There is a Jewish deli up the road from my house. Which provided no small thrill when I moved into the area. One of it’s many a splendid offerings is breakfast salami.
Yup, I can lapse into being a continental kinda guy; cold meats, cheeses and the sweet end of the bakery basket are an occasionally welcomed civilised start to my day.
So what’s the difference between “breakfast salami” and the regular sort? Less garlic, less pepper, less donkey todger. Nice for breakfast, but only a kissing cousin of say your Napoli salami. If you were offered it in a tapas bar, you’d think you’d walked into a Weight Watchers night.
That’s Tottenham right now. Lite.
Look, we won. As Tim was quick to remind us, we’ve done the double of them. My regret is that when you look at the league, it ridicules any talk of breaching the top 4. That’s over, done, finito, kaput, nicht happening.
For those still clutch a grappling iron and rope, those still saying we’re still in there, still in with a chance, you must be the same escaped lunatics wild optimists that foretold the collapse of Liverpool and Arsenal about a month ago.
All above us have a game in hand aside from the league leaders. I can’t be bothered to run through all the various permutations, but even if… look, we’ve a current goal difference of zip. We’ve 7 games to go and are purely reliant upon how others fare. That’s our destiny.
Sherwood is convinced that he’s masterminding something, and I do not. Sherwood believes in Sherwood, and I do not. Sherwood thinks that getting a team fired up at half time, every single game, is somehow laudable, and I do not.
The first half wasn’t great. Cohesive football broke out twice and on both occasions, they scored.
The second half, Tim went all Pep Guardiola on our asses and made the killer changes required. Another way of looking at it, was that he corrected the evident idiocy of playing Mousa who was clearly miles off the required standard. Which was never going to surprise anyone with half a brain – he hadn’t trained all week.
Tim’s second surgeons incision to save the patient, was the removal of Azza Blud. Christ on a bike I’ve taken some abuse for calling this little clown out. For the third game in a row, this waste of rations completed 12 passes. Helloooooo?!!!
Tactically, we’re a farce. Tim seems to believe that drifting in from the wings is somehow a fresher threat than going for the “obvious.”
Alas, the net result is that we end up with (an invisible) Lennon, Chadli and Eriksen all sort of mingling uncomfortably in a sort of a three, in a sort of a support to Bobby Soldado.
The Benfica away game and the Newcastle away games showed us where to play Chadli. Virtually every game he’s ever played shows us where to play Eriksen. Tim’s always staring intently, but I wonder what it is that he’s actually seeing.
I’ve said previously that Tim is an impressionist, and not a very good one. More proof of that yesterday. His abandonment of the flat back 4 and the adoption of the high line is laughable.
He’s not coached the rest of the side to press, and so all we truly achieved was to leave the back door open for the Saints front pair. I’d imagine Sherwood will view all those offsides as a weakness in their attack. The man is a dunce.
Why am I so down on Tim? After all, he turned it round, didn’t he?
If you buy that, please get in touch. I want to sell you Tower Bridge.
When a team costing as much as ours repeatedly serves up a duff performance for the first 45, then makes amends for it in the second 45, does that not set off a teeny weeny alarm bell in your head? Y’know, when they do it repeatedly?
Or maybe I’m wrong. Maybe breakfast salami is as good as rump steak. Maybe Sherwood is the risen Christ. Christ is risen!
Christ is risible, more like.
