The fling is over, now for the rebound

I was sat in a pub in Gatley, Manchester watching the second leg of our quarter final against Real Madrid. Every ten minutes, I quietly whispered to my Mancunian mate, "If we score a goal in the next five minutes, we might just have enough time to make a comeback". I repeated this line up until the 91st minute before finally surrendering any possible hope of over-turning the mighty four nil first leg deficit. I wasn't drunk. Hardly drunk. I wouldn't even call it optimism or delusion. Just whimsical dreaming.

I sighed and applauded. It all ended anti-climatically in the end, the strength of the visitors (and the lack of lady luck) meaning there was no full blooded highly implausible and improbably attempt of a comeback that perhaps a single early goal would have given us. Instead a single howler of a goal for the visitors finally laid to rest one of the most enthralling début seasons the Champions League has ever seen. And as much as I'd have loved to see us up against those possession pests from Barcelona, it's not to be. Not this season.

Perhaps in the not so distant future we'll have grown in maturity further and improved our quality in certain positions to once more do battle with the very best Europe has to offer. Two games, five goals conceded but arguably only one great goal scored against us - the rest, poorly defended or errors. That's not bad going considering what happened in the Bernabeu and the fact that we lived with them in the return and applied plenty of effort with that telling cutting edge. We might have still been outclassed over the two sets of 90 minutes even if Crouch had not been sent off. We'll never know. And that's where the frustration festers. Madrid are hardly a shabby outfit themselves. Credit to them and Tottenham's future manager.

What?

It's been a grand old adventure. But it's been so much more than that. We've proved we can compete at the top. Not quite with the very best but we still reached the quarter-finals when all believed we'd only manage to finish third in our group. That deserves a smile or two. Along with the good this campaign has done for our stature and name. The impact of Gareth Bale. The memories of being 3-0 down in the qualifiers, the San Siro, the 3-1 Inter win, the San Siro again. The goals scored 'for' during the group stages. The entertainment and refreshing attacking mindset of Harry and the players. It's been wonderful. Memories of standing in the away end at Upton Park in 2006, banished forever.

We've lived the dream, lost our cherry. But I don't want another adventure. I want sustained participation, at the very least, every other year if not every year. In fact I don't want it refereed to as an adventure again. Adventures are a once in a life-time occurrence in some far off fantasy world. We got into the CL because we deserved it and we got as far as we did because we deserved it. And the fact we even entertained the possibility of making it to the semi-finals (perhaps had we faced Chelsea) doesn't just speak to me, it sings.

Seasonal battles on the continent with this team continuing its progression forwards, building on the foundations we've set as a club these past two season that wants to be successful and wants to aim even higher. The culture of comfort is dead. It lived long enough. Too long. Onwards with the next chapter.

Long live the desire to dare and to do. And come on you Spurs.

One last swashbuckle, Tottenham?

I guess my predicament can be compared to Aron Ralston, pinned between a boulder and a canyon wall with no means of escape. Other than attempting to cut my arm off. Although the analogy doesn't quite stretch to limb-losing I do feel completely isolated and any attempts to survive appear to be futile.

Whilst White Hart Lane is rocking to the tune of five home goals, I'll be up North. I haven't even got time to craft another chest thumping battle cry. Although it's hardly the occasion for one. We're 4-0 down. The odds on over turning it are what...astronomical, right? I have joked about how if we score in the opening five minutes, we'll win 4-0 in normal time, 5-0 aet. I'm the king of comedy me.

Pragmatically, the visit of Real Madrid should be one that the home faithful lap up and sing their hearts out as a final swan song, a heartfelt thank you to the team for this wonderfully entertaining adventure. And if we could perhaps beat them by the odd goal, it would go some way towards ending the campaign with another great memory, be it one with less gloss than the prior ones. What with Jose having one eye already on Pep.

The special one might 'rest' yellow carded players, park the bus, soak up the pressure to counter and kill the game early (and oh boy would an early Madrid goal sucketh). Can't control what they do. Down to us to set the tempo. No pressure, no tension. That should relax both players and fans. And what with 4th spot once more the priority, our minds should be on the next game. Although this being Spurs, we're unlikely to rest any of our players and will probably go gung-ho, dreaming of miracles. And let's be honest, we have no other choice than to do just that. You know I'm right. Playing the game like a friendly? Bill Nick would not approve.

I'll be getting smashed in the hotel bar, no doubt, slurring and allowing complete freedom of my fingers to dance away as I hold up both arms, hands reaching out to touch the impossible dream. Interspersed with more drink and the odd flashback of Bale's hattrick, the 3-1 home win against Inter, Milan at the San Siro.

One last swashbuckle, Tottenham? Until next season, of course.

Wouldn't want it any other way.

So hallelujah to you and the boys in Lilywhite. The tie might have ended away in Spain but glory doesn't have to be constrained by technicalities.

Come on you Spurs.

Mauling in Madrid

I woke up suddenly early this morning, around 3am. A little disoriented and for a brief few seconds no recollection of anything other than the dream I had just lost. Then it hit me like a truck running over a rabbit caught in its headlights. That other dream, my memory returning, also lost.  I did reach out to see if there was a white handkerchief I could use to wave despondently across my face to wipe away a tear. Instead I went back to burying my head under the pillow and asking myself...what if what if, as I lost consciousness (always with the losing) once more and fell back into what might as well have been a nightmare.

In all the match previews for our first leg visit to the Santiago Bernabéu, including mine, very few entertained the eventuality of what was witnessed on the night.

I cited we needed to stand tall, be strong. The usual pre-match battle cry dressed up with belief and desire with a dab of focus thrown in for good measure. It was always going to be about us finding out whether we could compete against a heavy weight side managed by heavy weight tactician.

Some quotes from my match preview:

“Jose knows his side won't be able to steam-roll us like the various assortments of Spanish fodder they dismantle week in week out”

That’s exactly what they did.

“We are not expected to win. We're not expected to beat them over the two games. So the pressure is on them. Leaving us to play without fear. Because to do otherwise would be regretful”

We found ourselves on the back foot before the game even kicked off with Lennon dropping out of the starting eleven due to, I’m not sure what. Illness according to Redknapp.

“I hope our defence retain unity.
I hope Bale has 'a game'.
I hope vdV galvanises his team mates on his return to his former club.
I hope Modric dictates.
I hope our players show resounding mental strength.
I hope Harry gets one over Jose”

Deliciously ironic if you’re a Madridista. The sudden change and resulting substitution that saw Jenas enter the field of play and then stupidity and lack of composure in the opening quarter of an hour was the catalyst for a nailed on defeat.

Apart from one of the goals, the rest were poorly defended. vdV sacrificed at half-time. Modric lost thanks to the constraints of seeing Crouch red-carded. Sure, we showed mental strength. Not so much in the way we knee-jerked and allowed us to be consumed by the occasion and subsequent reshaping. But the way we held it together, especially by going in at half-time at 1-0 was encouraging damage limitation.

I’m going to avoid any deep analytical break-downs regarding individual performances (some fought, others switched off, relentless pressure too much to handle) along with Harry’s tactical changes and the Peter Crouch kung-fu episodes. And not forgetting the forgotten fundamentals when failing to defend the two headed goals.

I'm going to avoid mainly because if you take a step back and remind yourself of the opposition and their quality and then admit they hardly shifted out of second gear – you’ll be grateful it was only the four goals conceded. There was no plan b. Madrid knew they would win, and picked us off patiently with all the time in the world to do just that. All things considered (36 Madrid shots on goal?) we might have escaped with a 2-0 or 3-0 which would still have had us dreaming. What with us being that way inclined.

Alas, back to harsh reality...

Ten men up against Real Madrid, away from home, having the absolute **** pressed out of us for practically the entirety of the match. These are not excuses; it’s just statement of fact. It’s horrible I know, to admit you’re being outclassed regardless of the way we surrendered any possibility of making a fight out of it. With eleven men, we might have scored an away goal. We’d have retained shape, cohesiveness. Instead we struggled to keep the ball with not a second allowed for us to catch our breath and try to salvage offensive movement rather than chasing shadows. Probably would have retained the ball, recycled possession effectively and had pockets of Lilywhite aggression. I guess, as one or two of you have already pointed out, it’s a nice to get-out clause to have.

That’s to be able to imagine that teasing ‘what if’ rather than say losing 4-0 with no caveats in sight. We worked hard because we had no other option to defend, we made mistakes, and we were duly punished for it. It’s happened to one or two teams in the past, taken to school. Lesson learnt. Then continued their progress next time round. Have to hope we won’t need to wait too long for that next time.

Let’s also respect the other perspective, the one we tend to ignore because we're so Spurscentric. As much as we’d have wanted to prolong the adventure, the other team – they had their own agenda. Fuelled by the fact they are second best to the best team in the world and finding themselves with the opportunity of meeting them in the next round what with personal redemption for all involved at Madrid and an obsession to avoid seasoned disappointment in the Champions League. It’s not always in our hands. As much as we’d like to believe it to be. Toe to toe, eleven against eleven might have been equally as painful.

Nothing to be ashamed of Spurs. But equally 'okay' for all of us to be disappointed as the return fixture is practically redundant what with the immediate (it’s been there all season tbh) urgency to reclaim a top four place with a handful of games left. Massive task for manager and players to react positively and not let the season fade away.

For the return game, do we rest our players or do we live for the moment once more? Home territory with the noise of the Lane in the stands, accompanied by a swan song of swagger out on the pitch? It would be rude not to oblige.

It’s been a majestic campaign in the only way we know how to journey through one. Ups, downs and shrugs. We were not meant to finish top of our group or knock out AC Milan. We did. And along the way created some cracking memories. There's room for one more, even if it's only a footnote.

COYS.

Game of your life Tottenham, game of your life

The inside of my head currently has more glittery explosions than any given November 5th. I didn't walk out of my home this morning as I began the first leg of my staggeringly labourious trek from the depths of Epping Forest to the badlands of Croydon (office relocation, long story). I floated. Feet not touching the ground, gliding in the air like a ghost, akin to a Spike Lee movie just without all the rage and anger. Raining and cold? I hardly cared. Knowing there were one or two N17 representatives in Madrid singing a song the night before and more to follow today was more than enough to warm me up.

It's surreal. Not in a giddy Beatlesque screeching and fainting kind of way. More so in terms of remembrance. Looking back to when we chased the dream we are now living with pomp. I'm placing aside all the discussions about the importance of progress and sustaining the current crop of Spurs players to secure a new generation of Lilywhite history rather than just a pocket of glory nights before we return to the uncertainty of the chase. Because just is more than enough when you're living that very specific moment. One that finds us visiting the Santiago Bernabeu. In it's purist form football is about moments. We've had so many of them this season, we've been enriched with the unforgettable. There's room for more. Not that I'm being greedy.

If it's our destiny to fizzle out of qualification for next seasons competition then at least we can look back at our maiden voyage into the continental elite with pride. Tottenham swashbuckling our style with refreshing zest and desire. I'm sure we wouldn't be such a massive surprise and shock if we made it back for 2012. But we've set out and proven we are more than capable to compete with the top sides in Europe. Which has irked many and had others scratching their heads in wonderment.

It's not about the taking part to feed the various guises of structure and standing. It has to be about the moments. I'll let reality consume me once more in the aftermath.

Sure, logic will tap us on the back and whisper solemnly that at some point we'll be up against a team who will shut shop effectively and punish every single mistake we make. I'd rather that exit happened in the semi-final, if it is to happen at all.

I had a dream last night. Watching the game on TV. We had two penalties. van der Vaart with the first. Crouch with the second. The home ground despondent.

Gotta dream, right?

I've followed La Liga for years, adore the Morbo in what is a wonderfully fragmented country. And like most have followed Madrid and their soap opera. They're like a Spanish Tottenham. I don't mean in silverware and domestic and European success. I'm referring to some basic fundamentally building blocks. The necessity to play attacking free-flowing football and always having a shady defence. That and the amount of managers that tend to come and go. And although in many other ways we are worlds apart, we both have rich histories. Glamour clubs. Sometimes more style than substance, but both of us on the road to progression rather than a road tinged with puddles of perdition.

And in Jose they have a manager shrewd and tactically astute enough to stifle the life out of both games and have us dumped out in inglorious fashion. The party pooper. And we have a man-manager at the helm of the first big club he's coached who has done what so many other have failed to achieve. Fulfil some of that pent up potential.

Jose knows his side won't be able to steam-roll us like the various assortments of Spanish fodder they dismantle week in week out. But he does know his English Premier League. There's a  suggestion (not that I tend to believe him as he's the master of the underplay) that he believes 0-0 tonight would be a good result. The thinking that not conceding at home will be enough to win the game across the two legs. As far as Madrid and Jose are considered, we must not score tonight.

Can't see anyone parking the bus. In fact, there's a part of me that worries that Madrid might just attempt to steam-roll.

Madrid also have a number of key players on yellow cards. So hoping Sandro can bring some of that physicality and incite some hot-tempered tempo to proceedings. We do however need to retain our cool. Remain composed. And not over extend beyond our means. Stand tall at the back and aim for a knock-down or two from the tall at the front.

We are not expected to win. We're not expected to beat them over the two games. So the pressure is on them. Leaving us to play without fear. Because to do otherwise would be regretful.

I hope our defence retain unity.
I hope Bale has 'a game'.
I hope vdV galvanises his team mates on his return to his former club.
I hope Modric dictates.
I hope our players show resounding mental strength.
I hope Harry gets one over Jose.

Win the midfield battle. Play with pace. Play with width. We have nothing to lose, right? We're not meant to be in the quarter-finals, right? I'm having flashbacks, 3-0 down to Young Boys.

Our spine has to be strong. It's not beyond the realms of impossibility to get a draw there. I'll be shocked to the bone if we collapsed Inter first leg style, all choked up and star struck. We're all grown up now. It's quintessentially Tottenham when you feel slightly more confident your team will perform against the might of Real than playing away to Wigan.

Come on you Spurs. Weather the White Storm. Let's be having the Madridistas waving their white handkerchiefs.

Game of your life Tottenham, game of your life.

We got Real Madrid

This is going to be epic.

The hard way is the only way is the Spurs way. Year ends in one. Chas'n'Dave reunited. Wembley final. Not so much about winning it, just creating crowing cockerels of history along the way. For as long as it lasts. And long may it continue. It's got to be enjoyed otherwise what's the point? It's a cliché, but anything can happen, which is why its better to believe and dream than to hide behind the fear. Even if it goes against our seasoned DNA as Spurs fans to be pessimistic. You can hardly not wear your heart on your sleeve for this particular occasion.

Wanted Madrid. Got them. Even managed to pencil in the potentially of Barca in the semi-final. The footballing Gods are either listening or mocking me, depending on how all this pans out. Romantic notions aside relating to glamour and Glory Glory nights, one thing is for certain, this is hardly going to be easy - which is when Spurs tend to deliver the unexpected.

Harry up against Jose. Zonal Marking might explode in it's preview. Away at the Bernabéu then back at the Lane. Madrid, flamboyantly brilliant going forward and expertly organised and drilled be it not the best defensively because of the offensive nature of their back four. But then when you power forward and score goals you hardly have to worry too much the defending. Something previous incarnations of Real Madrid teams basked in but often failed in the long run for their naivety and lack of emphasis on unity at the back.

Talking of their offensive nature; Marcelo, Di Maria, Ozil, Benzema, Ronaldo. Hardly a yard off the pace are they? Not too shabby with their set-pieces either.

What do we do to compete?

No containment, no deep lying soaking of pressure. We have to attack with intelligence, with bravado and belief. Bale, Modric, vdV - all key, as much as the player(s) who take responsibility with defensive duties in the middle. Enter the Sandro. Possession also vital. Madrid are no Barca but they will tear you up if you invite.

What makes it altogether more tricky is Jose is no mug to the English game and our players and has a 5-0* record against Redknapp. Be it in the EPL. This is where we find out aplenty regarding tactical astuteness and how much lady luck plays a part. He'll know exactly how to set up his team and what tempo to play the game at, both home and away. And no doubt if he gets the result he wants in Spain then he might go all Chelsea cira Jose in the return. Tactics aside, the true battle for me is man-management. And Harry v Jose is a colossus battle between two men who know how to get the best out of their players.

*Correct me if I've got that one wrong.

Also, keep a keen eye on the battle within the media. I expect overdrive in the stories linking Bale to the Bernabéu.

Teams? Possibly...

Casillas, Ramos, Pepe, Carvalho, Marcelo, Di Maria, Alonso, Khedira, Ozi, Ronaldo, Benzema

v

Gomes, Corluka, Dawson, Gallas, BAE, Lennon, Modric, Sandro/Hudd, Bale, van der Vaart, Crouch

Some of that. It's finally happening IRL rather than a Football Manager save game.

Play to our strengths Tottenham, play with width, pace and venom. The latter something we've lacked since Bale was injured but thankful he's returned just in time. They're going to come out wanting to hurt us and put the game beyond our means for the return visit in North London. So hurt them back we must. Midfield is the key and the less time players like Alonso have on the ball the better. We're going to have to be offensive by being defensive thus allowing for the offense. I'll work out exactly what I mean by that and come back to it in the build up to the game.

This is not a free-flowing finished article side we're up against. They have, much like us, imperfections. They just happen to have a tad more high end quality players. Just a tad. Enough to see off most of La Liga and Europe with inspirational moments of genius and cheek and devastating play at pace. Hard to beat, they can also dig out a result thanks to aforementioned genius with some added grit. Which is obviously a trait that Mourinho has added, that hard to beat quality. Something we're not too bad at either.

What allows me to have some faith in our chances is that because of expectations the pressure mounting on Jose and because of the style of play expected from their side - they can't shut up shop and play effective bland football much like we become accustomed too when he plied his trade in England. I know I'm slightly boxing in Chelsea of old there but his sides tend to be shrewd and cunning and ultimately frustrating for the beaten opposing side and sometimes the home fans too. Park the bus anyone?

Madrid are not bland but very much effective and as mentioned 'drilled'. They work more cohesively as a unit under Jose. Hence the reason why they are in the QF's for the first time in a number of seasons. They will attack. And that will suit us, as long as mental-shut downs like the one experienced against Inter in the Giuseppe Meazza are no more. Although - it pains me to even reference it - if we are finally out of our depth, it's no failure or disgrace to hold up our hands and gracefully accept our departure from this magnificent journey.

Concluding thoughts?

Loved Lineker during the draw. Made up for Rafa and his return. Not so made up for the colour shirt, shorts and socks we'll have to wear in the first game. We'll be drenched in history when we play all white in the second game under the floodlights back on home territory. A tradition inspired by that famous Madrid side that won it 5 times on the trot.

Simply put - we need to score away from home. And I reckon we will. Hold it together at the back. Frustrate them, get the home support on their backs. How did I start this article off?  

Anything can happen.

Two weeks to go and the hairs on the back of my neck have already ripped themselves away leaving broken skin behind and dancing their way to the top of my head.

It's going to be fantastic.

In other news. Apparently we've got a game on Saturday.

I want Real Madrid

Champions League quarter-finals. Choke on that one.

To continue in the spirit of all things Glory Glory I'd rather not draw any of the bland teams that remain in the competition. By bland, I don't mean to be disrespectful to the likes of Schalke and Shakhtar. Even though you might actually fancy us to get past both of them as long as we scored away from home. Although neither are ties I would look forward to. I guess the fear here would be failure to progress against a less glamorous club.

Inter - been there dismantled that. Possibly a dangerous tie to play what with their renewed confidence and thoughts of revenge. Bored of the Stadio Giuseppe Meazza. Can you even believe we'd ever think that?

What of Manchester United and Chelsea? English clubs. That's reason enough to avoid them in this débutante Champions League season of ours. I'd rather continue with the glitz and glam, what with the unnerving possibility that we might not be back next season (we will be IMO) but for the sake of the present day - I wouldn't want to look back with regret that we could have played 'X' team in the quarters and instead got a team we know very well from domestic duties.

United have a hex over us. Chelsea are hardly dead, just sleeping. It would be a massive anti-climax for us to go out to either of them. I'd rather be spanked silly by Barcelona. Which is why in my wildest dreams we don't play them until the semi-finals (look, I did cite wildest dreams there so enough with the thoughts of delusions).

In a suicidal way I'd love us to play Barca. I'd hardly be gutted about it. This is Spurs, eternal strugglers for the Top 4, finally making it to the promised land. Why would any supporter not want to see us go toe to toe with the best club side in recent memory, possibly one of the finest footballing sides ever?

What's that? 10-0 to the Catalans you say? Would Barca release a DVD?

A Glory Glory night under the floodlights in deepest North London hosting a tie against the Spanish champions and their assortment of World Cup winners and the best player in the world or Manchester United with Howard Webb?

Exactly. So back to that wild dream, and a visit to the Camp Nou in the semi-final.

So that leaves us (me) with one team to face in the quarter-final. That other club from Spain. The also-rans of La Liga. Jose and Ronaldo. One or two other half-decent players in their squad too. The Estadio Santiago Bernabéu. The White Storm v The Lilywhites. Fantasy football, right? Up against a team that plays in all white against a team that plays in all white in Europe. Now that would be glamour. A clash of attack in Madrid and London.

Now in a pragmatic universe, you'd probably want Schalke in the QF's and a hard fought win over two legs. You would really not care who we played after that point. The objective being one of statement of progression.

In my universe, I'm floating on top of a sea of romantic notions and the best possible next chapter in this fantastical journey. It's not about the stage of the competition, it's about the quality of the competition.

Deep down, it probably really doesn't matter, does it? We're in the quarter-finals. It's the end game. It's where the standard of football goes up a notch so mistakes become more punishable teams are more ruthless and cunning. And offensively you can't afford to dither and hoof. We've gone further than most expected. There is no failure from aiming high. So we may as well. All we require from the team is that same spirit, belief and guile that finds us where we currently stand tall.

It's with the Gods now. I pray the balls in the pot are not too warm.

Second leg at home please.