Oh bottoms. The Beast previously known as Sandro has had the most delicate parts of his knee diddled with by the planet’s finest professional knee-diddlers and it would be easy to conclude that it’s a total disaster.
Such is the Brazilian’s importance to this new look Spurs side, the thought of losing him to the frosty advances of a treatment table for just one game, leaves me wondering whether I shouldn’t just seal my head in a carrier bag and just call the whole thing off.
My surgery went well, he told us on Twitter yesterday, which at least implies he’s still alive.
But where does that leave us? Don’t you understand? WE’RE DOOMED!
Oh look there’s Scotty Parker. He’s good.
Jeez, you guys are being way too panicky about this.
Karl Pilkington once claimed that his eyes were capable of autonomous thought; regardless of his own wishes, he reckoned his peepers would somehow shut themselves if confronted with anything gruesome or particularly boring. If ever there was an occasion where a mental idea could have a legitimate practical use- ignoring all the so-called biology and whatnot- Tottenham’s visit to Stevenage at the weekend was that occasion.
I’d imagine most Spurs fans in residence would’ve been delighted if their eyes had not only closed of their own volition on Sunday, but detached at the optic nerve, rolled down the Stevenage high street and found a nice puddle to drown in.
Eyes have lungs, right?
The encouraging news is that we’re still in the Hat and should we inch past Boro in the replay, a favourable home draw with Bolton awaits us in the quarters. Nothing bad can come of this. Trust me, I’m a scientist.
Soggy-faced porn merchant, David Sullivan, has made some curious noises this week, regarding Scott Parker’s last days at the Boleyn Ground. I wouldn’t usually waste time with this sort of guff, but it does strike me as bad form to deride a player who essentially carried West Ham last season. Sure, where he carried them was straight into the Championship, but he did play jolly well whilst he was at it. Here’s what uncle David said:
“This might not please many people but look at Scott Parker’s performance in the first five games this season,” Sullivan told the ‘West Ham til I die’ website.
“To me it didn’t look like he was doing the tackling you’d normally expect him to do.
“He was running about, he was doing okay but he wasn’t doing the tackling we know he can do because he knew that the one thing that would stop a move, would be an injury.
“To me it looked like he didn’t want to be there. He told us he didn’t want to be there.
“He was protecting himself, either consciously or subconsciously. He’s gone to Spurs and he is back to his old self.”
Well, I suppose you can’t spell bitter without t-i-t.
Twitter. It’s all the rage.
Right, so let me get this straight. England are going to win the Euros now after all? Oh well that’s a relief. It was touch and go there for a moment but thanks to those courageous kids, some hardened old sea dogs and a bit of can-do attitude it looks like we’re going to bloody well do it. And if FIFA don’t like it, well, they can gay off, can’t they? Those lefty, weekend in the Alps, poppy-hating dunderheads. Yeah. Up yours, FIFA! And up yours, Spain. Yeaaah!
Funny ha has aside, the big shakers in Zurich, for once, were on the money with the whole Poppygate saga. Of course they were. All you’d need to do to come to that conclusion is find out what Alan Shearer thought and base your opinion on the exact opposite. I dinny know wha’ they’re pleeing at, said Wor Alan, in a somewhat befuddled state of alarm. It dunny make sense to me, like. A wordsearch in the Beano would have you stumped, sunbeam.
On a brighter note, Scott Parker had another all-action day at the races this weekend. By thunder. Quite what Andrés Iniesta, Xavi and David Villa made of it all, I couldn’t begin to guess. If anyone knows the Spanish for why doesn’t he leave me alone? or I can’t feel my legs! we might go some way to finding out. As a recycler of possession he’s first-rate; as a ball-winning, combative midfielder, on current form, he’s peerless.
Is that fair or has the international break finally wronged up my brain tank?
Maybe don’t answer that.
Oh well how nice. The 140 or less characters tapped into social networking guru Joey Barton’s keyboard on Sunday. You might have a point there, Joseph. Not too sure about his earlier efforts regarding Simon Cowell and the desire to see him swing outside parliament for giving jumped-up little indie twonks permission to defecate over The Clash back catalouge- probably a tad extreme- but he at least appears to have a good eye for footballing talent. Just to confirm- by ‘swing’ he means hang.
“I found myself clapping when the third goal went in it was such a fantastic goal by Bale. It’s a pity he’s not English.”
Alright, Warnock, that’s enough. People will start to talk.
Cook a cat! Tottenham weren’t half a bit bloody gorgeous this weekend, no? Woo- and if you’ll indulge me further- hoo! Sure enough we’ll face more resilient opponents over the season’s long and treacherous course, than that of West London’s third finest export, but some of the football in the opening forty-five minutes was distressingly good. A quintet of Modric, Bale, Van der Vaart, Lennon and Adebayor- in some cases, at the height of their super powers- carved the QPR backline up like julienned carrots. Warnock’s men looked genuinely alarmed.
Twas Scotty Parker who stole the show, though, with a barnstorming afternoon’s work. Experts would call that a complete performance; one which even provoked our ‘Arry to mention him in the same breath as former Tottenham marvel, Dave Mackay. Not a comparison, I imagine, that’s made lightly around these parts, or, indeed, too often. And if the man’s not careful, he might well become my new favourite player. Which, you know, is a pretty big deal, too.
Spurs go marching on.
There was a certain inevitability about Adebayor scoring on his Spurs debut this weekend. Much in the same way you could be assured that any millionaire simpleton appearing on MTV Cribs will lead the film-crew into his monstrously decorated bedroom and declare: this is where the magic happens, while pointing to his hovercraft-sized bed and winking like a sex pest, one could almost guarantee the Togolese talisman would find his feet rather sharpish in the Midlands. As well as his propensity for debut goals- he’s done so for all three Premier League employers thus far- he has the rather exceptional fortune of not being Peter Crouch. Which I think we can all agree, is just great news for everyone involved.
Two-nil to the Tottenham, then. Lovely stuff. Points on the board and we’re moving in the only direction our anchored status on the foot of table would allow. Up, up and, well, into fourteenth. As well as the two net-finders, Scotty Parker Party Starter made a decent first account of himself, I thought. Tidy in possession, robust in the tackle when called upon for such duties. He appears to have a fully-developed, adult brain, too; evident, among other things, in the smartly masked through-ball for Emmanuelle’s opener. All in all, très bon from monsieur Parker. Très bon, indeed.
Meanwhile, back in the here and now, ‘Arry has come out today and given some quite candid (very unlike him, I know) remarks about the future of one Heurelho Gomes. Here is what he said, presumably while the Sky Sports reporter pressed a gun into the small of his back:
“He’s not happy and he’s eyeing a January move,” said Redknapp. “If the chance comes for him to play elsewhere, I’m sure he’ll take it.
“I’ve not bombed out Gomes and made him No.3 keeper but we decided Carlo Cudicini would be better on the bench.”
Blimey. Have we seen the last of the bonkers Brazilian?