After the game yesterday, watching Sherwood talk, my mind wandered. The image that appeared in my head was a scene from one of my childhood favourites, Asterix
There was one adventure, where Obelix dropped a menhir on the potion-meister, Getafix.
As a result, the druid is rendered “cuckoo” by the blow, and isn’t sure where he is, let alone how to brew “the magic potion.” So our Gallic heroes begin wildly mixing ingredients in a caldron, hoping to save the day.
During this experimentation, the potions they produce have varying effects. From turning those that sipped them funny colours; making them float in the air, and spew bubbles when they tried to talk.
Tim’s post match comments revealed that he wasn’t in control of what was happening. Like the indefatigable Gauls, he knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to beat Norwich, like he had beat Newcastle. He had a rough idea of what was needed to revisit that success, but when asked to replicate the recipe, he couldn’t. Because it had happened by chance.
Just like if you had asked Obelix and Asterix to mix up the potion that turned them pink, only minutes before, they couldn’t, because it was a freakish thing that happened while they were crazily hurling ingredients about.
There were only two changes to the ingredients of the potion that made us beat Newcastle. Kaboul and Bonzo weren’t available, and in came Rose and Dawson.
Against a Norwich side that had a major goalscoring problem (up until they played us, of course) this degree of enforced tinkering ought not to have made a significant difference. Had we been up against the likes of Liverpool or Man City or similar, then having an weakness would have made a significant difference.
Anyone who watched the game will agree that it was a diabolical affair. It was difficult enough to concentrate on, sat in front of a TV set, Christ alone knows how mentally exhausting it must have been to actually play in. Scruffy, scraggy, shabby.
There are no positive to take from this game. Even if one was prepared to overlook what a sad, stabbing in the dark exercise it was, there were no redeeming features. If anything, our lot looked like they had been psychologically damaged by the experience.
Norwich played a simple and structured, but nothing extraordinary game. It’s not unreasonable to believe that someone like Fulham, Palace or Sunderland would have come here, and got at least a draw.
Another woeful, “we don’t really know why we’re here, we just got asked by some bloke in the pub last night if we fancied a game tomorrow and it seemed like a laugh so we said yes” type start. All the cohesion, any vague semblance of a strategy one might have hoped for, abandoned.
But then, the presupposes Time’s picks have any rhyme or reason to them. Tim Sherwood isn’t fit to manage at this level. The PE teacher gags aren’t gags. Those comments simply reflect the level he is at.
What we’re watching here, is a budding artist trying to get his paint by numbers picture, of two horses in a field, put up in the National Portrait gallery. It’s embarrassing.
The wholesale absence of wit, craft and structure from InterTim was mirrored on the park. None of our players had a good game, but asking us to excuse the manager on the strength of 10 rotten performances is laughable. As is any suggestion of “jet lag” it was a 5 hour flight (presumably in business class) and most of the side fielded yesterday didn’t travel.
Actually trying to explore the precise minutia of that game is beyond futile.
Not so much “mentions in dispatches”, rather vague mumblings to the emergency services, after being buried in the rubble of a collapsed building for a day or two.
Lloris must be wondering how he can get out of his contract after the World Cup, as Jan Vertonghen’s body language goes from bad to worse.
Kyle Naughton and Danny Rose have combined IQs that don’t break double digits. It is nothing shy of shocking that either of these two have got away with passing themselves off as Premier League footballers.
What did Dawson bring to the party? He brought humour; there was a Laurel and Hardy moment where he ran out for a ball, misjudged the bounce by about a fortnight, and ended up on his bottom. You have to laugh, or you’ll get sectioned.
Bentaleb is being played far too soon in his career to be exposed to this nonsense. Townsend is a player we seriously need to sell, perhaps Roy will do us all a favour and play him in Brazil, and nonsensically up his value. He’s too thick to improve.
Paulinho looks like he’s saving himself for something. Perhaps a pint and a fag in a Brazilian beer garden. Mousa looks like he needs the services of a good vet. Azza Blud fans will be delighted with his efforts. Another Scrappy Do animation, …completely devoid of outcome. If anyone can cite an example of him ever having thrived playing on the left, do let me know.
Pinning your hopes on this Adebayor is akin to using wet sellotape.
The Togoan ace offered nothing more than abysmal touches, with just a hint of bickering. When Bobby Soldado came on, things looked as if they might pick up for a few minutes. They didn’t really.
The irony of Sherwood’s comments before this game, ought to stick in our collective craw. He spoke of City having taken a few big scalps at Carrow Road, when in fact this wasn’t the case.
Until we went there.
At the time of Asterix, the Polianians would have inhabited the Carpathian region. Maybe while nobody was looking, one of them time traveled, snuck up on Tim, and dropped a menhir on his head.
