At approximately 6pm, a small but very fast boy was pronounced missing in Tottenham. Frantic searches at the local Poundland and popular Ozdiller Supermarket proved fruitless. The parents of Theodore James Walcott, who lifted the prestigious Young Sports Personality Award in 2006, expressed their concern as the little lad disappeared under the bright lights of North London after CCTV footage placed him at White Hart Lane stadium at around 4.01pm.
The 'world class striker', who has scored 37 goals in 174 games for the occasionally popular South London club (club motto: bring a bin bag just in case it's a crap result), was an odd absentee as his midfield played out of their skins but succumbed to the guts and fire of an irrepressible Tottenham. At 4.37pm, Gareth Bale was witnessed performing a heart celebration and screaming into a camera, but by this time poor Theo's whereabouts were sadly unknown.
In a mad, crazed, frequently breathless match, Spurs illustrated the new defiance coursing through the club to hold on to a gutsy 2-1 win and triumph in the North (vs Old South) London derby. Tottenham have now lost one game in approaching four months. An insane, barely believable statistic. A quarter of a season remains, but take a time out, sip a satisfactory Kronenbourg and enjoy this sweet moment while you can.
For some inexplicable reason, my dad attended the game clutching a bright red carrier bag which caught the eye of a mob of Spurs fans who reacted angrily, chanting: "Gooner! Gooner! Gooner!" Unperturbed, my 66-year-old father scampered over to the baying crowd and shouted: "I've been supporting this team for 51 f**king years!" Half a second of silence. "Yido! Yido! Yido!" chanted the Spurs fans. It was that kind of day. Humour and good company and, most of all, the result that truly matters.
Granite-like centre backs Michael Dawson and Jan Vertonghen fought like dogs of war and formed a human wall to withstand the inevitable pressure from Arsenal's human centipede who (once again in this fixture) played like it was their cup final. For periods, the away side were quite excellent in possession though (if I may quote my good friend Brendan Rogers) Tottenham 'won' the all-important possession battle 54%-46%. Were I follower of London's third best team, I might wonder where such spirited performances have been in so many other games this season.
Whatever our differences, the red and white nomads are a slick and savvy outfit when the mood takes them and they posed Tottenham significant problems though in the second half Spurs squandered three gilt-edged chances to put a tense game to bed via Bale, Gylfi Sigurdsson and Jermain Defoe. Pure, unadulterated Tottenham football and, er, 'part of the fun'.
For the first 25 minutes, Arsenal unequivocally bossed the midfield areas via the highly-skilled triumvirate of Wilshere, Arteta and Cazorla, frequently threatening without forging clearcut opportunities. The game was played at a skittish, frenetic pace with Spurs on the constant backfoot, Scott Parker and Mousa Dembele were perpetually overwhelmed and speed demons Aaron Lennon and Bale seemingly shackled by the sheer weight of the occasion.
As if by magic, a switch flicked and the jet heels of Lennon kicked into gear and Spurs rose from their dozy slumber to cause the transplanted Woolwich-ites problems at the back. Lennon was suddenly fizzing about like a Barocca tablet that had somehow flipped out of the glass and Tottenham probed for an unlikely opening as Arsenal's backline broke into a bout of inadvertent body-popping.
The breakthrough came with Spurs' first genuine effort on goal. An insightful Sigurdsson pass picked out Welsh wonder Bale, who, er, found the time to step out of Walcott's (cough) shadow, to break the offside trap and calmly stroke past static Pole Szczesny. White Hart Lane went ballistic. The bloke in front of me broke into a strange, almost wookie-like dialect as we thrust our triumphant fists to the sky and then bundled into all-comers.
Within two minutes the bedlam intensified. Parker played a superb and (no insult intended) very un-Parker like pass that dissected a flatfooted Arsenal backline and afforded the rampaging Lennon the time and space to steady himself and roll the ball nonchalantly past the flailing Szczesny. Pure, mind-bending, Aldous Huxley style joy. The doors of Champions League perception flew wide open.
Spurs don't do clean sheets in this fixture and Arsenal inevitably pulled a goal back early in the second half via human statue Mertesacker who glanced home a free-kick off Bale for the Welshman's second own goal of the season. He scores when he wants and when he doesn't, too.
Yet Spurs held firm despite sustained opposition pressure and a number of contentious officiating decisions that caused predictable consternation in the home trenches. But the best teams always find a way to win through adversity and even the most myopic Arsenal fan would have to agree that, after years of mediocrity, Tottenham Hotspur are now one of the top teams.
Just don't Google 'Arsenal human centipede'. It's positively inhuman.
* This week my existential horror novel 'Players' Restaurant' finally hit the streets. It's about a revolutionary dieting craze that promises women astonishing weight loss. In a matter of months, Size 16s become svelte size 6s as the new slimming commodity is deemed more valuable than gold or cocaine. Its formula is a mystery, but after women worldwide gleefully overhaul their wardrobes and play hide and seek behind lampposts…the deadly side effects become apparent. If you enjoy this blog (and want to support a fellow Spurs fan), the book is available here for the Kindle or Kindle apps for iPad, iPhone, PC or Android. Thanks for your support.
Showing posts with label Gareth Bale. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gareth Bale. Show all posts
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Monday, February 25, 2013
The brilliance of Bale vs the betrayal of Moore
More Gareth Bale brilliance elevated Spurs above a spirited West Ham stoked by the memories of the legendary Bobby Moore. The Hammers may have lost their ‘cup final’, but I understand premium horsemeat lasagne was available at David Gold’s post-match banquet. The meat passes better than Guy Demel.
To quote a twisting Peter Griffin, ‘third is the word’. Tottenham battled back from a 1-2 deficit to nudge ahead of Chelsea and maintain a four point gap over Arsenal before Sunday’s crunch north London derby. Inevitably, our old friend Howard Webb played his part in the drama, but an elite side usually finds a way to negotiate adversity rather than reach for excuses. Silently and impressively, Tottenham now resemble a team of that description.
Spurs have negotiated 27 league games without winning a single penalty as our rivals inch towards double spot-kick digits – it took Webb a mere 25 minutes to allow West Ham to surpass our non-existent total. Was it a penalty? I think so. Returning ‘hero’ Scott Parker certainly followed through after winning the ball despite the initial reaction that this was more jiggery-pokery from Yorkshire’s least popular ex-copper. Undoubtedly, the kick would not have been awarded the other way. There were at least two penalties within a second before Gylfi Sigurdsson’s prodded equaliser. Most of us were just grateful that the former Right Said Fred impersonator allowed the goal!
But for the fly-squatter palms of Jussi Jaaskelainen it might have been a baseball score. The oddly under-appreciated Finn was, again, sensational between the sticks involved in repelling 25 shots on the hammered goal. West Ham sweated blood for seventy minutes, but eventually they ran out of fuel like a second hand banger and true (Aston Martin) class told.
Andre Villas-Boas’ selections and substitutions were immaculate. The Portuguese wisely opted for a more physical back four to cope with the wayward arms and papier-mache legs of Andy 'Caravan' Carroll. His removal of the influential Mousa Dembele (who the home side were doing their level best to remove ahead of Sunday’s crunch derby) was a relief, but the introductions of the energetic Sigurdsson and clever prompting of Tom Carroll provided unexpected dividends. Suddenly, Spurs dominated a tiring Clarets midfield who began blowing bubbles from the wrong end.
To his credit, Webb did allow the critical advantage that enabled the felled Bale to right himself before taking Carroll’s neat pass to stroke home the ridiculous last minute winner. The 'spirit of Stalteri' was reborn.
The embrace of Bale and Villas-Boas in the euphoria following the Welshman’s winner illustrated a special relationship not evident with the previous manager. Not long after Harry Redknapp’s ungrateful removal, the world class Welshman signed a new four-year contract and, grinning, remarked upon the new tactics and modus operandi of his replacement. One cannot help but suspect a certain ‘method’ in Daniel Levy’s ‘summer madness’. This is a bold, new Tottenham and, with due gratitude to the past, I’m delighted to witness the revolution.
* Bobby Moore was, for most of us, the greatest footballer ever to pull an England jersey over his head, a true gentleman and credit off the field. The world class, consummate defender almost joined Spurs, Bill Nicholson certainly wanted him, but sadly that move never came to fruition. My admiration for the man is boundless and it is a great source of pride that my dad and dear, departed uncle were present at Wembley to watch Moore, Peters and co lift the World Cup in 1966.
But it is a pride tinged with sadness. So much of the adulation for Moore’s achievements and defensive grace came long after his passing. This is modern football where a misty-eye, black armband and minute’s applause apparently erase the sins of the past.
Where was the support from West Ham, and more notably England and the FA, when the legendary Moore was scraping a living doing minor, 'fish and chip’ commentary for Radio Essex?
Bobby died in relative poverty and these after-the-event eulogies and the belated, mind-crunching hypocrisy carry a heavy sting in the tail. Another reason why I am ‘against modern football’.
The likes of Paul Gascoigne and others need this help and appreciation right now. For the love of god, let us learn from the mistakes of the past and not wait for these grand heroes to be buried six feet underground.
** Spurs fan and prolific author Norman Giller has written a timely book on Bobby Moore 'The Master' where all profits go to the most worthy 'Bobby Moore Fund' set up by the great man's widow shortly after his passing. Norman knew Bobby throughout his storied career and the book is a wonderful way to learn more about his mistreatment and pay respect to his legacy of helping to find a cure for cancer.
To quote a twisting Peter Griffin, ‘third is the word’. Tottenham battled back from a 1-2 deficit to nudge ahead of Chelsea and maintain a four point gap over Arsenal before Sunday’s crunch north London derby. Inevitably, our old friend Howard Webb played his part in the drama, but an elite side usually finds a way to negotiate adversity rather than reach for excuses. Silently and impressively, Tottenham now resemble a team of that description.
Spurs have negotiated 27 league games without winning a single penalty as our rivals inch towards double spot-kick digits – it took Webb a mere 25 minutes to allow West Ham to surpass our non-existent total. Was it a penalty? I think so. Returning ‘hero’ Scott Parker certainly followed through after winning the ball despite the initial reaction that this was more jiggery-pokery from Yorkshire’s least popular ex-copper. Undoubtedly, the kick would not have been awarded the other way. There were at least two penalties within a second before Gylfi Sigurdsson’s prodded equaliser. Most of us were just grateful that the former Right Said Fred impersonator allowed the goal!
But for the fly-squatter palms of Jussi Jaaskelainen it might have been a baseball score. The oddly under-appreciated Finn was, again, sensational between the sticks involved in repelling 25 shots on the hammered goal. West Ham sweated blood for seventy minutes, but eventually they ran out of fuel like a second hand banger and true (Aston Martin) class told.
Andre Villas-Boas’ selections and substitutions were immaculate. The Portuguese wisely opted for a more physical back four to cope with the wayward arms and papier-mache legs of Andy 'Caravan' Carroll. His removal of the influential Mousa Dembele (who the home side were doing their level best to remove ahead of Sunday’s crunch derby) was a relief, but the introductions of the energetic Sigurdsson and clever prompting of Tom Carroll provided unexpected dividends. Suddenly, Spurs dominated a tiring Clarets midfield who began blowing bubbles from the wrong end.
To his credit, Webb did allow the critical advantage that enabled the felled Bale to right himself before taking Carroll’s neat pass to stroke home the ridiculous last minute winner. The 'spirit of Stalteri' was reborn.
The embrace of Bale and Villas-Boas in the euphoria following the Welshman’s winner illustrated a special relationship not evident with the previous manager. Not long after Harry Redknapp’s ungrateful removal, the world class Welshman signed a new four-year contract and, grinning, remarked upon the new tactics and modus operandi of his replacement. One cannot help but suspect a certain ‘method’ in Daniel Levy’s ‘summer madness’. This is a bold, new Tottenham and, with due gratitude to the past, I’m delighted to witness the revolution.
* Bobby Moore was, for most of us, the greatest footballer ever to pull an England jersey over his head, a true gentleman and credit off the field. The world class, consummate defender almost joined Spurs, Bill Nicholson certainly wanted him, but sadly that move never came to fruition. My admiration for the man is boundless and it is a great source of pride that my dad and dear, departed uncle were present at Wembley to watch Moore, Peters and co lift the World Cup in 1966.
But it is a pride tinged with sadness. So much of the adulation for Moore’s achievements and defensive grace came long after his passing. This is modern football where a misty-eye, black armband and minute’s applause apparently erase the sins of the past.
Where was the support from West Ham, and more notably England and the FA, when the legendary Moore was scraping a living doing minor, 'fish and chip’ commentary for Radio Essex?
Bobby died in relative poverty and these after-the-event eulogies and the belated, mind-crunching hypocrisy carry a heavy sting in the tail. Another reason why I am ‘against modern football’.
The likes of Paul Gascoigne and others need this help and appreciation right now. For the love of god, let us learn from the mistakes of the past and not wait for these grand heroes to be buried six feet underground.
** Spurs fan and prolific author Norman Giller has written a timely book on Bobby Moore 'The Master' where all profits go to the most worthy 'Bobby Moore Fund' set up by the great man's widow shortly after his passing. Norman knew Bobby throughout his storied career and the book is a wonderful way to learn more about his mistreatment and pay respect to his legacy of helping to find a cure for cancer.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Bale my Valentine
Sod a fistful of droopy roses and a half-eaten box of Milk Tray, the real romance was at White Hart Lane. Gareth Frank Bale was, again, the focus of a shower of manly lovehearts.
Two exocet free-kicks in first and second half stoppage time brought rare and delightful light to a mostly scrappy encounter. The Europa League dream continues for another week at least.
The decision to rest ‘sweeper keeper’ Hugo Lloris against his old club was predictable, but as disappointing for fans as for the ex-Lyon player. Goalkeeper is the one position where a rest is not required, especially given Spurs’ light schedule of two Europa League games in 16 days. It was a needless tinker by Andre Villas-Boas. I hope to see Lloris back on his old stomping ground in the second leg next week. He’ll be needed.
Lyon showed commendable defensive resolve and threatened rather than alarmed Spurs. They were good value for a draw before that man Bale wrote yet more headlines with his third free-kick goal in two games. Previously, every Spurs set-piece goal was synced with Halley’s Comet.
The home side often looked leaden in position as if no-one had told them they weren’t playing on the Sunday. With his wild new hairstyle, Emmanuel Adebayor resembled Chirpy’s crazed Togolese cousin. The unkempt strands of hair frequently found themselves in an offside position, but they did provide a much needed focal point for Spurs’ rare forays into the final third.
Early on, Lennon and Walker dovetailed efficiently and one surging Walker run and slotted pass picked out Bale perfectly with the net gaping like a Z-List Towie celebrity. Somehow he contrived to miss – clearly it was too close for a Gareth Bale goal.
The ball rarely left a packed midfield, but then as the first half drew to a close the Welsh maestro stroked in a precocious 36-yard free-kick to take the edge off Spurs nerves.
In the second half, Lyon responded well with a fierce Umtitti strike that left Brad Friedel looking more flatfooted than usual. Those unfortunate enough not to be at the game and with a faulty mute button were subjected to the inane ramblings of Clive Tyldesley and fake Irishman Andy Townsend. Tyldersley, who treats a Manchester United defeat like the passing of a terminally ill child, was hysterical on the Lyon equaliser.
Spurs looked off the pace and found it difficult to forge clearcut chances though veteran Friedel made a sharp save on the rare occasion where Lyon found space in the Spurs' rearguard.
Yet just when it seemed the game would peter out into a draw, Bale stepped up to steer another free kick ludicrously past Lyon keeper Vercoutre. He's so overrated.
Two exocet free-kicks in first and second half stoppage time brought rare and delightful light to a mostly scrappy encounter. The Europa League dream continues for another week at least.
The decision to rest ‘sweeper keeper’ Hugo Lloris against his old club was predictable, but as disappointing for fans as for the ex-Lyon player. Goalkeeper is the one position where a rest is not required, especially given Spurs’ light schedule of two Europa League games in 16 days. It was a needless tinker by Andre Villas-Boas. I hope to see Lloris back on his old stomping ground in the second leg next week. He’ll be needed.
Lyon showed commendable defensive resolve and threatened rather than alarmed Spurs. They were good value for a draw before that man Bale wrote yet more headlines with his third free-kick goal in two games. Previously, every Spurs set-piece goal was synced with Halley’s Comet.
The home side often looked leaden in position as if no-one had told them they weren’t playing on the Sunday. With his wild new hairstyle, Emmanuel Adebayor resembled Chirpy’s crazed Togolese cousin. The unkempt strands of hair frequently found themselves in an offside position, but they did provide a much needed focal point for Spurs’ rare forays into the final third.
Early on, Lennon and Walker dovetailed efficiently and one surging Walker run and slotted pass picked out Bale perfectly with the net gaping like a Z-List Towie celebrity. Somehow he contrived to miss – clearly it was too close for a Gareth Bale goal.
The ball rarely left a packed midfield, but then as the first half drew to a close the Welsh maestro stroked in a precocious 36-yard free-kick to take the edge off Spurs nerves.
In the second half, Lyon responded well with a fierce Umtitti strike that left Brad Friedel looking more flatfooted than usual. Those unfortunate enough not to be at the game and with a faulty mute button were subjected to the inane ramblings of Clive Tyldesley and fake Irishman Andy Townsend. Tyldersley, who treats a Manchester United defeat like the passing of a terminally ill child, was hysterical on the Lyon equaliser.
Spurs looked off the pace and found it difficult to forge clearcut chances though veteran Friedel made a sharp save on the rare occasion where Lyon found space in the Spurs' rearguard.
Yet just when it seemed the game would peter out into a draw, Bale stepped up to steer another free kick ludicrously past Lyon keeper Vercoutre. He's so overrated.
Sunday, February 10, 2013
The understated contribution of Michael Dawson
After his two-goal salvo against Newcastle, Gareth Bale inevitably stole the headlines, but further down the field another hero maintained a silently successful season. Michael Dawson is the antithesis of the modern footballer; you won’t find him stumbling out of a celebrity-endorsed nightspot or mocking opposing supporters, when the opportunity for ludicrous wages presented itself Dawson left his car keys by the door and chose to fight for his place.
The likeable defender’s Spurs career was inexplicably on the rocks in August. Uber-rich QPR had a bid accepted by Daniel Levy (ever the businessman when an over-the-odds offer is received), but unlike many of his peers Dawson turned his back on the money. Professional pride and ambition, and perhaps a love of Spurs, for once trumped the lure of multiple pound signs.
The majority of the Tottenham faithful were delighted by Dawson’s extended stay. There are few defenders better suited to an aerial bombardment against the likes of Stoke or Sunderland and Dawson’s cheerful and ever-gracious demeanour has always endeared him to fans of all ages. He’s also a bloody good defender.
But this season, in the face of intense competition and an initially sceptical new manager, Dawson has risen to the challenge and added new poise to his game. And his persistence has been rewarded. The outcast is now the Spurs captain redux.
In the under-the-radar, three-month run which has seen Tottenham lose only ONE league game (in injury time at Everton), Dawson has been a constant, seizing upon Younes Kaboul’s long-term injury, veteran William Gallas’ nagging fitness concerns and the greenness of emerging hope Steven Caulker. He has been the surprise star of Spurs’ revolving backline.
The stats stack up in Dawson’s favour. Spurs have yet to lose a Premier League game when he has started (7 wins 4 draws) and his record stands at 9-4-1 in the league games where he has featured - with the lone defeat as a sub in the 10-man loss at Arsenal which inexplicably kick-started the lilywhite season. Five goals have been conceded in Dawson’s last eight starts. Who needs a striker?
Dawson’s unheralded contribution illustrates how this over-achieving Spurs team is a sum of its parts. The phenomenal Bale is rightfully receiving plaudits as a world class player, but Aaron Lennon is in the form of his career, Hugo Lloris has been nothing short of cat-like between the sticks and Mousa Dembele has consigned the deft midfield promptings of Luka Modric to memory.
But for fine goalkeeping by Tim Krul and a touch of Bale profligacy, Tottenham’s latest victory would have been far more comfortable. Despite being haemorrhaged of midfielder enforcer Sandro, stalwart Kaboul and depth in the striker department due to Jermain Defoe’s injury and Emmanuel Adebayor’s absenteeism, Spurs have a four point cushion in fourth and are competing against limitless foreign billionaires and teams of more established pedigree.
And at the foundation of this success is the unsung Michael Dawson. The troubles of Loftus Road must seem a world away.
The likeable defender’s Spurs career was inexplicably on the rocks in August. Uber-rich QPR had a bid accepted by Daniel Levy (ever the businessman when an over-the-odds offer is received), but unlike many of his peers Dawson turned his back on the money. Professional pride and ambition, and perhaps a love of Spurs, for once trumped the lure of multiple pound signs.
The majority of the Tottenham faithful were delighted by Dawson’s extended stay. There are few defenders better suited to an aerial bombardment against the likes of Stoke or Sunderland and Dawson’s cheerful and ever-gracious demeanour has always endeared him to fans of all ages. He’s also a bloody good defender.
But this season, in the face of intense competition and an initially sceptical new manager, Dawson has risen to the challenge and added new poise to his game. And his persistence has been rewarded. The outcast is now the Spurs captain redux.
In the under-the-radar, three-month run which has seen Tottenham lose only ONE league game (in injury time at Everton), Dawson has been a constant, seizing upon Younes Kaboul’s long-term injury, veteran William Gallas’ nagging fitness concerns and the greenness of emerging hope Steven Caulker. He has been the surprise star of Spurs’ revolving backline.
The stats stack up in Dawson’s favour. Spurs have yet to lose a Premier League game when he has started (7 wins 4 draws) and his record stands at 9-4-1 in the league games where he has featured - with the lone defeat as a sub in the 10-man loss at Arsenal which inexplicably kick-started the lilywhite season. Five goals have been conceded in Dawson’s last eight starts. Who needs a striker?
Dawson’s unheralded contribution illustrates how this over-achieving Spurs team is a sum of its parts. The phenomenal Bale is rightfully receiving plaudits as a world class player, but Aaron Lennon is in the form of his career, Hugo Lloris has been nothing short of cat-like between the sticks and Mousa Dembele has consigned the deft midfield promptings of Luka Modric to memory.
But for fine goalkeeping by Tim Krul and a touch of Bale profligacy, Tottenham’s latest victory would have been far more comfortable. Despite being haemorrhaged of midfielder enforcer Sandro, stalwart Kaboul and depth in the striker department due to Jermain Defoe’s injury and Emmanuel Adebayor’s absenteeism, Spurs have a four point cushion in fourth and are competing against limitless foreign billionaires and teams of more established pedigree.
And at the foundation of this success is the unsung Michael Dawson. The troubles of Loftus Road must seem a world away.
Saturday, December 29, 2012
‘Exclusive’: Villas-Boas has 133 games to save his job
There was no malice in Sunderland, but more seasonal joy as Spurs overshadowed the home side at the Stadium of Light to secure a second victory in three days. Temporarily, at least, Tottenham sit in third place and it is fair to say that, despite the misgivings of some mischievous individuals in the national media, Andre Villa-Boas has more than three games to save his job. More like 133.
Stalemates at Villa and Sunderland were viewed by some observers as the roots of last season’s ‘failure’ to secure a Champions League spot. Yet within three days, Spurs have emerged triumphant at both grounds as the players begin to flourish following the AVB blueprint. Since that misleading 2-5 reverse at Arsenal, Spurs have won seven and drawn two of ten games in all competitions. This purple patch was sparked by the return of the talismanic Mousa Dembele who has yet to be on the pitch when Spurs have lost a match.
A recent conversation with a Spurs insider made pleasant and encouraging listening. The Portuguese is an extremely popular figure among the squad and his man management and personal skills seem to have been significantly underestimated. He is also gracious in defeat unlike so many of his Premier League counterparts. The likes of Alan Pardew and Brendan Rodgers do themselves few favours with their post-match justifications. Martin O’Neill’s claim that Spurs had not had many chances was stuck in a odd place between delusion and comedy.
But for some alert goalkeeping and the agonising profligacy of Emmanuel Adebayor, in particular, the outcome would have been decided long before a traditionally edgy five minutes of injury time. Michael Dawson had been slow to react when Sunderland capitalised on some slack defending to take the lead through ‘Peter Kay’ but was a key figure as the Spurs’ backline withstood an inevitable bombardment in the closing stages. O’Neill’s decision to withdraw Sebastian Larsson, one of the best deadball takers in the game, was curious but certainly beneficial to the away cause. In goal, the alertness and handling of Hugo Lloris was, again, exemplary. The Frenchman looks every inch a world class goalkeeper.
The machine-like Sandro bossed the midfield areas, allowing speed demons Gareth Bale and Aaron Lennon the freedom to take on the Sunderland rearguard. Lennon has been in sparkling form this season and the record of Spurs never losing a game when he has been on the scoresheet continued. Shortly after half-time, a Carlos Cuellar own goal gave Spurs parity before Lennon delightfully flicked the ball past Kay and Matthew Kilgallon to collect his own pass in the area and coolly shoot Tottenham into a lead they would never relinquish.
Martin Atkinson, who clearly shares an optician with O’Neill, once more found his eyesight under scrutiny. The referee who infamously awarded Chelsea an FA Cup semi-final goal despite the ball not crossing the line became the latest official to book Bale for diving. Instinct and replays suggested that the Welshman had been impeded. The decision was quite ironic given Jermain Defoe’s unconvincing ‘stumble’ in the first half and Stephane Sessegnon spending much of the game lying on the deck with a mouthful of grass. Spurs have yet to ‘earn’ a penalty in the 2012/13 Premier League campaign in stark contrast to rivals Manchester City, Manchester United, Chelsea and Arsenal who have received more than one gift this season. We’d probably miss it anyway. But under AVB Spurs have ended 2012 firing on all cylinders.
*** A happy and healthy New Year to all readers of this blog. May your hopes and dreams be realised in 2013. We may share one or two of them ;).
Stalemates at Villa and Sunderland were viewed by some observers as the roots of last season’s ‘failure’ to secure a Champions League spot. Yet within three days, Spurs have emerged triumphant at both grounds as the players begin to flourish following the AVB blueprint. Since that misleading 2-5 reverse at Arsenal, Spurs have won seven and drawn two of ten games in all competitions. This purple patch was sparked by the return of the talismanic Mousa Dembele who has yet to be on the pitch when Spurs have lost a match.
A recent conversation with a Spurs insider made pleasant and encouraging listening. The Portuguese is an extremely popular figure among the squad and his man management and personal skills seem to have been significantly underestimated. He is also gracious in defeat unlike so many of his Premier League counterparts. The likes of Alan Pardew and Brendan Rodgers do themselves few favours with their post-match justifications. Martin O’Neill’s claim that Spurs had not had many chances was stuck in a odd place between delusion and comedy.
But for some alert goalkeeping and the agonising profligacy of Emmanuel Adebayor, in particular, the outcome would have been decided long before a traditionally edgy five minutes of injury time. Michael Dawson had been slow to react when Sunderland capitalised on some slack defending to take the lead through ‘Peter Kay’ but was a key figure as the Spurs’ backline withstood an inevitable bombardment in the closing stages. O’Neill’s decision to withdraw Sebastian Larsson, one of the best deadball takers in the game, was curious but certainly beneficial to the away cause. In goal, the alertness and handling of Hugo Lloris was, again, exemplary. The Frenchman looks every inch a world class goalkeeper.
The machine-like Sandro bossed the midfield areas, allowing speed demons Gareth Bale and Aaron Lennon the freedom to take on the Sunderland rearguard. Lennon has been in sparkling form this season and the record of Spurs never losing a game when he has been on the scoresheet continued. Shortly after half-time, a Carlos Cuellar own goal gave Spurs parity before Lennon delightfully flicked the ball past Kay and Matthew Kilgallon to collect his own pass in the area and coolly shoot Tottenham into a lead they would never relinquish.
Martin Atkinson, who clearly shares an optician with O’Neill, once more found his eyesight under scrutiny. The referee who infamously awarded Chelsea an FA Cup semi-final goal despite the ball not crossing the line became the latest official to book Bale for diving. Instinct and replays suggested that the Welshman had been impeded. The decision was quite ironic given Jermain Defoe’s unconvincing ‘stumble’ in the first half and Stephane Sessegnon spending much of the game lying on the deck with a mouthful of grass. Spurs have yet to ‘earn’ a penalty in the 2012/13 Premier League campaign in stark contrast to rivals Manchester City, Manchester United, Chelsea and Arsenal who have received more than one gift this season. We’d probably miss it anyway. But under AVB Spurs have ended 2012 firing on all cylinders.
*** A happy and healthy New Year to all readers of this blog. May your hopes and dreams be realised in 2013. We may share one or two of them ;).
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
Bale force blows down Villa
In a week where rain and floods caused chaos across Britain, another natural phenomenon wreaked havoc in the Midlands. Gareth Bale stamped his world class imprint all over the second half as Spurs cantered to victory over a shellshocked Aston Villa. An even greater surprise was a third consecutive clean sheet. Seasoned Spurs watchers rubbed their eyes in disbelief as Tottenham somehow failed to surrender a poxy late consolation. This is not the Spurs we know and love.
A dominant first half delivered everything but the goal. There were more corners than a fridge full of Muller yoghurts yet Spurs’ almost comical dominance went unrewarded. Like a toothless youth in the Twilight saga, there was little bite about Tottenham in the final third. Villa were a different proposition in the opening second half skirmishes. Paul Lambert’s half-time rocket and positional rejig seemingly galvanised the home side and the more fearful among us awaited a sucker punch on boxing day, but it never came.
The shift in the game’s dynamic suited Tottenham. A more purposeful, attacking Villa approach left large spaces to be exploited and Spurs, through the pace and incision of Bale, took clinical advantage. A sublime, almost Iniesta-like, pass from Kyle Naughton unlocked the Villa back door and afforded Jermain Defoe the time to adroitly put Spurs ahead.
Stung into action, Villa pushed for an equaliser yet the excellent Sandro’s timely intervention prompted a sweeping counter that Bale rounded off with aplomb. Even Fabian Delph’s wreckless yellow carded challenge could not halt the surging Welshman. He scored his third off-balance and fourth with an emphatic finish high into the roof of the net sending the away support into raptures and Andre Villas Boas’ charges into fourth place on goal difference. Sheer nosebleed territory.
There was much to admire about this performance, but I particularly admired AVB’s rotation policy and gamble at the back given the thicket of festive fixtures. Michael Dawson’s brawn and aerial ability were a prerequisite against the physical demands of Stoke City yet the defensive nous and positional play of William Gallas in the testing, early exchanges of the second half were a key contributor to this victory. The emerging Naughton, again, showed promise as a makeshift left-back and the maligned Kyle Walker was blissfully error-free on his return to Villa Park. Scott Parker’s effective cameo off the bench provided another encouraging aspect given the forthcoming fixture congestion.
What a contrast to Spurs’ last visit to the stadium where Parker’s late introduction was greeted with ire and a lovely way to shrug off the Christmas meat sweats.
A dominant first half delivered everything but the goal. There were more corners than a fridge full of Muller yoghurts yet Spurs’ almost comical dominance went unrewarded. Like a toothless youth in the Twilight saga, there was little bite about Tottenham in the final third. Villa were a different proposition in the opening second half skirmishes. Paul Lambert’s half-time rocket and positional rejig seemingly galvanised the home side and the more fearful among us awaited a sucker punch on boxing day, but it never came.
The shift in the game’s dynamic suited Tottenham. A more purposeful, attacking Villa approach left large spaces to be exploited and Spurs, through the pace and incision of Bale, took clinical advantage. A sublime, almost Iniesta-like, pass from Kyle Naughton unlocked the Villa back door and afforded Jermain Defoe the time to adroitly put Spurs ahead.
Stung into action, Villa pushed for an equaliser yet the excellent Sandro’s timely intervention prompted a sweeping counter that Bale rounded off with aplomb. Even Fabian Delph’s wreckless yellow carded challenge could not halt the surging Welshman. He scored his third off-balance and fourth with an emphatic finish high into the roof of the net sending the away support into raptures and Andre Villas Boas’ charges into fourth place on goal difference. Sheer nosebleed territory.
There was much to admire about this performance, but I particularly admired AVB’s rotation policy and gamble at the back given the thicket of festive fixtures. Michael Dawson’s brawn and aerial ability were a prerequisite against the physical demands of Stoke City yet the defensive nous and positional play of William Gallas in the testing, early exchanges of the second half were a key contributor to this victory. The emerging Naughton, again, showed promise as a makeshift left-back and the maligned Kyle Walker was blissfully error-free on his return to Villa Park. Scott Parker’s effective cameo off the bench provided another encouraging aspect given the forthcoming fixture congestion.
What a contrast to Spurs’ last visit to the stadium where Parker’s late introduction was greeted with ire and a lovely way to shrug off the Christmas meat sweats.
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Passed to death, but new life in Kyle Walker
The renaissance of Kyle Walker has begun. After a rough nine months, which hit rock bottom when the 'PFA Young Player of the Year’ was subjected to mindless abuse by a minority of Spurs fans in the home defeat to Chelsea, the form is beginning to return. Class is permanent, they say, and the sudden revival of Walker adds credence to that maxim.
On Sunday, Walker saw off two West Ham wingers in his best display since Spurs blew that massive points advantage over Arsenal last season and three days later the jet-heeled right-back was the standout defender as Spurs repelled a late Liverpool surge for their second win on the spin. Walker’s goalline clearance from a blocked Steven Gerrard shot was nothing short of sensational.
It was a busy evening for Walker and co. The Brendan Rodgers’ passing model was in full flow. Returning talisman Mousa Dembele is still struggling for fitness but was often the glue that held Spurs’ sieve-like midfield together as the defensive corps were forced to work for long periods during sustained Liverpool pressure in the second half. Sandro was oddly ineffectual – the match literally passed him by – perhaps he had not fully recovered from the injury sustained against West Ham.
The skill and trickery of Luis Suarez, Raheem Sterling and Jose Enrique in an advanced role caused constant problems for a backline featuring Spurs’ fourth and fifth string centre-halves and an out of position Jan Vertonghen. Never forget that Younes Kaboul and Vertonghen are the starters at centre-half with Steven Caulker an able deputy. Spurs are lucky to have such strength in depth in this position, but the understudies were tested rigorously in this rivetting encounter.
Michael Dawson and William Gallas are not the quickest of operators and, while frequently wrong-footed, they both showed admirable powers of recovery in what became a backs-to-the-wall situation when Clint Dempsey was replaced by the listless Gylfi Sigurdsson in the second half. Gallas, while sometimes ponderous against clever forward play, still made some pivotal interventions which no doubt went unnoticed by those with selective myopia.
At times, the home defending felt frantic, almost calamitous, with under-pressure Spurs players dawdling on the ball outside the box when clearing their lines was the only and best option. With the pint-sized Jermain Defoe on his own up front, there was no ‘out ball’ on offer and, on those rare occasions the ball found the striker, he was often being manhandled by Martin Skrtel to prevent any onward movement. That omnipresent ‘clever defending’.
This defensive uncertainty made for a tense finale, but a thrilling game in hindsight. Gareth Bale had an eventful evening and showed flashes of his usual brilliance early on, finding Lennon for the opener after a marauding left-wing run and sweeping in a free-kick to give Tottenham a giddy 2-0 advantage on 16 minutes that looked frequently under threat for the rest of the game. For all their possession and positive play, Liverpool were thankfully toothless and Suarez reliant in the final third and perhaps it was no surprise that their reply resulted from Lennon’s goalline clearance ridiculously cannoning off Bale and into the net. The away side merited a draw, but from a home perspective it was refreshing to see Spurs hold on to a lead after this season’s flood of late conceded goals.
It would not be a fixture against Liverpool without Gerrard and Suarez collapsing in the penalty area when goalside of a Spurs defender. Tottenham were certainly fortunate that Phil Dowd, no lover of Liverpool, was the referee. Dowd’s first free kick for the 'Reds' was awarded on 44 minutes! Neither looked a spot-kick on review, but both players deserve credit for artistic impression and post-decision arm-flapping. The t-shirt printers in Liverpool will probably be busy today.
The booking of Bale for ‘simulation’ was instigated by the snarling response of Daniel Agger who has no ethical problems playing alongside the talented but toxic Suarez, arguably the most prominent simulator in modern football. It looked a free-kick, and certainly not a booking, from my vantage point in the Paxton End. Ironically, the free-kick which Bale scored from was not and courtesy of a trademark Dempsey ‘tumble’.
A rare lucky day for Spurs and a red letter one for the resurgent Walker.
On Sunday, Walker saw off two West Ham wingers in his best display since Spurs blew that massive points advantage over Arsenal last season and three days later the jet-heeled right-back was the standout defender as Spurs repelled a late Liverpool surge for their second win on the spin. Walker’s goalline clearance from a blocked Steven Gerrard shot was nothing short of sensational.
It was a busy evening for Walker and co. The Brendan Rodgers’ passing model was in full flow. Returning talisman Mousa Dembele is still struggling for fitness but was often the glue that held Spurs’ sieve-like midfield together as the defensive corps were forced to work for long periods during sustained Liverpool pressure in the second half. Sandro was oddly ineffectual – the match literally passed him by – perhaps he had not fully recovered from the injury sustained against West Ham.
The skill and trickery of Luis Suarez, Raheem Sterling and Jose Enrique in an advanced role caused constant problems for a backline featuring Spurs’ fourth and fifth string centre-halves and an out of position Jan Vertonghen. Never forget that Younes Kaboul and Vertonghen are the starters at centre-half with Steven Caulker an able deputy. Spurs are lucky to have such strength in depth in this position, but the understudies were tested rigorously in this rivetting encounter.
Michael Dawson and William Gallas are not the quickest of operators and, while frequently wrong-footed, they both showed admirable powers of recovery in what became a backs-to-the-wall situation when Clint Dempsey was replaced by the listless Gylfi Sigurdsson in the second half. Gallas, while sometimes ponderous against clever forward play, still made some pivotal interventions which no doubt went unnoticed by those with selective myopia.
At times, the home defending felt frantic, almost calamitous, with under-pressure Spurs players dawdling on the ball outside the box when clearing their lines was the only and best option. With the pint-sized Jermain Defoe on his own up front, there was no ‘out ball’ on offer and, on those rare occasions the ball found the striker, he was often being manhandled by Martin Skrtel to prevent any onward movement. That omnipresent ‘clever defending’.
This defensive uncertainty made for a tense finale, but a thrilling game in hindsight. Gareth Bale had an eventful evening and showed flashes of his usual brilliance early on, finding Lennon for the opener after a marauding left-wing run and sweeping in a free-kick to give Tottenham a giddy 2-0 advantage on 16 minutes that looked frequently under threat for the rest of the game. For all their possession and positive play, Liverpool were thankfully toothless and Suarez reliant in the final third and perhaps it was no surprise that their reply resulted from Lennon’s goalline clearance ridiculously cannoning off Bale and into the net. The away side merited a draw, but from a home perspective it was refreshing to see Spurs hold on to a lead after this season’s flood of late conceded goals.
It would not be a fixture against Liverpool without Gerrard and Suarez collapsing in the penalty area when goalside of a Spurs defender. Tottenham were certainly fortunate that Phil Dowd, no lover of Liverpool, was the referee. Dowd’s first free kick for the 'Reds' was awarded on 44 minutes! Neither looked a spot-kick on review, but both players deserve credit for artistic impression and post-decision arm-flapping. The t-shirt printers in Liverpool will probably be busy today.
The booking of Bale for ‘simulation’ was instigated by the snarling response of Daniel Agger who has no ethical problems playing alongside the talented but toxic Suarez, arguably the most prominent simulator in modern football. It looked a free-kick, and certainly not a booking, from my vantage point in the Paxton End. Ironically, the free-kick which Bale scored from was not and courtesy of a trademark Dempsey ‘tumble’.
A rare lucky day for Spurs and a red letter one for the resurgent Walker.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
The Big Sam Theory (disproved by Defoe)
Scientists insist that Sam Allardyce was not responsible for the creation of the universe, even if the West Ham manager believes himself to be the centre of it. Some 13.75 billion years after the universe was created, a second big bang was audible in North London. The noise was the sound of Allardyce’s pre-match comments backfiring.
Allardyce, once linked (by himself!) to the Real Madrid job, had been in bullish mood ahead of West Ham’s visit to White Hart Lane, predicting Spurs vulnerability and fatigue after Thursday’s excursion to Rome. ‘Big Sam’ was at least partially correct. The celebrations were exhausting.
Andy Carroll and the West Ham caravan rolled into N17 with the third best defence in the league. They rolled out chastened and pointless after Tottenham’s most encouraging home display this season. The old fluency returned after recent patchy performances. Jermain Defoe’s livewire run and finish just before the break sparked an enterprising second half where home goals looked as likely as they have all season.
The maligned Clint Dempsey suddenly came to the fore, rattling the bar before unlocking the West Ham backline with a clever dink that released the rampaging Gareth Bale for a crucial second. Shortly afterwards, the ‘US player of the year’ capitalised on some excellent defensive play by Tom Huddlestone and Sandro to set the scampering Aaron Lennon free before the winger’s unselfish cross brought Defoe his second goal and breathing space for Spurs.
After his heroics in Rome, Hugo Lloris retained his place in goal and showed cat-like awareness in the box, snuffing out rare West Ham attacks and critically denying a breakaway equaliser with a smart interception from a Kevin Nolan cross moments before Spurs took control via Bale and Defoe. A less than stellar clearance by Stephen Caulker denied Tottenham an elusive clean sheet, but Carroll’s pony-tailed nod was scant consolation for West Ham in their 'cup final'.
The last time they won at White Hart Lane was 1999. Back then celebrity Hammer Russell Brand was as high as a kite. He still had more perspective than Big Sam. Bang.
*** Despite previous indiscretions, I made another guest appearance on the excellent Fighting Cock podcast this week. Tune in here.
Allardyce, once linked (by himself!) to the Real Madrid job, had been in bullish mood ahead of West Ham’s visit to White Hart Lane, predicting Spurs vulnerability and fatigue after Thursday’s excursion to Rome. ‘Big Sam’ was at least partially correct. The celebrations were exhausting.
Andy Carroll and the West Ham caravan rolled into N17 with the third best defence in the league. They rolled out chastened and pointless after Tottenham’s most encouraging home display this season. The old fluency returned after recent patchy performances. Jermain Defoe’s livewire run and finish just before the break sparked an enterprising second half where home goals looked as likely as they have all season.
The maligned Clint Dempsey suddenly came to the fore, rattling the bar before unlocking the West Ham backline with a clever dink that released the rampaging Gareth Bale for a crucial second. Shortly afterwards, the ‘US player of the year’ capitalised on some excellent defensive play by Tom Huddlestone and Sandro to set the scampering Aaron Lennon free before the winger’s unselfish cross brought Defoe his second goal and breathing space for Spurs.
After his heroics in Rome, Hugo Lloris retained his place in goal and showed cat-like awareness in the box, snuffing out rare West Ham attacks and critically denying a breakaway equaliser with a smart interception from a Kevin Nolan cross moments before Spurs took control via Bale and Defoe. A less than stellar clearance by Stephen Caulker denied Tottenham an elusive clean sheet, but Carroll’s pony-tailed nod was scant consolation for West Ham in their 'cup final'.
The last time they won at White Hart Lane was 1999. Back then celebrity Hammer Russell Brand was as high as a kite. He still had more perspective than Big Sam. Bang.
*** Despite previous indiscretions, I made another guest appearance on the excellent Fighting Cock podcast this week. Tune in here.
Thursday, November 1, 2012
Striker light Spurs!
Striker light! We find ourselves in the same place again. Confused and blinking, like an alcoholic turning away from the first rays of sunlight. Keira Knightley has more up front than Tottenham.
Spurs’ long-running allergy to strikers proved costly once more as, from a position of apparent security, a mish-mash team imploded in the last 10 minutes and crashed out of the Capital One Cup conceding two late goals to an unambitious Norwich side. A late penalty miss was extra salt in the wound with competent spot-kick takers Rafael van der Vaart and Emmanual Adebayor since sold and injured. Today Rafa’s face peered knowingly from the November page of the official calendar.
A prospective home draw against Aston Villa made the elimination more galling, especially with only Chelsea and Arsenal remaining of the more fancied sides in the quarter-final line-up. A realistic shot at silverware has been needlessly squandered.
Jermain Defoe, the only fit striker on Spurs’ books, was perhaps understandably wrapped up in cotton wool for the trip to Carrow Road. No recognised striker played until Defoe’s belated introduction on 90 minutes. With Adebayor still frustratingly crocked and already planning his travel to the African Nation Cup, the sheer farce of a Tottenham squad with a solitary striker has reared its head. Can someone contact Louis Saha on BBM?
Yet Tottenham bizarrely boast four goalkeepers (three over thirty - 31, 39 and 41) in their basic 25-man list; the squad is unbalanced, like an elephant and an ant on a see-saw (apologies to legendary hip hop lyricist 'the Gza'). At the start of the season, Andre Villas-Boas defended 'his' decision to have a trio of strikers, championing rookie Harry Kane as the third frontman. Spurs fans breathed a collective sigh of relief. We’re okay with three strikers. Phew.
Wait a minute! ‘Clipboard Chris’ suddenly waves some late cash and a bag of Werther’s Originals in the direction of N17 and Kane is dispatched to Norwich on a season long loan with no hint of a replacement. Kerching! The deadline day signing of Clinton Dempsey was some appeasement. But, as we’ve already seen this season, the US international is a forward-thinking midfielder rather than a striker who can lead the line. Oddly, no-one from the youth ranks has been promoted to take Kane’s place on the bench.
The reliance on solitary fit striker Defoe and the world class runs and finishing of Gareth Bale is a concern. In the continued absence of Adebayor, you look at the team and wonder, ‘Who will score the goals?’ The Norwich and Southampton games have illustrated, somewhat alarmingly, that Spurs are too often toothless in the final third and unable to make long periods of possession count.
There is always an upside, however. Teams who reach the League Cup Final have a tendency to peak too soon and unravel in the final months of the season. Spurs’ post-2008 Carling Cup winning form was an unmitigated disaster whereas 2011 winners Birmingham were subsequently relegated and last year’s finalists Liverpool and Cardiff fell away alarmingly in the home stretch.
Late cup elimination is hard to swallow, especially for those die-hards who travelled midweek to East Anglia, but nothing three points and a performance against Wigan won’t heal, striker or not.
Spurs’ long-running allergy to strikers proved costly once more as, from a position of apparent security, a mish-mash team imploded in the last 10 minutes and crashed out of the Capital One Cup conceding two late goals to an unambitious Norwich side. A late penalty miss was extra salt in the wound with competent spot-kick takers Rafael van der Vaart and Emmanual Adebayor since sold and injured. Today Rafa’s face peered knowingly from the November page of the official calendar.
A prospective home draw against Aston Villa made the elimination more galling, especially with only Chelsea and Arsenal remaining of the more fancied sides in the quarter-final line-up. A realistic shot at silverware has been needlessly squandered.
Jermain Defoe, the only fit striker on Spurs’ books, was perhaps understandably wrapped up in cotton wool for the trip to Carrow Road. No recognised striker played until Defoe’s belated introduction on 90 minutes. With Adebayor still frustratingly crocked and already planning his travel to the African Nation Cup, the sheer farce of a Tottenham squad with a solitary striker has reared its head. Can someone contact Louis Saha on BBM?
Yet Tottenham bizarrely boast four goalkeepers (three over thirty - 31, 39 and 41) in their basic 25-man list; the squad is unbalanced, like an elephant and an ant on a see-saw (apologies to legendary hip hop lyricist 'the Gza'). At the start of the season, Andre Villas-Boas defended 'his' decision to have a trio of strikers, championing rookie Harry Kane as the third frontman. Spurs fans breathed a collective sigh of relief. We’re okay with three strikers. Phew.
Wait a minute! ‘Clipboard Chris’ suddenly waves some late cash and a bag of Werther’s Originals in the direction of N17 and Kane is dispatched to Norwich on a season long loan with no hint of a replacement. Kerching! The deadline day signing of Clinton Dempsey was some appeasement. But, as we’ve already seen this season, the US international is a forward-thinking midfielder rather than a striker who can lead the line. Oddly, no-one from the youth ranks has been promoted to take Kane’s place on the bench.
The reliance on solitary fit striker Defoe and the world class runs and finishing of Gareth Bale is a concern. In the continued absence of Adebayor, you look at the team and wonder, ‘Who will score the goals?’ The Norwich and Southampton games have illustrated, somewhat alarmingly, that Spurs are too often toothless in the final third and unable to make long periods of possession count.
There is always an upside, however. Teams who reach the League Cup Final have a tendency to peak too soon and unravel in the final months of the season. Spurs’ post-2008 Carling Cup winning form was an unmitigated disaster whereas 2011 winners Birmingham were subsequently relegated and last year’s finalists Liverpool and Cardiff fell away alarmingly in the home stretch.
Late cup elimination is hard to swallow, especially for those die-hards who travelled midweek to East Anglia, but nothing three points and a performance against Wigan won’t heal, striker or not.
Monday, October 29, 2012
William (Gallas), it was really nothing
Perhaps it is our cross to bear that many of the good things we do are not appreciated in life. This was rarely more true than in the case of Tottenham captain William Gallas.
The 35-year-old veteran has been an absolute steal for Spurs since moving on a free transfer from North London’s second best team two-and-a-half years ago. The Gallas goal line clearance is now a standard feature in games, but his last ditch inventions too often remain uncredited by Spurs fans. Yet when ‘Mad Bill’ made several uncharacteristic mistakes against Chelsea (he was not alone in this regard) these were widely highlighted by his detractors.
Emerging star Steven Caulker has paid tribute to the po-faced veteran, affectionately known as ‘Mad Bill’ on this blog (Read William’s 2010 open letter here), and told of how the Frenchman calms his nerves and talks him through games. There is little doubt that the experience and nous of Gallas has played a significant part in the maturing Caulker’s fine displays this season.
Gallas was at his absolute best in Tottenham’s 2-1 win at Southampton on Sunday. It was a classic Spurs performance; dominating the first half and holding on for grim death in the second. I’ve lost count of how many comfortable two nil leads we've surrendered in second halves over the years. That’s just how we roll.
Tom Huddlestone’s clever dink created Gareth Bale’s headed opener, but after the hairy behemoth was replaced by Jake Livermore in the second half the midfield floodgates opened alarmingly and Southampton took the game by the scruff of the neck. It was suddenly backs-to-the-wall stuff. Jay Rodriguez’s reply had seemed virtually inconceivable when Clint Dempsey put Spurs 2-0 up on 39 minutes.
Despite his adroit header, Bale was quieter than an Arsenal fan on Tottenham High Road and Spurs leaned heavily on the fizz of Aaron Lennon on the flanks. Defoe’s shooting was painfully awry and, given Emmanuel Adebayor’s injury and eventual departure for the African Nations Cup, our lack of striker options remain a valid concern. Nothing changes.
Sandro was his usual bestial self in midfield, but his tireless tackling could not compensate for the large Dembele-sized hole in the centre of the park. The Belgian is a big miss, as if you didn’t know that already. Heartbeats quickened and collective blood pressures rose, but Spurs withstood Southampton’s late barrage, thanks to the desperate blocks of Gallas and co. Cue widespread homo-eroticism as the Spurs team stripped off and threw their shirts into the crowd, sparking a surreal and comical tug-of-war between two old geezers for Brad Friedel’s bright yellow jersey.
Wrapped up in the moment, I started peeling off my five layers of clothing, hurling them into the air in a celebratory tornado of designer garments. They fell harmlessly to the ground. No-one fought for them. Not even the cold people or women with limited dating options. Shrugging off the autumn chill, I picked up my clothing as uncomfortably as Spurs had picked up the points. But I was smiling. Three points on the road always warms the soul.
*The game marked my dad’s 50th anniversary of attending Spurs games. Somehow his vintage heart has withstood half a century of this madness. The old man’s first match was way back on November 1962, a 4-0 win over Leicester City at White Hart Lane. Apparently, the game was played in ‘black and white’ and the fans were still applauding a Jimmy Greaves goal long after Leicester kicked off again. Congratulations on the milestone, dad!
The 35-year-old veteran has been an absolute steal for Spurs since moving on a free transfer from North London’s second best team two-and-a-half years ago. The Gallas goal line clearance is now a standard feature in games, but his last ditch inventions too often remain uncredited by Spurs fans. Yet when ‘Mad Bill’ made several uncharacteristic mistakes against Chelsea (he was not alone in this regard) these were widely highlighted by his detractors.
Emerging star Steven Caulker has paid tribute to the po-faced veteran, affectionately known as ‘Mad Bill’ on this blog (Read William’s 2010 open letter here), and told of how the Frenchman calms his nerves and talks him through games. There is little doubt that the experience and nous of Gallas has played a significant part in the maturing Caulker’s fine displays this season.
Gallas was at his absolute best in Tottenham’s 2-1 win at Southampton on Sunday. It was a classic Spurs performance; dominating the first half and holding on for grim death in the second. I’ve lost count of how many comfortable two nil leads we've surrendered in second halves over the years. That’s just how we roll.
Tom Huddlestone’s clever dink created Gareth Bale’s headed opener, but after the hairy behemoth was replaced by Jake Livermore in the second half the midfield floodgates opened alarmingly and Southampton took the game by the scruff of the neck. It was suddenly backs-to-the-wall stuff. Jay Rodriguez’s reply had seemed virtually inconceivable when Clint Dempsey put Spurs 2-0 up on 39 minutes.
Despite his adroit header, Bale was quieter than an Arsenal fan on Tottenham High Road and Spurs leaned heavily on the fizz of Aaron Lennon on the flanks. Defoe’s shooting was painfully awry and, given Emmanuel Adebayor’s injury and eventual departure for the African Nations Cup, our lack of striker options remain a valid concern. Nothing changes.
Sandro was his usual bestial self in midfield, but his tireless tackling could not compensate for the large Dembele-sized hole in the centre of the park. The Belgian is a big miss, as if you didn’t know that already. Heartbeats quickened and collective blood pressures rose, but Spurs withstood Southampton’s late barrage, thanks to the desperate blocks of Gallas and co. Cue widespread homo-eroticism as the Spurs team stripped off and threw their shirts into the crowd, sparking a surreal and comical tug-of-war between two old geezers for Brad Friedel’s bright yellow jersey.
Wrapped up in the moment, I started peeling off my five layers of clothing, hurling them into the air in a celebratory tornado of designer garments. They fell harmlessly to the ground. No-one fought for them. Not even the cold people or women with limited dating options. Shrugging off the autumn chill, I picked up my clothing as uncomfortably as Spurs had picked up the points. But I was smiling. Three points on the road always warms the soul.
*The game marked my dad’s 50th anniversary of attending Spurs games. Somehow his vintage heart has withstood half a century of this madness. The old man’s first match was way back on November 1962, a 4-0 win over Leicester City at White Hart Lane. Apparently, the game was played in ‘black and white’ and the fans were still applauding a Jimmy Greaves goal long after Leicester kicked off again. Congratulations on the milestone, dad!
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Jan Vertonghen's hair
Jan Vertonghen is an absolute beast of a player. Drop him blindfolded in a Siberian forest and he would probably report for training on Tuesday wearing a tiger-skin, shrugging off a mild case of the blisters.
Wrestling a feral tiger protecting its territory, Jan’s salon perfect hair would undoubtedly remain flawless and unruffled. I dare any Spurs fan to recreate the Belgian’s rock-like side-parting with a small rake and two tubs of Studio Line’s Indestructible hair glue. It’s virtually impossible to emulate and god knows I’ve put in the mirror hours.
The transformation of Vertonghen from overworked centre-half to buccaneering left-back proved a pivotal moment as Spurs overcame a sticky first half against a lively QPR to flip a 0-1 deficit into a welcome first home win of the season.
Andre Villas-Boas’ bold but ultimately misguided decision to start Gareth Bale, Tottenham’s most feared and effective attacking player, at left back spectacularly backfired. In the first half, Spurs looked impotent with Bale in a retreated position and the Welshman laboured with the additional defensive responsibility. Meanwhile, fellow speed merchant Aaron Lennon was bogged down with extra defensive coverage and QPR effectively swamped the midfield with Sandro uncharacteristically careless in possession.
Spurs should have been trailing by at least two goals headed into the break but for Brad Friedel’s ageless limbs and West London profligacy. At half-time, the now customary boos rang out, but despite the pointless protests a listless display had been relatively unpunished and I felt optimistic that Spurs could turn the tables with minor tactical tinkering.
And so it came to pass. AVB switched Vertonghen to left back, sacrificing the ineffectual Gylfi Sigurdsson to bring in Stephen Caulker at centre-half and unleash Welsh wonder Bale where he could finally damage the opposition. Clint Dempsey moved to a more advanced role and began to cause QPR problems with his intelligent forward play. Suddenly, a sluggish Spurs were reborn.
Overdue karma (see the previous blog) gifted the home side an own goal equaliser before a surging Vertonghen run from defence released Bale whose rasping shot cannoned off the bar and dropped to a gleeful jermain Defoe who buried the rebound. And in that moment boo-ers and supporters were, again, united as one.
Spurs dictated the majority of the second half, but QPR always remained dangerous on the counter and had a wonderful opportunity to equalise in the 72nd minute when the ball fell kindly for the effervescent Junior Hoilett only for Vertonghen to slide in heroically with a perfect, goal-saving tackle.
Three points secured and not a hair out of place. Spurs bounce to eighth, one point behind 'title contenders' Arsenal, and AVB’s job is safe for another week at least.
Wrestling a feral tiger protecting its territory, Jan’s salon perfect hair would undoubtedly remain flawless and unruffled. I dare any Spurs fan to recreate the Belgian’s rock-like side-parting with a small rake and two tubs of Studio Line’s Indestructible hair glue. It’s virtually impossible to emulate and god knows I’ve put in the mirror hours.
The transformation of Vertonghen from overworked centre-half to buccaneering left-back proved a pivotal moment as Spurs overcame a sticky first half against a lively QPR to flip a 0-1 deficit into a welcome first home win of the season.
Andre Villas-Boas’ bold but ultimately misguided decision to start Gareth Bale, Tottenham’s most feared and effective attacking player, at left back spectacularly backfired. In the first half, Spurs looked impotent with Bale in a retreated position and the Welshman laboured with the additional defensive responsibility. Meanwhile, fellow speed merchant Aaron Lennon was bogged down with extra defensive coverage and QPR effectively swamped the midfield with Sandro uncharacteristically careless in possession.
Spurs should have been trailing by at least two goals headed into the break but for Brad Friedel’s ageless limbs and West London profligacy. At half-time, the now customary boos rang out, but despite the pointless protests a listless display had been relatively unpunished and I felt optimistic that Spurs could turn the tables with minor tactical tinkering.
And so it came to pass. AVB switched Vertonghen to left back, sacrificing the ineffectual Gylfi Sigurdsson to bring in Stephen Caulker at centre-half and unleash Welsh wonder Bale where he could finally damage the opposition. Clint Dempsey moved to a more advanced role and began to cause QPR problems with his intelligent forward play. Suddenly, a sluggish Spurs were reborn.
Overdue karma (see the previous blog) gifted the home side an own goal equaliser before a surging Vertonghen run from defence released Bale whose rasping shot cannoned off the bar and dropped to a gleeful jermain Defoe who buried the rebound. And in that moment boo-ers and supporters were, again, united as one.
Spurs dictated the majority of the second half, but QPR always remained dangerous on the counter and had a wonderful opportunity to equalise in the 72nd minute when the ball fell kindly for the effervescent Junior Hoilett only for Vertonghen to slide in heroically with a perfect, goal-saving tackle.
Three points secured and not a hair out of place. Spurs bounce to eighth, one point behind 'title contenders' Arsenal, and AVB’s job is safe for another week at least.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
AVB dodges ‘axe’, ewoks go mad in Reading
On Sunday morning, the bomb was dropped. Dave Kidd (who in 1996 correctly predicted that robot human hybrids would inhabit Milton Keynes) exclusively revealed in the highly-respected ‘People’ newspaper that Andre Villas-Boas was a mere three games from the sack.
‘The People’, affectionately regarded as an ‘inky bible with tits’, is rarely wrong outside of speculative tittle-tattle and spurious tabloid chuff and suddenly a terrible scraping sound was audible in north London. Presumably, Alan Curbishley rising, zombie-like, from his managerial crypt. Meanwhile, Kevin Bond was wildly texting, ‘DO U NEED DRIVER?! PETROL & PRINGLES GRATIS.’ Inevitably to Curbishley’s old number.
But just as the former West Ham manager was pushing away the concrete slab, Villas-Boas shockingly WON a game and SAVED his career. The scenes at the Madejeski Stadium were joyous and wild. I swear I saw a group of exuberant ewoks bundling each other when Gareth Bale scored the pivotal second, but now accept that my reading of ‘The People’ had triggered dreadful hallucinations and a complete removal from reality.
As I departed the fog of Reading, via its dreaded stadium bus, memories and thought fragments slowly pieced together and I recalled a fantastic (yet ewok-free) Spurs performance. Jermain Defoe’s brace and intuitive play rightfully earned plaudits but Mousa Dembele’s mastery of midfield was, at times, jaw-dropping. Dembele kicks like Van Damme, wows like Hepburn and may prove to be Daniel Levy’s best business yet.
The Belgian drove forward in a way that Luka Modric never could, breaking up play, prompting and weaving together a previously unhinged midfield corps in tandem with hairy enforcer Sandro and freeing the fast-forward Bale and Aaron Lennon with destructive effect. Elsewhere, compatriot Jan Vertonghen marshalled the defence superbly alongside the unfairly maligned William ‘Mad Bill’ Gallas who provided his now standard goal line clearance among other key interventions.
And so AVB was granted a ‘stay of execution’ or Kidd’s story was shockingly exposed as conniving bollocks. Whatever took place, it delivered a welcome transfusion of enthusiasm to Spurs fans. And maybe, just maybe, we have a season on our hands.
‘The People’, affectionately regarded as an ‘inky bible with tits’, is rarely wrong outside of speculative tittle-tattle and spurious tabloid chuff and suddenly a terrible scraping sound was audible in north London. Presumably, Alan Curbishley rising, zombie-like, from his managerial crypt. Meanwhile, Kevin Bond was wildly texting, ‘DO U NEED DRIVER?! PETROL & PRINGLES GRATIS.’ Inevitably to Curbishley’s old number.
But just as the former West Ham manager was pushing away the concrete slab, Villas-Boas shockingly WON a game and SAVED his career. The scenes at the Madejeski Stadium were joyous and wild. I swear I saw a group of exuberant ewoks bundling each other when Gareth Bale scored the pivotal second, but now accept that my reading of ‘The People’ had triggered dreadful hallucinations and a complete removal from reality.
As I departed the fog of Reading, via its dreaded stadium bus, memories and thought fragments slowly pieced together and I recalled a fantastic (yet ewok-free) Spurs performance. Jermain Defoe’s brace and intuitive play rightfully earned plaudits but Mousa Dembele’s mastery of midfield was, at times, jaw-dropping. Dembele kicks like Van Damme, wows like Hepburn and may prove to be Daniel Levy’s best business yet.
The Belgian drove forward in a way that Luka Modric never could, breaking up play, prompting and weaving together a previously unhinged midfield corps in tandem with hairy enforcer Sandro and freeing the fast-forward Bale and Aaron Lennon with destructive effect. Elsewhere, compatriot Jan Vertonghen marshalled the defence superbly alongside the unfairly maligned William ‘Mad Bill’ Gallas who provided his now standard goal line clearance among other key interventions.
And so AVB was granted a ‘stay of execution’ or Kidd’s story was shockingly exposed as conniving bollocks. Whatever took place, it delivered a welcome transfusion of enthusiasm to Spurs fans. And maybe, just maybe, we have a season on our hands.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Being there
It’s all about being there. To make the most of life (and football), you have to grasp and appreciate the moment before it passes. I’ve been fortunate enough to attend all 12 of Tottenham’s Champions League games this season and I wouldn’t have missed this ride for the world.
We’d gone through too much to be here. Spurs were on the verge of Champions League qualification in 2006 when an ‘accidental pre-match poisoning’ barred our path. So we waited. We hoped. We dreamed. And then, guided by Harry Redknapp, everything fell into place.
Competing against billionaire owners in the Premier League and established giants, Spurs qualified for the world’s elite club competition and took on the continent’s finest with a refreshing, swashbuckling style of play and a never-say-die spirit that won admirers and games. More fancied teams underestimated us and were duly eliminated.
There were moments of breathless magic; Gareth Bale’s one-man crusade at the San Siro against holders Inter before dry-roasting Maicon in the return game and steely defiance; epitomised by William Gallas’ critical goal-saving clearance to deny seven-times champions AC Milan at White Hart Lane.
New stars were born (Sandro, Van der Vaart) and old heroes barely featured (King, Keane). There were four clean sheets, three red cards, two missed penalties and one plastic pitch.
The odyssey started there at the wonderfully named Wankdorf Stadion in Berne. At 0-3 down in 28 minutes against the unfancied Young Boys, my dad, who has a heart condition, was slumped face forward in his seat cradling his head in his hands. The dream seemed over in the starting blocks. But it wasn’t. The adventure had just begun.
Tottenham Hotspur, 2010/11 Champions League quarter-finalists, we salute you.
See you there next season?
We’d gone through too much to be here. Spurs were on the verge of Champions League qualification in 2006 when an ‘accidental pre-match poisoning’ barred our path. So we waited. We hoped. We dreamed. And then, guided by Harry Redknapp, everything fell into place.
Competing against billionaire owners in the Premier League and established giants, Spurs qualified for the world’s elite club competition and took on the continent’s finest with a refreshing, swashbuckling style of play and a never-say-die spirit that won admirers and games. More fancied teams underestimated us and were duly eliminated.
There were moments of breathless magic; Gareth Bale’s one-man crusade at the San Siro against holders Inter before dry-roasting Maicon in the return game and steely defiance; epitomised by William Gallas’ critical goal-saving clearance to deny seven-times champions AC Milan at White Hart Lane.
New stars were born (Sandro, Van der Vaart) and old heroes barely featured (King, Keane). There were four clean sheets, three red cards, two missed penalties and one plastic pitch.
The odyssey started there at the wonderfully named Wankdorf Stadion in Berne. At 0-3 down in 28 minutes against the unfancied Young Boys, my dad, who has a heart condition, was slumped face forward in his seat cradling his head in his hands. The dream seemed over in the starting blocks. But it wasn’t. The adventure had just begun.
Tottenham Hotspur, 2010/11 Champions League quarter-finalists, we salute you.
See you there next season?
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Police hunt for Bale attacker
Police in Liverpool are searching for a man after superstar footballer Gareth Bale was assaulted near Stanley Park on Wednesday evening.
Superintendent Billy Burns, Merseyside Police, picks up the story: “At around 9.20pm, we received a call from a very distressed Brazilian gentleman claiming his friend’s life was in danger from an ‘angry blue man’.
“The photofit of the suspect is quite frankly hideous,” continued Burns. “He has a face like curdled milk with scarecrow hair that has been combed down to present the illusion of humanity, and a dead look in his eyes which suggests he has witnessed hell itself. The person of interest was wearing a blue short-sleeved top and white jogging shorts featuring the numbers ‘1’ and ‘8’.
*** Merseyside Police Update *** “Following exhaustive enquiries we have identified the suspect as footballer Phil Neville and found he has no case to answer,” confirmed Superintendent Burns. “We can’t send someone to prison for being a simple wanker....as much as we’d like to. Matchdays are a busy time for us already as robbing footballers’ houses during games is an important part of the local economy.
“It seems the witness of South American origin is easily worried. He also claimed a member of the 'Real IRA' had chucked a handgrenade at him on the very same evening. We have CCTV footage that clearly proves this was nothing more than a tame header from Seamus Coleman.”
# In a Premier League football match on Wednesday, Tottenham Hotspur succumbed to relentless second half pressure against an inspired Everton side. However, despite the 1-2 reverse, the Londoners remain well-placed in fourth.
Superintendent Billy Burns, Merseyside Police, picks up the story: “At around 9.20pm, we received a call from a very distressed Brazilian gentleman claiming his friend’s life was in danger from an ‘angry blue man’.
“The photofit of the suspect is quite frankly hideous,” continued Burns. “He has a face like curdled milk with scarecrow hair that has been combed down to present the illusion of humanity, and a dead look in his eyes which suggests he has witnessed hell itself. The person of interest was wearing a blue short-sleeved top and white jogging shorts featuring the numbers ‘1’ and ‘8’.
*** Merseyside Police Update *** “Following exhaustive enquiries we have identified the suspect as footballer Phil Neville and found he has no case to answer,” confirmed Superintendent Burns. “We can’t send someone to prison for being a simple wanker....as much as we’d like to. Matchdays are a busy time for us already as robbing footballers’ houses during games is an important part of the local economy.
“It seems the witness of South American origin is easily worried. He also claimed a member of the 'Real IRA' had chucked a handgrenade at him on the very same evening. We have CCTV footage that clearly proves this was nothing more than a tame header from Seamus Coleman.”
# In a Premier League football match on Wednesday, Tottenham Hotspur succumbed to relentless second half pressure against an inspired Everton side. However, despite the 1-2 reverse, the Londoners remain well-placed in fourth.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Hail Bale!
It's official; Gareth Bale walks on water and glides on grass. Last night at the San Siro, his drive and acceleration left world class defenders Maicon, Zanetti, Samuel and Lucio trailing in his wake. Bale's brilliant hat-trick could yet prove crucial if qualification from Champions League Group A is decided on goal difference.
Watching the Welsh wunderkind tear a new orifice in the Inter backline was a joy to behold. If someone had told me at half-time that the European champions’ fans would be desperately screaming for the final whistle, I would have thought they were on the verge of lunacy (see Case Study: Sulzeer Jeremiah Campbell 2006; Insania by Peter Andre).
But there was no mental breakdown at half-time from us Spurs fans in Milan, only thoughts of damage limitation. The guy next to me reckoned six would be acceptable, given Spurs' harsh reduction to 10 men in the 11th minute. I more optimistically tipped a 1-4 reverse, a marginal improvement on Bremen’s shellacking in the San Siro. But no, we were about to see something special (apologies to Mr. Tumble).
Enter the Dragon and three wonderful finishes that showcased Gareth's unearthly pace, skill and dead-eye finishing. The potential of Bale is like dear Ledley after a night out on the tizers – staggering.
So Spurs remain well-placed for group qualification at the halfway point in second spot behind Inter, having played their two most difficult away fixtures and scored a startling 15 goals in their first five Champions League ties.
The dream perseveres.
Watching the Welsh wunderkind tear a new orifice in the Inter backline was a joy to behold. If someone had told me at half-time that the European champions’ fans would be desperately screaming for the final whistle, I would have thought they were on the verge of lunacy (see Case Study: Sulzeer Jeremiah Campbell 2006; Insania by Peter Andre).
But there was no mental breakdown at half-time from us Spurs fans in Milan, only thoughts of damage limitation. The guy next to me reckoned six would be acceptable, given Spurs' harsh reduction to 10 men in the 11th minute. I more optimistically tipped a 1-4 reverse, a marginal improvement on Bremen’s shellacking in the San Siro. But no, we were about to see something special (apologies to Mr. Tumble).
Enter the Dragon and three wonderful finishes that showcased Gareth's unearthly pace, skill and dead-eye finishing. The potential of Bale is like dear Ledley after a night out on the tizers – staggering.
So Spurs remain well-placed for group qualification at the halfway point in second spot behind Inter, having played their two most difficult away fixtures and scored a startling 15 goals in their first five Champions League ties.
The dream perseveres.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Full metal training jacket (Apocalypse Stoke)
The horror, the horror. For Ho Chi Minh City 1970 read Stoke Ming City 2010. A barechested Tony Pulis prowls the touchline wearing a cowboy hat and a terrifying smirk that might just curdle all the milky teas in the away stand. As Younes Kaboul’s dismembered head rolls past the corner flag, Pulis inhales a lungful of the thick smog that hangs over the Britannia Stadium. “It smells like victory,” he puffs.
Second in command Gerry ‘The Badger’ Francis stares down at his feet, still looking for that £20 note he lost 15 years ago when manager of Tottenham. The candy-striped hordes bay for blood, broken bodies are strewn across the pitch, limbs fly through the air at impossible angles, the crack of bone is audible under Ryan Shawcross’ ubiquitous boot and those terrifying screams of the Tottenham fallen pierce the eardrum.
“Me foul you long time,” cries Shawcross with almost devilish glee. But from somewhere in the cocktail of mud and blood a hero emerges. A young Welshman with a crack shot and an absence of fear. As the howling natives shift restlessly in their seats, Gareth Bale bundles home a rebound before Ricardo Fuller scores and the baying crowd roars its approval, the scent of enemy claret burning their nostrils.
And then it happens, Aaron Lennon’s flighted ball drops from an acute angle, Bale dips a shoulder and arrows a deadly volley into the top right hand corner. Pulis jumps on his cowboy hat. “Charlie don’t surf!” he screams.
Vedran Corluka jogs past him with a bemused look on his face. "Yes, I do."
Second in command Gerry ‘The Badger’ Francis stares down at his feet, still looking for that £20 note he lost 15 years ago when manager of Tottenham. The candy-striped hordes bay for blood, broken bodies are strewn across the pitch, limbs fly through the air at impossible angles, the crack of bone is audible under Ryan Shawcross’ ubiquitous boot and those terrifying screams of the Tottenham fallen pierce the eardrum.
“Me foul you long time,” cries Shawcross with almost devilish glee. But from somewhere in the cocktail of mud and blood a hero emerges. A young Welshman with a crack shot and an absence of fear. As the howling natives shift restlessly in their seats, Gareth Bale bundles home a rebound before Ricardo Fuller scores and the baying crowd roars its approval, the scent of enemy claret burning their nostrils.
And then it happens, Aaron Lennon’s flighted ball drops from an acute angle, Bale dips a shoulder and arrows a deadly volley into the top right hand corner. Pulis jumps on his cowboy hat. “Charlie don’t surf!” he screams.
Vedran Corluka jogs past him with a bemused look on his face. "Yes, I do."
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