The Eternal Saga of Tottenham versus Leicester
Act 1 (of 3)
Spurs and Leicester City have been the architects of some mighty compelling association kickball this season. Two sides, stuffed with youthful and young-at-heart exuberance, lead by managers appreciative of the value of both hard work and swashbuckling, attacking football.
Are you not entertained, screams Claudio Ranieri from his technical area, in a far too revealing gladiatorial tunic for a man of his age.
Well, yes, Claudio. We are.
And it’s a good job, too. If we’re all being asked to endure the same fixture on three separate occasions, in the space of nine days, then the least they can do is put on a bit of a show.
It’s been a mixed bag for Spurs in the first two legs of this January triple header. The first, a F.A Cup Third Round tie at White Hart Lane last Sunday, was one of those pulse-quickening, breakneck speed I-think-I’m-enjoying-myself encounters that makes supporting a club like Spurs the love/hate arrangement that it is.
Tremendous fun for the neutral; likely to shave a few minutes off the lives of anyone with a vested interest.
It was mentioned in this corner of the internet before the game that it would be nice to see Pochettino take the historic knockout competition seriously this year, like one should for the best guide to independent online pokies reviews. In contrast to the stone-faced apathy his team selections have demonstrated in the past two seasons.
While neither side were fully equipped with their strongest line-ups, you couldn’t argue that they weren’t giving it the fully quota of welly. A pulsating contest.
Leicester will understandably feel that it should’ve been their name alone in the hat for the Fourth Round draw, after a contentious penalty decision went against them. But Spurs certainly brought enough to the evening’s entertainment to warrant another stab. A replay strikes as a reasonable outcome.
And so, the penalty. The bone of contention for The Lads in the BBC studio was that Nathan Dyer didn’t know anything about the ball hitting his hand: which is all well and good. Shearer had similar quibbles about the spot-kick awarded against Chancel Mbemba at St James’ Park on Tuesday night. You might remember, it was right before Gary Lineker dropped that mischievous w*nking zinger.
Anyway. You’ve got to wonder how far you can push the ‘intentions’ angle, when Dyer’s arm is extended so unnaturally and at clear odds with the ball’s flight.
Would it be different if he came running into the box throwing some spirited windmills; arms spinning like the motorized limbs of Popeye? Sure, he wouldn’t have intended to hit the ball, it just happened to collide with his flurry of haymakers.
It’s a harsh call from Leicester’s point of view but perhaps not as preposterous a decision as Alan and company made out.
Fixture Headaches
Pochettino wasn’t able to throw caution entirely to the wind with his team selection, of course, thanks to the presumably drunk fixture computer dumping out a midweek game against Leicester (you again), just three days later. The under-strength line-ups weren’t just localized to North London, either. They were endemic amongst Premier League sides. I think Sam Allardyce said it best:
“Of course I’m going to make changes for our Cup tie at Arsenal on Saturday. If the Premier League decides to put a stupid fixture midweek when they don’t bloody need to, then I haven’t got much choice.”
Well quite.
Act 2 (of 3)
What’s to say? Another game that could’ve gone either way, but, as it happens, went Leicester’s. Woodwork thumped, chances missed, zero points. And so it ever was.
The good news for Tottenham is that we remain camped in that all important Fourth Spot. The bad, one of many to come out of Wednesday night, is that all the sides around us fumbled points, too. Excluding Leicester, obviously. A more favourable outcome and we could’ve made some serious dents in our rival’s trajectory. It wasn’t to be.
From the result’s fallout, one popular conclusion is that Daniel Levy really ought now to purchase a new striker. It might seem like an obvious and well-trodden solution to arrive at, but after a performance in which our main centre-forward, sorry, our only centre-forward, who is also only twenty-two, spent good portions of the game looking like he’d run a marathon in a Big Bird costume. Well, then, this time, the (mildly) grumbling masses might have a point.
Probably time to give some of your contacts a ring, Daniel. Your most valuable asset could use some help.
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