That’s More Like It
We knew they were in there somewhere. Just a little prod of encouragement and a necessary re-shuffle of formation and the real Tottenham look to have finally arrived at the party. Regular hell-raising animals on the continent- with the majority of time being spent in the kitchen hammering beer bongs and chatting up loose women- at last, we’ve transferred the good times to our domestic crusade. A stirring afternoon’s work.
Do I smell a new feature? Heck yes, is the answer. It’s the snappily titled ‘Things That Were Good and Other Things That Were Not All That Good.’
Well, that might need some work but here goes.
Good Will Hunting…
Firstly striking extraordinaire, Peter Crouch, at last managed to chalk his particulars onto the score sheet. Making a decent fist of catching Alan Hutton in the merit tables, the robot sauntered into the box like a gazelle being released into the wild. And onto a loose ball he pounced and huzzed it passed Robinson’s left ear. It was as well-taken as it was much-needed. There’s hope from some that this might kick-start the big man onto greater things; others would much rather he remained the utility-player-in-reserve his limited skills often point toward. All the same, he didn’t make me want to self-harm at any point during the afternoon, so that’s an improvement right there.
Once again Bale was dynamite. The bods at Sky Sports seemed almost a little embarrassed to give the MOTM to the Welsh wonder; as if doing so would just be too much of a cliché. But whom else could have such an impact on the result of a football match? Two goals, endless, indefatigable running, blistering cross after blistering cross. A constant threat all the way up until Saturday tea-time. As Bobby Robson said of Michael Owen during the ’98 World Cup, I’m running out of superlatives for this kid. Just mega.
Jermain Jenas played well. And I type this without smirking or fingers betwixt. He had a worthwhile, decent shift. Lively, used the ball effectively and engaged his brain to that of a smart box-to-box midfielder. Like Lampard, or summink. Close to being our best player. Of course playing well every so often should be water off a shmuck’s back for a boy being paid the earth to do just that. But there you go. It’s encouraging by any stretch- particularly with the news that the mighty Tom Huddlestone is out until February. Balls.
Bad Lieutenant…
Not too much to go in this bit. The two goals conceded in the closing stages marred the festivities somewhat. Ten minutes of rather dopey defending meant that, in the end, the score-line didn’t really reflect the disparity of the two teams. At no stage were Blackburn ever really in this one. Not with our midfield at its swashbuckling finest. Four-two doesn’t really do the performance justice and certainly made the final few minutes rather more nervy than they ought to have. Counting the days for Dawson’s homecoming.
Pavlyuchenko’s penalty. And his one-on-one. I’m certain on both occasions, at the crucial moment, he had spotted a traversable wormhole out of the corner of his eye and was simply trying to send the ball into another dimension. In the intrests of scientific progress. So one can forgive him for that. As well, he made up for it with fine use of his cranium for the second and was generally the cat’s pyjamas from start to finish.
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