Reading some of the responses online to last night’s game really have me staring at the skip at the foot of our road, and wondering if I should just throw myself in it.
What is particularly disheartening, is the endlessly repetitive articles and posts mumbling and grumbling on and on about how imperfect things are. I’m not referring to analysis, as there is so little of it to even vaguely merit the description. I’m talking about the endless stream of griping. Looking for holes.
A good few among us, watching that game last night, really didn’t get it. Really didn’t understand what they were watching. This process, this project is going to take time. Time is something you have in your heart, not on your wrist.
If you can’t find the time in your heart, then you need to jack this in and take up making models out of matchsticks. That way. when the Cutty Sark looks more like Upton Park, you can see just how inspiring people repeatedly asking you the same questions over and over is.
What we were watching in Fulham, was us, only few seasons ago, a team doing not much wrong, get beat by a side that weren’t wholly convincing, but they were prepared to battle through, in order to win. How many times have we been beaten like that? Eh?
The other curious feature of the dissatisfaction, is that whilst observers are are happy to praise Bonzo’s positives, they are hesitant to point out that Michael Dawson probably hasn’t had a truly good game all season. One can only guess that slagging off the manager to a noisy minority, is more cathartic than addressing tedious stuff like naff contributions from players.
Also, perspective seems to be switched on an off, dependent upon how benevolent the observer is feeling. Has benevolence been earned, has enough goodwill been amassed, so perspective will be granted?
We won 3 points away, against a wounded animal. The mighty Lilywhites are a win off the Champions League places, and on a night where Manchester United were beaten at home. Or do Man Utd suddenly not count anymore?
History has taught us that the binning of a failing manager routinely gives the team a second wind. Fulham were a textbook example. Even Berbatov failed to do so little as to warrant being called languid. Fulham played for a win, perhaps for their lives, and they played as a team.
We played much as we have all season. The first half was grueling. For the entire game, the BBC say we had 60% of the play, and when the Fulham goal went in on the 56th minute, it felt like we were in for another masterclass of pointless possession. Vlad’s equaliser was a relieving as it was a joyous. The player’s faces told you that.
The wunderkind himself delivered a “best boy in playground” strike. Holtby’s goal was pretty close to a knockout punch. Unfortunately the ref didn’t quite stop the fight and one of their lot hit the post before they took their ball back.
What we learned, is that André has instilled a “don’t give up” attitude. That is how you win games like that. And right now, winning is all. I can’t even begin to tell you quite how mindless grander thoughts are.
You can’t have jam on it, if there’s nothing to plonk the jam on.
With winning will come confidence, then the belief, and eventually freer flowing, more satisfying football. Sitting around moping because the goals came from a defender with a mask on and some bloke who only cost a million quid isn’t just churlish, it’s snide and divisive.
There was a time when 3 points away from home midweek was deemed a real positive, not greeted with “yeah but…”
It’s difficult to entirely gauge how good or bad AVB’s tactics are in games like these. Psychologically, the pitch at The Cottage is tiny, but I think I’m right, that in fact, it’s a couple of yards wider than WHL? Either way, it felt as if we were sitting a little deeper, perhaps in an effort to draw them out. Was it 4411 at one point? Who knows?
Hugo was immense. Aside from any loyalty, he’s my favourite Premier League goalie. Dawson again, is AVB picking him in a political kinda way, to keep the dressing room close, and it’s captain closer? The Machiavellian permutations are endless. I wish I’d never let my brain go down that route.
Bonzo had another good game. We’ve reached a point with him now, that if he doesn’t have a brain fart, we’re noticeably up on the deal.
It’s like training a puppy you can’t help but love. Despite him eating half of your Led Zeppelin LPs that time you left him alone. Despite the Tardis of an arse he demonstrated all over the living room carpet, after you were absolutely convinced he was house trained… if you can get past the occasional mind numbing clanger, you just know he’s a keeper.
Vlad is an intriguing character. The mask thing suits him and he should think about wearing it all the time. He’s far from perfect, but he frequently demonstrates little touches and moves that one wouldn’t ordinarily associate with a centre back. Bless him for that. And like the man said, “more please.”
None of our midfielders stood out. They were all in the main, competent. If Spurs were a band, they’d be Spinal Tap.
I remember being knocked out by their… their exuberance, their raw power – and their punctuality.
Lamela is like watching a a pretty, but unaccomplished girl practise a burlesque routine. Just as you’re getting into the whole “slowly slowly” thing, she drops her fan, or steps on one end of her feather boa. The illusion is lost and suddenly there’s half a tit pointing at you. That said, I think he could yet be the next Dita Von Teese.
Paulinho looks like a man who’s working 3 jobs to prevent his house being repossessed. The problem is, he isn’t holding any of them down, just belting in, doing the hours, hoping not to get sacked from all of them at once. He needs to be rested, if he says he’s okay to play, ignore him and bench him anyway. He’s clearly pooped and that shot that ended up in a burger stall, should have ended up in th back of the net.
Azza Blud is a headache. The flits and skips are such a welcome relief from the mainly lateral passing, that it’s tempting to overlook how utterly futile most of it all is. I’ve seen things made out of balsa wood that look like they have more conviction that he does.
Defoe proves my point every time he plays. There is maybe half of something there, sometimes, but I’m too soaked in cynicism to even review him fairly anymore. Sell him. Let him do what he wants; to score some Defoeesque goals somewhere and shoehorn himself into the England team. Good luck.
Our next game then, is the teatime fixture on Saturday. Away to Sunderland. Who lost in what was presumably a 7 goal thriller, at home to Chelsea last night. [divider]
