.
Roll of Honour
Ah the good folk of Tottenham Hotspur FC. Heroes the ruddy lot of them. Sandro and Sergeant Wilson charged around to the strains of 90s one-hit techno wonder Kicks Like A Mule, stomping up to Milanese attacking types and positively screeching into their faces “Your name’s not down, you’re not coming in!” Not only did those two patrol the centre like Robocop and his less frivolous twin brother, but they also showed quite remarkable discipline in restraining themselves from diving in at any point, and avoiding the concession of too many unnecessary fouls.
For his next trick Gomes will presumably travel through time and reappear two days ago, but at the San Siro he settled simply for defying the laws of physics, those two second half saves worthy of Banks and tantamount to goals.
VDV’s every touch was a thing of beauty, the very antithesis of the Neanderthalic buffoon in the opposite ranks, for whom the ball was but a secondary detail. Too easy it is to forget VDV’s disguised chip that floated an inch wide while just about everyone in the stadium and the watching world was looking towards the far post area into which most mortals would have aimed a cross.
Lennon’s destruction of the left-back was almost inhumane (although not in a Matthieu Flamini sort of way), while out on the left the remarkably similar-looking BAE and Pienaar beavered back and forth indefatigably.
The back-four barely put a foot wrong, Daws looking every inch an international, and when all-out assault forced the reshuffle Woodgate slotted in with minimal fuss, and the drill was resumed. The other substitutes did precisely what every good wholesome substitute ought to do, Modric lovingly stroking the thing around for the final ten minutes and Kranjcar poking little triangles, as the enraged Italians looked for something, anything, to kick.
The Goal
Certain celluloid moments stick in the mind. The T-Rex scene in Jurassic Park; the moment inDie Hard 4 when Bruce Willis and the shaggy haired kid face a car flying through the air at them before two other cars crash into it to prevent it landing atop them; the shootout in Reservoir Dogs… To this pantheon of greats should be added the sight of Aaron Lennon leading a Tottenham counter-attack, legs a spinning blur, great big swathes of green ahead of him, a terrified defender back-pedalling with a look etched across his visage suggesting that at that very moment he would rather be anywhere else. Wonderful stuff, and while all sorts of wrong options were feasible, the little fella kept his head and played it to perfection – the pace, the shoulder-dip, the disguised pass.
And the finish. Good grief for one horrible moment it looked like Crouch’s legs had assumed minds of their own and were about to sabotage the blighter’s moment, but he avoided tripping over himself in an unholy tangle of limbs – just – and the day was ours.
(Epilogue)
And then it got better. Lest any further evidence be needed that his shaggy mane hides only a great big vacuum between his ears, Gattuso then ignored the likes of resident lightweights such as Pav, Modders and Gomes, and made a beeline for one J. Jordan Esquire. “Nobody wants to see that,” droned Stelling on Sky Sports, rather missing a trick, for Jordan vs Gattuso would be one of the fastest-selling pay-per-view events in television history, even if it would only be a matter of seconds before Jordan tore the little man apart with his bare hands and then chewed on him with what teeth he has left.
(Second Epilogue)
And then it got better still, when all-round good egg and renowned gentleman of the game, Graeme Souness, was swamped within his own bile during the post-match natter and spat out a description of Gattuso as “just a little dog”. Ooh, you could almost reach and touch the hatred.
One or two colleagues have pointed out that the tie is far from over and other such guff, only to be confronted by that most wonderful riposte, The Grin of Delight. Frankly, right now, I don’t care what happens tomorrow, next week or any time hence. After the turgid dross and embarrassment of the 90s and 00s, the last 18 months have provided enough lilywhite glory nights to last me a lifetime. AC Milan 0 – 1 Spurs. Ding dong.
How surreal. If there were a worry prior to kick-off it was that following the euphoria of Saturday our heroes might be a little too complacent, and simply stroll through this one. And in truth, they were indeed a tad complacent and most certainly did stroll through – yet it was of little consequence. Can anyone remember a match of such magnitude being so mind-bogglingly easy for Spurs? To see Spurs cruising through in such untroubled fashion was almost ineffably peculiar, and the attitude of the Germans simply added to the confusion. Only if the heavens had opened and the players been soaked to the skin could Bremen have looked more forlorn and less motivated.
There have not been too many occasions on which I have lamented the fact that Jenas has been forced to depart early, yet he has been in relatively steady form in recent weeks and made an eye-catchingly positive start last night, so I rather felt for the chap when he limped off. Moreover, with Hudd off radar for a few months we can ill-afford to lose another central midfielder for any length of time.
That said, this was one of the best days Sergeant Wilson has had in months. Every tackle seemed perfectly-executed, and (almost) every pass distributed simply and accurately. Further curiosity was to be had in the serenading of William Gallas as he effortlessly outmuscled the German mob. In so many respect things are a-changing at the Lane these days.
There was wonderful stuff from Modders, and not only because he found time to try out his Van der Vaart impression in front of goal (and to good effect too). If he missed his regular chums, Hudd and VDV, he gave no indication of it, merrily collecting the ball from defence, slaloming around challenges at will, picking out team-mates. That said, it was the usual scintillating stuff from young Master Bale, who added a Cruyff-turn to his super-human repertoire. Personally I am convinced that he was actually aiming for the cross-bar with that second-half free-kick, for the very best players set themselves those sorts of challenges, and as for the penalty…like forearm tattoos and the pre-match huddle, missing from the spot is just a trend amongst the current crop of heroes in lilywhite..
All things considered however this was probably as serene a Tottenham victory as I can remember. It may not prove the most thrilling but it is probably worth simply for the variety of features thrown in – a clean sheet, a sprightly Aaron Lennon, a Kranjcar cameo and, taken in its entirety, a Tottenham performance that was just about the epitome of professionalism. Admittedly Bremen were woeful, but we threw away a two-goal lead against them before, and conceding at any point until we scored our third (the 80th minute) would have made for a nervy finish. Instead we were dominant and efficient from start to finish – I frankly cannot remember the last time I ever saw that from Spurs.
Fully aware that we had failed to win away at the top four since the last Ice Age, ‘Arry ordered our heroes to adopt The Comeback Approach that has served us fairly well on a couple of occasions this season on our travels in the Champions League. Accordingly, our lot just did not bother in the first half when things began at 0-0, instead opting for the challenge of overturning a multi-goal second half deficit, against a ticking clock and away from home, because it’s just much more fun that way. With the second half comeback in mind, the central midfield of Jenas and Modric diligently avoided doing anything that might be interpreted as gaining a semblance of control of the game in its opening 45 minutes, and also surreptitiously made their excuses whenever the back-four needed help in that lamentable first half.
All of which set things up nicely for the latest chapter in the ongoing 4-4-2 vs 4-5-1 debate. How easy it is to forget how at the start of the season ‘Arry was derided for the gung-ho 4-4-2 away to Young Boys. No two ways about it, on Saturday the half-time switch to 4-4-2 helped to prompt the about-turn. Amidst all the excitement and nerves, from my lofty perch I must confess that I rather ignored some of the subtler tactical nuances of the game, and opted instead for the more Neanderthalic approach of screaming and cursing at the TV. Nevertheless, on reflection it did seem that the addition of Defoe made the world of difference, not least by giving the Arsenal back-four reason to break sweat; while our 4-4-2 featured a distinctly narrow midfield four, which mightily effectively nullified the other lot.
Van Der Vaart
VDV remains convinced that the boundaries of the pitch are marked by electric fences rather than white paint, and consequently spent his time as a right-winger ploughing straight up and down the centre of the pitch – but given that he created/scored all three of our goals, I think he earned the right to sit down on the centre-spot and smoke Amsterdam’s finest for the rest of the game if that is what he wanted. His technical mastery and love of the game was epitomised in his assist for the first goal, when I’m pretty sure he actually kissed the ball as it dropped from the sky, before letting it roll down his chest and flicking on to Bale.
Bale
A propos Bale, the slick manner in which he collected the ball without breaking stride was worth a goal in itself, at least in terms of downright awesomeness. As luck would have it, the equally slick manner in which he then flicked the ball past Fabianski was worth a goal in the more commonly-recognised literal manner. Aside from the magnitude of the occasion, in terms of pure quality, it was a cracking little effort – as most of his goals tend to be.
Gallas
However, while VDV and Bale did the glamorous stuff, the hero of the hour and a half was back at the other end of the pitch. In recent weeks on this very corner of the interweb the commitment of Gallas to the lilywhite cause has been under great scrutiny, with suspicion rife that while picking up his pay-cheque from Daniel Levy he still packs his sandwiches in an Arsenal lunch-box. Yesterday however, Gallas turned in the performance of a man possessed by the spirit of an indomitable blue and white cockerel. In the first half in particular, while his lilywhite chums fell over themselves to let Arsenal do whatever they jolly well pleased, Gallas shook a clenched fist and did his damnedest to keep those rotters at bay, with all manner of crunching tackles.
Some Words on Our Vanquished Opponents
We tend not usually to bother with the opposition around these parts – ‘tis a Spurs blog after all – but having watched the game in the company of a couple of gooner chums the sweet smell of Victory has been wafting through the corridors all weekend. Sometimes a memorable win is marked by a performance practically perfect in ever way. This time however, I’m happy to accept that we were awful in the first half, and hardly vintage Tottenham Hotspur in the second. It was not so much a game that had me beating my chest with pride as crying with laughter come the final whistle, for the glory glory of this occasion was to be found in the quite magnificent manner in which Arsenal imploded. Within spitting distance of the top of the table they completely lost the plot, with their handshakes and handballs and whatnot. To nab game, set and match, from two-nil down, and on their own patch – it was just too much fun.
While our heroes no doubt charged off to celebrate, ‘Arry ensured that everyone associated with the club kept their feet on the ground by talking up our title prospects. It is possible for sure, mathematically and all that, but do not go grab your latest pay-cheque and charge down to the bookmakers just yet.
As with Saturday’s win, success this season seems likely to be aided as much by the shortcomings of others as by our own good work. One startling feature of this campaign has been the fact that every five minutes one of the genuine title-challengers is losing to a non-descript team from somewhere in that grey mid-table area. One or two good wins by any of the top five and over-excited types start making breathless noises about winning the title – which is actually a Man City reference. Opportunity certainly knocks for someone or other, and for all our dropped points against Wigan and West Ham, another top four finish remains very much within our grasp.
Still, even if the season ends in the ignominy of failure to win the Premiership, we have already ticked off more boxes than I would have dreamed possible a few months back. Wins at home to Arsenal and Chelsea last year; and sealing our top-four spot; and beating Young Boys; and beating Inter; and beating Arsenal on their own pitch – in isolation all of these are just commemorative DVDs, but add them together and our heroes are trundling along in the right direction, make no mistake.
Having ended an unenviable streak against our rivals at the close of last season, Spurs look to be somewhat confident ahead of the first league encounter of the North London derby. However, with a long injury list with the likes of Daws, Hudd, King, Keane and lonterm absentee Woodgate, Arsenal may be the stronger side atleast on paper. Spurs will be energized by news that Jermaine Defoe is back in training and that our flying winger, Aaron Lennon could also feature.
I may just pop from the sheer excitement of it all. Prior to a trip to a slightly below-par Man Utd I could not for the life of me envisage a three-point haul; and yet ahead of the visit of European Champs Inter I bound around in gaily optimism and this proved to be one of the most famous nights in our history.
Another five minutes and goodness how things would have panned out back in Milan. The Bale hat-trick certainly papered over a few defensive cracks and general all-round timidity, but we at least had conclusive proof that Inter are vulnerable. As Arnold Schwarzenegger so sagely opined in Predator, “If it bleeds, we can kill it.”
I was crestfallen when Vaart hobbled off at the weekend, and the prospect loomed of taking on Inter with a midfield bereft of both him and Huddlestone; a midfield which would therefore presumably comprise Jenas and Palacios, with Modric in the hole. Joy then that Vaart is actually a bit of a drama queen when it comes to niggles and strains. It seems that the suspected hamstrung twang was no such thing, and with Huddlestone back were be able to field a midfield high on technique and vision. Bale-Modric-VDV-Huddlestone-Lennon did not exactly offer the back-four much protection, but meant for some high-tempo madcap attacking from the off.
As ever with Redknapp, the tactics were simple and clear. The team were set out 4-4-1-1 with Van der Vaart and Modric given relative freedom and both wingers, Bale and Lennon, told to isolate the Inter full backs.
It was a thrillingly effective ploy as Spurs again and again exposed Inter down the flanks, with Bale again having a storming game and both Tom Huddlestone and Luka Modric showing their aptitude for Champions League football by retaining the ball intelligently. Luka Modric was the creator of the first goal with a clever sleight of foot on the edge of the area before playing in Van der Vaart, who emphatically beat Inter keeper Luca Castellazzi with a low drive.
For such a good player Maicon was shocking, utterly dominated by Bale. The young Welshman had produced a performance of the very highest calibre in the first tie and Inter once again had to bow to his burgeoning talent when he set up the second goal Spurs deserved just after the hour. He simply ran the right side of Inter’s rearguard into the ground before playing in Crouch, who made no mistake this time as he slid in six yards out.
Eto’o was a constant threat, and he suddenly injected real tension with a fine goal, struck past Cudicini from an angle after he dummied Hutton. Bale was in no mood to let the win slip away though, and in a moment that characterised his display, Younes Kaboul broke up play on the edge of our box and fed Gareth midway in our half. He charged forward, pushed the ball past Lucio and raced onto it before squaring for Roman Pavlyuchenko to tap home the clincher. Billed as a key battle before the game, it was simply a no contest as Gareth blasted past Maicon – voted best defender in the Champions League last season – time and time again.
Three points against the holders, top of the group and a display of the highest quality. Never mind a DVD, this will be turned into a surround-sound, home cinema, 3-D, HD, blu-ray.
In the first half in particular Modric and Vaart were afforded more space than was entirely wise by the United mob, who came within a post’s width of paying, but life became a darned sight trickier in the second as United tightened up. The disappointing truth is that when we needed to increase our urgency levels we were simply unable to, and while we defended well enough on the whole it is difficult to remember our forward line ever actually penetrating the sacred environs of the United penalty area. The deployment of Vaart in a 4-5-1 certainly gives our midfield a healthy glow, but brings with it the problem of a lack of presence in attack, and it hardly a personal criticism of Robbie Keane to note that he is not the man for a 4-5-1. Lennon started fairly brightly, but diligently pinged his final ball straight into the first man in red time and time again, and retreated back into his shell thereafter. Out on the left Bale was shackled fairly effectively, although a frisson of excitement did work its magic occasionally. The counter-balance to any excitement engendered by Bale is the feeling somewhere in between apathy and rage generated by Jenas, who seemingly deployed in a holding role, was his usual fairly anonymous self.
Rather a shame that our lot collectively drifted off for the free-kick that brought about the opening goal, for that aside we traded blows fairly evenly which is no mean feat at Old Trafford. It was of course all overshadowed by the farce of the final few minutes, but for all the incredulity and expletives I would much rather we receive that sort of decision away to Man Utd, in a fixture from which we never really expect much anyway, than from a fixture against rivals for fourth spot. Whatever the conclusions, this moment, rather than the Clattenberg farce, was crucial..
A clash of the titans would be an understatement when it comes to this fixture. Although the hosts have registered more wins against their opponents in recent times, it could be argued that United have never faced a more stronger Spurs side and more so at a time when Alex Ferguson’s men are suffering from their worst run of form since before I care to remember. In light of scandals and injuries both of which have robbed them of their precious Rooney who, if you pay attention to most quarters, may not be missed. Chicharito, the little Mexican, is fast becoming a fan favourite among the Old Trafford faithful and with two goals at Stoke last weekend, in him, they possess an inform striker. Rooney however, has always been on hand to punish the defensive shortcomings of Tottenham in recent years and he would have relished the opportunity to exploit Harry Redknapp’s 18th different centre back pairing since the season started which has resulted in only two cleansheets so far. Tottenham export, Dimitar Berbatov is looking more and more mortal, a mere shadow of the class he once possessed and this will indeed please those who were sorry to see him leave.
In Van der Vaart, Spurs have finally found a Berbatov replacement, a player who has the ability to pick the option marked ‘Genius’ when lesser players would cave under the pressure. With Defoe and the entire defense still huddled up in the treatment room, Redknapp will be forced to play the same formation that he used in the Everton game employing a 4-5-1 approach. Gallas and Kaboul may again be called upon at the back with Hutton and Ekotto in support. Tom Huddlestone who missed out at Everton, should start in midfield supporting Modric and Van der Vaart, a combination which is sure to provide a brilliant passing game. Gareth Bale and Aaron Lennon are hitting the form of their lives and no doubt United fullbacks will be caving in their boots at the possibility. The lone structure of the gangly one, Peter Crouch should be seen at the front scaring the bejesus out of Vidic and Ferdinand.
All in all, United have been reenergized by the news that Wayne Rooney has committed himself to the club, at least for the time being and with home advantage and on the back of a good win at Stoke, they will be hard to break down. On the other hand, Tottenham will be looking to take all three points from possibly the weakest United side they have faced so far and end a history of dismal performances against the side from Manchester.
With four of our starting defensive options still huddled up in the treatment room, Harry Redknapp opted to make his 18th different central defensive pairing this season. The results of this gamble have been evident in the fact that Tottenham have only kept two cleansheets in all games played so far this season. Kaboul who just recovered from an injury was given the nod ahead of Bassong to pair William Gallas in defence following our recent midweek ‘great’ loss at Milan in the Champions league. Huddlestone was also missing from the llineup, perhaps recovering from fatigue after an almost forgettable trip to Italy and this meant that Palacios would make his first start for Spurs in the league this season. Harry opted for a 4-5-1 play with Modric and Vaart playing just behind the gangly one Crouch. Bale and Lennon would provide our width with Ekotto and Hutton in support.
At the outset, Redknapp’s tactics were clear, to concede as little as possible without being too overzealous in our attack thus allowing the possibility of a narrow win against an ever resurgent Everton, confident on the back of a derby victory against Liverpool. With no European committments, Everton looked the fitter side strengthened by the return of Piennar and Saha to the squad. The burly frame of Yakubu was given the nod in attack with Cahill in support no doubt with the clear aim of exploiting our defensive shortcomings.
White Hart Lane is always happy hunting ground for the hosts but the first few minutes of this exchange were dominated by the visitors but with Palacios’ prescence, there was no clear threat on Heurelho Gomes’ domain.
However, when it came time for Tottenham to attack, the visitors were clearly under constant threat from Lennon or Vaart at any point they had the ball at their feet. some vibrant attacking football at White Hart Lane.
The visitors took a 17th-minute lead against the run of play thanks to Leighton Baines’s brilliant free-kick.
But Spurs levelled three minutes later as Everton keeper Tim Howard flapped at a cross which Peter Crouch bundled back for Rafael Van der Vaart to crash home.
The hosts went for a winner but were unable to break Everton down in a second half which ended in frustration.
Ultimately, Spurs continued to enhance the reputation they are fast building as one of the most entertaining teams in the Premier League as their posse of creative midfielders lit up a riveting first half.
Having bossed games in recent weeks, a relatively mundane showing from Van der Vaart is often sprinkled with magnificence. And so it was that VDV’s quiet day at Fulham still brought about the game’s best piece of skill and a game-changing moment. One-on-one with the ‘keeper from 12 yards out, most mere mortals would have closed their eyes and thumped the thing towards the corner. VDV, naturally, instead took the option marked “Genius” with a chip so impertinent it ought not to have been legal. Pav was a touch shameless in celebrating the goal that was all of VDV’s making, but credit to the Russian for being on his toes while the Fulham defenders were standing around picking their noses.
Van der Vaart actually reminds me of Dimitar Berbatov. Not for his sulky, dastardly personality you realise, nor physical appearance nor playing position; but in terms of being an addition to the ranks who is so clearly head and shoulders above his peers. Not since the days of Berba have we had a player whose technique is simply a class above, a player who does the outrageously difficult and makes it seem like second-nature. The sort of things you or I occasionally tried (and failed) when no-one was watching. VDV, like Berba before him, instinctively does those things in the middle of a high-octance, competitive game, and makes them look easy. As with the goal against Twente, there was plenty of room for error.
The goal against Aston Villa was beautiful, awkward height, awkward angle, onrushing defender; but not a problem for a blinking football genius.
