14-0 Gets Us Second

Afternoon gang. A victory by a mere 14 goals tonight, and we’ll officially be the closest chasers to the Middle Eastlanders; a historically stubborn and belligerent blue wave from that there side of Mersey are all that stand in our way. To be honest, I’d take a scrappy ten-nil-er. You know, just to stay interested like.

Cheltenham ticket duly dispatched to a lovely chap wot answered my Twitter ‘shout out’, details of the game remain elusive, but a greater number of goals were scored by us than them, and on we march to the North-South divide of Watford for the 4^th round. Arse/Chelski/Manure for the 5^th round should we progress, I’m sure.

Dawsons back, which will hopefully see the return of the marvellous ‘Dawsons Week’ on the official site (doo doo doo doo, doodoo doo doo doo). Was there ever a more tenuous reason to chronicle the fortunes of one player, than the fact that it sort of sounded like a period-enducing flop fest from the 90’s? Who cares, it’s the stuff of a marketers dreams and I’m embracing it fully.

Elsewhere, Sandro’s got a ‘bad one’, Gallas, not so much, Thuddlestone’s hair continues its outward trajectory, and Parker is very doubtful for tonight. Unfortunately, in comes, probably, Lake Jivermore. Apt, what with him being a bit wet and not moving much. Fears for our ability in the middle of the grass against whoever they decide to play there abound.

Still, Luka van der Bale plays, so let’s not whinge too much, there’s enough there to get a semblance of a job done.

Stand up and be counted, or some such. Joint second is there for the grabbing. Not one for the motivationals you understand. Win etcetera! Goals!

2-1 to the Spurs

Alive. Just.

Wow. Sorry about the silence folks. Between Christmas, New Year, family, work and a brutal marathon training schedule, it’s just been too mental.

That’s a lie. I mean, all of the above are genuine you understand, but the REAL reason for my shocking levels of contribution to the blogging world is that someone told me you could buy Champo (Football Manager 2012 actually, but it will ALWAYS be Champo) as an iPhone app’ and I’ve been playing it solidly for a week. There are some that would argue that this is the most futile of all pursuits, but I’d then point those same people in the direction of my UEFA and FA Cup double and 6^th placed Premier League finish… with Leyton Orient, and those same people would no doubt bow down before me and claim that they know nothing about life and consult me as an oracle in all future matters. Oh man, I need to delete that game.

It’s been a while since I engaged with real football, but I vaguely remember saying I’d be happy with 4 points from the Norwich and Swansea games. It was then re-qualified to be happy, as long as we beat the Brom. We done it all. That, coupled with a set of bizarre results elsewhere upon our Sceptered Isle, has further cemented our place in the nosebleed section of the table. The oft’ cited and almost mythical game in hand against Everton is next up for our troops in the league, and chance again to heap further misery on the parasites waiting for us to crash and burn.

Harry’s been saying that we won’t be investing in bodies, and that only a ‘special’ player suddenly becoming available will tempt Danny Boy to open the Tottenham chequebook. Ronaldo? Rooney? Soldado? It’s a nice idea, but essentially meaningless, because ‘special’ players very rarely move in January. Bodies move in January. Harry’ll know that we probably need another DC, and probably an AM R/L, maybe a DM C on loan (seriously, must get rid) if we are to absorb the whacks we’re bound to sustain in the second half of the season, and the job lot of Samba/Hoillett in the Blackburn fire sale would seem to fit the bill. The convenience or truth of this talk will surface at around one minute to deadline.

F.A. Cup magic returns to the Lane this weekend. Not for me though, I won’t be there, because Tottenham decided to issue me with a ticket in another part of the ground, what with the cup allocation rules 'n' all, and sat me on my own away from Flymo and all the others we usually sit amongst. Munro’s got my ticket, and he doesn’t mind sitting on his tod, so it’s all worked out nicely. Besides, I’ve got wedding photos to be sorting through (slash) trying to win the league with The O’s.

Laters (on)

Chelsea. Swansea. Norwich. Pop.

Both teams rueing a missed opportunity probably means it was a fair result. Still, avoiding defeat was the main objective, and we can wake up on Christmas morning in the knowledge that we’re London’s top placed Christmas fairies for the first time since 1995, and that ain’t not half isn’t not too bad.

Back to last night, wind well and truly sucked from the sails following the questionable equaliser, we were probably a little fortunate not to be behind at half-time. Also questionable is what Ledley and Benny thought they were playing at by stopping still and waiting for a handball call that never arrived. Not good enough chaps. They’ve both been excellent so far, but not one to put on the career highlights tape last night. Benny especially, had his worst game in a good 2-3 years; disappointing for a young man who has been largely excellent.

Invisible man replaced invisible man at half-time, and come the hour mark, came my first personal concession that a draw would be taken if offered. Still, didn’t mean any of us were any less gutted when Ade rolled his late effort wide, with a touch from ‘you know what you are’ unfortunately turning the ball the wrong side of his post. The bounder. The ready prepped ‘JT shrugs off personal problems to put in AMAZING performance’ have been predictably dusted off for the morning editions. When you’re a soulless, moral vacuum however, I’m not sure how difficult this actually is, and the fact it’s being praised almost beggars belief; from the same outlets no less, that 48 hours earlier had acted with such condemnation towards the Liverpool squad for trotting down to their local ‘we do stag and hen nights as well’ outlet.

Anyway, Norwich and Swansea away in just a few days, so let’s look ahead to these mothers. Paul Lambert and Brendan Rodgers will one day manage big clubs. They’re both Scottish/ Northern Irish and like to play decent football. What greater qualifications does one require to succeed in Premier League management? On paper, they should be good games, between sides that like to play decent stuff, and given the number of technicians available to us, even after the injuries, we should be able to out-football them. Decent home records for both though, so certainly not gimme’s, but bearing in mind WE ARE IN CRISIS! after claiming just a mere 4 points from the previous available 9, at least another 4 before heading into 3 win-able home games, would be novelty tie-rific.

Tottenham v Chelsea. It’s A Big’un.



AVB patrols the touchline


Greetings everybody, my first post as a married Gent. Things are going to change around here and make no mistake. Out go hastily compiled match reports and ill-informed opinion, and in come reason, logic, and a more rounded and mature outlook on, not just Tottenham Hotspur, but life itself.

*farts*

And what better way to kick off this brave new era than with a look ahead to what’s probably our biggest game of the season so far, against the unwashed of North Fulham. Having been lording it up in a country manner at the time, reports suggest that Sundays narrow victory against slumberland was very much a case of ‘job done’, but we might need a bit more tonight to keep our band wagon rolling.

Bale, King and Adebayor have all been declared ‘maybe baby’ by our Harold, which suggests to those fluent in ‘arry’ that all 3 will make it, while Sandro looks set to continue. A back 4, Captain Combover, Sandro and Mods sitting/tucking back in, when the full backs bomb on, with Bale and VdV buzzing around behind Ade is where best guess lies.

As for the opposition, lumbering, serial adulterer and Combat18 leader (slash) part time footballer Jonathan Terrance, having been spared a night in the cells, is free to Captain his deeply unpleasant charges, and provide us all with pantomime-levels of villainy. And what are games as these without a little theatre? As for the rest of them, Mata and Sturridge aside, they’ve been a collage of unremarkable grey, and I’m still not convinced the YTS management trainee they’ve got directing the blue traffic in his ‘crouching touchline, startled badger’ pose, knows entirely what he’s doing. Mind you, there’s a certain level of sympathy in having to deal with matters like the one he finds his Captain in, as well as the confused head-scratching of rotund ‘legend’ Frankincense. You’re slowing up in a game that’s getting quicker. Simpler than a 2 piece jigsaw puzzle, chief.

It says something that, Manchester clubs aside, we go into all fixtures now with a heavy expectation of victory, and tonight is no different. This lot are not that special: let’s not forget that without Stoke-levels of officiating at their place last season, we’d have won there as well, without a striker, and tonight presents another opportunity to underline our claim to be the capitals Christmas Kings. Sturridge and Mata’s shackling will be key, but in King, Parker and Sandro, we’ll have more than enough to cope.

If we’re truly going to take the next step as a club, we need to beat our rivals at the top, particularly at home, and make it a bit convincing while we’re at it. We seem to have grasped the concept of beating teams we should be, but a top of the table ‘six-pointer’ against an experienced bunch will give us a huge indicator of what the rest of this season has in store. It’s a big one. 3-1 Spurs.

Foys Orks 2 Footballers 1

Everyone settled down yet?

In the aftermath of Amir Khan’s defeat in Washington, at the hands of Washington-born Lamont Peterson, one boxing commentator made an excellent point; when you go to fight in somebody else’s back garden, make sure it isn’t close. Go in there and perform so mercilessly there can be no doubt who’s the champion. It could easily have been applied to Tottenham on Sunday.

I don’t accept that they ‘wanted it more’. We generally play controlled, possession football, creating openings by relying on our movement and ability. They played as if they’d each downed a 6-pack of red bull and got told that the lads dressed in purple had cussed their Mums.

The first half hour set the tone for the whole game… in fact, scrap that, the first minute set the tone, with them muscling their way through our shell-shocked back line and forcing Brad into an early save. ‘’But Mister Harry, I thought we were playing the English National Ballet select XI’’. Expecting something and dealing with it are completely different, but lads we thought would stand no nonsense- Parker and Kaboul to name but 2- were brushed aside like a bunch of Crouchey’s, or wacky waving arm-flailing inflatable tube men.

But the ref was to blame! Criiiiiiinge. Foy and his team had an absolute stinker, but when you’ve got a guy with an itchy trigger finger and an overwhelming desire to be ‘the man’, and you’ve already been booked, and your man is running nowhere, just stand him up. It’s pretty simple.

Anyway, I’ve sort of missed the boat on all the post-match stuff, so I’ll leave it there.

I’m getting married on Friday, so this will be the last you hear from your intrepid blogger as a single chap. Sunderland preview and report, I’ll leave to the many other fine wordsmiths out there, but suffice to say, their slice of luck and our somewhat unfortunate sequence of events from Sunday should see the universe realign itself ready for the dust up with Chavski.

Return of the Crouch

Hello etcetera.

A few ground-breaking headlines to come out of Spurs this week. Apparently someone is going to ‘earn his Spurs’ Like, when you earn *actual* spurs for your achievements in combat, but we’re called Spurs so it’s a really clever and highly original use of ‘spurs’. There have been other things that have Spur’d us on. How do they come up with this stuff?

Stoke away conjures up pictures, as opposed to full on game recollections. Have we ever played particularly well or badly up there? Is the Wallpaper (Britannia, I’m being told) Stadium just one of those places where everyone says exists, but it’s all a big lie? Like the lost City of Atlantis, or South London? Eidur getting the winner in the game that, pour moi, confirmed us as a Champions League team. More recently, that lush volley from the lad Garth and his surprised (slash) ‘did you see that?’ face. Still further back in time, before both of those, Gomes doing his ‘boo boo’ routine. I believe there was also an ambulance present? I’m struggling with much else.

But wallpaper, while being largely easy to ignore, can be really annoying and stubborn to shift when you’re forced to face it head on, which is exactly what we can expect from the stripy chaps on Sunday. Among their number are former Tottering favourites Woody, Wilson and Crouchy… well, maybe not Crouchy, but the other 2 always enjoyed a largely affectionate place in our lilywhite hearts. They still do, although largely because we probably know we’ve seen the best of them, and are unlikely to do us much harm. Peter, on the other hand, who had a scoring record of around 1 goal every calendar, will be greeted with far greater caution. A penny for every one of us who says: ‘you just know he’s going to score’.

Ledley’s ‘banged’ his knee, while Defoe and Bale have wonkys that sound as if they’ll be easily shaken off. Ledley’s absence is a worry but if Gallas can find some of the form of last year, we should have too much for them.

7 wins on the spin? We’re already record breakers with 6, perhaps the promise of a 7^th will ‘spur’ us on even further. Hahahahahaha. Classic me.

You Don’t Understand! You Weren’t There, Man!

Indeed I was not. During game time on Saturday, I was in transit toward a go-karting track to be out-driven by 14 year old boys, having spent the morning being pelted with paintballs by a gaggle of 14 year old boys. There’s a worrying pattern emerging here.

However, with the transit in question being equipped with all the mod’ con’s, like a radio, the bulletins came flying in. Goal followed goal, followed red card, followed goal. A free-nuffink home win enough to ensure that the brow was suitably and dramatically mopped, and the evening’s jovial celebrations and banter remained untainted by the nagging annoyance of points being dropped at home. A full autopsy could wait until the following day.

Bleary eyed, the12’’ gogglebox in my Southend Travelodge room flickered into life on Sunday morning, just in time to catch the highlights of our game. As the instant coffee begun to work its dubious magic, only 2 things managed to filter through to ones stuttering lucidity; it was never a red, and we missed another hatful. Actually, there was a bit of appreciation in the form of a pained groan at Lenny’s finish, but mostly it was about another week of goal mouth fluffery. Conventional (clichéd) wisdom dictates that it’s when you’re not making the openings that you need to start worrying, but if this is a parallel dimension we’ve stumbled into, where Tottenham are going to start challenging for bigger pots and pans, it’s a seismic shift in thought  and standards that needs to take place first.

Players like Defoe and Lennon, for example, have spent their entire professional careers in cultures of 2-1 home wins being great news against ANYBODY, whether it’s 0 or 20 chances that have gone begging; trotting into training the following day like a cock of the walk, safe in the knowledge that they’ve done enough, no matter how many lines had been fluffed. Indeed, we as fans are guilty of having the ‘job done’ approach, only for us to explode in rage when we’re missing the same efforts in tighter games of greater significance. While the likes of Giggs, Roy Keane, van Nistelrooy and Ronaldo might have been able to live with this kind of scenario every once in a blue moon, somehow, I couldn’t picture them being over the moon at 3 of them in a row, and you can bet SAF would be apoplectic. What about games where you simply won’t be allowed to create even a quarter of these chances? Saying that, I have full faith that it hasn’t escaped the managements attention, and that there will be a few words said.

Let’s start putting these dregs to the sword! If the Premier League has shown nothing else this year, it’s that the gap between the have’s and have not’s has grown once again. If we’re to continue making waves, the victories against the bottom half teams need to be more ruthless, more Man City/United-esque, and ensure that the ‘job done’ or ‘that’ll do’ attitude doesn’t become a comfortable malaise, when far greater efficiency against the top 6 or so will be even more vital.