Apocalypse Later as Villas-Boas Makes Spurs Sing
Attempting to measure the significance of beating a fairly shambolic newly-promoted side who hadn’t played for nearly a month is an imprecise science at best. As much as one wouldn’t necessarily need to drink a litre of undiluted bleach after a stalemate with Norwich, these things are all about perspective.
Have we won the Champions League as a result of swatting aside the Royals with relative straightforwardness? No, no we have not. Would the Earth have been plunged into thirty years of impenetrable darkness had Villas-Boas only delivered a draw, or, worst still, a defeat? Again, no. It’s unlikely. Almost zero times has this happened.
Should we be optimistic about the season ahead on the back of the weekend’s football? Why, I’d almost encourage it.
The facts, then. Straight as a biro.
Sandro, Dembele and Sigurdsson is a thrilling midfield triumvirate. While the Icelander has had a somewhat ponderous start to life in Lilywhite- quite often he takes entirely too many touches before deciding his next move- it’s clear the boy has oodles of technical ability (the ball to Lennon for the first goal was teetering on the boundaries of sexually explicit) and provides excellent foil for the directness of Dembélé and our two electric-heeled wingers. As soon as he settles into his role and overcomes his timidity in possession, he’ll be one of our key men this year.
No need for such patience with Sandro. A monstrous presence he is in the centre of midfield. And whisper it quietly, he looks fit, too.
Jan Vertonghen. The Library Full of Leather-Bound Books of defenders. I heard on Twitter the other day that Peter Beagrie said of the Belgian: ‘he plays like he’s got champagne in one hand and a cigar in the other’. It’s a great quote and one that’s certainly fitting. There’s so much class vomiting from his very being, it makes me feel about as refined as a Victorian chimney sweep in comparison.
Jermain Dizzly. The one-man goal-machine. Still, for me, question marks over whether he can consistently fulfil the role of being a lone frontman, but you cannot argue with his form at the moment. Honestly, you can’t. I’ve tried. And the way he bought the ball out of the air from the long, sweeping punt from Sandro, well, that was a ridiculous carry-on. If only he’d trusted his left foot as much as he did with his second goal. If only I had some money I could stop the brakes on my car sounding like whale song.
And finally, to our glorious leader. It was genuinely heart-warming to see Villas-Boas celebrate the goals with such enthusiasm. However ludicrous it might be, the building swirl of media nonsense had created a sizeable weight for the shoulders of AVB in the days leading up to kick-off; and with each goal and each elated fist-pump you could see the pounds just shedding off him. You could see the relief. You could feel the joy. Tie removed and all smiles at final whistle, he deserved his moment in the late-afternoon sun.
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