How To Lose A Season in Ten Games
I blame Paul Merson.
With the Sky Sports cameras whirring last night, Paul gave his thoughts on the game ahead. They’ll rip them apart, he told us assuredly, absolutely tear them to pieces. Really? Did he know something we didn’t? Were Wolves planning to field a team of chimpanzees? It would appear not. The trap he fell into, of course- and he should know better being an ex-Gooner- is that no matter how much of a banker it looks from the outside. Never bank on Tottenham. It’s the first rule of Fight Club.
I didn’t see the game, so I can only piece together what unfolded from hearsay and online match up-dates watched through my fingers. I think I’m right in assuming it wasn’t the prettiest ninety-minutes since the inception of time. Certainly not one for the history books. Plenty of invective spewed over the returning Kaboul and ‘Arry’s team selection which looked, for anyone’s money, puzzling from the start. More of that in a minute. I did hear that Jenas had a good game, but- and I’m not being at all facetious here- I couldn’t honestly tell if it was said in sarcasm.
That alone, I guess, tells its own story.
I devoted much of yesterday’s post bemoaning Mick McCarthy and his questionable approach to team selection; something which now does little else but ping egg into my face and drip down between the keys. As far as I can work out, our next League game is ten days away. So why, pray tell, did Modric and Palacios find themselves benched? Particularly Wilson, whose combative talents would’ve gone down a storm against such thrifty opposition. I find it baffling that he didn’t start. Correct me if I’ve missed something.
Anyway, more later if I get a chance to see the highlights and, importantly, I can bring myself to watch them. I expect if I do it’ll be in the style of Alex in A Clockwork Orange; eyes clamped open, bound to a chair, fighting the urge not to vomit every time Crouch spoons one wide.
Keep the faith.
Someone’s got to.