A spoon full of Sugar makes the Venables go down

#3

The news of the moment is Liverpool (I'm going to choose to ignore Stratford and Gullivan for the time being). Board shenanigans, Yanks, take-over bids, humiliation on the pitch, continued embarrassment off it. Their dirty laundry aired in public for all to see. It's almost like someone has rummaged through our bins and plucked out from the rubbish our discarded tag as the never-ending media circus and stuck it on the back of the Anfield club.

Once upon a time Liverpool conducted their business with complete discretion. The football did the talking. Not even a whisper from the chairman and owner in terms of bickering or disharmony. All focus was on the pitch. Modern times are now all very public, messy, contradictory and soul-destroying for the upside down flag waving regulars of the Kop. Since the Americans bought in. Hardly surprising.

Brings me onto an article I read online (Daily Express) that had me grabbing the nearest piece of upstanding furniture, to aid in supporting me from falling to the floor, all faint and dramatic and struggling to catch my breath. A cup of tea got me sorted, lost deep in a flashback to the early 90s.

Ah yes, the 1990s. Mostly forgettable for the complete lack of direction and progression - and that was just me bumming around doing very little. Don't even get me started on Tottenham.

It was a good decade in parts. Mostly for discovering Jenna Jameson (in the later part of the era) and dating a girl who looked like Jenna (if you've seen the 'artistic movie' The Kiss - that particular incarnation of Jameson). I also got myself a proper job in the IT industry which was practically in its infant days, back when only the lucky ones had dial-up modems that made connecting to the internet not too dissimilar a task than attempting to load a game on a Spectrum 48k.

There were also many pivotal moments in our clubs history that took place during the decade of Brit Pop. We had some great players and great escapes and a League Cup final win to end it on a high. Personally, looking back, it was mostly about the players we had. We got our pleasure and satisfaction from our side from individuals rather than from the collective.

Christ, we had some fantastic players. Players deserving of fantastic teams. Except we also churned out some pretty pathetic transfer signings and managerial appointments. It really was quite shit. But not all of it. Sort of started well, bit in the middle was crap, and sort of ended well. But we muddled through and being Spurs, we always entertained.

1991 was emotional. Off the pitch, we were at deaths door. Financial meltdown, the reminisce of Irving Scholar coming back to bite a massive chunk out of our backside. Keith got it so right.

I get the feeling nowadays, it's all quite under-stated when looking back. Not sure how many of the younger ones amongst us appreciate how big a mess the club was in. It truly felt at the time that we had to win the FA Cup. They all said it, win it to save yourselves. That's how it played out in my head and in the heads of the shelf-side (my original home at the Lane) mob. Either that or I'm holding onto distant memories of back page headlines from The Sun.

If we wanted a buyer we had to at least offer something in the way of a reason for them to even look in our direction. I'd hate to think that we'd have been left to go under. It was grim and it hardly looked positive.

I was ever-present in our FA Cup run that season. Went to the home league games to collect all the necessary vouchers to apply for a semi-final ticket. By apply, that's stand in a queue that finished at the ticket office on the Park Lane and wrapped itself around the corner all the way down to Northumberland Rd where I stood for hours at the arse end of it. Worth it, of course. The day of the Wembley game against the scum is something I've written about before. They were coasting the league. This was the defensive beast of a machine, the Arsenal, boring beyond belief yet practically unbeatable, against the Tottenham in turmoil.

For them, the double was just two sets of 90 minutes away. For us, lose this, and end of days. Both league games finished 0-0 that season.

The journey to the game however did not reflect the potentiality of depression that could have befallen us that day had things turned out differently. I lived in Walthamstow at the time and made my connecting journey to Wembley and found our lot to be the more vocal of the two sets of fans. The gooners appeared reserved. A good friend of mine who also went to the game (a scummer) said that behind a lot of his pre-match bravado, on the day itself, he had a gut feeling about it going in our favour. The odds staked so high in their favour, it made him nervous, because everyone, well most, couldn't see how we could beat them.

My personal highlight was a gooner telling his mate on the train "If we lose, I'm going to hang myself from a tree on the Seven Sisters road". I think, regardless of colours, we all had the same thought.

It's a NLD, it's going to be intense regardless, but this game was beyond anything I had experienced. Well, I guess since the '87 League Cup semi-final trilogy. Which hurt. Badly. Both needing, wanting to win for completely different reasons. One for glory, the other for survival.

At the Twin Towers we had the privilege of welcoming the Arsenal coach and players. We greeted them with a gentle hand wave and cheeky wink. All very pleasant and gay. They smiled and waved back. Post-game rumours suggested they had already recorded a cup final song only made our waving that much stronger.

Why would anyone other than Chas'n'Dave record a Cup final song when the year ends in one?

As for the game.

What I witnessed that day was comic book fantasy. The very definition of wtf  is happening mind-blowing unreality sexed up ripping of shreds football. It was both the most unexpected and greatest opening 10 minutes of any game I had or have witnessed. Quite simply breathtaking.

The urgency, the desire. That free-kick. The sheer cheek of scoring twice. It was shaping up to be a monumental upset. Smith scoring before the end of the second half to give them hope. I can remember thinking how could we possibly hold out. You always knee-jerk to the worst scenario you can think off. It's your subconscious tuning you up for protection from the despair you'll experience if it happens.

Spurs face up to Arsenal in the 1991 Wembley FA Cup semi-final

The second half was equally immense in a different type of way, digging deep and then that counter (Mabbutt, fed it well, Nayim to his left and Samways up ahead, but Lineker uses him by not using him, good try, he scored, and David Seaman will be very disappointed about that it seemed to go through his fingers) and the ecstasy of being 3-1 up. We stopped them, double dream dead, and we breathed life back into our bodies as we marched onwards, and of course, won the cup against Forest in the final.

3-1, we beat the scum 3-1.

Venables, in our eyes, saved the club off the pitch too by bringing in Alan Sugar who had the clout to plug the draining black-hole where our money once sat.

Dream team. Or not.

Fast forward to 1993 and it had all gone sour. El Tel sacked, boardroom struggles, high court dates. It's easy (and yet quite uncomfortable) to look back now and accept that Venables was not exactly in the right. He was fairly left to the right. By some distance. It's not quite the same as the Liverpool situation, but the one parallel is the uproar from the fans in support for what they believed in. Again, not the same thing and arguably its far more black and white for them than it was for us.

I was at the High Court, I'm pretty certain, on most if not all of the days. Standing outside with an assortment of Spurs fans, all varying age groups, all with pretty much nothing else to do when everyone else was at work. All of us some what blinded by the details and simply there to support the footballing man over the business man. Back in those days, we didn't have the safety net of internet message boards. It's was all terrace and pub talk and what the hacks are scribbling. It was spent the only way we could have spent it back then. Standing around singing songs and smashing up Amstrad computers.

In the end Sugar won and his decision to sack the manager was validated by the courts.

We moved on. Tel was no saint and that became apparent later on. Our loyalties completely clouded, not really wanting to accept any level of betrayal. Of course, regardless of the facts, the alleged sub-plots, the suggestion Venables never had the £3M investment he was going to stake in the club and that Sugar  then had to cover it when purchasing Spurs…I still never took to our bearded saviour, the one with the cash that saved the club. Even though some argue that it was still Venables who actually got him to do the saving by getting him involved. I can’t think of any other suitors at the time who would have stepped in had Sugar nodded a no and walked away.

From a philosophical perspective, it was always doomed from the start when considering the colourful and differing backgrounds of both Sugar and Venables.

I guess looking back now it was probably the best thing to happen to the club in our recent history because of the structure and balance Sugar instilled at the Lane (be it he cocked up several times in matters of a footballing nature) but he gave us a backbone in terms of how we managed ourselves off the pitch.

And of course selling up to ENIC and a certain Mr Levy has birthed a new chapter which is doing its best to drown out most of the misery from the 1990s. It's taken us this long to get back into the game. A very long and winding road of recovery.

As for Lord S, bless him for his honesty in retrospect relating to Klinsmann and the t-shirt in the bin incident, George Graham and the admittance of one or two other related matters concerning his loudmouth presence and conduct when he was at Spurs in the capacity of chairman.

Liverpool fans, don't despair too much. There is always light at the end of the tunnel. Well, unless you're Leeds Utd, but then when you spend a fortune on a fish tank and offer extortionate wages to Seth Johnson, you deserve relegation twice over.

And as for days outside the High Court…hands up if you were there. That might have been me you were standing next to when dancing around the smashed up pieces of a home computer.

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

Part one can be read here.

Part two here.

Tottenham till I die

#2

A question was posed on a forum asking why you support who you support. Not highly original, I know, but it's always interesting to delve into the responses to see how other peoples allegiances were birthed.

Your answer ought to be geographically influenced, but commonly it's down to immediate family and on occasions, if you are devoid of having a dad (or mum) or siblings who are interested in the beautiful game you just pick whomever is top of the league. Which is why when I was a young lad everyone in London seemed to support Liverpool*.

*Two minutes silence for their current plight please people. Two minutes.

Of course, not everyone glory-hunts. And many live abroad and simply fall in love with the history or traditions of a club in another country, based on a game they've witnessed or a book they've read or the majesty of a shirt. I appreciate that not everyone is pre-selected.

I had the privilege (curse) of having a family of Spurs supporters around me. I was also born in Tottenham. Well actually, no I wasn't. A hospital on Tottenham Court Road. Well, actually the hospital was just a brisk walk from Tottenham Court Road. Nowhere near N17, but that's just a  technicality. Tottenham Court Road, right? COYS.

My grandfather (God rest his soul) was a keen follower and frequenter of White Hart Lane during the 50's and 60's and my uncle, a fanatic during the 70's hardly missed a game. The latter, the one who influenced me and guided me into the light that is Lilywhite.

No rebellious I want to support someone else or I like their badge so I'm going to choose this lot instead - which wasn't uncommon, again, with people who had no given affiliations to a club when they were old enough to understand and make their selection. A successful team, usually defeating the local team as the winning option if they wished to fast-track themselves to the top tier. But plenty followed their hearts instead.

How some families managed to be split down the middle between two clubs always fascinated me. It's fragmentation that can never be resolved. My dad supports Spurs. My brother. My sister. My uncle's kids. We have no split. I did celebrate Trevor Brookings goal in the 1980 Cup final by running outside into the garden and attempting to head the ball into an imaginary net but that isn't confliction, it's a natural reaction. An acceptable lapse. A Newcastle supporting father and a Sunderland supporting son a story I remember hearing about. They hardly spoke, always fought. Football before family, always.

Reminds me of a bloke who stood in front of me in one of the East stand turnstiles back in the very early 90's. 1991 season I reckon, home to the scum. 0-0. Gooners waving their wallets at us from the Park Lane. Gazza almost scoring an own goal as I stood in the corner of the Shelf side in those cracking days of terraces. So this bloke in the queue had a Spurs and Arsenal badge on his jumper. A ridiculous paradox.

"I support both", he stated proudly.

The steward looked at me and I just blankly stared back. If you support two clubs, two rival clubs, then you've not quite grasped the concept, have you? It's like people who ask the question: Who's you favourite team? There is no place for favourite team in football. If you do it properly, you don't have a favourite team. You just have the one. A relationship for life. No break-up. Plenty of heartaches and headaches, and the two of you are together until your very last breath.

'Yeah, so, I really love Man U but I dig Real Madrid in their all white kit and also adore Wolves because they got a cool name. So Utd are my best, Madrid my second bestest and Wolves my third bestestest. If any of them play each other, I'd like a draw'

If you ever met someone who stated a resemblance of the above, I wouldn't look down on you if you smothered and buried him in a shallow grave in Epping forest. Favourite? There's no room for favouritism. Following the results of your local side, if you perhaps don't actually support your local side isn't betrayal. There are no affairs and no two-timing. 100% unequivocal commitment. You love your team, but you can have a soft spot for your local side. Bit like some Spurs fans I know who watch Barnet or Orient. They don't 'love' Barnet. They would practically (heavily metaphorically) die for Spurs.

However, every now and again we do get some Sol Campbells amongst us. Ooh.

My brother-in-law knew someone who, after a depressing Saturday at the Lane in a depressing season (I guess the mid-90's), and partly thanks to some peer-pressure from outside his group of friends, 'quit' supporting Spurs and not long after ended up an Arsenal fan. Quitting because your team lost? Spare a thought for supporters of clubs who never climb out of the lower tier divisions. The spirit of Benedict Arnold lives on with some.

I knew someone a few years back, a Hammers fan, who revealed he was a Spurs fan when he was a teenager but ended up following the Irons because his group of mates got involved with the ICF and he was more interested in the friendships and fighting than the football. It was, to him, more about being part of a group. A hooligan rather than standing on his own every Saturday at 3pm. Each to their own I guess.

My personal favourite (I'm using that word here because it's in context) has to be the story about these two blokes (in Leyton at the time), one of whom was completely disinterested in football and the other a West Ham fan. They both lusted after this one girl who was an Arsenal supporter. And both of them became gooners as a consequence to win her over. They both actually dated her, one after the other (she went out with one, dumped him then went out with the other one). The two blokes even had a punch up at one point outside the local pub. Heated stuff. The bloke who supported West Ham and defected for the sake of having her thighs wrapped round his back, paraded himself  in a JVC shirt often without shame.

It's a bit like shitting yourself in public whilst wearing white trousers. You will never live it down. Nobody will forget the humiliation. The white trousers are bad enough, but the diarrhoea? It will define you forever. How could anyone look you in the eyes and take you seriously after something like that? You would automatically lose all credibility. For life. A few years later I spotted him back in a West Ham shirt. Pathetic.

You simply cannot disdain the fabric of football and the lack of its complexities relating to allegiances. It's quite simple. You choose your team and are bound to them for life. No get out clause. That's it.

As for me, I have an almost five month old baby daughter (I've managed to part name her after our beloved club - work it out yourselves) so getting her to follow the Spurs might be a difficult task if her mother pampers her with shopping trips, Jimmy Choos and Gucci handbags when she's old enough to succumb to the frivolous vanity driven past-times of womanhood. However, there is hope. When she was just two months old, she projectile vomited when Cesc Fabregas appeared on the tv during a Sky Sports News report. There's hope for my THFC family bloodline yet.

TTID.


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

Part one can be read here.

International heart-break

#1

International break. It's no longer about whether England perform solidly and win and more so a thoroughly painstaking experience looking through your fingers as you cover your face with your hand gagging on your heart in mouth, hoping/praying/sacrificing the Arsenal supporting neighbours cat to pacify the footballing Gods type of evening in.

We (The Tottenham) have got plenty of international players. But it's the ones who represent England that tend to come back with missing limbs and shrapnel embedded in their splintered bodies. This time round, we have Huddlestone, Lennon and Crouch representing. Some of you may argue that your concerns will be more focused on the likes of Bale and van der Vaart. Both more likely to play a part for their nation. I think. You know what, I haven't even checked the fixture list for midweek and next week. I'm that frigging professional. The fact of the matter is, you and I will both be hoping for no injuries more so than looking out for actual results and performances. The priority is club over country. Again.

We don't want our merchandise returned damaged.

So, what to do in the mean time? Not a lot. Other than endure the time out from the Premier League by going for brisk walk in the park and writing poetry for your lover. Perhaps the weaker amongst you will try to pretend you do care about Fabio and the boys because you prefer to dance with the devil and watch the game with a machete in one hand and the neighbours cat in the other.

I sadly can't muster up the will power at the moment to ready myself for the torment of watching the live coverage.

Okay, you got me, I've misplaced my machete.

My attention, to be perfectly honest with you, will be firmly stuck on another type of kick-off altogether this weekend (rather than the one against Montenegro on Tuesday 12th). I'm talking about the live X-Factor shows that begin on Saturday. Yes, you heard me right. I said, X-Factor. I said X-Factor on a Spurs blog. I've gone and done it now, I've pulled you all outside of the boundaries of sports writing and into off-topic discussion. Don't shake your head at me. Hey, stop spitting at your monitor screen, calm down will ya!

In my defence, I watch it for the pure cynicism that it evokes from me, as it's the most fabricated, contrived show on television and somehow people who tune in seem to either not care about the big con and the awful set-piece acting and scripted pretences or just accept it for what it is and watch it regardless for the kicks provided by the soap opera dramatics it positively drowns in. Bit like following England I guess. You might ask why, if I know its such a shallow show, why would I still tune in just to anger the blood to boiling point? I guess it's because I can scream and shout at the stupidity and the egos without the back draft of worrying about the end result. Oh hold up, that's just like following England again.

However, the Three Lions have Ashley and X-Factor has Cheryl.

No contest.

How can I possibly resist the beauty of Tweedy as she subtly looks down at the sheet of paper in front of her, eyes glistening with concentration, and looks back up again to the contestant waiting nervously on stage as she reads out the highlighted-for-her-attention relevant sound-bite to exuberant applause from the studio audience.

Hating on International break? A million percent yes from me.

You have been reading the first in the series of Spooky's International Break diary journals.

Observations

Some observations and statto type stuff. Not that they need highlighting, but in case you've just woken up from a coma, read on. What with the fabled International Break now upon us, many will want to avoid slipping into a coma so best to keep talking about Spurs. No chance of boredom what with all the various arcs and sub-plots doing the rounds over in N17.

Goals Conceded, Goals Scored

Only Chelsea and City have conceded less goals in the league than us. But the former has scored almost double the amount we have. Sort of great, sort of not. Make-shift defence currently getting away with it or doing a sterling job. Depends on how deep you analysis from one game to the next. Down to bare bones, yet we keep plugging away. As for our forwards and lack of goals...

One Goal

Seven Prem games in and the collective force of Defoe, Crouch, dos Santos, Roman and Keane have given us the one, single goal between them. If forwards are not scoring, then you have to look at their all round play to justify their inclusion. JD is injured. So that leaves just Crouch who does assist, at the very least. And he's good with his feet too, apparently. You know, for a tall bloke.

One Point

One point gained against Wigan, WBA and West Ham. And yet we find ourselves in the top 5. Man Utd haven't won away from home yet and are third. Either the league is very average or super competitive. The only thing we should be gutted about is that we are just as slow out of the blocks, stuttering away, much like 99% of the league.

What if...oh what if, we had hit the ground running and changed up a gear earlier in the season? This old season of seven games of age.

At the minute, even Chelsea who have stormed ahead, don't look out of this world amazing. They don't have to be. Man Utd, are looking mid-table. How's that for controversy. Fergie will have to sign 3/4 of our players in Jan to juice up his side again. Batten down the hatches, Daniel.

So, with us and 4th spot, it's going to be about who starts to pull away from their competition, and thus applying the pressure on the chasing pack. The alternative is, this stop-start we've got in the Prem at the moment which everyone seems to be embracing, continues, which will mean this season might well be the most open ever. More so than last season. Can you handle that? I'm still holding out with my prediction that we'll finish about City and we'll finish in the Top 4. Again. There is something eerie about the Prem this season.

England squad

Crouch is joined by Huddlestone and Lennon. May the Gods have mercy on us this time round. We're a big club now, right? Can they not all pull out due to slight knocks?



Comedy gold

Catching up with yesterdays news. What is it with the three stooges over in East London? Their mouths permanently open. Don't they know only Harry has the copyright for that?

“Is it a ludicrous idea? It sounds like it to me. They have just got planning permission to build a new stadium. So what are they going to do, have one stadium for when it’s sunny and another for when it’s raining?” - Gold

No you moron. It's called having options, the type you are required to have by default when dealing with the matter of redevelopment and the future of a football club. What exactly is our chairman meant to do in this scenario? Not submit an application for the Olympic stadium meaning it would be impossible to have ever applied for it after the deadline had passed? What if Boris says no to the N17 plan? We'd be left scratching our heads.

Nah guv, it aint on is it? Nah, that pesky greedy Levy and his bang out of orderness of fulfilling his duty as club chairman to do everything in his power to have all corners covered, because that makes perfect and quite obvious business sense. Soz about the no text message to Kazza to let her know. Daniel has one less friend on Facebook now.

But don't fret Gold, Boris will say yes to the Northumberland project and you'll have Stratford and East London to yourselves to downsize the stadium to a modest size to make sure you're not left with empty seats and plenty of unsold tickets.

I still think, mixed in with the business thinking, part of this is a Levy ploy to make sure Boris rubber stamps it. Even in a worst case scenario, East London is not for me.

Tottenham Hotvaart

Spurs 2 Villa 1

At this rate I'm going to soon run out of superlatives for Rafael van der Vaart. Perhaps someone can spike his pre-match drink with horse tranquilliser so he can spend at least one weekend sitting by the corner flag with the only dribbling coming out of his mouth, rather than covering every blade of grass in that look at me I'm so frigging great way we're becoming accustomed too. Would give me a welcomed break from having to draft up love letter after love letter, the attention seeking show-off. If he isn't hogging the headlines he's hugging the grannies.

This never-ending tenacity he possesses to constantly impress and make things happen. Love sigh. He's got that special mix of technical ability, vision, urgency and the belief and desire to make the difference.

There are plenty of footballers who give it the one hundred per cent, week in week out. But if you take someone with genuine (world) class and that someone goes above and beyond what many would expect as the passable norm, well, it's enough to make you go all weak at the knees. It would be easy for him to play like a luxury player because that's what Tottenham are use to seeing or at least have been in the past. You have to admire the impact he wishes to bestow us in every game.

I don't really care at this precise moment in time about why he cost so little and whether Levy has one eye on future profit or possibly the gift of first refusal for Madrid on one of our players. I don't really care about the potentiality of failing to reclaim fourth and the expected but uninvited guest who would sniff around White Hart Lane with that unmistakable fat red nose. I don't care if he's doing a Berbatov. I don't care if the player himself simply took the chance because it was better than spending his time sitting on a bench in Madrid. If you are of this pessimistic ilk, what brilliant irony would it be if vdV dragged us into a fourth place finish? The fact is, the future hasn't happened yet, we're laying its foundations in the present.

He's ours. He plays in Lilywhite. And he makes that difference. Spurs now have their very own Gerrard/Lampard/Fabregas/do Utd have one at the minute? Rooney I guess. We have ourselves a game-changer. We have a catalyst.

The hacks might want us to believe he's a ticking time-bomb, what with their tiny brains struggling to comprehend why he's even playing for us (Sunday Supplement on Sky Sports strikes again) because it's just not right there has to be something amiss for him to be playing in our colours. Because if he's that good, he shouldn't be. Because what right do we have? Yeah, well, whatever. He's a time-bomb, the type that will blow up in their patronising miserable faces.

It should take another 3-6 games, but this team will have to start gearing up towards that higher level, that better standard that we need to be playing at if we're going to start to pull away which is what we need to do. I think the word 'hope' / 'hopefully' needs to be added to the above.

He sets the precedence for what a proper performance should be. It's the type of all action, plenty of plot that will have some questioning this paradox. And as Harry has stated, he needs to work out how best to work the mechanics of the side with vdV in it. On the right. On the right but free to roam into the middle. In the middle. Just behind the the front man. It's a headache, but not the type you can complain about.

However, the reality is, we are still not bossing games, we are still making it tricky for ourselves. Still having to dig deep and pull the win out of the grasp of two points lost or worse. But gaffer and team are doing what needs to be done to try and come through this patch with damage limitation mode switched on, what with our injuries and that tactical evolution that's keeping everyone on their toes.

In terms of CB's, its unnerving. Hudd having to deputise at the back against Villa. He didn't do too badly considering the risk of playing him there. Uncomfortable but got better as the game progressed. It's not exactly an upheaval of Biblical proportions, but we're adapting and learning from week to week in terms of what is best for us to attempt to gain some of that stability in play and momentum. It does have to settle soon. And in addition Harry is having to also manage the various sub-plots including the form of Lennon and Palacios.

We've also go Hutton, re-born. Still needs to be tweaked defensively and offensively in terms of positioning and when to go marauding. And if vdV is going to continue to drift away from the right, we need to help out Alan on that flank.

Bale can never be imprisoned at left-back again. He put in a hard working shift. Didn't take centre-stage for once. What with Villa sticking 15 players on him at any given time.

Jenas, well, he still splits opinion, but if someone was to ask you what he does exactly, you'd be harsh to ignore that he's doing just fine, fulfilling the role in midfield that has allowed for a more (potentially) dynamic middle four/five. There were glitches against the Villa (not so much his fault, but what with no Hudd in midfield there was no clean-up sweep up for when JJ went forwards and the play broke down) and people are bound to latch onto the obvious frailties but compared to Wilson, he's proving far less of a risk to start with. It's not perfect. But the boy is getting forward with a sense of directional awareness and industry that has me not gleeful (let's not go overboard) but definitely pleased.

Modric struggled with his possession on Saturday, which is a rarity. He's on the same wave length as Rafa, but he's not Luka at full pelt at the moment. An off day. So the midfield was not the most balanced (hence the potentially dynamic middle four/five comment), but we got going in the second half far more efficiently than the first thanks to Harry changing it.

So, what of the game?

It was yet another dramatic end to end entertainment piece, presented at the Lane, in full Tecnicolor. Because we don't do boring black and white.

Not a great first half of football, although it ended well with vdV getting the first of his brace, heading the ball in thanks to Crouch nodding it across the goal. Heskey mugging Bassong to set up Villa's goal, bundles in by Albrighton who didn't look decent. All a bit too easy.

We were not coping with the battle against Villa's midfielders which saw the second half switch of Azza on for Pav to give us that extra man centrally and vdV pushing up behind Crouch (even though that's where he drifted to from the right hand side during the first half). Lennon, improved performance off the bench. Probably would have scored had he not been hacked down. Well done Harry for the quick and much needed shift of formation.

So, in that second forty-five we played far better, more controlled football. Villa, still wasteful at times, and far less effective with Heskey off (on the 35 minute mark) which meant more emphasis and concentration on attack than defence for us.

Crouch and his knock-downs worked a treat. Might not always score, but he gets the assists. Pav played a part in the first goal but otherwise, just doesn't do enough for me (white Darren Bent). Appeared to play with a touch more conviction that usual, but that's not saying much. Sacrificed, so it's unfair to be too critical as he attacked the penalty area and run the flanks prior to going off at HT. So on another day, he probably would have been in the right place at the right time at some point.

vdV's second was representative of that extra oomph we now have. His movement into the box, into that position, not once did he not look like someone who wasn't going to score. He practically willed the ball to his feet, the deft touch and dummy and blistering finish processed at lighting speed in his brain but executed in a split second for all to see. It was an Ali shuffle, knock-out punch. Have some of that.

We battled. We came from behind. We had six defenders unavailable. Two players in the side that at the start of the season were on everyone's list to be sold, given away, stuck in a cardboard box and thrown in the river. But the siege mentality of vdV was nothing short of absolute inspiration. We got lucky at times, but I guess it's not really luck. We have van der Vaart. Villa had Carew. You can only ever be as good as the players you've got.

The rest of our players need to match Rafa. Because at some point that higher level needs to be attained. On days like this you can be thankful for that much maligned squad depth. We're going to need everyone in the up and coming weeks to be completely focused. Daunting fixture list, will only be so if we lack faith.

As for the love letters. I guess I don't really mind writing them. Could be a lot worse, I could have been blowing kisses to Joe Cole or Scott Parker.

Shudder.

Best cure for a hangover

by WookieD, glory-glory.co.uk

Unleash the beast. COYS.

The Stupendous Adventures of Bale and Bentley

Episode 6

At the Spurs Lodge...

Gareth: You okay David?
David: I'm busy, not now
Gareth: Busy? But all you're doing is...
David: I said I'm busy, can you not see I'm busy?
Gareth: I just wanted to say hi
David: Well you said it, can you leave me alone now please? I need to concentrate
Gareth: I was thinking, if you wanted to come round my gaff, you know, watch my dvd collection of my best Spurs performances and goals
David: I said I'm busy, I haven't got time to waste
Gareth: David...
David: What?
Gareth: Do you want to...talk about it?
David: Talk about what? I'm working my socks off here to try and claw back some credibility
Gareth: Credibility?
David: Yes, you know, the stuff you now have in abundance what with your good form and being linked with Madrid every other day
Gareth: Credibility?
David: Yes
Gareth: David...
David: What?
Gareth: How exactly is...this...going to help?
David: You're joking right? Sky Sports will be here any second now
Gareth: You don't think perhaps training harder and playing focused disciplined football on the pitch will help you more?
David: (looks beyond Gareth) They're here ! They're here ! Sky are here ! I'm saved ! This is the turning point ! I'm back baby, I'm back ! Stick your left-peg where the sun don't shine Welshie ! The Bentley is about to drive his way back to the top !


Later that day...

Jim White: This is Sky Sports News, stay tuned for exclusive footage of David Bentley naked star-jumping in a skip on top of a crashed Porsche playing keepy-uppy with his right foot on fire whilst drinking a can of Red Bull. Just another hard days training for the Spurs midfield star

Episode One

Episode Two

Episode Three

Episode Four

Episode Five