FA Cup Obituary

No massive analysis required. You'll have seen it for yourself. The way we worked the ball into the box wasn't crisp or decisive enough. Never truly with acute intent to find that killer ball or touch to lead to a certain chance on goal. I mean there were moments, but that’s all they were. And there were chances, plenty of chances, but untidy ones. Pinball football. Almost there but nowhere near. Clunky.

To compound things further, we were taken to extra time and over at the City of Manchester stadium, the blues spanked the blues 5-1 to take the lead in the goal difference stakes as well as remain 4 points clear in 5th.

An extra 30 minutes of football. And the potential of penalties. Oh dreary me. Always the hard way, the Tottenham way. In the dying seconds of the 90 it was almost avoided but alas of course it wasn’t.

Why would Spurs possibly conceive about winning the game in normal time when they're so close to dragging their tormented fans through more mire? Let's not buck the trend.

From the noise inside Wembley you'd think we were the ones going broke and relegated. Pompey lapping it all up. Brave and effective on the break. Always looking a little bit more likely to score, but when you think we'd be the ones with the superior quality in front of goal - it was more or less equal. In fact, they had far better clear cut chances that were mostly scoffed. We preferred to befriend the woodwork. Sure, we had more of the ball. But this was far from ever being a masterclass. It felt more like a chemistry lesson. Er...without the chemistry.

Then extra-time. And they score. Obviously. Thanks to the Wembley grass and slip by Dawson. It’s a gift. And it’s cheap. And then we score but not according to the ref who disallows it for a foul (Niko on James) when there was no foul to be given. Cheap. I’ve seen the image of James laughing. I’d have laughed. It's enough to make you cry.

Still cluncky in front of goal. Pompey break, and then Wilson breaks our hearts. Toe to ball, but enough for the ref to still award a penalty. Clumsy. 100% a penalty? Perhaps not. Who cares. It's given, it's given. Nothing anyone can do. And yes, that's a two match ban. So no Wilson for the Scum and Scummer games. All that hard work avoiding the yellows in prior games, imploding on the wet cutting Wembley pitch. KPB makes it two from the spot and our knees are no longer trembling. Instead they're making their way to the exits.

Cue: This was not meant to happen 'shrugs of despondency’.

Bale was great. Really really outstanding great. Everything else was just blah. And the ghosts of yesteryear heartbreaks from those other semi-final defeats swagger in to say hello. No smile for the Lilywhites from the footballing Gods who prefer (today at least) that the meek inherit the earth.

Congratulations to Portsmouth. Can't say many expected this, but as far as footballing stories are concerned, this one can only be applauded. I wish you the best of luck in the final. Jamie will be happy. And their fans a tad too. I expect. Irony irony...Harry won’t be sleeping well tonight. Couple of hours on the Wii to perhaps aid in tiring the eyes.

Grant outsmarted Redknapp – in parts I guess, or maybe I'm being kind on Pompey - because neither our manager or our players found a way through their congested midfield and at times struggled with their speed on the break. There was no spark. Just wasn't happening.

We might have been the better team, if you really want to delve into the technical aspects of the game but the better team doesn't lose 2-0. No club shop DVD. We botched it. But then you can't botch up a game of football you were simply never destined to win.

We sort of did what I was hoping we wouldn't do, and that's get all messy (not Messi) with our football. Half arsed urgency that turns to desperation when all that's required is a cool head at the end of a cool cool move. Clunky. The word of the day. We had what, thirty odd chances? Gomes was still busier. The ref was no Howard Web, but still equally poor. But that's the standard, so no complaints. No point.

Onwards then. No honestly, I mean it. The mongs are visiting next week and it's under the floodlights so there is no time to despair.

How many hours before the Wednesday kick-off?

COYFS

Remembering '91 and all that schoolboys own stuff

1991. April 14th. Wembley.

Not the type of game you'll ever forget, more so if you lived and breathed the entirety of that day. Even if it was 19 years ago, I still remember my journey to the Twin Towers via Walthamstow (my not so posh residence at the time). I remember how ominous the build up to the game was. Before that day nobody really gave us a chance. Not underplaying that in any way. Gascoigne's fitness was questionable and leading up to the semi-final most believed he wouldn't make it having played an hour or so of football in around 4-5 weeks prior to the semi-final. Gazza was imperative to us and had arguably inspired our cup run with some majestic performances. But just how fit was he to play a key part?

Arsenal were favourites, a side that hardly conceded and hardly lost (one game in fact), running away with the title - the double in their sights. Their cup final song already recorded, was the whisper which was not true sadly but it was a wonderful urban legend at the time in an age where In The Know's converged in pubs and not internet message boards. Such was the expectancy that they would brush us aside.

At the NLD earlier that season, I stood in the East Stand lower in the corner near the away end and remember the scum waving sterling at us, lapping up the misery of our financial leprosy. Game finished 0-0, and if I recall correctly, Gascoigne came close to scoring. An own goal.

Our money problems at the time deemed the semi-final one where a miracle was required. Winning the FA Cup was perceived by many as the only way to save the club. If ever there was a do or die game, this was it.

My journey in however was not one of nerves and fear. There seemed to be an air of understated confidence. Belief. Okay, so everyone who went to the game will probably have a different story to tell. Mine is simply that the singing and the bravado was all Lilywhite. It was a proper 'fuck it, what will be will be' attitude that had our lot smiling and singing. The gooners were far more subdued, tentative. More to lose perhaps? In their eyes, no doubt. In our eyes it was far far more vital to win the derby and the day.

"If we lose, I'll hang myself from a tree on the Seven Sisters Road" - joked one Arsenal fan on the tube to his mates, not a residue of humour to be found in his stern words.

"There once was a donkey named Adams, who played for Arsenal FC, they feed him on nothing but carrots, hee-haw hee-haw hee-haw-ee…" - sang one very drunk Spurs supporter, holding a massive massive can of beer (monstrous sized can) wrapped in a brown paper bag whilst other fans looked on. Some laughing, others giving daggers.

At the stadium, I was standing there hurling verbals towards the Arsenal coach that slowly drove through the crowd as the Arsenal players looked out of the windows smiling and waving. Me and several hundred other fans. All in good jest. Rude not to say hello.

Sitting high in the upper regions of the stand opposite the end we attacked in the first half, for the first time that day I began to brick it. This was it. Boring boring Arsenal against a team that lined-up up with Vinny Samways in midfield. Oh, and that Geordie who wasn't too shabby with his feet. This surely would be the most nerve-wrecking inducing game of football ever played, one that would shatter heartbeats leaving me gagging for air. The pressure tenfold. There is no possible way such a game can be enjoyed. No more understated confidence.

What followed was schoolboys own stuff. Fantasy football. The type of high impact tempo that must have played out in all our dreams the night before. What did I say about no way this game could be enjoyed?

The free-kick. That free-kick. The delirium was ridiculous. Before we had time to recover and pull ourselves down from the heavens, it was 2-0. This was now borderline orgasmic. Lineker with the second. Five minutes separating his poke from Gazza's 30-yarder. Arsenal pulling a goal back just before the break. We had them rattled but in no way was this done and dusted. Not yet. And conceding a goal just before half-time left us in a far less comfortable position than a 2-0.

Samways (yes Samways) alongside Gascoigne were both in wonderful form, and Howells (also just returned from injury) was having a good one along with one of the true heroes of '91, Steve Sedgley. There was some proper fully-charged effort, spirit and passion out there.

But the goons were not about to give up and got themselves back into the possession stakes in the second half. Gazza went off, replaced by Nayim, after and hour or so - shattered, but his work done.

Next goal, Spurs or Arsenal, match defining.

78 minutes. Samways combo with Mabbs, releasing Lineker who's shot squeezed itself through David Seaman's hands. 3-1. More delirium. To be relived countless times later in the evening on VHS with additional praise for Barry Davies and his timeless commentary.

Journey home was akin to a musical with a cast of thousands, singing and dancing in the streets and the trains back towards the north of London. No double for Arsenal. A life-line for Spurs. And an 8th FA Cup in memorable final.

I remember a chant of 'You've lost that double feeling…' to which one Arsenal fan screamed back abuse about us going broke. Not quite. Thanks to the victory over Forest. And Venables. Although what was to follow in the years to come dragged us backwards rather than forwards, stagnating whilst our enemy pushed forwards with an astute appointment and Sky Sports birthing the rise and rise of the monopoly.

But regardless, these types of days out are  forever written into history. A game of biblical significance and importance. One that won't be forgotten.

This Sunday, another cup semi at Wembley. Pompey the team in financial trouble, the ones seeking a miracle. Us, the overwhelming favourites. Not that I'm comparing this semi with that one back in '91. But let's not take anything for granted.

And following the Cup match, we've got Arsenal in the NLD at the Lane. On the 14th. Of April.

Uncanny.

COYS.

Breaking the heart of O'Hara

Now that's what I call Tottenham.

Still buzzing. The high octane swashbuckling football was nowhere to be seen first half, Fulham had our number, taken from under our pillow whilst we appeared to sleep. Head in palm of hands for most of it as they frustrated the fuck out of the players and the fans. BAE and Corluka seemed to both be obsessed with playing lackadaisical balls, and there was no authoritative swagger from the boys in Lilywhite.

Just efficient effort from Fulham and for the best part of the first 45 Harry was getting out-smarted tactically on the field. Ominous when they took the lead, Zamora of all people finding the net with a curling shot. They deserved it.

Football is always funny in about 1000 different ways. At half-tme you wondered what we would need to do in-order to get some kind of grip on the game. For starters, own the tempo. Said it in my match preview - make them worry about us rather than be concerned with trying to counter any spoiler-tactics directly. Hodgson is no fool. He did his homework, suffocated the midfield and had his players working their socks off on and off the ball. Made all the easier by a ghosting first half display.

Even though we pushed forward after going a goal down we still looked out of sorts. WHL wasn't exactly pumping positive pomp from the home support. Fulham had got to us. And we were concerned. It could have been far worse at half-time.

Then Harry Redknapp birthed a second half that was so majestic in difference, you'd have thought you had tuned into a different game. He must have had some words to say at half-time for a start. No doubt told them to forget about how Fulham were playing, slapped them about a bit and then made two quite simply superb substitutions. Yes - Harry Redknapp made impact-changing subs. Stick that up your bollox you non-believers!

On came Bentley and Huddlestone - both returning to the first team since taking time out injured. Off went Niko and BAE - both players well under par. All my hope was anchored on the first 10 minutes of the second half. You can tell what direction a game will go in from the tempo played straight after the break. Within minutes it's 1-1. Ace.

Bentley (first touch?) hit a stunning undefendable free-kick into the box that beat everyone (including a interfering-with-play-offside-Corkuka-if-he-touches-the-ball-which-he-doesn't) and it flys into the goal past a despairing Schwarzer. The Lane is rocking, and not for the first time this season, Bentley's foot is on fire.

The injury curse made a cameo, claiming Corluka as it's latest victim. And once more bold Redknapp played an absolute master-stroke (or perhaps out of desperation...sshh). Enter the Russian goal machine, Pavlyuchenko. Who just about made it on the bench and was never meant to play more than 20 minutes having survived a late fitness test. Seven minutes after coming on, he's off sliding in celebration. The big smiling show-off. 2-1 Spurs. Bentley again involved, crossing in, finding Pav who scores a sweet volley into the far corner. Schwarzer - no chance again.

What. A. Frigging. Turn-around.

For all of Fulham's guile and commitment to Hodgson's match strategy, it counts for nothing when we changed gear in this manner. Dictate the tempo, dominate the game. Inspirational stuff, proper full on FA Cup loveliness. This was more like it.

Obviously, being Spurs, you're not quite content until you get yourself 2 goals to the good. Six minutes after Roman's super-sub scorcher, we made it 3-1. And relax.

Playing it confidentially and with purpose, the ball finds Modric who (with deflection) threads the ball into the path of Gudjohnsen who takes the ball around Schwarzer (yep, despairing once more) with a touch and manages to get another to send the ball goal-bound. Happy days.

Fulham ended. Wembley again in our calender.

Kudos to Redknapp. Hodgson and Fulham were 1 up on him at half time. His man management skills coming into play, he mixes it up with some changes and the game completely changes course because of it. Great to see both Bentley and Hudd back - both involved and effective. And credit to the visitors for making it a painful first 45 minutes. It served a purpose. It showed we retain the backbone instilled since Harry's arrival at the club and the players believe in themselves and their ability.

Also - special mention to Gud. Class act, a player that oozes experience, patience and vision. He links the midfield with the forward line perfectly. Ice ice baby. He has mad skillz.

Pompey next in the semi. So so close now.

Tottenham Hotspur. Exclusive copyright on putting their fans through the mire every time.

Wouldn't have it any other way.

COYS.

Additional: Villa drop two points, City lose.

What a night.

More post-match commentary tomoz.

One more time...

COYS.

Glory under the floodlights...

Every game now is pretty much a heart-in-your-mouth nerve disintegrating half-epic that involves plenty of watching through hands, wishing the 90 minutes evaporate into 90 seconds whenever we take the lead. That's if this end of season run-in is making you weak at the knees every time we play. The vast majority, I hope, will be enjoying it for what it is. Us pushing for it, on two fronts. So if we're going to go down in a blaze of glory or limp out of either challenge before us we may as well do so singing, arms in the air, fingers dancing.

If there's one competition that is Tottenham Hotspur in it's purist essence it's the FA Cup. It's testament to how much football has changed and how different it was back in the days of short shorts and rolled down socks when you can still see Ricky Villa twisting and turning City inside out. Cup final songs, classic never to be forgotten Wembley finals and replays. Flair players, all writing themselves into the history books and our hearts forever. And it saddens me it's almost been 20 years since we last graced a proper final and had our ribbons dressed up on the Cup.

So, Fulham at home in the replay. Won't be easy. This close to a semi-final, this game tonight should stand alone. It's the present. What I mean is, this has to be treated as the most important game of our season. We are too close to treat this game with even an ounce of disrespect or casualness. And 1991 is now just a memory on a VHS tape. But boy, what a memory! And what a Cup run that was. Back to the here and now, it's time for a new page to be written up. I want a DVD at the end of the season.

But tonight, I will make do with just high octane swashbuckling football. A pulsating North London night where everything just clicks together. The reality of it might be slightly more jagged. Fulham are no push overs. Just as that Old Lady they mugged the other night.

Probably no major unexpected changes to the team that played Stoke City - apart from Gudjohnsen starting up front with Crouch (who just has to score soon, right?) and Wilson Palacios back in central midfield (Kaboul is cup tied - with much thanks). Wilson might pick up a yellow tonight - something that some will be wishing for so he returns in time for the big big April games. Hoping the Iceman can continue his sparklingly intelligent play under the floodlights. You have to say, footballing brains are all the rage at Spurs at the minute; Gud, Luka, Niko. It's mouth-watering and add to it the power of the beast (Bale) and I'm pretty much gushing a waterfall. I'll be drowning in my own excitement if we had Lennon back. Soon, soon.

Fulham have one or two selection concerns so you have to say on paper we are...actually, there's no need to say that out loud.

Confidence. Belief. On and off the pitch. That's all that matters. Make them worry about us, and not be worried about them.

Sing up, sing up.

COYS.

An addendum to the 4th place issue........

by guest-blogger Tricky

*please not that the identities of the clubs in question have been protected to stop it becoming an automatic game-saying from opposition fans, or as they are fast becoming known 'the lowest common denominator'.

As a caveat to the question of ‘4^th or Cup’, Spooky asked a genuine question, but inadvertently in doing so has attracted some watching opposing fans.

It is an interesting question and one that naturally draws a comparative, it is emotive because of the comparison and the need to be honest about ‘what really matters in the game’. Accordingly it is subjective depending on the individual fans own views on whether or not football is about the trophies and days out to cup finals, or whether the business side and progression to recognition amongst Europe’s elite is of a greater long term consequence. Ostensibly ‘live for the here and now’, or ‘Jam tomorrow’.

But let me cast my mind back to the year 2005 and the month of May (as per Tony’s question of ‘who remembers the final’)

Well I for one remember well the FA cup in 2005. One team from the south (let's call them 'Farcenal'* for argument sake as it doesn't actually matter who it was) played 'anti-football' for 120 minutes whilst a team from the North West (let's call them Glazer United*) dominated possession, and did everything but score (Farcenal having 'parked the bus at the millennium stadium on the pitch'). Farcenal won on penalties, and it was to be their only piece of silverware for 5 years.

The manager of Farcenal then went on complain at every possible opportunity, for the next five years, when teams set themselves up to play a 'certain way' in break down his team, and yet no reporter has had the temerity to point out that 'well didn't your last piece of silverware come from exactly that scenario?'.

So yeah I remember it as it was two hours of my life wasted by negative play, and the 'wrong team' won (purely from a neutrals perspective as I have no love for either team) and football was the loser that day. The highlights were limited to a 10 minute analysis of defensive play by farcenal, and  the penalty shoot out, accordingly MOTD was only 16 minutes long that day, the shortest in recorded history for the National Game’s ‘blue ribbon event’.

Of  course since that day their fans don't like being reminded of that each time they start chanting the 'Farcenal mantras':

-          Thou shalt not tackle thyne 'farcenal players'

-          Thou shalt not defend only at the home of the effeminates

-          Thy manager knows best, for he is Le God and accordingly is never contradictory, myopic or wrong.

Since then the question has been posed to ‘Farcenal’ which would they prefer 4^th place or a cup, and each year the answer has been the same ‘Champions League is vital to the attraction and financial stability of the club’. So that’s their view, money over trophies in recent time.

As I said this is just an aside, as I remember 2005 and it added to the extensive list of reasons to ‘dislike Farcenal’.

'Farcenal' also finished 2^nd in the league that year, and was to be the last time in same five year period of finishing in top 2 in the league. Just thought I’d mention it, may come in handy during ‘discussions’ with the opposing fans later on in the season.

4th or FA Cup?

FA Cup = immediate silverware, club shop dvd, another chapter written into the history books

4th = CL

CL = more money, better players

More money, better players = possible title challenge

Title challenge = top 4 placement every season

Top 4 placement every season = CL every season

CL every season = even more money, even better players

Even more money, even better players = sustained title challenges

Sustained title challenges = potentially lots of silverware

Simplified, I know. Qualifying one season for the CL doesn't mean there's a guarantee you'll be in it the following. But that's a defeatist attitude. Anyways, to answer my own question:

Both.

Pompey gives me a semi

Will shed tears if we botch up the replay. One game away from Wembley, be it a semi-final. I bet tabloid hacks across the country are busy sacrificing virgins in the hope that we beat Fulham and set up a triffic contest with Portsmouth. Redknapp slap bang in the middle of one massive journalistic clusterfuck of a story.

Harry up against the club he left behind, the club he returned to pluck the likes of Defoe, Crouch, Niko and whatshisname, the French dude with no eyebrows. The club in administration, practically gutted to the bone. There's still plenty of meat to get your teeth stuck into, and with Fulham about to enter a titanic fixture list of games, I would personally be devastated if we somehow managed to allow them to win through the replay and see them face the south-coast club instead of us.

Yes, 4th spot is important. But ffs, this is the business end of the FA Cup. And it's been an age since we got our suits measured. Silverware. You can stick it on a trophy cabinet.

Having said that, Pompey in a cup final is drenched in ye old FA cup magic irony. So expect the footballing Gods to be wearing their colours, ringing out a cowbell in that traditional annoying manner that grates eternally. Considering their plight it almost feels like destiny. Or probably does from their fans perspective. No doubt if this (us v them) is the game that does take place, most will be rooting for the underdog.

I'd happily accept our role as party-poopers/villains in this.

COYS.

FA Cup glory? Take it back...(to the lane)

Fulham 0 Spurs 0

Not exactly your quintessential cup tie that. For all the talk about squad depletion and recalling of yoof players to make up the numbers, our starting line-up wasn't too shabby. Defoe on the bench, but the switch on the left-side (BAE slotting into left-back and Bale into left-midfield) was something I was keen to see and Modric in the middle is something that's always up for discussion - can it work? Crouch upfront with Pav and Niko on the right. Regardless of the kids on the bench keeping JD company, it's a line-up good enough to beat Fulham, or at least make the effort to do so.

So, how did this game end 0-0? Simply put, because it wasn't very good. There were moments for both sides. We dominated possession but Fulham had the shots on target. Palacios marshalled the midfield but Modric struggled to dictate or find the time to hurt the opposition. Perhaps this wasn't the perfect stage for him to play central, but then Harry was forced to do so thanks to our bare bone crisis. Had we another CM capable of fulfilling the role then perhaps Modric starting out on the left would have allowed him to roam, dink and cut inside in that wonderfully jinxing manner we love to watch. His passing was a little off-key too. Not the best of days. But perhaps not the best of pitches (although no excuse, he worked his magic up at Wigan a few weeks back).

First half was congested, untidy. No real FA Cup magic to behold, in fact no real evidence of this being an FA Cup tie full stop. Second half, better, but frustrating. For all the ball at our feet and defending when called upon to do so there was still moments when Zamora and company threatened. The threat thankfully always ended with a sigh of relief. Fulham not really causing us anything more than half a missed heart-beat. But you know how it is, we dominate, they break, they score and we rage. You could almost see it happening, compounded with what smelt like ominous irony (smells like sick) mainly because we lacked cutting edge up front. This game was made for the sucker-punch.

I guess with Fulham playing so deep and defensive, there wasn't enough about them to make us that nervous. Not really.

As for us; cutting edge, the lack of. How you haunt me week after week. I'm actually not going to knee-jerk and perhaps the more astute amongst you will reason why the Pav/Crouch combo failed to ignite today. IMO, it failed because it was just one of those games. I love the word 'fragmented' (to be copyrighted). And today it just felt like our forwards were snuffed out of it by the resolute tenacity of the Fulham defenders and the tactics of Hodgson. It was all a bit too fragmented.

I think Roy was quite clever. If this was a traditional cup tie and had Fulham gone out and attempted to give it some proper gallivanting play, we'd had beaten them. We have the better footballers. And they lacked the presence of a Murphy in the middle to make them truly tick creatively. So what Roy did (the git) was have his players work their socks off. And their more direct play pushing forward (not talking long ball but speed of attack) allowed them the opportunities to test us, so from their perspective they could contain us and counter. Good tactics.

The problem we had in countering this, is one open for debate. Pav didn't really have any goal-sniffing opps that he thrives off. No 'one second' to think moments. He disappeared in some of the build up play, sometimes struggling to bring the ball under control quickly. Could he have dug deeper? Can he dig deeper? Is it the right game to knee-jerk on his performance? No. Let this one be. Watch the difference in the replay. Although if a play fails to find another way into a game and a trend develops, we have a problem. Said player can only play effectively if the game suits him (Darren Bent anyone?)

Crouch was okay. Felt at times that we didn't really use him properly. Crossing was not great and there seemed to be the usual confusion with when exactly to aim for his head and when to play the ball forward to his feet. Towards the end (when JD came on for Pav) someone (sorry, forgot who) pumped the ball up to Defoe. I mean seriously, Crouch has gone off and we're still pumping it up forwards. This time to a midget. Giving him 60/40 against him to win it. Bit of common sense sometimes let's us down. I know this isn't exactly criminal, but sometimes a little bit more intelligence is required - especially in the final moments of a game.

edit: Crouch was in fact still on the pitch. Slight balls up there in my reporting. Soz. Evidently, one too many beers it would seem. I guess you might argue that even though he had not been subbed, he was invisible. Boom boom.

I'll add this - there were moments in the game when players made mistakes when a LEADER was blatantly required to shout at them. Sometimes it looks like discrepancies are accepted.

Perhaps its time for a new directive. Play the ball on the ground unless you're passing the ball up the field to someone's feet. There is a time and place to play the knock down via Crouch. But anyways, if we haven't worked it out yet, I can't see us working it out any time soon. It's what births the questions about how Crouch is more successful for England than he is for Spurs - and if its because Crouch is an out and out striker for England - then it means we've got the wrong player up front to aid the Spurs 'out and out' forward.

Moving on.

Bale was stupendous to watch. Powerful and silky. Our best creative outlet, but alas not enough on the day to craft out a chance. No fault of his. He had plenty of success but cut backs were limited. Gomes, confident in goal, helped as survive any potentially heart in mouth moments. In the end, tbh, I'm happy with the result. Neither side deserved to win it and had, let's say Fulham nicked it, I'd have been furious for what was such a lacklustre game to have allowed a winner to head towards Wembley for the semi-final. Mainly because I'd have looked at our players and questioned their belief and determination to force the issue and score. Losing games of this manner is far more frustrating then losing a ding dong cup tie.

Corluka almost scoring an own-goal and earlier in the game, BAE attempting to be smart in the box and losing the ball - two moments that had me screaming out WTF expletives. Crouchies header and Pav's attempted over-head kick not enough.

Far from over, mind. But Fulham have a mental fixture list in the next few weeks, so as long as we can recover some of our walking wounded and get through our games without any further damage - we should...should be able to get the right result at WHL (Wed 24th).

As important as 4th is, the FA Cup is something I'm desperate for us to win again. Been too long.

Fulham v Spurs - It's Actually Massive

by guest blogger Chrisman

I’m going to lay it on the line here – The F.A. Cup QF against Fulham will be a cracker. It might not have loads of goals, and we might not get either of the results that we want, but it will be good. It will be a rarity – a game between two PL teams desperately wanting to win. And two teams quite reasonably believing they can win.

Roy Hodgson is a manager that I love listening to. He is almost the polar opposite of Harry in his handling of the media. Hodgson will openly, and often quite savagely ridicule the interviewer and his questions. ‘Roy, surely this is a must win game?’ he will be asked. His reply will be something along the lines of ‘Well, what happens if we don’t win? Does the season end? Will Fulham FC automatically self-destruct? Of course we want to win, but no, it’s not a must win’. You can tell he absolutely hates the cliché driven style of football in the British media, and he won’t even play lip service to it. Harry, on the other hand, revels in it.

Both men are actually very similar. The difference in their personas is directly due to the fact that Hodgson has spent the best part of 30 years in management outside England. To a total foreigner coming here, the way the ‘media circus’ exists will be a source of amusement, bafflement and eventual indifference. But because Hodgson is English, and he understands it a bit more, he’s visibly disgusted by it. He doesn’t even make an effort to conceal his total contempt for it. Old Harry, however, doesn’t have that luxury. He has had to play the game over the last 20 years, and he’s played it pretty well. He is so well versed in cliché speak that it’s actually very difficult to tell what he is thinking, about anything, ever. But one thing is certain, and it’s one thing that Harry’s cliché speak and Hodgson’s cynicism cannot overpower – The F.A Cup is a trophy both of these men are still desperate to win.

There won’t be any resting players, no saving it for the league – with 3 of the traditional big 4 already out, this is probably the best chance either team has had of winning the trophy for quite a while. It’s the business end of the tournament, and it’s 2 men at the business end of their careers. Expect both teams to give everything on behalf of the managers and fans.

Pavlyuchenko remains the key man for Spurs. If he plays as well as he has done, we have a great chance. With Defoe probably out, you feel Pav has to score if we are to get a result. And with Huddlestone out, a huge amount of responsibility falls on Modric, and to a lesser extent Kranjcar. Playing against a Fulham midfield that is likely to include Murphy, Gera, Davies and maybe Greening could be a blessing. They have a lot of ball players and not a lot of horsepower in their midfield, which should suit us if we are to play Modric in the middle. Conversely, the battering ram approach of Zamora should suit Dawson’s style. Gomes is going to have to have another good game if we are going to get a result. More of his heroics from the league visit to Craven Cottage are pretty essential.

It’s also to be expected that Smalling and Hangeland won’t have too much trouble dealing with a ‘direct’ approach. What we need is Pav coming deep and linking up with Modric and Kranjcar. If the 3 of them hit it off, we could, against all odds, win the game. If we were to do that, without Defoe and Huddlestone in the team, I think that will give the lads a pretty significant confidence boost for the rest of the season. What’s more likely is a hard fought score draw, then back to the lane for another classic night of mayhem.

Excitement building already. With the battle for the top 4 taking all our attention, this has almost approach unnoticed. But it’s here, an F.A. Cup Quarter Final, and a London Derby to boot. Sexual Chocolate.

All hail the Roman emperor!

Okay, it's getting ridiculous now. At the final whistle, the surrounding area of White Hart Lane resembled Woodstock circa 1969. Grown men hugging and kissing, declaration of (man) love (for a certain Russian teddy bear) and plenty of skipping naked up the High Road singing and weeping tears of joy. And crying too. Rainbows lit up the dark night sky and the singing continued well into the early hours of Thursday.

Yes. Roman Pavlyuchenko is better than sliced bread. His goal celebration was one of absolute unbridled happiness, laying on the ground whilst one team-mate after another mounted him (ooh err), his legs up in the air shaking uncontrollably. It was yet another release of pent up frustration, following on from his brace away to Wigan. He probably never thought he'd be playing a part and now suddenly he's the darling of the Lane. The purest of our goal-scorers, slotting/passing the ball into the net rather than lashing it towards goal.

His first was coolly taken. His second (after two Bolton own goals) was made to seem as easy as they come, with all the time in the world to pick a spot and beat the keeper. There's a bug going around at the moment which has apparently hit several of our players (Defoe, Palacios, Bentley, Corluka). Jenas is locked in my basement where he will remain for the foreseeable future. Not sure if Crouch is injured or struggling with illness but I'm certain he'll have a headache looking on as Roman has more or less cemented his place for the Everton clash. No bug with this lad. Just a buzz.

Harry was his usual deflective self post-match. Dropping in a comment about how Pav is a good lad, nice lad, can't speak a word of English. Beautifully navigated there Harry. He could have sold him ya know, could of but didn't. Quality man-management right there. Makes you wonder at what level the Russian would be had he played a part from the start of the season, but hindsight and theorising aside, the fact is - he's in form NOW and that's fine by me. Long may he continue to prove me wrong and the other doubters. Whether it's enough for him to want to stay, we'll see soon enough. He's increasing his potential value for a move away if that's what Harry ends up wanting, because Peter Plan B great control for a someone so tall Crouch is the perfect foil for young Defoe. Harry knows best.

As for the game, thank you to Bolton for not turning up. They hardly had any true sustained pressure with their mish-mash line-up in that oh so typical 'the league is more important for us' guise they were wearing. Although there were moments when we sat back (lackadaisically is what the BBC called it - pretty much perfect description) we were more than comfortable in possession and never really tested to the point where nails were bitten. It was easy. Never vintage, but not boring either. Pav giving us the deserved lead, one own goal to settle the nerves further and at the birth of the second half, another to kill the game off. Pav's second (from a Danny Rose inch perfect pass…yeah, you heard me, a pass!) was an unnecessary footnote on the game other than for Roman to gleefully continue to smile and punch the air as his renaissance continues.

Massive test for him and the rest of the side when we play the Toffeemen in what is going to be a vital 6 pointer clash. As for the FA Cup, Fulham away next. We don't like playing them there mainly because we don't tend to win when visiting their quaint ground. Better memories in the Cup though. More of the same again. Won't be easy, end to end no doubt. Will be happy to bring them back to the Lane in yet another replay. The hard way is better than no way.

COYS.

Let's bolt-on Pav for another goal-fest

Afternoon.

I'm completely devoid of any creative juice currently. It's a lull so do not fret. This is what happens when you spend most days shopping for Tommee Tippee and deciding whether you should opt for Bugaboo or Maxi Cosi. Football becomes a fantasy world you escape to when hiding under tables from your heavily pregnant partner, who has became a Huddlestonesque figure consuming all before her (mostly chocolate). Thankfully she's about as slow as big Tom so the threat is minimal. Although she's got more bite then Jenas so she could potentially do a job in our midfield. Then again, the fluff in my belly-button could potentially do a job in our midfield as an alternative to Jenas.

This is not to say I'm about to disappear under an avalanche of nappies and baby milk. I blog therefore I am. Still playing around with the idea of having some guest writers on here for the days spent hallucinating due to extreme tiredness, although on such days I could potentially do a job in our midfield as an alternative...

But, as I said, this is just a lull. One that will no doubt be forgotten about after this evening when Super Pav notches a hat-trick (one with his left, one with his right, one with his head) and runs across to the bench to celebrate, sliding on knees and twitching in front of Harry who later explains in the post match interview that this was the plan all along, to hold back the Russian until the run-in and release him into the wild to do much destruction and damage in the way of casual clinical finishes as we go on full attack for both 4th spot and the Cup. A sort of 4th place in the league Cup double. There's a DVD in there somewhere I'm certain of it.

Tonight is vital IMO. And I doubt you'll disagree. I want an FA Cup final. It's been too long. One game at a time, mind. So Bolton have to be brushed aside with a bit of that olde swagger. It's not something to be ignored or fudged up by perhaps shifting players out of the side and doing a spot of tinkering with selection. I want to see our strongest side this evening, do a job and do it well. And then more of the same against Everton on Saturday. However I don't expect the side to be as strong as it will be when facing Moyes side. As long as the backbone retains its shape I'll be happy enough. Every game is a cup final from here on in. Get your suits measured.

Enjoy the match.

COYS.

Paying the penalty, over and over again...

I asked for swagger. What we got in the first forty five minutes was not swagger. It was a hellmouth of atrociousness. No shape, no fluidity, no composure. Granted Bolton are spoilers, a side that will get in your face and stop you from playing, but let's not exaggerate. This is no longer Big Sam's anti-football on show at the Reebok. It's a far more timid version and regardless of our poor record up there you'd hope we’d at least attempt to match their tenacity. But oh no. This is Tottenham and once more we failed to see any of our esteemed players capture that early to mid season form which was spent chasing down opposition players, applying pressure and generally bossing teams and picking them off with comparative ease. I'm not even exaggerating, we looked the part back then. But with each passing week we appear to be forgetting how to play as a unit. Granted, no Lennon means we lose a vital dimension to our play. But this goes beyond not having the little man in the side because our decline began when he was fit and playing.

So we got battered for 45 minutes, looked absolutely lost and lacked any sort of spark. They're calling it a game of two halves and that's just about the best tagline you can give the match. Although it wasn't until the 60th minute that we awoke. Two moments that saw the ball hit the woodwork (for any other team, it would have sneaked in but we seem to will the ball over safely thanks to our desperation for relying on any anything that resembles luck). But when the goal did come (Defoe lashing it in) I almost felt a moment of over zealous confidence. We're going to win. The assault continued, can hardly remember Bolton doing that much in the second half so when the penalty was awarded, I jumped up and punched the air in delight, dancing a jig of joy followed by some break-dancing.

I'm fibbing, that wasn't how I reacted. I infact feel to the ground (Wengeresque) with my head in the palms of my hands. Because I knew, I just knew that more misery would be compounded on us. That it's not enough that its taken one hour to get going, we're now going to see victory wave a fleeting goodbye and disappear, to be seen next under floodlights.

What? You telling me you honestly thought we'd score?

When Huddlestone stood there ready, there was a moment, half a second, that had me thinking he would drill the ball towards the goal. The fundamental issue with penalties remains one of mental strength. If there is 1% doubt in your mind, you're likely to over-think how to take the kick and probably fail to simply rely on instincts and the natural obvious method.

i.e. Decide where to strike the ball before you put the ball on the spot, then strike it with power to the pre-determined target area.

The moment Tommy started to do the shuffle I laughed. If that wasn't a 'I don't know how to take this penalty' moment, then I don't know what it. He placed his shot. Placed it. Tommy 'I have a thunderous thunderous shot on me and can't half it hard' decided to softly softly place the ball allowing for a comfortable save. Yes, I know, its 50/50 with pens. Had the keeper guessed wrong we'd have scored. But why leave it to percentages? Pick a far corner of the goal, left or right, doesn't matter. Then drill the sonofabitch towards it. Damn it, Tommy, we know, you know…you can hit a ball with venom. It's usually moving. Here, it’s a dead ball and what do you decide to do? Caress it.

I say give the next one to BALE BALE BALE.

Anyways, if we get past Bolton we've got Fulham away. So we go from one bogey away side to another.

Rejoice.

COYS. In it to win it.