Rooney (off-topic)

So, basically one of three things:

1) All this was a ploy orchestrated by Fergie and aided by Rooney to get more money and promises from the Glazers in relation to transfers etc

2) Rooney signs a contract meaning that if sold in Jan or the summer, United can now demand a massive fee, rather than losing him for nothing

3) Rooney held the club to ransom and got what he wanted. What a hero.

Let's look on the bright side. At least all the ridiculous stories linking us with him can be placed to bed once and for all so we can now concentrate on signing Rivaldo.

Inter 4 Spurs 3: Astonishing Bale (Part II)

Read Part I here.

Part II

Wasn't that long ago that the rumours told us that Bale was Birmingham/Forest bound. For about £3M. I'd rather have him bound to my bed, with me throwing rose petals over his lush bronzed body. I'm not that way inclined, I promise, but I'm willing to bestow this young Welsh stud with my undying love. Whether he wants it or not.

I heart you Gareth. We all do.

The baiting world expected more humiliation but the side attempted to reclaim some of that hurting pride. I wont dwell on other individuals. I'll let the gaffer re-watch and make notes and spit home truths in their faces in terms of lack of organisation and communication and leadership and other fundamentals. Eye of the tiger next time please. Okay, I'll say one word. Gallas. There, said it.

I'll also give a special mention to Jenas (J-E-N-A-S) and Lennon. JJ for improving in the second half, although that wasn't tricky considering his first half performance. Lennon for making things happen. Jenas was also instrumental in the goals. Ooh. Shocker. Hate on him if you dare. What's that? The first half? Oh yeah...sigh.

Keane, BAE, Captain Hudd, Hutton, Gallas, etc etc - is it worth commenting? Of course not. Mark them out of 10, between 2 and 5.

But it's all about the one man for me. But yes, well done to the collective for keeping a clean sheet as a unit, one that resembled a team, and never giving up in the quest for redemption.

Back to Bale.

1 - 50 yard storming run. He would have smashed through Gandalf had he been standing in the Inter penalty area with staff. Brilliant angled effort, tucked into the right-hand corner of the net.

2 - Practically identical to the first, same pulsating run into the box, same corner.

3 - Excellent run from the excellent Lennon, laying the ball off, arguably almost selling Bale short, and yet…smack, that same ruined abused corner, once more.

Pick'em out the back of the net Julio 'best keeper in the world' Cesar.

Okay, so the final two goals came in the final two minutes, but we've been here before haven't we? 4-3 is infinitely better than 4-0 or worse. It’s a 1-0 loss in terms of goal difference. With ten men, ffs. And qualification is not beyond the realms of impossibility, in fact, it’s in our hands.

Suddenly it's not so bad. Sure, we've glossed over problems what with Bale Bale Bale getting all the acclaim for such a determined, willing, simply refusing to roll over and die performance, but why not? We played into their hands and then we dug deep and clawed our way back into it. Another minute of injury time and Bale probably would have notched a fourth. He was that imperious to his surroundings.

Majestic, beastly, marauding, locomotive….Bale. He has completely turned his world and ours upside down. Who needs a striker when we've got this extraordinary machine?

Well actually, we could do with a striker. One that scores. Because if you add that to this team, get vdV back in there, stick with eleven men on the pitch and organise the defence to an advanced level of competency…ah, let's not tease. Let's just cross those fingers that this club of ours never fails to stop entertaining us. Even if it's the type of entertainment that involves Hannibal Lector removing parts of your brain and eating them in front of you.

4-3. Almost, but not quite. And not wholly acceptable but in terms of being able to show my face at work? Great.

Hat-trick. Away to Inter. Four goals and seven assists (correct me if my numbers are wrong) overall. And all this without King, Dawson, Defoe and van der Vaart. You could even throw Woodgate in there. And Modric didn’t play a part after the red card.

Some recovery.

This bi-polar club of ours with it's inherent twitches and panic attacks.

Rather than remain spanked, we learnt our lesson and reacted to it there and then. And thus avoided that potentially damaging hangover (although quite how we've been pencilled in for an early Saturday kick-off is beyond me).

It's an adventure. We're never going to win it and in terms of edge of seat football, we are making our mark in Europe. It's all very refreshing, so I'm told.

When the ps3 over-heated and I was unstrapped from my chair, I knew, deep down, that if we iron out the reoccurring problems and tweak mental strength along with backbone set-up (moon on a stick) - we are not far off. Not far off from more balanced and consistent swagger than the schizophrenic screams. Would also help in abundance if Hutton understood the concept of positioning.

Third best defensive record domestically, but much more is needed on this particular level to survive and bully our way to a respectable stature in this playground of giants. We don't do badly all things considering, what with our musical chairs at the back. But it's got to be tight(er) at the back. Chastity belt tight.

We have enough about us to avoid collapse in the manner we did, even though we've now experienced three variants of said collapse on our travels. Perhaps it is just a learning curve.

I'd say plenty of it is about intensity. It will come in time. Gritted leadership and intensity, it will come in the form of vdV. And hopefully some of our other players grow into brave and bold men who do not welcome fear. Having van der Vaart - a genuine world class player - is something we should embrace.

Roll on the return leg.

In the mean time, don't fret about the live brokering of Gareth by ITV who seemed obsessed with selling him on before their coverage ended.

He's not world class yet. He has world class performances in him. And United fans can pretend he's going to sign for them with the loose change they have left over from plucking Modric and vdV up to Old Trafford.

He's our left-wing. And let us rejoice in the fact that he should now never frequent the left-back position again.

Just enjoy it. This, this beautiful defeat. Not quite worthy of a dvd as a whole, but the hat-trick is more than worthy of countless repeated You Tube play-back.

My special chair is back in the basement. I'm cleansed, like clockwork. Not orange. Just lilywhite.

Two weeks before I strap myself back in.

Inter 4 Spurs 3: Mayhem in the Meazza (Part I)

Part I

Not sure where to begin. But I will endeavour.

I edited the game highlights into a condensed goals only package, with the four conceded and our second-half redemption. Then wirelessly streamed it from pc to TV via ps3. I proceeded to ask the missus to strap me into the specially made chair facing said television and then fit the contraption onto my face, forcing and pulling my eyelids back. Lights off, roll footage. Missus was happy. She went to bed.

The next eight hours was spent watching the 4-0 down, 4-3 finish in continuous loop whilst Chas'n'Dave played loudly in my ears.

It was the only way to cleanse my giddiness, for surely defeat should not make me feel this good? As I sat motionless in chair, wrists and ankles aching, it allowed me ample time to contemplate and consume the various intricacies of the game witnessed in the Stadio Giuseppe Meazza , some of which were hardly delicate and subtle but rather massive jackhammer body blows that would crush ribs do dust.

Spurs, once more, ripping up the script and replacing it with a demented David Lynch re-write. There is absolutely no doubting our ability, the teams ability, to take us through the mire and make us feel completely alive, bungee jumping off the edge of oblivion. This is Tottenham. Manic, ridiculous, expected and unexpected.

I made a comment pre-match on Twitter that the opening ten minutes would be most telling. I was expecting to base this on possession, movement, tenacity and other mundane run of the mill bread and butter ingredients. Instead I choked on a slice of football pie that was positively brimming with maggots and pubic hair.

In all honesty, why even eat the pie when you know it's only going to give you grief, picking out the pubic hair from your teeth, or translated into pure footballing terms; picking the ball out of the back of the net. The wrong net. Four times.

This was live on ITV (which made it doubly worse thanks to their contractual obligation to really drill home the horrific truths with continuous anti-Tottenham lol's, mostly unavoidable to be fair). Champions League proper, our first true test against a genuine giant. The reigning champions of course. And what do we do? We do exactly what the haters predicted/wanted us to do.

We pull a grenade out of our back pocket, remove the pin, then swallow the grenade, turning to the camera and playful winking.

"It's Tottenham Hotspur. What do you f**king expect? You want bland and boring, switch over to the United game"

Delightful entertainment for the neutrals and the haters. Abject misery for the rest of us.

Now I do appreciate that if you remove the rhetoric shared by the ilk of non-Spurs supporters who magically forget about various humiliations and lessons learnt by their own teams in debut and early years Champions League, and one particular result from as recent as last season where the then  reigning champions handed the nal it's arse back…you could almost hear the collective groan and head shaking of Lilywhites across the planet coming to terms with what was looking like the start of the mother of all decimations. Regardless of other lessons learnt, this one, the one that matters to us, was beyond the threshold for standard N17 regulated pain.

68 seconds. Might be a decent night for most overly eager young men, getting a tad excitable with the occasion at hand but this is not Switzerland. Or Germany. It's Italy. And it's Rafa's inherited Serie A topping Inter. Let's not bend over. At the very least, use the lube.

Sixty three year old Zanetti, 12 yards, 68 sodding seconds. The defending, abysmal, non-existent. Okay, perhaps that's not fair. It was sloppy. And at this level, everything is magnified, slowed-down and punished - relentlessly punished. You could see the goal before it happened. It was simple. And it was rammed down our throats. I could hear the cheers in Islington from my sofa.

Okay, so its 1-0. Let's. Not. Panic. Get hold of the ball, stand strong and tall. Leaders on the pitch. Where are the leaders? Captains armband? Huddlestone man, don't let heads drop man. No, wait…what are you doing? Why the hell do you carry a grenade in your back pocket. Now what? Why have you given it to Gallas man? He's polishing it? A grenade and he's polishing it? What the... he's kissing the frigging thing, he's kissing it! Oh Christ, what next? No, no, not Gomes, don't give it to Gomes. Of all the people, not Gomes! For the love of God, he's pulled the pin off it. He's juggling the thing on his head. And there we have it. He's swallowed it. He's gone and swallowed the grenade. Heimlich manoeuvre someone please! Anyone?

Oh sh*t.

Kaboom. Not of the Younes variety.

Red card. Carlo on, Modric off. Eto'o from the spot. 2-0. Was Biabiany the last man? Was he denied a certain goal-scoring opportunity? Does it even matter when your keeper implodes in the path of an opposition player?

Before I had time to tie the knot in the noose, it was 3-0. Stankovic, showing off, with a shot from just outside the pen area. The fourth goal (Eto'o again) more or less had every sofa in a Spurs supporting household engulfing it's occupier. Without fight. The away fans in the San Siro still coming to terms with the rude interruption of their rendition of 'oh when the Spurs' from the opening seconds. Not quite finding their stride and song again until the second half.

How dare Inter put us in our place. Us, an infant in this top tier competition, lost in the playground, surrounded by older bigger kids, snatching our dinner money and slapping us across the back of the neck. I want my mamma.

4 fragging 0. Blogs and forums on fire. Text messages and photo-shopped specials in the making.

Down to ten men. Against the Champions of Europe. In their own back yard. The difference in class positively puked out in superlatives by ITV during half-time. It's going to finish 6-0 perhaps 7-0, probably 8-0. No way Inter won't be scoring again in the second forty-five. Better to forfeit the game and take a three goal deficit.

Oh ye of little faith.

It's frustrating, it is. Had we left that grenade back home. Had we held our nerves for that opening ten minutes. Not being overwhelmed with the occasion, if that was in fact the reason for our lethargic in legs lethargic in brains performance. Not to suggest it was all down to our embarrassing defending. Inter ravaged us with beautiful decisive football. It was like being gently beaten up with a feather made out of Adamantium.

Coutinho looks a player. Our lot looked like pretenders. Did Harry get it wrong? We didn’t have time to find out. You can argue about the ethics of sacrificing Modric, but it was damage limitation after the first minute of the game. And with hindsight, it's how we reacted second half that would speak volumes. 451or otherwise, its about application and focus first, formation and tactics are secondary if the players feet turn to jelly.

Pride at stake, what with it being super-glued back together during the break and handed out with (I assume) implicit instructions to get a f**king grip of ourselves.

Okay, so they shifted down a gear or two in the second half. But that is no concern for me. 4-0 down, forty-five minutes to avoid potentially devastating dejection at the final whistle which might well have detrimental long term trembling of knees (the bad kind).

And then it happened.

Hello Europe. My name is Gareth Bale. You can call me the beast. Just make sure you ask me for permission first.

Click here for Part II.

MatchDay Frolics: Inter v Spurs

Time for another bout of alternative minute-by-minute comment based musings of the game. Live.

It's Inter versus Spurs.

It all stems from myself requiring in-game therapy by sharing my observations because I need to vent and also strike up a bromance or two with my fellow Spurs fans. Because if you're at home and not in the pub and on your own, then it helps to have others suffering along with you, be it electronically.

This minute-by-minute commentary is not as consistent in terms of structure as the Beeb's version and definitely not as witty and pun-driven as the Guardians. But a f**k load better than ITV's in-game audio commentary. Which, let's face it, isn't exactly the greatest brag in the world. Chiles and company are akin to listening to diarrhetic elephants emptying their bowels, so this blog will easily suffice as a superior companion to the game than the giddy nonsense churned out by the incompetent guardians of the tactic truck.

Point being, unlike the rest, it's all-Spurs.

Rather than update this blog article with dated-by-time comments, I'm going to use the magic of  curated Tweets. So if you follow me on Twitter, you'll see my inane statements of insight as the game progresses. Otherwise, just stay tuned to the below where the curated tweets will appear. I'll also throw in other words of wisdom from fellow Twitter based Spurs fans for additional ample scoffs of hilarity.

To be honest, this is all experimental and it might turn out to be far easier to just update a standard article. Or even easier for you to just sign up to Twitter and follow the direct tweets and get involved yourself.

If the embedded code falls over at any point, then I'll go back to just updating this article. The applet below should auto-refresh, if it doesn't, refresh browser to see new entries.

Inter v The Tottenham

COYS

Subscribe here to the curated MatchDay Frolics.

You'll always find you can't smile without Tottenham

Can't even begin to describe the feeling. Schoolboys own stuff.

No disrespect to Young Boys, Bremen and Twente. Wednesday's game away to Inter in the San Siro is what it's all about. Sure, we can afford to lose it. So if that's the case, what is there to fear? Bit of dignity if we ship a few at the wrong end perhaps, but I'm not talking about the necessity to go all la-la land with tactics. Play for each other, as a strong unit, play to our strengths. Focus. No shame in losing to the Champions of Europe. But what a dvd it would be if we nicked it.

Rafa might try to get a little too clever what with his experience of Spurs in the Premier League. If Crouch starts will be very interesting to see how Inter plan to deal with him, considering Rafa knows the player well. What we could do without is the lack of mental strength if we do happen to hiccup (no first half V Young Boys, no second half V Bremen). Just ninety minutes of cohesive, structured football with a touch or two of ye olde Spurs magic. Tasty team is Inter, they will no doubt have a go at us. So f**k it. Have a go back.

Not dismissing a controlled, deep laying defensive minded midfield (players tracking back, chasing down the ball), pressuring their players when off the ball, attempting to retain it when on it. I'm all for frustrating them, but let's not pretend they don't have the better more experienced players.

Our power is one of belief and complete and unequivocal front.

Fortes fortuna adiuvat.

This is the thing about us. Expect the unexpected, even though the most obvious is also likely to happen too. Never a boring second supporting this club. Heads up. I'm giddy with delight. That Crouch header at Eastlands...it's brought us here. Why bite your nails? Enjoy it.

It's enough to make me break out in song...

We have no King or van der Vaart and I'm scared that we'll get stuffed
Enough to drive the fans to drink I don't want us to f**k up
But I have faith in Harry cause Spurs are on the up
On the up in the San Siro

But you will always find him twitching on the bench in the dugout

Me and the Park Lane shrugged when Rafael saw red at home
Don't fret we've got Jermaine Jenas so we are not all alone

Jermaine Jenas. What is he supposed to do?

That's why you'll always hold your head in your hands at matches
You will always hold you head in your hands at matches
You will always hold you head in your hands at matches

No Ledley but we've got Gallas and he'll play at the back
He'll have Eto'o in his back pocket there's no chance he'll ever slack
Leaving Hudd to quarterback the midfield and enjoy a Big Mac

Glory glory night in Europe in Italy on Wednesday
Glory glory night in Europe in Italy on Wednesday

4-5-1 don't laugh at it we won't be sitting back
We'll look to strike and run the flanks giving Rafa a panic attack

Just give the ball to Bale in the San Siro on Wednesday
Give the ball to Bale in the San Siro on Wednesday

You'll always find you can't smile without Tottenham
You'll always find you can't smile without Tottenham

Based on You'll always find me in the kitchen at Parties (Jona Lewie), obviously.

Spurs: 'top 4' side, top 4 decisions

Fulham 1 Spurs 2

I've had pockets of time since the final whistle on Saturday afternoon to attempt to write up a structured match report of our splendid away win (and second successive three point come from behind reward), but alas, no such luck. I'm still sick. Epically tired and somewhat detached from creativity, but still I'm managed to muster up some tweets today whilst laying across the sofa watching the continued demise of Liverpool FC and then Man City trying to do their best impersonation of the Jose version of Chelsea by spending the vast majority of their game against Blackpool boring the very essence of my soul from my fever stricken body. I still don't rate them. Yes, they are lucky, yes, they don't lose often, but something about them just screams out 'CHOKE'. I guess with Man Utd doing their very best to tread the line of ordinary, this season could see a further shake-up to the one we introduced last time round. So perhaps discounting the billionaires from Eastlands would be a tad dangerous.

Okay, so Fulham v Spurs, I'm going to free-style it. Then just hit the publish button.

Saturday and Fortress Fulham. In yer face Mark Hughes. And Lily Allen. In the context of the game, we deserved to win. Some of our defending at times was not best and against better players (Eto'o) we might be left scratching our heads. But that's out of context. Which is not a concern, not until Wednesday.

First half, opening exchanges, thought we played very well. Slowly and obviously, Fulham got themselves back into the possession game. Sandro put himself about. Bit too eager, I guess he still has to get to grips with the pace of the game and the fact that clumsy challenging won't warrant too much other than a yellow card.

Was very content with Harry's selection. Strongest side, be it with one or two minor tweaks, but this games was vital in terms of needing to win - whereas the CL game on Wed isn't. Because we get to play Inter again, at the Lane. Which will be important. I'll talk more about the CL game in a later blog.

Fulham took the lead, Kamara scoring. Bit of a mess from all concerned in terms of positioning for this one. It's easy to point and shout at Gallas who showed a lack of awareness of where the Fulham forward was (behind you!) but you could also lay scorn on Hutton who run into a central position, practically clashing with Kings space and the cross/ball going through the both of them into the path of Kamara who tapped it home.

Did Gallas think someone (in Spurs colours) was tracking the forward? No matter, organisation here was left wanting. All too easy. Needs to be worked on in training. School-boy mistake tbh.

But this is brand new Spurs, feasting on Dutch cake, of the Amsterdam variety. Relaxed and giddy, as you were. We go down the other end and equalise. From the kick-off. Brilliant skill from vdV to turn and chip onto the bar, ball falling down to Pav who had a simple tap in, but made sure he pointed out his name on the back of his shirt just in case anyone was in doubt of the clinical polished ball-pushing over the line touch off his boot.

Have to say, I'm still lol'ing at the Fulham fans (bless 'em) who didn't even had enough time to finish their rendition of 'you're not singing any more'. So the Spurs away support did the polite thing and finished the song off for them.

Other mentions. Gomes pulled off a save or two. King went off injured, Bassong replaced him. I know that with Ledders, I sort of half expected him not to play and be rested for Inter, in what many expected him to play a damage limitation role. I'm glad Harry started him, it's a shame he limped off and won't be available for the Everton game next weekend (as well as no Italian away day). But it's a statement made. We didn't take the game for granted or displayed signs of looking ahead to mid-week.

It's part and parcel of the risk we take with King. Get well soon. Once more, we re-visit the age old conundrum of the centre-back pairing and what we need to be doing in terms of looking ahead for the future. Once Dawson is back, we might place said conundrum back onto the back-burner again. Which isn't ideal, what with us still not knowing for sure if Woody is going to be 100% again.

Second half, Sandro off. Subbed, not sent off, which he might have been not out of malicious play but from untidy tackling. Azza replacing him before the kick-off. Lennon was good. Again. Off the bench appears to have given him a gentle kick up the bum in terms of desire to impress. Cracking
movement with BAE finding Pav who played the ball inside to Lennon - weak shot, but good to see all round. He seems to have direction rather than losing himself cutting into central midfield positions or running out of steam down the flanks.

More assured second half from start to finish I thought from us. Not perfect, Kamara spoiling chances which I was happy to see spurned. Wasn't so much about individuals today, but more about the unit. vdV, Bale, Modric...all relatively quiet. vdV had his moment with the first goal. Moddle is still slightly off the pace, his touch not Lukaesque just yet, but he's made it clear he knows he's struggling a little. He'll get there. Bale was definitely quiet compared to the beastly performances he usually produces. Did pulsate forward creating a vdV chance. But as a unit, the lads did enough, which was worthy of three points. So no shrugs of despondency from me.

Other bits and pieces off the top of my head. Hutton and Gomes getting in each others way, a Hutton effort on goal, Crouch on for Pav. Oh yeah, almost forgot. The goal for 2-1.

First time in history I've ever agreed with Alan Shearer (with his MotD assessment). Hansen obviously disagreeing with him and baiting Lineker. So very very bitter. Always let you down the Spurs don't you know.

If you want to start playing the game by the letter of the law - at the time of the Hudd shot, their keeper was in sight of the ball leaving the boot. Gallas, offside position, not interfering with play. Ball takes a deflection, still not interfering. Gallas tries his best to put any doubt in the refs mind about disallowing a potential goal by attempting to kick the ball, still not interfering because he didn't touch the ball.

Ball crosses the line. 1-2 Tottenham.

Lino however decides to flag, so good on Hudd for making sure the ref took note of the journey taken by the ball into the Fulham goal. Mike Dean, giving us the decision. I'm sure I would have complained about it if it was the other way round, but deep down, even though you could argue it is interfering because the player was trying to become active - he wasn't active because he didn't change anything (i.e. the ball was still on course with going in after the deflection, so Gallas could have stripped naked and slapped a haddock on his backside, it would not have made a blind bit of difference - although no doubt it might have made it onto Soccer AM's third eye).

Active, not active...ambiguous, no? The authorities would not have it any other way.

Good performance. We're 5th. 14 points. A few off the top, and obviously regretful of the points dropped against a couple of sides this season which might have had has even higher. But this season will be more open and closer than the last, so it's a case of staying in amongst it again - and aiming for bigger scalps in the way of our 'Top 4' opposition and doing something about the lack of wins away to them in 60+ games. Also feel we need to start to destroy sides at the Lane again.

Mentality should be about maximising our potential against the supposed weaker sides at home and continuing to dig deep away. Stick the pressure on the other contenders by pulling away. At the minute, everyone appears to be very evenly matched (there's four or so tiers in the Prem itself).

Momentum = confidence = belief = success.

Simply put, get through to the Jan window in a top 5 position. Then consolidate the f**k out of it.

Back to bed I go.


Religion of the deluded?

With thanks to Spanish Spur for bringing this article to my attention over at the Guardian. Martin Kettle, the author of said article, cites Liverpool's current financial plight as a means to place football into perspective. No sympathy in fact for something birthed from the 90s in terms of this explosion of football we have practically drowned in during the past couple of decades. He's critical of the monster that has grown in our quaint English garden and shrugs at one of it's falling limbs.

Read it, worth a look. Found this paragraph of interest, and just taking it out of the context of the actual article itself, wonder what you might think of it's sentiments.

Football is a game. Football is entertainment. Yes, it's a really good game. Yes, it's exciting entertainment. Yes, it is hugely enjoyable – or can be – to follow your own team through thick and thin. But that's all. Football is not more than that. It's not the reason we exist. It's not a way of life. It's not even a religion, except inasmuch as it is a comforting delusion. Football doesn't prove anything at all about anything. It certainly does not validate the worth of the disturbingly large number of people, still almost all male, who appear to think that it does. Great footballers are nothing more than great footballers.

He states that you follow your team through thick and and thin - but that's all you do. There is nothing more to it. Just how do you quantify this in terms of emotional attachment? Okay so let's say someone in your family is ill or you have a newborn baby, it's going to take priority. In comparison, there is no comparison. But surely life is made up of building blocks, each as important as the next when handled separately. Why would you compare each block? You well do if say you have to choose between two things, but usually it's just a compromise (I guess this is very subjective).

I have felt physically sick to the depths of my gut when we've lost certain games. I've felt equally sick (if I look back to my teenage years) and one or two girlfriend related heart-breaks. Both incomparable, both with equal measures of impact on my life. Although I got over the females and moved on, but some football results will never be forgotten.

Football not a religion? In this world we (I) live in, you spend most of it filling it up with stuff to get you through one day to the next. TV, music, sex, travel, work (sadly) and hundreds of other activities - some of a necessity others of interest.

It's not the reason I exist, but it's f**king good way to spend some part of my life obsessing over. It doesn't need me to tag it with philosophical reasoning about it's tribal elements or any other form of justification. It's not a way of life, but it's part of our way of life. But it's a huge part of my life, and it runs in the blood, so perhaps there is part of me holding back, not admitting that it's far more important than I wish to believe.

So yeah, just a musing or two here. Agree, disagree? Are we (all of us no matter the club of our choice) just deluding ourselves with one hell of an epic waste of time?

Discuss it amongst yourselves if you want.

Keane, 3-3-1-3 and Lily Allen's legs

Afternoon.

Hands up if you're completely sick of all the images of happy joyful faces and ecstatic celebrations, dancing in the streets and the tearful singing that is constantly being played back on our television sets and printed in our newspapers? What an escape, hey?

The pesky High Court. Had to go ruin my day.

Elsewhere, and still off-topic, I'm left scratching my head how Karl Pilkington, without fail, always manages to get reception on his iphone4 - even in the middle of a desert. Oh wait, of course he gets reception, it's magic. Praise Steve Jobs. It's a working antenna abroad.

Yep. This is going to be a mess of a blog post. Enjoy.

If I'm honest, I'm really struggling at the moment to wrap my thoughts around this weekend (International Break fatigue) and the away trip to Fulham. Might have something to do with this head cold that is slowly but surely eating away at my concentration. I feel lethargic. Out of sorts. Completely lacking inspiration and focus. Hey, I'm Robbie Keane. Alas sadly, I don't even possess the energy to lift my hands up in the air and wave them around at great speed, shouting random indistinguishable Orish at anyone who dares look in my direction. Hey, I'm still Robbie Keane. Someone take me out back.

On the subject (might as well pretend this article has a point to it), for the person who called me a two-faced ungrateful fickle **** for turning my back on Keano - here's my response. I haven't turned my back. He turned his back on us. But this isn't about juvenile bitterness. Look, honestly hand on heart, he was my 'favourite' (hate that word) player at Spurs leading up and during the Berba era (that stunning one season). He was annoying at times what with his inability to convert one-on-one's where he was required to think or his unnecessary flicks and holding onto the ball for far too long types of high jinxs. But no doubting his goal-scoring record and the impact he had. He was not a world-class great player, but rather an outstanding Premier League player.

Whether his Anfield experience proved he wasn't that great actually other than being a perfect fit for Tottenham and nothing more - it's all pretty much redundant now. He lost the mojo that made him so productive for us in the past, and he came back out of desperation (paralleled by our desperation) half a player, less than half the player he was. I'm not dismissing or forgetting what he did for us prior to him joining one of his boyhood clubs. Just that it's all a bit tainted love now. It's like this Robbie Keane isn't the same person, so I don't feel guilty for not caring too much about the current version. Harsh? Perhaps. But it's nothing to do with being fickle. It's everything to do with wanting to move onto better things. Which is what Mr Keane thought we was doing by joining the Rafa revolution.

What else can I muse about?

My dad's birthday this Saturday. My kid bro is going to the Fulham game and I have to accompany the ball and chain and baby to the family mansion for food and drinks. Which is disappointing, from a selfish self-centred footballing blogging perspective as I won't be able to cover the game with minute-by-minute commentary. Which was the plan. I'll have to kick that off in mid-week when we play Inter. If I'm not lost in self-pity with man-flu, crying for soup, an extra-fluffy pillow and angels to gently, seductively sing 'Oh when the Spurs…' in my ears.

How about a half-arsed attempt at a Spurs/Fulham Preview? I can only muster up a preview of a preview, so that will have to do. 

I was thinking about Football Manager 2011 and tactics because I'm a fantasist. Spurs will be a joy to manage in the game what with Bale, Modric, vdV to name a few of our highly rated in-game players. Will probably look to sign Edin Dzeko as my forward. I'm thinking 3-3-1-3 formation (ala Marcelo Bielsa's Chile and formally and unsuccessfully at a World Cup gone by with Argentina). Attacking formation, pressing of opposition, high up pitch defensive positioning with masses of emphasis on the flanks.

So that would be a diamondesque:

(k) Gomes
(3) Corluka King Dawson (or Hutton/Kaboul King BAE) or whatever combo best suits the occasion
(3) Modric Sandro Huddlestone (on studded engine-powered roller-skate football boots)
(1) van der Vaart
(3) Bale Defoe/Dzeko Lennon

So that's three at the back, Sandro just ahead of them with Moddle and Huddlestone (neither central or left/right-centric) just behind a central vdV and then Bale and Azza in forward flank positions and Defoe or Dzeko up front. The formation would rely heavily on movement and fitness. Would no doubt decimate Fulham four or five nil if I hack the game using an editor and boost the players strength and stamina stats so they don't fade after the 70th minute mark. Wouldn't quite work in the real world, would it? A man can dream. Or perhaps with the aid of sleep deprivation, hallucinate.

Real life, the bane of my existence. 3-3-1-3 only in my head.  In football everything is complicated by the presence of the other team, so said Sartre. How right he was. Unless DAVSPURS is allowed to prep-talk post match and hand out drinks to the players. I'm pretty much certain all this ephedrine conspiracy talk is a cover-up for his demand and supply business.

And on the subject of reality, I'd be happy with an almost traditional 4-4-2 on Saturday, with perhaps vdV playing just off Crouch/Pav. For me, I just want us to play the strongest team possible (well, apart from King who will be required for damage limitation in the San Siro). Write off Inter away. Actually, let me re-phrase that. Inter away is the game where most would expect us to come away with nothing and many reckon we're going to get spanked. Prioritise the Fulham match and go to Italy and just play without pressure as expectancy should not weigh us down there, considering the odds will be stacked heavily against us. You never know, football. Funny. Old. Game.

On the subject of Fulham, I haven't mentioned Lily Allen for a long long time. What's with her long running obsession with over-sized heels that make her look like she has short stumpy legs? Or does she have short stumpy legs and the shoes make her look even more stumpy? It's like someone with a massive head wearing a massive top hat in an ill-fated attempt to deflect attention away from the massive head, but people still point and say, 'oh look, it's that bloke with a massive head and he's wearing a massive top hat, what a w*nker'.

Glastonbury Allen was far more appealing than the I'm in a Professor Green video singing just the chorus surrounded by tall fit beautiful women whilst I chav around wearing a giants patent shoes Allen. Glastonbury Allen was very Natasha Khan-ish. Which is ace in my book of stalk.

Okay, I know, she's (Allen) preggers at the moment, but I'm all about the pre-bump photos. So here's a thought Lily, stop ordering your foot-wear on-line and actually get to try them on in a shop before you throw your money away. A weapon of massive consumption indeed.

Let's end this. Bones now aching. Head beginning to spin. Gut churning. Need drugs of a legal nature to help breathe some life into my pale black bags under my eyes face.

Thoughts and prayers etc. Hold off the minutes silence.

Back from deaths door soon.

Harry and England

In the aftermath of the England game the other night (did you watch it? lol if you did) one or two Spurs fans are looking just a little too far ahead into the future and are asking the question:

Harry for England? The actual message board question was 'Replacement for Harry?'. International break is over, right? Almost. Last word on it, I promise.

I'll ignore the 'who would replace him?' variation because that would be ridiculously premature and arguably redundant. And tbh, we won't be replacing him when/if it happens. We'll be upgrading. I would hope.

Going back to 'Harry for England' I'm going to go ahead and briefly cover this because it's Harry and he's our manager, rather than caring about the international scene (I'll do my best to humour that part).

England then. Pressure on Fabio, lack of viable English managerial options - it's an obvious conclusion being made by the bored - be it one that we shouldn't really be discussing or considering. Because the gaffer and ourselves have plenty to be concentrating on. Although some would say Harry is flirting so much with the idea of leading the Three Lions, that he's already got one eye on it, and thus, there's a very subtle degradation of focus on THFC. Not sure I quite believe that (stretching it a little).

Personally think the (England) pool of players we have isn't that great in terms of balance. We should just sacrifice the next 2/3 years and try and bring the yoof (some of which is excellent) through and build a new foundation. But there's time for that in football management games. Dropping players that the media want you to play even though for example the player(s) might be completely out of form and at the same time humiliated on the front pages is oh so quintessentially English. There's that and the fact that although our yoof is excellent - there are gaps in other prominent areas in the squad. Take the forward positions. We called up Kevin Davies. I rest my case.

So, for the sake of argument, let's just pretend the question was pertinent to the present. Harry - viable option or not?

If the FA had bollocks, perhaps, but take a look to the recent past. They never gave it to Big Sam (thank ****) because he would have been far too vocal and probably would have wanted to dismantle and rebuild the England set-up from top to bottom. Which is probably what needs to be done, just not with someone who introduces American Football tactics in the opposition box. Instead they went with the safe yes man choice of Steve McClaren. A man so scared of getting wet he used an over-sized umbrella to mug himself into the next century with. Fabio then followed and even one of the best modern day club managers - a man who has won everything domestically - is struggling with this poisoned chalice.

Harry has a reputation. Supposedly, allegedly, and all that. The press love him right? Sure they do, what with his infinite amount of sound-bites and his column in The Sun. And the fact he's not too shabby with the love-hugs and man management skills. But they would jump all over allegations and investigations because that's what they do and I reckon the FA would not want to risk the gutter press going all out to f*** them over. Unless there's been a clear-out of the Jurassic mentality possessed by the FA dinosaurs of old, with plenty of daring new-blooded hopefuls. I can't see a change this significant. Would be pleasantly shocked if I was wrong.

We've gone with a foreign manager (again) because we have no faith in the English ones. That's as daring as they've got thus far.

I guess it comes down to this: Is there another Englishman who could do the job?

There was something on Football Weekly (James Richardson's splendid podcast) this past Monday that cited (German I think) players who went on the lash at a club opening a few days before an International/club match - and over here in Blightly, the press were calling Hart a disgrace for getting pissed 7 days before last nights game. The footballers who went to the club opening - not so much a single word printed about it. Completely irrelevant to the media and the people. Just not important.

We're all guilty of the same head-shaking when we see our players roll out of a club smashed out their faces. The tabloids have turned it into an art-form. I can already see the NOTW gearing up for another one of their under-cover operations.

So does Harry want it?

Of course he does. He's said as much. It's no big secret. And if the media left him to manage, then perfecto. But that's just not going to happen. In fact, he's said it to people who have been quite happy to share said information (okay, so I've heard it second hand, and it's bordering on ITK...so let's not dwell too much on this because it will take me months to wash off the dirt).

And telling everyone, be it directly or otherwise, endears himself to all that believe that he would do a grand job. You want something and tell people you want it when you know deep down there's no chance of getting it. The association made between Harry and the job is enough to feed his ego and keep us all talking. And that might be the only thing he's interested in.

I'm hoping all this it put to bed and he just concentrates on defining his legacy at club football by continuing our charge into an anchored Top 4 position for Spurs. More importantly, it's about leaving the club in a solid state so the hand-over is seamless when he does step down for whatever reason. No more transitional seasons please.

The only thing I'm interested in is Tottenham. Levy might be thinking contingency plans, but I'd hazard a wee guess that the Jan transfer window for a top class striker is weighing on his mind far more than tittle tattle message board discussions and tabloid gossip.

Okay, well that's it re: England. I'm done with it now.

Roll on Fulham.



Boycott England

#6

International break will be over after this evening and tomorrow we can all start to look forward to the weekend and Fulham away. Bread and butter will never taste so good. Don't know about you, but I've already got my gram and hooker at the ready. However, the clock still needs to tick tock into Wednesday before I ruin my nasal septum whilst having a twenty-one year old wrap her legs around my neck.

I've been positively brain dead with boredom. Placing aside daily routines consisting of travel and work and household stuff (did someone say baby?), I've had to find ways to amuse myself, keep myself entertained. It's not like there are no Tottenham stories doing the rounds out there. There are plenty. But you'll have read them. Countless times. I'm not inspired enough to write up commentary on said stories either. Again, mainly because there's not really that much to comment on, and there are plenty of media outlets and sites echoing the same bits and pieces of rumours and quotes.

I've said all I've wanted to say about Gollivan and Brady. But that hasn't stopped me from crashing my lolcopter whilst reading how West Ham have had a huge boost in their bid to claim the stadium from the grasp of Spurs. Three words. Northumberland Redevelopment Project. The Olympic stadium is a 'back up' a 'ploy'. How many times now? Move the f**k on.

Then, I think at the start of the break, there was Comolli trying to take credit for the players he signed during his tenure that are doing so well at Spurs currently. Cheers for that Damien. Do you also want to take responsibility retrospectively of the fact the club signed mis-matched individuals with different levels of application and varying styles of ability and technique that as a collective didn't quite gel and blend together until after you (director of football, right?) was sacked? What? No comment?

Oh look, I'm commentating. Stop it. Down boy.

Sigh.

Once the England game is done and dusted we can start talking tactics and formations with complete freedom and begin the padding up process of our knees to help deter the potential for jerks post-final whistle over at Craven Cottage this Saturday. Ah yes, back to reality.

So, how exactly have I amused myself other than writing up these journals, burning the midnight candle? I haven't, if I'm perfectly honest. Seems the England disease has infected my tolerance level and I have become susceptible to various ills and tragedy. I'm practically draining the soul out of my body. I've done nothing with my 'free time'. To elaborate:

X-Factor
Sleep paralysis
Peppa Pig
Eye-balling a fox that was rummaging through the rubbish bins
The only way is Essex

I've hit rock-bottom.

This is England, this is torture. I've even starved myself of James Richardson's puns, bless his brilliant bald head.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrgh!

So, as I've not been paying any attention to football news or found the patience to, I'll comment on the above list rather than whatever the heck is going on in the England camp at the moment. Regular readers, I apologise for the off topic meltdown. Day trippers, it's how I roll.

X-Factor - The newspaper coverage is almost akin to some of the BS you get about our beloved football club when the reporting bends reality to suit the headline and the hype. It's all self-serving and keeps it in topic. Do people honestly believe the judges (other than Cowell) have the full responsibility of selecting their 'final three' for the live shows? Cheryl Cole is there because of her undisputable beauty. That's it. You'll probably asking (again) why I even bother. Well as previously stated, it feeds my cynicism. I need a fix, and I'm happy to tap my veins on a Saturday night to get it. The first of the live shows was particularly uncomfortable car-crash viewing, yet behold, according to the 'experts' it was magical/brilliant/amazing.

Close your eyes and you could have been listening to Jamie Redknapp and Richard Keys telling you that the bore-draw being played out on Sky Sports is an epic 'chess game'.

Are people fooled by all this or do they know, but just like to pretend they don't? Watching this show, angering the blood, at one point I was certain I could see red, but alas, I had just subconsciously stabbed my eyes out with a pen.

Sleep paralysis - You're awake in bed, but you're not. Unable to move a muscle, buried under overwhelming fear of the unknown. You can’t get up and you can't wake up. Stuck in the limbo that exists between sleep and awakening. It's just like being in the singing section at the Emirates.

Peppa Pig - Countless potatoes references. Pigs and various animals driving cars stuck in a traffic jam. Banging theme music. Childrens television is made for magic mushroom consumption.

Eye-balling a fox that was rummaging through the rubbish bins - Next time, and there will be a next time, I will dismantle the sonofabitch piece of filth, bone by skinny bone.

The only way is Essex - Buckhurst Hill is where they frequent. Oh the shame of these plastic superficial twats, twatting around with daddies money. There are plenty of characters in and around Essex, so what do we get? Clichéd stereotypes attempting to act out their lives in forced exaggerated stage set-pieces in a production that makes The Hills look like Citizen Kane. Head butting the tv has never felt so great.

That's it. Someone tweet me when Liverpool go into administration because I'm immensely looking forward to the follow-up to that hugely embarrassing video Mike Jerfferies made with fans and 'celebs'  where they all cry into the camera about how the Yanks have been raping the Anfield club and yadda yadda yadda. I might have sank low these past two weeks what with my ITV brain haemorrhaging session, but compared to the scousers, at least I've retained a degree (be it a little) of self-respect.

Peace. Out.

And for the love of God, COYMFS.

You've been reading the sixth and final part of Spooky's International Break diary journals.

Part one - International Heart break

Part two - Tottenham till I die

Part three - A spoon full of sugar makes the Venables go down

Part four - FAO Sullivan, Gold and Brady

Part five - In defence of Robbie Keane

In defence of Robbie Keane

#5

In defence of Robbie Keane:

...ladies and gentlemen of Glory Glory dot co dot uk, I have one final thing I want you to consider in defence of Robbie Keane and his form since the return from his nightmare spell at Anfield. Ladies and gentlemen, this is Chewbacca. Chewbacca is a Wookiee from the planet Kashyyyk. But Chewbacca lives on the planet Endor. Now think about it; that does not make sense!

Glory Glory forum:

Damn it!... He's using the Chewbacca defence!

In defence of Robbie Keane:

Why would a Wookiee, an eight-foot tall Wookiee, want to live on Endor, with a bunch of two-foot tall Ewoks? That does not make sense! But more important, you have to ask yourself: What does this have to do with Keane's long forgotten form and the abuse he's getting in forums and message boards across the Internet? Nothing. Ladies and gentlemen, it has nothing to do with the discussion! It does not make sense! Look at me. I'm a blogger defending a once upon a time proven goal-getting Premier League forward who left us and returned an abject spent force, a parody of his former self, and I'm talking about Chewbacca! Does that make sense? Ladies and gentlemen, I am not making any sense! None of this makes sense! And so you have to remember, when you're reading through an anti-Keano thread flaming and berating and abusing and skipping carefully close to post moderation, boiling the blood with the various arguments for and against, does it make sense? No! members, moderators and admins of Glory Glory and other Spurs related message boards, forums and blogs, it does not make sense! If Chewbacca lives on Endor, you must acquit Keane from the derogative belittlement he's receiving!

The defence rests.

Blatantly plagiarised from episode 27 Season 2 of South Park, "Chef Aid", October 7th, 1998.

You've been reading the fifth part of Spooky's International Break diary journals.

Part one can be read here.

Part two here.

Part three here.

And part four here.

FAO Sullivan, Gold and Brady

#4

Welcome to my fourth entry in my International Break diary journals. This one is a video-entry and a message to Sullivan, Gold and Brady.

Enjoy.

You've been watching the fourth part of Spooky's International Break diary journals.

Part one can be read here.

Part two here.

Part three here.