So how exactly do you beat Spurs?

Spurs 2 Liverpool 1

How do you make sure of beating Spurs? Well for starters perhaps try to score 5 to 6 goals in the first half then park the bus to stop them from mounting a sustained comeback. Because a one or two goal head start won't be enough. 

Choke? Capitulations? Catastrophe? Thanks but no thanks. We no longer own the copyright.

Comeback Kings. Tag us up. A new era is upon us.

We've now notched up 16 points from a losing position - which illustrates the strength of character and belief this side has. Again, it’s scary to start theorising about how good we might be if we played with relentless intent from the opening whistle. Would like to see us take a lead, go two up and then kill the game off, perhaps with another to make it comfortable. Show some wit and guile by stopping the opposition from playing and dictating tempo at will.

Hey – it’s Christmas so the moon on a stick in my stocking is not a far-fetched request for Santa to deliver. I can’t help but flirt with the idea of the next step we need to be taking.

Beating Liverpool in the manner we did was not a vintage Spurs performance. Actually it was going by this season’s template. No need to play well across the full 90 minutes. Dangerous heart-in-mouth game plan. The consequence of no clipboard.

But that's fine because we're not degrading in terms of momentum and we'll surely continue to improve, especially if we manage to consolidate in the Jan transfer window.

Had it ended in defeat or a draw we would have spent a few days knee-jerking about what’s wrong with the team, struggling to cope with injuries and cohesiveness, losing out to a Liverpool side that have hardly been expansive with their football away from home this season. They looked up for it, attacked with a degree of on the deck directness and were combative in centre midfield. Torres could have punished us and brought us crashing back down to earth after our NLD win and qualification into the knock-out stages of the Champions League. But the Spaniard deciding against pulling the trigger when it was the easiest option to take probably because, I don’t know, he didn’t want to hurt our push for Top 4 what with his imminent transfer to N17.

/tumble-weed

Not quite moon on a stick that, more Andromeda galaxy on a stick. Grateful he didn’t leave us flat on our backs looking at the stars.

Liverpool squandered one or two chances. We did too, Defoe should have lifted the ball into the goal rather than just hit it low, Carragher blocking. And then in the second half, a fairly poor penalty. I’m sure you know the stats with pens off by heart now. Five out of nine missed or something. Bale also had an effort cleared off the line.

Open game that it was (Spurs do not do cautious well) we had to overcome a few in-game obstacles. van der Vaart pulling up early on, subbed, and probably out for a month. Kaboul also going off with a muscle problem – Bassong on as his replacement. Harry’s arms tied behind his back in the dugout. But if there is something we‘ve learnt time and time again this season is Houdini is capable of an escape or two. Never doubt our spirit, or do so at your own risk. Backs against the wall – we’ll just turn around, smash it down and walk straight through it. Granted not always with a bulldozer, just a one or two explosives expertly positioned. That will always do the job.

Liverpool just about deserved their goal, not much we could have done about it other than better man-marking – but it happens. Scrappy opener and the Reds could have doubled/tripled their lead either side of half-time. Torres brilliantly playing in Rodriguez who scoffed his shot, and Bassong superbly getting to the ball leaving Torres frustrated...again. Good to see him looking sharp and with Dawson a week or so away, at least our defence won’t be completely decimated – what with Gallas forging a decent partnership with the rampant Kabul.

Found myself frustrated by many things during  the game and before the final moments.

BAE’s posturing. Wilson’s distribution of the ball. Defoe still rusty. The fact Lucas was running tings in midfield speaks volumes about our inability to take a stranglehold of the game. It was all a bit lazy. Give the ball to Bale even though Bale has two men on him most of the time. Hoof balls forward for the knock-downs. Palacios is not even half the player he once was and losing vdV and not having anyone else to slot into the midfield (with JJ out), makes it all the more tricky if the opposition – no matter their depth of quality – put in a good shift.

Having said that, Liverpool were not quite head and shoulders above us.

One penalty miss, one not given (yes, Liverpool might have had a shout for one too), two off the line. We still looked for a way back in. When we did eventually score it was the excellent dinking Modric running through Liverpool’s back-line with ease and playing it across the six yard box, Skrtel forced to make contact with the ball (having scored for the 1-0) making it 1-1, otherwise Crouch would have. Luka is only just getting started IMO. He’s going to be vital over the next two months where that fabled marker just has to be placed down as we look to get ourselves into the top four  - and stay there.

The winner was direct (now there’s a shocker), BAE long, header on by Crouch (knock him if you like but was that another assist?) and Lennon rushing past probably the worst Liverpool defender in their recent history (not saying much) to score in injury time. Fully deserved for the ickle man who is regaining form. He’s got his spark back.

The opposition not so much mugged, but leaving their wallet on a table to be snatched with comparative ease. In the end an out of sorts Spurs side pushed aside a plucky Liverpool side. Oh my how things have changed.

We’re still not at full pelt but neither is the Premier League – and we’re six points off the top. Aim high(er), right? Three successive league wins. Four in all comps. Five games unbeaten. Momentum, dear old friend, is back with us.

Kudos to Harry, if anything for another half-time team talk and holding on till late to bring on Sandro (a substitution he could not have made earlier in the game due to the injuries). Not sure we can spend too much time being concerned with the way we don’t quite own the full 90 minutes. But then this might just be a consequence of the injuries and the related tinkering – and it’s something we need to muddle through until the dawn of 2011.

The big news I guess in the aftermath is the injury to Rafa van der Vaart. Possibly out for a month which is a massive disappointment considering his talismanic qualities and White Hot Lane goals. There is no discounting his influence. But like I’ve said – we need to be able to win without him. Kaboul also out (not sure for how long) - so it's biting of the nails time as another two men go down on the battle field. Time for the spirit of 2010. Dig deep.

One final footnote - the crowd getting on Palacios back – f*ck off idiots.

Yes he’s not the defensive destroyer he was when he first signed for us and although I’m quite happy to agree that he might need to placed aside or leave if he fails to recover from his crisis of confidence (Paul Robinson anyone?) there is no need for prawn sandwich booing and sarcastic cheering. Groan and moan it’s your right – but ease off trying to apply extra unnecessary pressure on the guy by making a point of singling him out in this manner. Support him. Some of his work wasn’t that far off decent. His passing is woeful I know. Harry hug and perhaps a gentle slap in the face required to perk him back up. It’s a massive concern because he’s not shown any signs of recovery so far. Not the same player since losing his brother. And is unlikely to be if some of you make the decision to hate on him before you even turn up at the Lane.

Slagging players off on blogs and forums, probably the best place for it because it’s unlikely they give a sh*t about something they won’t be reading. In the ground – it’s not. Jog on to the Emirates if you want to act the c*nt.

Anyways, you’re meant to reserve your disgruntled energy for when Jenas is back in the side.

j/k

Loving my JJ fix at the minute. Oh we are such a fickle bunch.

To end on a positive. Credit to all concerned, we’re not going to let go of our top four entry easily.

COYS.

Onwards.



Exercise or play sport regularly? Join Spurs legend Graham Roberts and tell Arthritis Research UK about your experiences of sports pain or injuries: painoutofsport.org

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.

The Comeback Kid

The young puggy looking lad started the day much like most other days. He broke a mirror in the bedroom and spent approximately ten minutes clearing up the glass. He then processed to have four shredded wheat in the hope this would give him super-strength. He then spent approximately two hours fixing his hair. This was a time consuming task, of much pleasure, acquiring an assortment of shampoo, conditioner, hairspray and gel. Once complete, a tracksuit is fitted on. Done and dusted. With at least 10 minutes to spare before being picked up by his best mate. Time to practice some skills outside until he arrives.

Using a ladder carefully placed by the side of the house the young lad dribbles the ball around it with sublime ease. It gets a little more tricky when his pet cat starts running across his path, with the lad having to dink the ball over the pesky fur-ball. The black feline always hisses in disagreement when the lad mis-times and kicks the ball into its slender elastic body.

Carpool time. The lads best mate is here. He always knows around 20 seconds before he pulls up outside in his car because his best mate loves to show-off a bit. He kicks the ball out of the sun-roof and it travels with pace, hitting the doorbell. Expert precision and casually effortless as you like.

Ding dong.

They hug and both agree today will be the day.

The old decrepit spinster opposite, peering from her window disagrees and holds tightly to the effigy in her hand. She curses to herself as she begins to look around for a needle.

When the two bestest friends arrive, the lad gets ready for what will be ninety career-defining minutes. But his best mate is glum. There is no place for him other than cheering on from the sidelines. He consoles himself by recreating a  happier moment, star-jumping at the entrance. Except its not quite the same without a camera zooming in on him. He wipes a single tear from his eye and kicks an empty can, hands in pockets, sighing.

90 minutes later. With a 3-2 score, it's all smiles for the puggy looking kid.

"We won", he spurts out gleefully.
"Great", says his subdued best mate.
"We won and I played the full ninety minutes"
"That's great mate. Look, can we drive about a bit. I heard there was some work being done on a house about a mile from here. Reckon they'll have a skip outside and I want to try this trick where I…"
"I played ninety minutes and I tasted victory"
"It was a friendly behind closed doors against Championship opposition. I doesn't count"
"I won"
"Gio even got a start"
"I won"
"It was QPR at the Lodge with a bunch of kids playing"
"I won"

The puggy kid was happy. If rainbows had endings, you'd find his smile there, positively beaming.

"The jinx. It's over. Life is good"

Elsewhere, the old decrepit spinster, arm stretched under the sofa, picks up a lost needle with her fingers.

"There you are my precious"

Terry Dixon in astonishing comeback

Remember Terry Dixon? Very highly rated youngster on the books at Spurs a few years back who without making a league appearance (or a reserve one at that), managed to win a call-up to the Republic of Ireland squad for a friendly match against Russia back in 2006. Dixon (probably because of his physical stature and shaved head) was being touted as the Irish Wayne Rooney. Superficial comparisons aside, the kid was a precocious talent and in fact had plenty in common with Rooney. Those who witnessed him in full flight saw a strong, confident young lad with bundles of skill. Irish Rooney? Perhaps. Way ahead in terms of ability of all the other 16 year old players at the time. Which is probably why Ireland took a cheeky look at him.

But, alas, we never got to see him beyond the academy team.

The club released him back in March 2008 (cancelling his contract) due a couple of very serious knee injuries (he managed to repeatedly dislocate his right knee). Once is bad enough, twice is pretty devastating. Several operations and failed comebacks meant Dixon was let go. The suggestion (according to medical staff) was he'd never be able to play top flight football, at least at the competitive level required to make the grade in a first team squad in the Premier League. Which is why he's signed for West Ham.

Sorry, that joke would have worked better if we were ABOVE the Hammers.

In all seriousness, I'm chuffed to bits he is back at a professional level. Shocked, but chuffed. This is a young lad who's dream was retired after almost an age was spent attempting to get him fit and primed for a fulfilling career. Seems a stint in Belgium with a knee-specialist along with further rehabilitation at West Ham has worked a treat. Obviously. Otherwise why would West Ham sign him on a three year contract?

Prodigy (not Carr, he's just a git)

Two years out with a serious injury at a critical stage of his development along with disciplinary issues (mostly off the field) along with the fact that Spurs were amazingly patient for a very lengthy time, working to get him back to fitness - makes it an astonishing comeback. Its a bit unexpected.

I wish him all the best at West Ham and hope he makes a full recovery, as unbelievable as it might have seemed had we discussed the possibility 5 months back. Even if he scores a cracker against us, I'd applaud (quietly in my mind).

If he doesn't make the grade at West Ham, I hope he makes it somewhere else. The lad obviously has a never say die attitude and wants football in his life, regardless of the odds stacked against him.