It’s a goal. Germany one, the Allies nil. And listen to that applause.
The crowd is going wild.
Writing an analysis of yesterday’s game, it’s difficult not to think of Anton Diffring’s match commentary in the seminal Escape To Victory. You’d need to working for Joseph Goebbels to rustle up much positivity beyond Bobby’s goal.
It was a game that owed more similarities to a chimpanzee’s tea party than it did to a football match. A football match supposedly hosted by a top flight side, with Champions League aspirations.
According to the Premier League table, we’re 4 points off a top 4 finish. But context is everything. Is the gulf between us and those above us fairly represented by 4 league points? Those points may as well be light years. As is very likely to be demonstrated when we travel to Second Hand Fridge on the 8th.
Monkey head jokes to one side, Martin Keown is actually an informed pundit, even if his delivery is like that of a particularly dull policeman. He made a comment this weekend about animated managers, screaming and wildly waving during games. He suggested that this often highlights that a lot of information hasn’t been communicated effectively on the training pitches.
Sherwood, by his own admission, has endlessly said that he had to “talk to ’em” at half time. And we’ve been told that the training sessions under Tim are notably shorter than they were under his predecessor.
Could it be that the players are doing the cursory fitness stuff, before being earnestly told that he needs to see a really big performance from them, in the forthcoming game?
Under Tim, could it be entirely coincidental that the physio room has begun to resemble Leicester Square tube station on a Saturday night? More accidents happen with blunt knives than sharp. Fit players are less susceptible to injury, and have a more rapid healing rate.
Where is Eriksen, where is Lamela? Where is Bonzo? Where is Kaboul? Where is Rose? Where is Vlad? We have more players getting injured off the field of play, than on it. I’ve never seen so many back injuries in my life.
The football yesterday was painful and if you enjoy the finer side of the game, it was actually rather boring. If you enjoy drama; well written, well acted plays, you won’t like Eastenders. If you like football, you won’t enjoy watching this Spurs side. The home crowd was frequently silent. The away fans only really turned in it after we scored.
This season will be remembered for as one of distinctly unmemorable matches. There’s no spark, no wit, and no plan. The lack of intelligence in the masterminding of our performances is highlighted all over the pitch.
Playing two strikers in the ill-conceived belief or hope that it will increase the likelihood of a goal being scored, Naughton taking corners. Andros Townsend obviously being told, “if you see an opening, have a pop”, the list is endless.
Mentions in dispatches.
Our first activity half appeared to be inexplicably dominated by Dawson and Naughton.
Naughton’s emergence as a player who is clearly seeking to become more involved in our play sums up the almost complete absence of managerial direction Tim is/isn’t providing.
Why Naughton is allowed to have the ball where key passes are hoped to be deployed is mind-numbing. His corners are hit and miss. Clearly he’s frustrated with his lot at Spurs and somehow believes getting closer to the “action” will enhance his CV. The reality is, he’s much like his manager. Not qualified to hold the position.
You do not use Naughton as an attacking play maker.
I see Dawson getting plaudits on the forums. A sure indication that our midfield collapsed and Captain AWAY! stepped into the breach. Again and again.
Fryers could be become a good player. Like Bentaleb, my take is that they are being thrown into the deep end, perhaps a little too soon. But then, Tim is only concerned about protecting himself.
Vertonghen really is a quare fellow. At one point early on, he was stood waiting for a free kick to be taken, and he was wistfully stroking the side of his face as if caught midway through a Frank Spencer impression. Shortly afterwards, he emerged from his dream state and went on to have a decisive game.
Azza Blud’s runs will have thrilled countless fans. Those of us who don’t point at aeroplanes when they pass overhead, simply sigh at the routinely predictable outcome. Attack wise he offered little, defensively he contributed less. How he gets away with hiding like this I do not know.
The same could said for Paulinho. I can’t recall a game where he offered so little. He successfully made 36 passes. Wow. Yet nothing was done to curb this. His performance in the second half was the same as it was in the first.
Townsend needs to managed before his career stalls for good, and stalling is what he’s doing right now. 4 shots on goal, the 2 that where remotely on target would have only gone in; if Cardiff’s goalie had wandered off to by a bagel.
Given that he has become a midfield version of Defoe, I am surprised that a chant of “Townsend-oh, he’s a yiddo” hasn’t been struck up.
The selfishness isn’t just about the ball ending up in row Z either. He’s clearly less interested in tracking back than he is in bombing forward. If he was being marshalled by an actual manager, he could have eased some of the burden placed on Fryers. Instead, what one might laughingly call their interplay, was littered with bad passes and throw ins.
Our left side sadly epitomised the lack of understanding that haunts this side.
Well, I tell you, years from now men will say of this game:”Did it happen?” Well, I tell you in the listening audience: Today, it is happening. We’re all witness to an occasion long to be remembered. Not just propaganda, as some would say …but as a magnificent sporting spectacle.
