Spurs 2 - West Brom 1
I love Monday night games; darkness, floodlights and of course something to soften the blow of the five day onslaught.
Sitting by the sidelines at White Hart Lane, reading ‘Brave New World’ and eating my picnic of packed lunch sandwiches and two out of my five daily portions of fresh fruit and veg, I didn’t exactly feel like the archetypal football fan. I wasn’t going to be able to act like one either. I had lost my voice after a heavy weekend and could only form the few hoarse muttering. No singing for me.
The reading didn’t last long as it happens. Two people getting hit in the face by some woeful warming up skills on the part of ex-scummer Kevin Campbell and some West Brom absolute ‘who’ (Albrechtsen, I think) was enough to keep my eyes trained towards the pitch.
I wanted to jeer at their every misplaced ball but mouthing the word and giving the internationally recognised ‘wanker’ hand sign had to suffice. At any rate West Brom’s apparent lack of ability was good omen enough without my insults.
As the teams lined up it was Robbie and The Yiddo up front with Mido on the bench. So, we were going to trust in the two that saw us victory at St. Andrews and try to play through the middle of the West Brom midfield. Twenty minutes later it still hadn’t worked. The defence were doing their job. We passed it round with assurance across the back with the odd run up the flanks from Lee and Stephen Kelly but each pass from the midfield was met by a Bromwich boot.
Even our strikers were looking sprightly. They both patrolled the opposition back line and waited for a telling through ball or one over the top. As matter of fact it was a pleasure watching them do this.
Defoe chased everything down from the very first clearance by keeper Tomasz Kusczak and I was astonished as he even won a couple of headers against their 6 foot plus defenders. But the man of the day was Robbie Keane.
Now, I would never suggest that Keano is the best player I’ve ever seen but in the last few months I can honestly say that no one has ever dazzled and wowed me with such impressive skill. His little feet and their boots like white socks with laces actually move faster than my eyes can resolve. There are tricks he does that I cannot describe. I would love to see him on one of those cameras they use to film Humming Birds.
Three times he was caught offside and each time he teased the linesman more and more, cajoling him towards the benefit of the doubt. Was he playing up to the cameras, the crowd or is this the sign of man enjoying the game, under no pressure on a run of great form? All of the above I’d say.
But that was entirely irrelevant, as the guy just wasn’t getting the ball. Our midfield couldn’t find a way through and we were once again matched by a very mediocre side; a mediocre side giving a very decent account of themselves but a mediocre side we should have been beating nonetheless.
As we dropped deeper and deeper, the Baggies grew in confidence until referee, Chris Foy, blew for what seemed to me to be a very dubious foul outside the left hand corner of our penalty area, perfect for the left footer to curl one away from the keeper. And what happened? The left footer curled one away from the keeper.
Jonathan Greening was the left footer in this case; a much underrated player by all but West Brom it seems. His cross was met at the back post by an unmarked Curtis Davies and the ball nestled neatly into the top corner. Paul Robinson was helpless, Michael Dawson was at fault and we all sat stunned to the sound of cheers from the wrong corner of White Hart Lane. One sodding nil after a poor twenty minutes.
But the fans wanted a result. We all knew, we all know what we’ve got and what we’ve to do to keep it. We needed 3 points and we wanted them. We wanted them all. So, as the boys picked up the ball and took it back to the centre circle, we drowned out those accents from the West Midlands with a full stadium voice. ‘Come on you Spurs! Come on you Spurs!’
Now, I don’t know about you but if I were a player, nothing would lift my spirits higher than hearing the belief of 30,000 fans. Aaron Lennon switched to the left hand side and Tottenham Hotspur started to play.
We still couldn’t cut through the middle of the park but Lennon was making life hell for Martin Albrechtsen, playing at right full back and as he made inroads on the flank so our attack began.
In the period before half time we piled the pressure on with a series of corners, culminating in a shot by Ledley King, spoiled by the outstretched leg of a West Brom player and a chance for Michael Carrick, spoiled by the outstretched leg of the bumbling referee. The crowd groaned in frustration and I shook my fist and mouthed the words of the inevitable chorus, ‘The referee’s a wanker!’
The whistle blew for half time and the crowd booed the ref. I do hope the players realised it wasn’t for them. They had done ok. Not well, but ok and the Baggies were looking solid.
I went upstairs at the interval for a bagel and chat with my mate Charlie (a Yiddo through and through), as is our match day tradition. How were we playing? Who should go off? Predictions for the second half etc, etc.
It was clear to us that something was and has been wrong with the engine room, so much hailed and respected in the first half of the season. Davids and Carrick were just not cutting the mustard. He talked of bringing on Mido and I of five in the middle. The two ideas seemed mutually exclusive so we left it on the joke of bringing on Mido, having 5 in the middle, 2 up front and 3 at the back. What was to follow was not far off.
The second half began. By this time the Baggies were well and truly behind the ball, with their keeper squeezing every second out of the game with each goal kick and header back. We whistled and booed as he carried out his orders to protect that one goal lead.
Frustrations mounted and Tottenham still couldn’t get through their defence. We groaned as Edgar Davids turned into Jamie Redknapp before our eyes, all passes going sideways or backwards. This just wasn’t working and it was all too apparent.
After 60 minutes Martin Jol appeared to make the move we’d all been expecting. It was time for Mido and his aerial strength. But who to take off? Defoe and Keano had both been playing well. Our lack of success didn’t seem to be their fault at all. It was a cruel way to end the game for either front man.
So, imagine our surprise and elation as Mido’s number 15 was set to replace…. number 3? ‘Wait a minute. Number 3? That’s Stephen Kelly!’
‘He’s going for it,’ said my friendly, nameless neighbour, ‘it’s not going to happen for us though, not today.’ I whispered back not to be so cynical. I hate being tarred by the ‘whinging Spurs fan’ brush. ‘We’ll equalise in a bit,’ came out just beyond the canine hearing level, ‘and we’ll win 2-1 with a goal in the last couple of minutes.’
On strode Mido as a slightly dejected Kelly trotted of the park. Jenas moved to a very vague right back position with Keano talking up a right midfield role. In reality though it played much more as the predicted and seemingly ridiculous 3-5-2.
We pushed hard and every attack looked dangerous with chances starting to build. I shat it when the Baggies had possession and Kanu and later Campbell were left unmarked where our right back should be, right in front of my seat as it happens. But no pass could pick them out and after a good period of pressure, Michael Carrick slipped a ball though for Robbie Keane waiting in the box, who chipped it over the flailing arms of Kusczak in that way that only skilful players can. The crowd went mental. I punched the air and mouthed all sorts of thoughts and expletives. 1-1. Thank God.
1 point was not going to be enough but anyone, who follows football knows, that a team, who has come back into the game, always has the advantage.
The game started once more. The ball shot from end to end and the Baggies had their fair share of chances, all of which seemed to be aimed with very little power straight into the hands of Paul Robinson.
With five minutes to go, Martin Jol rolled the dice once more to complete perhaps the most aggressive line up I’ve witnessed at Spurs since Jacques Santini moved Ledley King up front at the beginning of last season. Danny Murphy came on for Edgar Davids, in hope of that one key defence splitting pass.
After his first messed up moment on the ball, he found the speed of the game and started to show what he could do. But it was a messed up clearance of a high ball by Tomasz Kusczak after continued pressure from Jermain Defoe which led to West Brom’s downfall. The Yiddo rounded Kusczak and the keeper had no choice but to bring him down. Mido put the loose ball into the net but the ref had already blown for a penalty.
A penalty. A last minute penalty. I hate penalties. I really do but surely there is no greater drama in football? Players surrounded the ref and time stood still and the lone figure of Robbie Keane stood focused by the spot. The players dispersed, the crowd hushed and Kusczak, with just a yellow card for his trouble, stood between the posts and between us and glory.
Robbie kicked. The ball was fired into the roof of the net and all but those who’d travelled far erupted. I and those I know around me bundled together jumping and high fiving like lunatics. The chip and the penalty; a fitting end for the time wasting keeper.
With 2 minutes left on the clock and 3 to play in injury time the crowd and players alike were in frenzy. The defensive Tainio was subbed on for Lennon to eat the time and sure up the game and after an impressive use of possession full time was blown.
The players rejoiced. The fans rejoiced. Michael Dawson held Robbie Keane aloft and White Hart Lane cheered in one voice and if I could have I’d have cheered along with them. ‘There’s only one Keano! There’s only one Keano!’
There truly is.
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May 10th, 2007 at 9:20 am
there is only one keano!
September 24th, 2007 at 4:31 pm
i remember that day well because i had a £10 bet on spurs to win, there is indeed only one keano