Spurs avoid relegation

Spurs 1 WBA 0

Lack of tempo and direction after decent early pressure. No width. Bit sluggish. Festive period finally bites back at us. Struggled to work around the congested midfield area, tippy-tappy passing epic failure. Too much free-roaming from Bale when the left flank was yelling out his name. The right flank equally lonesome. Players looking tired with movement and touch. Passing was very very average. More than a few were anonymous out there. On top of that we had every other player dropping dead and some dubious substitutions and reshaping as a consequence (Niko in the middle as a CM? Really?). Gallas injured (calf). Sandro injured (calf). Livermore injured having replaced Sandro and injuring Kaboul (who survived it because he's well 'ard). Adebayor playing like he's injured but still managing to beat JD's best mid-season offside tally but is still some way off from equalling the Monsters Inc scare record. Defoe rubbish until he scored. Cue 1000 Spurs fans on Twitter desperately attempting to delete their anti-JD 'get him off' comments. Then he's rubbish again.

There were positives in there. Plenty of effort. Half-Jenas Livermore did quite well, retaining the ball. The experience, leadership and class of van der Vaart included a solid work ethic. Defoe's blonde hair making it ever easier for assistant ref's to wave their flag for offside (positive for them rather than us). That's all I've got. Well that and 68% possession even if our patient play was untidy. Some flaky decisions made on and off the pitch. But we survived any genuine scares.

WBA, decent effort. What with all the hacking and fouling. Made it more so tricky with their 19 centre-backs. But that's just respect for us. Can't expect lesser quality sides to turn up and try and play open football. They'll get murdered, even if we're at half-pelt. So don't try to play WBA and co, just hoof and time waste.

In addition: We still suck at set pieces. Countless attempts at goal without really carving out clear 'ooh it's going in' cut chances. No creative spark. No coat hanger to unlock the bus door and joyride the bulky annoyance away.

Regardless, we won. Ugly. But we won. Professional without being polished. More of a grind. Bit like pulling a bird you don't fancy at the end of a night out. But you still end up scoring and surely that was the objective at the start of the night?

Three points. Winning convincingly is just as important as winning unconvincingly. As long as the latter doesn't turn into a week to week trend then it's no different to other clubs who mix and match and get the points on the table.

I'll leave the rest for the actual match report/after-thoughts (probably not until Thursday if I get the chance as I'm recording the podcast Wed evening) but I'm sure 'squad rotation' along with 'the necessity to rest our players' will be two key talking points. FA Cup weekend, got to be intelligent with selection there. And please no more injuries.

Oh yeah, and 42 points. We can't get relegated now. Open bus parade. Have that Facebook Tottenham Relegation Party. Don't think I've forgotten your zany existence.

The cockerel might have been removed from the roof due to the extreme weather conditions but be sure it can be found crowing in the club bar sharing a drink with Chirpy and his white powdered nasal hairs.

COYS. Mind the gap.

Love the shirt.

RIP to the elderly Spurs fan that passed away during the game.

JD talks Spurs

Fighting Cock message board member 'boxbat' was present at the Q&A Fans Forum with Defoe firing back the answers to questions posed. Below are some of the stand out quotes. Nothing ground-breaking really other than the fact the player is focused on CL qualification rather than winning domestic cups. In your face silverware.

So I was lucky enough to go to the Fans Forum with JD at the Lane last night. He was on good form, answering questions on a variety of topics. I put the question to him about whether he would prefer to win the FA Cup and Europa League or qualify for the Champions League again, and he didn't hesitate much in choosing the latter. So there you go, I guess that's the modern footballer's mindset these days.

A few other things from off the top of my head:

- Modric called the strikers 'greedy' in training after Ade and JD each failed to pass against Newcastle; JD says he felt he had a good chance of scoring and was going to shoot, that's just the way he is.
- JD claimed he doesn't feel any joy over Rooney's England ban - reckons it shouldn't need to take something like that for him to force himself into the team.
- Everyone laughs at Pav's dress sense.
- JD is most impressed with Tom Carroll out of the youngsters
- JD thinks Modric is our most irreplaceable player
- Bassong is an attention seeker, Sandro hugs everyone when he comes into training
- Niko is the most frequent supplier of nutmegs
- JD reckons he's sharper over 10 yards than Bale, also says he's fitter than he's ever been
- JD has been offering a bit of advice to Coulibaly, namely, not to rush his shots when through on goal
- Adebayor 'hates' a***nal

...and quite a bit more besides, but there's a taster.

For the full thread, click on into The Fighting Cock forum. Sign up whilst you're at it.

Forward failure

Previous season review articles:

In our defence

Midfield majesty

Onwards now with penetrating the penalty box of pessimism where our goal shy forwards sleep.

Defoe

Patches of form is JD’s signature. He scores goals in spurts but then goes missing for a while. He lashes the ball into the back of the net, a regular trait much like his inability to beat the offside trap. He’s a player you always expect to see improved but doesn’t quite get there, although this season there was a suggestion he would surprise us. Alas, he was struck down by injury and that was that. It’s easy to forget about the big chunk of the season he was sidelined and just criticise him for his form post- return. He’s struggled to reclaim that blistering zip and had it all compounded by falling behind in the queue to start up top in Lilywhite.

I’m going to be brutally honest. I think on form and fit, JD will score goals. Even in spurts, he will hit 20 if he avoids injury. However, if Levy and Harry plug the hole we have up front in terms of balls deep world class quality to compliment the likes of vdV and Modric...then a sacrifice will have to be made. JD will be benched. He won’t be first choice and he’ll want to be and will therefore have to look elsewhere. I don’t think he’s going to change his ways. He’s not a bad player. We just need something that little bit extra special.

Seems we have players at Tottenham that are neither first choice or strong enough to lead the frontline. And that’s a weakness.

He’s scored plenty for us (you might have missed the t-shirt) so I hope he shows the desire to stay and fight, but his words recently suggest otherwise. In a confident side, with a confident Defoe...fireworks.

Crouch

Much maligned. Scored some vital goals for us at key moments. Assisted Rafa on the odd occasion too. But it’s like bringing a sex doll to bed to help you get in the mood when your partner is lying naked next to you. There’s no need for it. It’s a distraction. It’s not a necessity even though you could get some use out of it. If there was no Crouch they’d be no hoof and knock-down. It’s those key moments that allowed many to tolerate his lack of impact domestically (lack of goal return). It’s not his fault, he’s built the way he’s built and he’s had success at former clubs. But much like a team has to be setup in the right way for Darren Bent to run onto the ball off the last defender, you have to use Crouch as an outlet meaning it’s fine if he’s a backup/impact sub but not so good if he’s the one leading from the front. Dynamic he’s not.

Those vital goals, in the CL. Appreciated by all. But we need something far more robust. Someone who kicks the ball with venom and isn’t just an obvious Plan B to launch balls at.

Pavlyuchenko

Remind me, did we sign him in the aftermath of Zenit dicking us about with the Arshavin saga? We paid around £14M for a player that joined us off the back of the Russian season. He seemed to be permanently injured and forever with his translator. He wasn’t convincing and was far too apologetic in body language on the ball and off it. For the money spent he hasn’t displayed the qualities we expected from him when he arrived. There’s an argument that perhaps had he started more games he’d have found a rhythm and settled far quicker. Perhaps, but he’s far too erratic for me.

He’s obviously a classy player. Some of the goals he’s scored have been majestic, technically superb and instinctive. And yet he ghosts in and out of a game at times like a lost Sunday league player who has turned up in a professional league by accident. He’s a luxury. I think Harry knows that and I don’t believe him when he starts claiming he’s the best finisher at the club. I think the crux is that even though he might be, he’ll never be consistent enough and he’s obviously not doing enough to claim that first team start (unless Harry is still controlled by favouritism).

Pav does have the class, like I said. But it’s always too little too late. Scored some vital goals last season. Scored some great goals this season. That’s about it.

I guess, ideally, we’d replace all three players with two top drawer forwards and a young third choice striker for the future. Personally think Defoe will stay and Crouch and Pav will go. Which means we’ll sign our ‘world class’ forward and will simply need to invest in some youth to make sure we have ample cover.

At the end of this epically long day we didn’t score enough goals. Not to completely blame the front men as we lacked cohesiveness with the tinkering, but there were several games when you were left holding your head in your hands. Either we’ve had one of those days all season long or we just admit we need to up our game and make the required changes for the good of this team and its progress.

Up next:

Prem and the Cups 

The Progression of Harry Redknapp’s Tottenham (including a 'arry review)

Summertime High Jinxs

Anyone got a hymn sheet?

Another day another interview and another soundbite farting it's way out of White Hart Lane. This time Defoe complaining about sitting on the sidelines and how qualifying for the Europa League isn't a good idea because it would be too much of a distraction. Not sure how because to be fair to the lad he'd probably only get to play in the Europa League rather than the all important Premier League what with our imminent world-class forward signing (by imminent I mean 'for the love of God please').

Irony all over the place if he was to start on Sunday, a game where he might find himself in a position to score to take us to the hardly fancied Europa dream.

Defoe says no to Europe. van der Vaart says yes. Harry says no, yes, no, yes...depends on the weather.

We've lacked consistency on the pitch during the run-in which has cost us dearly. Wouldn't harm us to have some consistency off the pitch when people open their mouths. But I guess each to their own (agenda).

As for JD and his threat/plea. Had he not got injured, who knows? He did and he's struggled mainly because he hasn't always taken his chances and also because Harry hasn't always looked to use him. Possible argument that Harry has actually forgotten how to best use his favourite 'son', his mind on other selection and formation headaches. Don't think Defoe will ever improve on his current ability, but that's not to say that a decent pre-season and a run in the team wouldn't see him produce the goods again.

It's all very dependent on the ilk of forward we do end up signing and whether vdV will play just behind him or we opt for the more traditional partnership up front. The fact he's said what he's said (de ja vu) suggests as much as he references the buzz of playing for Spurs and the hunger he has...it's hardly the words of a committed player to the club. Just a player committed to himself, perhaps knowing deep down he just won't cut it any more. If he's weak in mind, then perhaps call his bluff.

The money shot that never came

Spurs 0 West Ham 0

It would be easy to tag our attack with the label clearly stating ‘limp’ in big bold capitals. I’d rather not be that obvious. In this instance, I’d prefer to compare Spurs with a male porn star filming on set in LA (or Florida if you prefer) able to sustain wood for a prolonged period even with the countless stoppages and artistic direction. At no point faltering and no flaccid moments to bring filming to a stop. Limp? Hardly, much like Spurs, especially in terms of our effortless movement and offensive intent.

Now the analogy has to be stretched here a little.

The porn star scores several times during the duration of production. But there is only the one money shot. In Tottenham’s case, for all our hard work and poking around it’s not half as fun for us if we get to the end and there’s no shuddering climax. It would be akin to the porn star failing to deliver the most important act of his working day. It would deem everything that built up to that moment as a rather redundant and pointless exercise, for him personally. It will cause on set friction of a different kind.

On Saturday, Spurs resembled that hassled, overly eager and ultimately despairing porn star unable to fulfil and complete the work he's been paid to do. Plenty of swagger and winks to the camera. But no closure. No lingering camera shot and fade out. At White Hart Lane it felt like a session with the fluffer post lights camera action rather than on-set sweating under the lights. It lacked the required relief and that outpouring sigh of ecstasy.

Now if this was a porn movie, someone else would walk onto set and take the role of delivering said money shot, in the knowledge that expert editing in the studio later that day will make it all look seamless. Sadly there is no such cameo to facilitate into this disturbing analysis at this point of the match review. Equally so, if you’re going to ask who West Ham would be in this fantasy, I’d probably opt for Belladonna. Not particularly good looking and usually resembling a complete mess by the end of it, on this occasion frustrating the leading man and the viewers that prefer not to witness a sadistic fetish involving no penetration.

0-0. No money shot. And no satisfaction when the credits roll.

I recently said we could not afford to drop any more home points. Oops. We lost our buffer when losing to Blackpool and drawing at Wolves – meaning that when we play the likes of Chelsea and City and Arsenal (Liverpool too) – these will be must win games. If you look at the table, City are not that far ahead of us (closer thanks to their loss at Stamford Bridge). It’s not impossible, just that we’ve lost plenty of points that would have gone a long way in aiding the fight for fourth. But alas, our way remains the hardest way. As per usual.

There were plenty of positives along with one or two moments of despondent shrugs and waving of hands in disbelief. The perfect illustration of so near and yet so far. It almost resembled the template of game we experienced at the start of the campaign against City. A massive dollop of possession and some guilt edged chances along with unwanted appearances from the woodwork and in-form opposition keeper.

What went wrong this time?

We lined up with a formation that was hardly necessary considering this was at the Lane and against West Ham United (with no disrespect to the East Londoners). No need to over complicate matters with one up top when two would have worked fine. Not that we struggled to get into goal scoring positions. Even with van der Vaart deeper than Linda Lovelace*. Unless you believe that was part of the strategy to dominate the midfield.

*yes, I’ve done that joke before, but felt it relevant enough to spit out once more

For all our wonderful to look at passing and possession, shifting play from left to right, attacking the channels and playing through the middle – it was balanced out with heads turning away in disbelief. Thirty one attempted shots at goal. That’s a lot of head turning.

Defoe was unlucky today. I felt that he only needed a further forty-seven shots on goal himself before finding the net. Two things here, condolences for his very recent loss. It’s a tricky one to gauge with regards to his concentration and composure being completely in synch with the game and not disturbed (even ever so slightly) with off field matters. He had no problem wearing his ‘100’ t-shirt underneath his Lilywhite colours which will need a spin wash before the next game. I'd hazard a guess that his head was in the game. His feet however were not. I won’t dwell on this too much longer other than to say: he should have scored. The Lennon effort off the woodwork the prominent miss. His other goal-sight fluffs seemed to lack the belief of his brace at Wolves.

Modric was his usual class act self. Covers so much ground and is practically involved in everything. His passing is majestic and his movement irresistible. Scott Parker was West Ham’s bright spark, a Jermaine Jenas with a sat nav. Bale still requires another game or two before he’s back at full pelt. Let’s hope International Break does not strike him down. van der Vaart should not have played. He’s not fit and as cited, this was a game that could have done with a more traditional set-up in formation. Rafa seemed to morph into a dizzy Robbie Keane, lost in the midst of midfield with no apparent link-up play with the single forward. The mechanics here needed oiling. The engineer out to lunch.

I was happy with the rest. Gomes alert and Sandro bruising and brilliant. Although Corluka seemed to struggle with a nosebleed the further up the field he travelled which saw some dizzying mis-placed passes.

Lack of cutting ruthless edge in front of goal our bane once more. In a season where most of the top sides are struggling with their demons, it’s worth highlighting that we’re not doing that much wrong. Other than perhaps making it far more difficult for ourselves in the long term by not pulling that trigger against opposition that we should be beating. Nobody in terms of assured quality from the back to the front is taking the league by the scruff of the neck. Hopefully we don’t come off fifth best in this wacky race.

Dawson, Lennon, Defoe, Bale, couple of Modric shots – all efforts that left you scratching your head mumbling ‘one of those days’ a cliché you just knew would rear its head in the post-match interviews. Harry made some fundamental mistakes in selection. But regardless, he can hardly remote control the players once they're out on the pitch.

It was still a cracking game, for the neutral. And City fans. And even easy on the eye for us, mostly. And let’s not pretend that West Ham didn’t have a chance to steal it. That’s a West Ham team that would have gladly taken a point at the start of play. That's how they set themselves up. They held it together, rode their luck, failed to take their chances but never allowed themselves to be over-run. They retained discipline. Relegation fodder? Not on this form. We'll never know how they'd have reacted if we managed to score. Shame we didn't win, what with City losing on Sunday. A point gained then?

Let’s conclude with a positive. Our football has rediscovered it's free-flowing form and we’re looking creative again. Bad luck and bad finishing the spoiler. That’s a negative, isn’t it? I’ve actually finished on a negative. Sorry. I did try not to.

I will therefore end on the porn star analogy that began this match report. What with us failing to deliver the money shot, we could have facilitated and edited things a little by introducing a smouldering cameo Croatian from the watching flank for that final necessary jolt and essential conclusion to the story arc rather than sticking with pizza delivery boys who forgot the mayo. Sadly, the director ignored this possible saving grace and will probably need to add CGI to make amends. Don’t expect to find the DVD on any top shelf any time soon.

No more buffer

Wolves 3 Spurs 3

The whole point of Challenge Spurs and the five outlined games was to allow ourselves a buffer; extra points to go that extra mile that could cushion any potential slip-ups against more meaty opposition. Six goals shipped and one point gained from Blackpool and Wolves away pretty much removes any hope that this run-in journey will be anything other than ‘the hard way’. We are pretty much left with no other objective than to win all our remaining home games and not lose to Man City or Chelsea away. In fact I’d go as far as suggesting that we need to avoid defeat at Stamford Bridge and beat City at Eastlands (again). Seems like an age ago we battered them in the opening 45 at the Lane. Seems that to finish top 4 you don’t need to be better than one of your rivals. You just need to be less inconsistent than them when it comes to not winning when you’re expected to. Which probably makes you better by definition of points accumulated. You know what I mean, so I'll move on.

As a spectacle, the 3-3 was superb. Deano, no doubt, will have looked down from the heavens and applauded. I think we could have done with him in defence more so than Wolves.

The game felt as it played out like one of those types of ‘We’ll try to score more than you’ games. I think it illustrated that we are still growing up as a team and that we are still very much susceptible to naivety and attitude adjustment (in this case attitude being offkey).

Could we not go to both Blackpool and Wolves away and bully them? Boss the midfield, frustrate their pluckiness and generally pick ‘em off with the ilk of professionalism and maturity that tends to be saved for our European games? Can we not juggle the two, not just in selection but in how we set ourselves to compete? Or is this a harsh assessment considering none of the ‘top sides’ have won at Wolves? Although Chelsea dispatched Blackpool last night. Hence the loss of the buffer, because had we won at Blackpool – well, you do the maths. Onwards again, we always play better when our backs are up against the wall. For the moment the underdog label fits us best. It’s all pretty much clear now that we have to tighten up and not be left feeling regretful thanks to our own mismanagement of handling the opposition. Down to the wire, hold onto your hats.

Some musings on the game:

The pitch – awful. Cut up like an emo kid on you tube.

JD brace – I’d like to think I could take credit for some kind of cosmic blogosphere influence for Defoe finally exploding into life. Alas more likely to be the Jimmy Greaves goals tape Clive Allen shared with Defoe about a month ago (perhaps it was on VHS and JD only got his hands on a video this past week). Regardless, two instinctive efforts drenched in self-confidence. When you don’t think and you hit you score.

Pav’s lash – Another sweet effort. Who cares about the deflection? The power of the shot made it unstopptable. Bit surreal having the two of them (our forwards) score in the same game.

Hutton – I gave him the benefit of the doubt the other week in the lead up to the game. Mainly because if he stood at right-back then Gallas would play as CB. All he proved, once more, is that he’s not very good. Not very good at all. Clumsy, always out of position and seems to think that if he gallops forward it will look good and mask his defensive frailties. There’s a half decent player in there, somewhere. You’d probably need Leonardo DiCaprio to infiltrate Hutton’s dream state and plant an inception.

Wasteful in front of goal – We could have had it wrapped up. How many times did you think that during the match? Unlucky with the woodwork (JD) and unlucky with the angle (Bale). So close yet so far and yet still so close.

Gomes – Our mad Brazilian is all over the place at the moment. Just not in the right place. 1^st goal and 3^rd goal and the disallowed goal. It does not inspire confidence, although he’ll probably play a blinder against Milan and all will be forgiven.

Our defending – No shape or cohesion. Is this part of the failure to attitude adjust? Players thinking of Wednesday night, not focusing on the task in front of them, day dreaming about the one ahead?

Formation – Niko on the left, Modric in the middle. That would have worked, no? Luka out on the left is so two years ago. It’s wasteful. But then Harry will say the selection was necessary because of the missing players. Not sure why Niko was benched considering his recent form.

Sandro – Loving him. He’s finding his feet now after struggling initially with the pace. Give this guy two more years and he'll be a beast.

Lennon and Bale – Great to have Gareth back. Full pelt against Milan please. The role reversal between the two was apparently to aid Hutton out on the right hand side. Didn’t quite work. Could Azza have not pushed their left-back back and thus both players take their positions on their natural sides? Harry?

Chris Coleman – Bring back Andy Gray.

Conclusions –

We were second best at times and made some right royal fudge ups. We almost got away with it but yet still allowed Wolves to come at us in the final few minutes. Naive. You can’t afford to be this sloppy and expect to get away with it. It was probably a good point in the end in terms of how we performed. Utd, Chelsea and City have all lost there – so I guess in some ways it was a good point. But then again perhaps not.

We are still not out of it. I refused to accept it last season and it’s still well within our grasp. Let’s hope Corluka and Kaboul are back soon. And that Huddlestone plays a part at some point in the run-in.

Challenge Spurs round up - 7 pts from a possible 15, only 3 left to grab, potential tally: 10 pts. 5 pts potentially lost. Still, the run-in sees us play City, Chelsea and Arsenal.

Destiny sits purring on our lap.

I score, therefore I am

by Spooky

Like most I played football in my younger days. I was never a great player by any stretch of the imagination (and boy did I stretch it). My problem was simply this. I was not blessed with great pace. However I did have quick feet and a quick brain although thanks to the lack of aforementioned pace I was never sharp enough to transcend the spark birthed when my grey matter collided across to the physical green of the field. Lazy, Berbatovesque in manner perhaps. I'd like to think looking back. I most definitely spent more time on hair styling than cleaning my boots.

However, I did have some fundamental basics that helped me get selected in the first place.

"He's got feet like an Italian footballer" it was often remarked. Quick feet with the ball at my feet. Fundamentals. A bit of close control with the ability to weave in and out, nonchalantly. Or clumsy depending on your view point. Looked clumsy rather than actually being clumsy.

Standing with foot on ball, what with the no pace issue, and yet I some how found a way through. See for all my apparent lack of physical presence I still had that uncanny ability to be in the right place at the right time. And on occasion score a goal of such rare beauty or brilliance that others would just shrug and mutter 'fluke' under their breath. The green eyed monsters.

I was much maligned. But I knew deep down I was simply someone who made the most of what he had. And in doing so, sometimes under their breath, they'd whisper a plaudit or two. I'm certain this one time I heard the praise. Hallelujah.

I played for a local team; Olympique Wingate. Majestic name for a team of misfits. I played mostly upfront.

We dazzled in organised friendlies and league games against other local teams in the Waltham Forest area (Leyton/Walthamstow/Wanstead mostly). Usually at the Hackney Marshes, Marsh Lane Leyton or Wanstead Flats. Eleven aside. Also competed against the odd non-league opposition when 'on tour' in the South East.

I can honestly hand on heart say there were the best days of my life. The bravado, the banter. The football was a good laugh too. I remember one game I was injured (ribs) but travelled and in our desperation came on in the second half because we had no other subs to select from. Spectacular entrance it was. Taking the ball with my first touch and going on a dinking mazy run through about four or five of their players El Diego style before being Schumachered by the opposition keeper and flipped over. Penalty (not taken by myself, I was searching for missing limbs) was missed. We lost that game. 4-0 down we actually got it back to 4-4 then took the lead before losing 6-5. It's sadly not available on DVD.

Another fine memory was being told by a player he would drown me in the local river if I didn't shut up, I had vexed him so much during the duration of the match. He was a team mate. The nutter.

One of the great games was against our deadly rivals, a side that came to be when our original team split into two over personality clashes (insert schizophrenia joke here) and selection disputes and went their separate way. We played them in a seven-a-side match every season. Fiery encounter, plenty of punch ups. Another high scoring epic this. 6-5 down with two minutes left, we won 7-6. Pandemonium.

For all the dramatics and criticisms, I scored a few goals. Yes, much maligned, but my personal stats read quite well.

36 goals in 37 appearances - the pinnacle of my paradoxical career. It was a messy business long before Lio was even a gleam in his fathers eye. This type of goal-hanging ratio from a winger-cum-striker with the feet of an Italian playmaker and the speed of a snail on ketamine was something that kept me going even with the doubters doubted me.

Add to it I had a rather feisty attitude in-game. I was box office, love me, hate me. I had a massive gob. Calling out 'penalty' when the foul was committed outside the box - by about three metres and generally winding up opposition players talking nonsense, celebrating in their faces. Perhaps looking back, everyone was at it. Sunday league and such.

Damn it, if I played football for real I reckon I'd be one of those cult hero type figures that get discussed on footie websites and terraces all the time with people debating whether I was gifted or just had everything gift-wrapped.

"He's sh*t but he's good". Get that on a t-shirt. Eat your heart out Ginger Pele.

On one (rare) lapse of form, I struggled in and out of the side and wasn't quite able to locate myself in the correct part of the pitch when said ball was crossed in. I was yards off the pace and lacked that something strikers just have when on form. For the record, I could also not header the ball to save my life. My football was played on the ground. Worked for Ian Rush. So all the high crosses into the box were followed by an attempt to either scissor kick the ball, fly through the air kung-fu style or acrobatically attempt to scorpion. All miserable failures. My poor form compounded further.

I couldn't hit a cow's arse with a banjo. Such was my luck I could have pushed a banjo glued to a piano off a building with two hundred cows grazing directly on the ground below and the piano-banjo hybrid would still have missed. Worm-hole would no doubt have appeared to suck in the piano-banjo before it hit the cows, taking it to another far gone place in the universe, mocking me as it blinked and disappeared.

No matter what I tried pre-match to psyche me up, it never worked. The more games played with no goals, the more I thought about scoring in the next game and the less likely I was of actually doing so because of the misguided effort I was putting in. The monkey on my back was eating through my shoulder blade. This type of pressure, it grates and it harms self belief because you spend most of your time thinking about it that you subconsciously allow it to control you.

So there was this one particular game. Away. Crunch match. Against a team that were unbeaten and we were not expected to beat. We went a goal down. I was up front with The Mullet (my strike-partner). A gentleman, fair in life and play. He was the type of footballer who worked for the team and never for personal glory. A naive fool I guess.

First half I believed I was actually doing quite well. Running (like the wind caught in a cup) into space, working the channels. I looked busy. I felt busy. I was sweating God darn it. Doing the donkey work for the team in an attempt to bring the midfield players into forward positions. It didn't quite work because:

a) The balls pumped forward were easily dealt with thus losing possession.
b) When I attempted to do a Robbie Keanesque 'deep role' our midfield were too busy getting over-run with defensive duties, on the backfoot, and thus no offensive intent was ever prominent in our favour.

It also didn't work because I was doing a bad impersonation of the player who had the teams copyright for this particular role; The Mullet. One Robbie Keane? Imagine two Keanos dropping deep. Double the pointing and shouting. Proper 'mare that.

We lacked cohesion. Midfield bypassed, the two strikers dropping back to help them becoming isolated then bombing forwards to latch onto hoofed balls and failing.

So there I was lost in a sea of disorganisation and disarray, drowning, sharks circling. At half-time we decided no more pumping the ball Wimbledon style for us to run onto. Slow, patient build-up the battle cry. Possession play the key. I guess on that bitterly cold afternoon in the heyday of Brit Pop, we re-invented expansive football for the Sunday amateurs.

Second half was far better. Fluidity with the ball at our feet. The equaliser however was a scrappy and unbecoming to our evolutionary comeback. The ball bouncing around their defence for The Mullet to pounce onto and toe-poke in.

Delirium regardless. Belief embraced.

I spent the next ten minutes running around, trying so hard to get onto the end of a cross or through-ball I could begin to taste my own blood. All in the name of team work. My work ethic was stupendous considering I had the lungs of a flea and the acceleration of a decommissioned locomotive. I was thinking about where I should be positioned, who I should look to play in, where the ball might be placed, which defender to get up close to and turn. Think think think. All the push and run still had no end product (other than that scrappy lucky equaliser).

I was now trying harder than ever and was still light years away from scoring.

I then had an epiphany.

I'm a striker. Plain and simple. I lash at the ball, I score. It's my job. For all my weaknesses, I'm the one who has the annoyingly good knack of being in the right place at the right time. So what the fudge am I doing working my guts out when I should be hanging around, remaining invisible, lurking in the shadows, waiting like an assassin who doesn't break into the home of his target, but instead waits for the target to open the door to pick up his morning bottle of freshly delivered milk.

The lazy assassin who lets things pan out to his favour. Then breaks milk bottles. Sure, you have to be patient, but if there's a bottle left outside the door, then the door will open.

Instead of playing to the teams tactics and working in tangent with The Mullet, I gave him a wink and a thumbs up to signal I was about to go all deep deep cover. He sighed. He knew I was about to instigate selfishness. Like the Bat signal in the Gotham night sky but instead two fingers stuck up at everyone. I don't need your help. I'm going to help myself. And by doing so help the team. Even if you don't like it.

I proceeded to not give a toss about anything other than getting my boot onto the ball and the ball over the line by simply not thinking heavy thoughts. By allowing fate and destiny and luck to rain down on me because if hard work and blind running had failed me in the 70 minutes thus far, then the complete opposite might do the trick. Instinct. Raw instinct. That's my fuel.

I decided, I'm going to score, it's going to happen, so screw it, I'll wait for it to happen.

Welcome to football philosophy by the marshlands magician.

Like Neo in the Matrix without the shades, just plenty of mud, socks rolled down, shirt tucked out, I let go of everything and let that instinct take over. No more thoughts about the tactical half-time clipboard. I started to daydream and wonder if the Brylcreem had dried out of my hair (I had a smart barnet back then and took extra special care of it).

Next thing I know, I look up, ball is played across the penalty area and I strike it inches wide. Had no idea how I wandered into said position. Coincidence? Fine by me. I wasn't not paying attention, I was simply allowing myself to escape the constraints of formation without jeopardising the teams structure. In other words, I followed the progression of the ball as it was played forward and moved into the most likely position the ball would find itself in. Football 101.

Into the final ten minutes and I get a second chance. On this occasion I followed the ball as our midfield dynamo rampantly surged forward looking to play someone in. I jinxed into the penalty area and could see The Mullet had done the same thing. We were both going to go for the same ball.

Midfield dynamo had played a disguised pass to the winger who cut the ball across the pen area behind the back-line. I held back momentarily. The Mullet stabbed at the ball, it hit the keeper and a defender and bounced back up to within hitting range for the The Mullet (he's on the floor at this point). All he had to do is lift his foot up to re-direct the ball goal-wards. Before he could blink I darted in and blasted the ball over the line for the 2-1. Winning goal. It was easier for me to leave it for The Mullet, who had carved out the chance, but he wouldn't mind. He wasn't about the glory.

Jubilant scenes. The win meant a lot thanks to the oppositions gloating pre-match. Meant a lot because my goal drought was over.

We won and in my selfishness I made sure of it. But in that moment I couldn't have cared less for the team. I wanted to get onto the score sheet and did so by sacrificing everything for the sake of my ego. Ruthless, relentless and self-centred. The by-product of the team winning was a bonus.

The Mullet told me post-match that he did not react and would not have done so even if I had stood watching, regarding the second goal. That made it all the sweeter.

My goal ratio per game improved tenfold after I ended the dodgy goalless patch with that goal. I don't expect this to prove inspirational to say someone like Jermain Defoe and his current tumbleweedy predicament. In fact I'd hazard this as inspirational as say giving him a Jimmy Greaves goals video to watch. The very fact people are discussing his drought (i.e. coaching staff) will play on his mind even more when he's running out for us. Expectancy can weigh you down. Even more so the expectancy for more failure.

You have to sometimes detach yourself from it all. Stick yourself in a bubble and just let it happen. Won't mean a thing to someone who hasn't played football (no matter the level). But you know how at some point in your footballing life you've scored a goal out of nothing and as you score it you find yourself in a daze like you're watching someone else score it and in the aftermath as you celebrate you think 'how the hell did I just do that?'.

It's not a fluke. It's that raw instinct that takes over your mind and soul. Be it a 30 yarder or a Lineker special. Some times you need to channel that type of belief to get through one game to the next. Unlike JD I wasn't returning from injury and then a suspension, stuttering in and out the side. Then again, I also wasn't being paid 50k per week to ply my trade.

Eye of the tiger, JD, eye of the tiger.

My career eventually ended thanks to four in-growing toe nail operations, that's two ops each on both big toes. My love for chemicals didn't help either and the many seasoned trips to Ibiza's peak season, walking around clubs looking for someone only to eventually work out I was looking for myself hardly helped my fitness. I like to compare myself to the Original Ronaldo. Living life to the full, not giving a care for anything else including the football towards the end. I even got fat (although I'm not too shabby in the gut these days).

Granted, my winning goal was not a classic or craft of Zlatanesque beauty. And I neither expect JD's to be one when he finally breaks his Premier League duck. I'll happily accept the ball to caress his bum cheek as it trickles over the line with the assistant referee waving his flag to confirm its a goal. Or just lash it without remorse (the football, not his bum cheeks).

Football. It's a simple game. Get onto the ball and kick it towards goal, chances are if you're not thinking too much about it you'll score. Perhaps I'd be better suited to football management or coaching. Probably not.


Spooky would have a heart attack if he even attempted a comeback out of retirement to play five aside, and thus prefers the potency of a pen to a studded boot.

Olympique Wingate; Formed 1991 - defunct 1995 (11 a side), Reformed 2003 - defunct 2004 (5 a side).

Anyone for a goal?

Is it safe to come out now? Everyone recovered from the debacle at Blackpool? No irony lost on me as I was ravaged and harassed much like our backline was. Rather illness than DJ Campbell witnessed me waste away (I lost 7 pounds). Offside indeed. Arguably a more damaging week for Spurs losing three points that cannot be recovered. I can at least eat a couple of doner kebabs and apply the lost weight in ample time.

What lessons can we take from the defeat? Other than the routine complaints that our forwards are not up to scratch?

1) Our forwards are not up to scratch.
2) Aided by the naivety of pushing forwards in numbers and allowing us to be punished on the counter.

On another day we might have scored a bundle. Oh for that other day.

JD hasn’t been on form for what seems like forever. Perhaps since the 9-1. Injuries aside, he has now taken an almost Pavlyuchenkoesque aura with his under-performing.  

“He’s only just back in the side”
“Needs to rediscover his touch”
“Trying too hard”
“Thinking too much instead of being instinctive”
“Lashing it when he should place it, placing it when he should be lashing it”

etc

In his defence some of his performances have been selfless in terms of sacrificing traditional goal-hanging virtues for more workman like defensive-forward qualities with JD running back into midfield, working the channels and generally doing all the donkey work with movement and pulling defenders away that many would over look because there’s no glam or end product. In these games you could also look towards the lack of creativity in supplying options to the forwards to strike at goal.

Such is the complexities of the current Spurs side that we’re almost performing to paradoxical levels week in week out.

We have spirit and guile and tenacity and most importantly we have team unity and belief (well, apart from Alan Hutton who is apparently in Goa with some old bloke with a white beard claiming to be Lord Lucan). We also have genuine balls deep world class players. In fact, in some ways we have the ilk of player(s) that transcends the accepted quality we usually enjoy at the Lane. We have players who are wonderfully talented as individuals but work majestically well as part of the team – with no determent for their inclusion. The paradox is, us sitting in fourth, could have been third, with hardly a reliable forward to be found. Ours can be easily located in Dubai.

I’d say ‘Crouch’ but I’d be shot down for mouthing it. But at least he tucks into his continentals whilst others choke on their full English. Although, I guess, he also chokes on his English. All a bit over-cooked then.

The only consistency has been the excuses we’ve all discussed post-match as reasons for our failures to see our midfield and attack combine to score goals (rather than goals being scored from midfield).

Apparently, it’s because of van der Vaart. When he plays everything goes through him (via Luka). Hence why it works with Crouch up top as a foil to the movement and endeavour of the Dutch maestro. If he’s missing, we fall back to a more traditional 442 set up. And we make hard work of it when we do. For example, the 3-1 loss to the Tangerines.

It’s pretty obvious stuff. We need something, someone special at Spurs. A player at the same level of a Modric or a van der Vaart. A forward, robust and intelligent who can play it on the ground and isn’t too shabby in the air. Some who can also link up play and allow others to flourish. Equally so, if there is no Drogba out there available then all we need to do is find a Lineker. No wonder we fail at each transfer window, eh?

Nothing new here, hardly a revelation. But all is not lost.

The paradox still has us in the top four with only a couple of recent gut wrenching defeats in the league that have seen us falter.

We have a striker who doesn’t score much, other than in Europe, but does assist.
We have a striker who has forgotten how to score.
We have a striker who seems to perform better as an impact player and can finish the ridiculously sublime but not the ordinary.

In fact, all three of our forwards are probably more suited as Plan B’s from the bench. But we still have to make do with what we have. We have no choice. Nothing we can do about wishful potential signings either. Whether it’s one up front or two, we’ve only got three to choose from.

I know that it’s all very dependent on the availability of vdV in how we line-up and from one game to the next and Harry likes to swap and change, but it’s time now to stick and pray. I don’t just mean with the forwards, but in other areas.

We need cohesiveness from one game to the next. Play the best players in their best positions and if they’re on-form let them retain their place. Sure, tactical reshuffles are a necessity for certain games (Milan) but if we want the midfield to link up with our rouge strike-force then a particular line-up needs to retain its shape. Appreciate squad rotation for freshness and injured players has to be accounted for. But sometimes I don't grasp the reasons for the shuffles. But then I'm just a fan not a coach.

It’s not ideal all this. If you have an in-form striker, someone you have faith in who you can stick up front and you know he’ll give you not just 100% but a little bit of composure too...you wouldn’t complain. Even the best have off days and you’d accept that. What’s frustrating is we’ve seen little in the way of movement in terms of improvements from any of our players other than say Crouch who does impress in those European one-offs.

Pav has never been in the zone. Always fleeting on the edge.
Defoe is a confidence player, scores in bursts, and when he doesn’t is maligned for offering little else.
Crouch is hardly prolific, great foil for vdV or an in form Defoe. But can’t be relied on to notch up the goals.

You can’t be too shocked that were not producing the goods. But even with this motley crue, we’re still someone how in the hunt. Thanks to the strengths of our midfield and the fact that we don’t actually lose that many, so our defence must be doing equally good. That’s the defence that also never remains the same from one week to the next.

We need to be better to consolidate. We have to in order to remain in the fight. To suggest we can’t is the type of pessimistic hoodoo we can do without. Last season we had key midfielders missing. We got on with it.

We’re stuck with the intangible again. So based on blind faith I’m placing hope on our trequartista threesome simply because...we have absolutely nothing else to place our hopes on.

Zonal marking, eat your heart out.

Anyone for a t-shirt?

Entrepreneurial webcomic illustrator/blogger/founder of the Studs Up empire (and all round nice guy) Chris Toy has followed up from his simplistically joyful football culture tee ‘2 points, 8 games, 1 hero’ and ‘Taxi for Maicon’ shirts with another essential must-have.

Oh yeah.

You know you want to.

How did we do?

Home again. Spent a couple of days up norf, within spitting distance of Old Trafford (tested and proved). Highlight, on the delayed journey back, was sitting within stalking distance of Kaya Scodelario. I'm practically twice her age. I disgust myself. But not as much as I disgust the o2 network and it's weak 3G connection. Following the football on Twitter whilst travelling on route from Manchester to London whilst salivating is hardly the best way to get my THFC fix.

So what have I missed during my bout of cold turkey?

Luka out for three games including the first leg of the monumental double-header against Meelan.

King delays op because he can't find his passport (you can't make this sh*t up).

Harry is still telling everyone stories about the almost/nearly signings in this past transfer window which saw us fail to resolve the ongoing forward conundrum saga.

Spurs win. Away. Gritty I'm told, not perfect and not vintage but some highlights including the performances of our fullbacks, Gallas, vdV and Jenas. Crouch scored. Defoe has forgotten how to.

And apparently if we beat Bolton on Saturday, we'll be one point better off than we were this stage last season. Not to shabby, even though some of us are struggling to stay afloat in a sea of negativity.

The arguments are aplenty and I'll formulate my take on all the deadline day mishaps when I've had nine hours worth of sleep.

Would appreciate some honest 'reports' of the game against Blackburn. Fill ya boots (i.e. the comments section).

DIY blog for this early early morning.

Let's be 'aving some of that Glory Glory

Three key elements for tonight's game.

1) Forget about Saturday

2) Don't get complacent

3) Do not under estimate the opposition

Stick all of the above together with some glue made up from a paste of swagger and belief.

A win would see us qualify. Imagine that, through the group stages at the first time of asking in our début season. Fully deserved that would be too what with our refreshing approach, whether it's dismantling the opposition or giving them a head start - we've left our mark all over the competition. The scratches made hardly the ones of cowboys. These Spurs are real.

Bremen are struggling, which is why it's key to be focused completely on treating the opposition with a degree of respect and not allowing them take a cheap early lead which could easily allow their confidence to breed. Their league form might be woeful as of late (6-0, 4-0 defeats), but I still say - be cautious. Sometimes an escape from domestic hell can be the perfect remedy for a home headache.

Having said all that, I don't want to be over-bearing with the negativity (thinking the worst). I'm just weary that there is a twist and turn wherever Tottenham ply their trade. Not too much respect then.

Opening 20 minutes will tell us how we should compete in the remaining 70. I might have it all wrong, the Germans might be as bad as their bread and butter results which means we could well be in for a party as we march onwards. Let's just wait for the invite to be handed out before we pop the streamers.

One party that will no doubt start before the kick-off is in the stands. The atmosphere will be electric, he said. Yes it will, they replied. Another Glory Glory night within our grasp, the home support will still be buzzing from the dicking handed out to them lot down the road. That should aid with the expectancy on the players shoulders, who should not be weighed down with pressure. This position we are in, it's a good one and should be enjoyed.

We're a decent side, more than decent, who have already displayed the balls and guile to be rewarded with a potential knock-out gem of a tie in the next round. Let's prove how deserving we are. And Harry along with the leadership and tenacity of our unofficial captain of galvanisation (van der Vaart) are taking us forward with the rest of a rather sparkling supporting cast. No knees are trembly here.

The attitude has to be right from the off. Whether we fight it out or brush them aside, this is another potential history-making night. You can't help but feel giddy with excitement. One player to keep an eye on is Jermaine Defoe who has told us countless times how the hairs on the back of his neck would stand when listening to the CL music whilst watching it at home. That was when Spurs were dreaming about playing at this level. We now are and JD gets his chance to shine in the group stage.

Fingers crossed Bale and the Raf are available to start. Another Interesque performance in terms of application and focus will have me queuing up at the Spurs Shop for the dvd 'Group A' highlights package post-final whistle.

We want 90 minutes, not a cameo of 45.

So, no after the Lord Mayors Show reverse hang-over from Prem to Europe please Tottenham.

To dare is to f*cking do.

Bored of the Stratford

Oh for the love of God. There's an England game this evening?

Well, sod that. Looks like I'll be firing up Football Manager and continuing my THFC save game (I'm top by the way, around 15 games played in the Prem, two points clear).  So, what with this not being a full-on international break and just a standard non-event of a friendly (loving the ITV advert trying to hype it up as a battle of two sleeping giants licking their wounds and trying to rediscover themselves…sorry ITV, you're better off trying to sell me rocking horse sh*t) here's a quick-fire round-up of Spurs news that has made me twitch these past few days.

Niko (via agent) is once more putting it out there that he might leave due to lack of games. On the one hand you might compare him to Corluka who was dropped due to loss of form and hasn't got back in because Harry is someone who does like to reward players for their good forum (Hutton - although I'd much prefer a more positional savvy Charlie working in tandem with Aaron rather than a rampaging Alan not giving a toss about anyone else on his flank including opposing players). Corluka says he will just dig deep and try to reclaim his place. Bravo. That's what we want to hear from our players. On the other hand, it's not like Niko has had much of a chance to hit his stride. A game here or there is more likely to produce a Bolton away performance rather than anything top drawer.

However, I'd refuse to let him go. What with the way we lose players to injuries from one month to the next.

Elsewhere, van der Vaart revealed that we have a clipboard in the dressing room that doesn't get used by the gaffer. No shocker. You can't put your hands around a clipboard and tell it how clippy and boardy it is. Harry is a man manager, I wouldn't go as far as saying tactics and opposition strengths are never discussed. The evidence is there and can't be argued against in terms of focus and game plans (Arsenal/Chelsea/City away last season - Inter at home this season). Unless all these performances were birthed from a brand of belief that Spurs players can occasionally conjure up like a rabbit from a top hat.

Stratford. Bored of it now. You've got every Tom, Dick and Harry coming out denouncing this that and the other about how we can't expand the Olympic stadium or move there or whatever. It's all redundant. The great irony is how many journalists and bloggers are making this out to be a Spurs v West Ham battle with only the one winning through and emerging victorious in the end - us or them. One massive massive problem here. We're going to have our Northumberland Development Project approved, thus remaining in N17. And the consequence of this is we win, and WH lose. Because if you ask any Hammers fans who do not work for the Daily Mail what they think - they'd rather remain where they are now than move to a stadium which they will only ever fill up by selling cut price tickets to Orient fans.

Defoe is almost back. One word of advice. More than one word. Patience for all concerned. Let's not rush him back. Let's allow him time to settle back into the side (he might not need time and be all guns blazing - but still). If we get him back to 100% from now till the end of May, we'll be happy. Everyone will be happy. Including his dear old friend, the offside rule.

COYS.

Irony

Not having an operation on one existing injury. Declaring yourself fit to give it your all for country, only to get injured and need a different operation which results in a three month lay-off meaning no group stage Champions League football which is that thing you dreamt about for so many long years. But it's okay. Hat-trick against Bulgaria.

Three lions on a shirt.