Van Der Vaart arrives

Interesting week.

First up a thrashing of the Young Boys…which, however you say it makes Spurs sound like flat track bullies. Unless it is in Switzerland where “Grasshoppers Thrash Young Boys” just sounds odd. I digress.

The loss to Wigan on Saturday was a bit embarrassing, given that they are the worst team in the league and last year Spurs pasted then 9-1. But then I think the emotion was drained out of the team after the Young Boys game. Tottenham looked tired and a little sloppy. Redknapp should have seen that and given the second team a bit of a run out. They might have been hungrier. Still, I think he thought a break was coming up and the team would walk all over the Latics. Wrong.

Last week’s win over the Swiss, overturning a near disaster in the opening leg, was as important a win as the club has had for a number of years. It really does mean the team can move on to bigger and better things. Spurs may not make it out of the group into the knockout stages this year, but at least there will be top notch football at the Lane for half the year. And with that comes money and experience. I think it is up in the air. Milan have to be favourites to win the group. Tottenham should get the better of FC Twente, although they are a banana skin. The real battle should be between Spurs and Werder Bremen for second. Once into the knockout stages who knows.

Getting into the Group Stages also allows a team to pull off the sort of signing that Redknapp and Levy pulled out of the hat at the last minute last night with the signing of Rafael Van Der Vaart.

A lot of comments were made by pundits that Spurs screwed up during this trade window. Spurs were in desperate need of a world class striker, a back up goalie and a right back and a centre back. They also had a lot of dead wood to move on too.

Well no one moved on. And in addition to VDV, Spurs landed Sandro, a Brazilian defensive midfielder, Gallas a workhorse central defender and a backup goalie. And while there is no new striker, the ones that remain will get much better service courtesy of Van Der Vaart.

Spurs already had a plethora of midfielders but apart from Modric lack a real solid central playmaker. The Dutchman may turn out to be a brilliant move.

I certainly am looking forward to a game which features a backline of Corluka, Dawson King and Bale, a midfield of Huddlestone, Sandro, Modric, VanderVaart and Lennon, and Pav or Crouch up front. Actually, quite frightening isn’t it.

Plastic pitch, bad line up, over confidence, too much cheese and chocolate. Whatever the excuse, Tottenham’s desire to make the group stages of the Champions League took a huge leap backwards last night in a thirty minute nightmare as Young Boys handed Spurs their collective arses in a hat.

I distinctly got the impression that Harry and the lads approached this game as if they were playing Southend in the League Cup. They learned very quickly that there are no easy games in the Champions League and very nearly saw all their work of last year melt like a wheel of racelette in front of the fire.

Harry deserves a lot of the blame for this cock up. Really, it is his job to get the team prepared. They clearly were not. And he picked an incredibly light weight team. A midfield of Santos, Modric and Bale was going to get shoved all over the place. And they were. One wonders if Jenas had been fit if Harry had thrown in him too to lighten things up even more.

To his credit, after Spurs were down three nil after 28 minutes he hauled off the aweful Assou-Ekotto, moved Bale back to left back and brought on Huddlestone. Thudd immediately settled the team down, made Palacios happier and started doing those boring things needed – like keeping the ball and passing to team mates. He even tackled the opposition a couple of times. The result was that the tide turned and Spurs clawed back a couple of goals. With two away goals, Tottenham now have a good chance to win the return fixture and progress.

But it was a close run thing. It could have easily been four one.

In many ways, this near screw up could be a good thing. Just like losing the FA Cup semi final last year resulted in wins against Chelsea, Arsenal and Man City in the subsequent weeks, this could be a very early wake up call for Tottenham.

For the team, it might make them a little less cocky. It might scare the crap out of Harry and make him realize that playing 4-4-2 away in Europe is not going to work. And sending out such a lightweight side is going to get you killed. And Levy will now see that getting a solid centre back and a striker who can play in a 4-5-1 system is a serious priority.

If Spurs fail to learn from this, then I think it will be a quick exit from Europe and a long slog of a season.

A couple of other questions. What the hell is wrong with Modric? He has been pretty anonymous through preseason and the two games so far. And why is Pavlyuchenko so inconsistent? He farts around for 83 minutes doing nothing and then scores the highlight reel goal to keep Spurs in the tie.

Tottenham's new old kit

And so it begins again.
Tottenham Hotspur take to the field on Saturday with the weight of a new level of expectation on their young shoulders. Spurs fans are notorious for their high expectations and the team is notorious for dashing those hopes.
This year has to be different.
Finishing fourth in any other sports league in the world would be met with a big “so what?” But in the Premier League, which has been beholden, for the most part, to a Big Four for the last decade, anyone who can crash the party must have done something right. It was a massive achievement last year, cemented by a win over Man City in a game for all the marbles. Or at least fourth place marbles. It now offers the opportunity to get in on the European Champions League riches and cement Spurs’ claim to the top four.
It is a little distressing that Spurs have not signed many new players. The Brazilian Sandro being the only one. Surprising given Redknapp’s reputation as a big wheeler dealer. The transfer window is still open and there is a feeling that the Milner deal from Villa to Man City will suddenly start a domino effect of transfers.
I am a big fan of the idea of keeping a good team together. And if the team was good enough for fourth last year, why not fourth again this year or even better? The team is young. We had a lot of injuries last year and other players picked up the pace toward the end. The squad is deep. More experienced and hopefully fitter. Some are improved, which can be almost like adding a new player.
On the other hand, Tottenham can’t expect Liverpool to have another bad year, and Man City are spending like drunken North Korean sailors at a Vegas strip joint. So, this year should, on paper, be tougher.
The good news for Spurs is that if they can get through their Champions League qualifying against Young Boys of Bern and beat Man City at home on Saturday, then they have a run of easier fixtures against the likes of Wolves, West Brom, Stoke and West Ham. Although it was the “easier” fixtures last year that cost Spurs all the points.
A lot of pundits have Spurs finishing 6th to 8th. Last year was an over-achieving anomaly and all will return to normal with the Big Four back in charge. Everton, Villa and Man City will all overtake Spurs too apparently.
I don’t see it, frankly. Man City will have a hard time keeping all those galacticos happy and bringing the United Nations into a new league with all those languages, styles and attitudes is going to be hard to manage. It might work itself out ala Chelsea of a few years ago, but I think a few early loses and the knives will be out for Mancini. Everton had a bad year, but they haven’t improved their squad much either. Villa are going to have a hard time without O’Neill and may lose some of their best players.
Last year my predictions were a tad off. “Winners – Liverpool. Second: Chelsea. Third: Man U. Fourth: Everton. Fifth: Spurs. Sixth: Arse. Seventh: Man City. Down will go Brum, Hull and Burnley.”
Juuuuuust outside! then.
So at the risk of looking a total pratt here I go again:
Chelsea will win again. Their squad is strong and relatively settled and healthy. Man U will be second but a bit further back this year as they are getting older and their habit of flukey, lucky wins and dodgy penalty calls has to run out soon. I think Arsenal and Spurs will battle it out for third. Spurs have their first Champs League to deal with and it might be a big distraction. Arsenal are title winners going forward, but they are so thin in defence and in goal it is scary. But Wenger is the best manager in the league and always seems to drag lacklustre teams up a couple of notches. Liverpool only because of the new manager, clinch fifth. Man City sixth. Everton, Villa and Fulham battle for seventh.
Going down? I got two out of three last year. This year is tougher. I think Blackpool and West Brown for sure. Although I wish it were Newcastle, I think Wigan has run its luck a little too long and they will be joining the Championship.

Rooney has trouble with German defence

To continue the Great Escape theme, yesterday England were Richard Attenborough and Gordon Jackson. After they get out of the German truck.

It is better, I find, to blog from a place of relative zen-like calm than in the throes of apoplectic rage. So, a day after the calamity in South Africa I put pen to paper in a somewhat coherent state that wont get me sued by someone like John Terry. What is there to say except that yesterday’s loss to the dreaded Boche was as humiliating game as I have ever seen. And I saw England lose to Scotland once.

The team out there in red yesterday was not much of a team, and quite frankly were amateurish. Defenders getting pulled out of position, invisible strikers, absent and uncreative midfielders—it could well have been more than four. If Lampard’s goal had counted, then Germany may have been back on their heels and who knows we might all be crowing this morning about the “great” 4-2 victory. But that would have hidden the truth. As it is, Englishmen must hang their heads in shame.

Lots of people are calling for Capello’s head this morning and the FA are taking a couple of weeks before deciding on his fate, which is probably the best idea. And they are right in saying that Capello took a dejected crap team and made them winners again, albeit in qualifying, so let’s not rush to judgment.

Now, Capello made some very odd choices. This whole Heskey bizarreness, the Gerrard/Lampard thing, the benching of Lennon and Cole. It wasn’t his fault that he had injuries to some key players and a bad choice of goalies. But his record of winning things speaks for itself. So, while he shares some of the blame for this cock-up, he shouldn’t shoulder it all.

Most of the blame should fall on the shoulders of those who failed to show up . Terry, Lampard, Gerrard, Ashley Cole, and Rooney – the core of the team and the best players and leaders – where absent for all four games. They did not lead, provide inspiration, do anything to justify their price tags and were mostly anonymous. The one man player revolt was a farce, the bitching at fans a joke and the performances a tragedy.

Capello would do himself a favour by picking a team of eager under-24 year-olds and melding them into a team for the next two tournaments. That means dumping the big names, but so what? This golden generation have largely been complete and utter crap anyway.

This lot have had three managers and have failed to do anything with any of them. Quarterfinal loss in the last World Cup, didn’t even get to Euro 2008 and now this. All managers with success under their belts so methinks it might be the players at fault.

Or maybe the league they play in. The guys who are making this World Cup hum don’t play in the English Premier League. It is interesting to note that the stars of the English league who are at this World Cup are on the bench or are playing injured – Drogba, Torres, Fabregas, Van Persie, Deco — and a couple like Ferdinand and Ballack are not even there due to injury. And England’s team frankly looked knackered. I have always said that the 1970 Double winning Arsenal side played way more games than any team does today and did that with eleven regulars and about four subs for the entire year. But it is a faster and harder game now and maybe the workload for English teams today is too much. Maybe a shorter schedule or England should just stay home. World Cups are much more enjoyable once that lot are gone anyway.

Before we all run around kissing one another and playing another stirring rendition of “The Great Escape” theme and going on about how it was the same in 1966 and all that consider this…if England had won their group yesterday instead of finishing second they would be in a pool with Uruguay, South Korea and Ghana. From that pool would be one semi-finalist.

As it is, we are now in a pool with Germany, Mexico and Argentina. Now, to win the World Cup you have to beat the best at some point, but if I had a choice I think I would plumb for the former group rather than the latter.

But perhaps meeting a couple of nemeses in Germany and Argentina is a good thing…there should be no issue with motivation. But to paraphrase another wag, England always play this way at big tournaments – play, crap, play crap, play crap—go through; play well—go through; play brilliant—go out. Of course there is alos the very real possibility that Argentina get caught out by Mexico…. There is also something to be said for England’s defence which has only let in one goal, and a dumb-arse goalie mistake it was, so perhaps having teams that attack England — like an Argentina – will allow England to defend well and hit on the counter attack, as breaking down tough teams eager for draws is proving difficult for the likes of Gerrard, Lampard and Rooney. Perhaps it is in counter attack that they and Lennon and the Coles can prove effective.

This World Cup is a weird one. Predicting winners is a mug’s game at the best of times. No one would have predicted a France Italy final last time out. And I bet no one predicted both of them would be out at the first round this year. While Brazil and Argentina have played well and now have to be favourites, England, Spain, Germany have all had their off games. Portugal had that one big win but let’s see how they are against a real team. (They don’t have the internet in North Korea so I feel safe in saying that.)

There have been upsets and weird wins. New Zealand almost going through. Australia winning. Chile and Paraguay looking like good bets to go a long way. African teams not doing so well. And Ivory Coast looked like the best of the bunch but got stuck in the group of death and so I think are out barring some goal difference calamity. Good grief, if Canada had made it to this World Cup they might have even scored a goal. (They don’t have the internet in Canada either I am reliably told.)

England did not play that well yesterday, but ground out the needed result. I loved John Terry doing his whale impersonation as he tried to horizontally head out that ball that eventually cannoned off Glen Johnson’s foot and missed.

Trust a Tottenham player to save everyone’s bacon. It also vindicated what everyone was saying. Play strikers who can score – sit down Emile.

Is Capello a genius again? Let’s see him beat Germany first. He has made decisions and changed things up and got England through to the last round. As Winston Churchill once said of the United States “You can always trust the Americans to do the right thing — but only after they have exhausted all other possibilities.” Here is hoping Don Fabio is the same.

I was trying to think of something pithy or witty to start this blog off (why start now I hear the comments) but I just don’t have it in me.

Today’s game, without a doubt, was the worst performance by an England team I have ever seen. Absolute rubbish. Shockingly so. I really am at a loss for words.

Or not apparently.

As he walked off the pitch in Cape Town this evening, Wayne Rooney is seen to say “Nice to see your home fans booing you.” Really,Wayne? Really?

The fact that someone didn’t run onto the pitch and shove a vuvuzala, or what ever those bloody annoying horns are called, up your hairy arse is probably down to the fact that nobody could be bothered to get up and do it after that shocking performance.

And maybe the arrogant little scouser should think about the hard working stiffs that ponyed up a lot of money to travel to South Africa to see him jump around like a Springbok with a tranquiliser dart in its arse. Instead of getting angry at them and slamming your Aston Martin door really hard, Wayne, just try and imagine why someone would want to boo you. (OK I was booing and i wasn’t in SA. But I am in solidarity with the booers…or is that boers? )

Before the tournament, Rooney was being mentioned in the same breath as Messi, Kaka and David Villa as guys to watch. Well, he certainly is Kaka. And watch? I rather put lotion on my bunions and watch that dry.

How do you tie Algeria? How can you not score against a team as bereft of talent as that with a dodgy goal keeper to boot? Usually the standard line is “with all due respect to team X, and they did play well, but…” But they didn’t play well. They played terribly. They didn’t get a shot on goal for f’s sake. They played as you would expect Algeria to play at this level. A team that Slovenia beat handily.

I hate to be one of those self-loathing English people who pee all over the coach after a bad result. I tried to be somewhat restrained after the last cock-up and at least try to see to positives somewhat. But what could you draw from this? Whatever you can say about Sven-Goren Erickson’s sides, England were never this crap.

Five years ago, journalists, bloggers and most other people said that Gerrard and Lampard can’t play together and that Heskey is a donkey who can’s score, shoot or run. So, here we are at another World Cup, five years later and Capello still seems to think this will somehow work now. Hey look kids, he will say, this is more or less the same team that beat Croatia 5-1 in qualifying. Really? This is the team that couldn’t beat Algeria at the World Cup, so let’s bury that history nonsense.

This is really down to the coach. All plaudits to him in qualifying, and he was lauded as the saviour for the work he did. And you know what, he could still win the world cup.But after these two games, I think he needs to look in the mirror and recalibrate because something is going terribly wrong.

The team is not playing as a unit. That’s the coach’s fault.

The team has no structure or form or tactical set up. Coach.

Players seem unmotivated or lost, clueless and slow. Coach.

Bone head substitutions. Coach.

I saw assistant manager Stuart Pearce tell Capello so substitute Barry. Maybe “Psycho” should be promoted and Capello benched.

How can a team with this level of talent, be so awful?

Germany lost today and looked five times better than England. Ditto Spain. People have bad results but at least they perform.

Here is my idea for the Slovenia game. Clearly the team is falling apart, and almost everyone tonight was complete and utter cra,p and while it is probably wrong to make wholesale panic changes at this point my choice for next eleven goes like this – James in goal; Johnson and Ashley Cole full backs. Dawson and Terry central defence; Central midfield Barry and Lampard. Wings Joe Cole and Lennon. Forwards Defoe and Crouch. Yes, it is very Spurs and Chelsea heavy but at least they know how to play with one another. And do you think they would be any worse than that lot out there today? How could they possibly be? Capello has a reputation as being bold and ruthless. Well, here is an idea –bench Rooney, Gerrard and Heskey. England won the world cup after losing their best player in Jimmy Greaves…maybe that same dynamic will work here.

Being an England supporter is a little like being a six-year-old one day before your birthday. Oh, you don’t want to seem excited. Don’t want to let yourself think that this is the birthday where you get all those toys you always wanted. Don’t want to dare think it but maybe the parents have listened this time. But just below the surface the belly is churning with anticipation, the expectation is hardly contained, the knowing that finally this is it—it’s all there.

Then the day arrives and you dive into the first gift and….it’s socks from Aunt Gladys. Grey wool socks.

Which is sort of like yesterday’s cock-up against the US. It was the grey socks of football.

Now, draws are sort of de rigueur for England and they have always managed to move on. But there was something worrying about yesterday’s shambles. It is that the shine has come off Teflon Don Fabio. Through qualification, Capello had managed to craft a solid well-functioning side that worked well, played to its strengths and rarely made errors. He picked the best team and moulded them into his style and brought tactical nous to the job.

So what happened yesterday?

A sick Milner gets put on the left and gets pulled after half an hour for Wright Phillips, Green gets the nod in goal over James or Hart, and Carragher gets put into central defence after King gets crocked. Three or four very dodgy decisions. Did Joe Cole screw Capello’s dog or something because he was the best England player in the warm ups and by far the best left winger England has so why is he behind a sick Milner and the ever crappy Wright-Phillips who is, let me think…oh yes a RIGHT winger.

Ok the Green balls up was shocking and all credit to the Yanks for putting in a solid hard working game.

But what the hell happened to England’s so called golden generation? Lampard was awful, tossed away more balls than a one armed juggler and he shooting was speculative to say the least. Rooney was all over the place and perhaps he needs to get angry because that wasn’t the world class performance people were looking for. Gerrard, apart from the goal was invisible, Lennon looked like the Lennon of two years ago – great speed but poor delivery—I thought we fixed that problem. Terry and King were OK, while it lasted but Carragher was flagging by the end and he only played half the game. Johnson was England’s best player, although that isn’t saying much. Ashley Cole was ordinary although he is touted as the world’s best left back.

And finally we come to Heskey. He has the manoeuvrability of a Sherman tank, the speed of a Galapagos tortoise, can’t shoot, head or tackle. Now this wouldn’t be an issue if you were, say, a bank manager, but these are considerable drawbacks if you happen to be, say, an international football striker. Yet, I am not blaming him for anything. I know the plan was to have him hold the ball up and lay it off to others, which is what he did brilliantly for Gerrard’s goal, but after that who was he laying it off to? With Rooney playing so deep and Gerrard and Lampard tripping over each other, again, there was no one to assist, so Heskey had to act as a lone striker which he is patently unable to do. Capello’s tactical genius was exposed when he resorted to having the team hoof the ball up field toward Crouch’s head. C’mon Crouchie indeed. (see last post)

But hope springs eternal and maybe it is all nerves. Maybe England needed a wake up call and maybe Don Fabio can get them back on track. Barry is back for the next game so perhaps that will give the team some shape again.

Here is hoping, but I am looking at the next wrapped present and looks like either a royal marine action man or long underwear. Long grey underwear.

By the time the next World Cup rolled around in 1978, things had changed a great deal. Oh sure England was different and there was civil war in the air, punk was in full swing and nuclear war loomed; but more importantly I had grown pubes, some nasty spots on my chin, was tall and lanky and was firmly enamoured of the opposite sex. Most of them, however, felt less enthusiastic about me.

England had again failed to qualify for the World Cup to be held in Argentina. A generation of exciting footballers like Rodney Marsh, Tony Currie, Alan Hudson, Peter Osgoode and Stan Bowles had all been ignored by the England set up to make way for plodders like Trevor Cherry and Emlyn Hughes and the Italians kept England home in qualifying.  

The ’78 World Cup mirrored what was happening in England in a strange way. The final turned out to be between Holland, the hip rock star of a liberal country and Argentina, long haired Latin maestros chained to the sinister wishes of a fascist autocracy. I am sure Ardiles, Luque and Kempes were probably reminded by the Junta that stadiums were not only for football games and threatened with disappearance if the cup wasn’t won on home turf.

In England, I remember it being a hot summer. And everyone seemed angry. Angry at unions, immigrants, the weather, the government, tourists, everything and everyone. The National Front was a racist, neo-fascist party who had come from nowhere to win some local elections and people were up in arms. The Anti-Nazi league had formed to fight back. There was a Rock against Racism live aid type thing…but no one outside of Hackney heard anything about it. Strikes were going on all over the place and the government just seemed lost.

Great time to be coming into your political consciousness.

While I was definitely not on the side of the NF or the Tories, even at that young age I thought there was something a bit dodgy about the anti-fascists. Those earnest Trotskyites seemed overly annoying and self righteous. And so serious. And I didn’t have any illusions about the Soviets either. Laying bed at night with my mustard-coloured mono radio listening to Radio Moscow and Radio Albania rail against capitalist dogs made for late evening fun.  Even back then I knew girls were not really into Marx.

Girls, however, were into The Police and my-anti lefty attitudes had to readjust once post punk began to take root. “Yeah that Stingy bloke is kinda cool, but you wanna go to a Scout Disco?”

I don’t remember being much into punk, I was more into Genesis, Queen and ELO. I know. I dated an East Indian girl who also got me into Bob Marley, so i had some cred I guess. I say dated, but I mean just hung out at her house and snogged for hours. I never really got into the whole punk thing. While in London it was a scene and a movement, out in the sticks it just seemed like a bad fashion choice. We loved the Pistols, and Sham 69 if only for their anthymic Kids are United thing. But rest just didnt fire me up.

Elvis Costello, Joe Jackson, The Clash and Ian Dury arrived on the scene in 1978 and that seemed like a movement that didn’t need special clothes. I feel that way about both music and sex – I am up for it unless it requires special clothes. It would prove to be the birth of a great music era and gradually I was awakening musically. Politics and music seeming amazingly intertwined in that summer. And football.

Back in South America, Scotland, had managed to sneak into the finals –  again. They recorded a song to fire up the fans that sticks in my brain like a BSE prion – “And weel rearrrrly shake um up, when we weeen the worrrrld cup, cus Scotland is the greatest footbaalll tim.”  

Except for Peru, who trashed the Scots 3-1 and Iran who tied them 1-1. Scotland’s coach, Allie something, stood on the sidelines constantly bleating “C’mon Archie” much to our English joy. That call made it to the school playground every time you wanted to irritate someone underperforming. The last group game for Scotland came against the Dutch and Scotland had to win 3-1 or better to go through even though everyone expected a pasting. Then came the Archie Gemmill goal so immortalised in Trainspotting, when the little Scottie danced his way through the Dutch defence and stuck it in to go 3-1 up. I think Allie came on Archie. You could have heard the roar of every Scotsman over Hadrian’s wall. Alas, it was not to be as Dutch ace Johnny Rep nicked a goal late. My first taste of true Schadenfreude.

The BBC played ‘Don’t Cry for Me Argentina’ as the camera panned over the Scottish team after the game, pausing on the exceptional Graeme Souness (who was inexplicably kept on the bench) when it got to the line “The answer was here all the time.”

Shenanigans were also afoot. The winners of the first round groups went into two second round groups, the winners of which would go straight into the final. Holland easily won their group, but in the other, Argentina and Brazil were battling it out. In the final round of games, the Argies had to win by four clear goals to move ahead of the Brazilians on goal difference and into the final. Strangely,  the previously strong Peruvians seemed all to have pulled their groins and left their glasses at the hotel and Argentina won 6-0. Bribery anyone? A fascist junta bribing a poor third world goalie! Noooooo!

I distinctly remember the final and everyone in England was rooting for the Dutch. Not only because they had deserved to beat the Germans four years before, but because the Argentines seemed like cheats. Holland was a liberal democracy, wore orange and still seemed cool. I had been to Holland a couple of years earlier and the place seemed like a great place with impossibly attractive girls. And that was before even knew what a spliff was.  Argentina on the other hand was some Latin American land o’fascists. And real fascists, not some disaffected, unemployed steelworker from Rochdale with a hate on for Pakistanis.

Still, there was something dashing about their long haired players with their socks rolled down, their sort of free flowing football and their chain smoking coach. I adopted the Luque look for my next football game. The long hair, shirt untucked, the socks around the ankles. Most of my friends confirmed I looked like a prat. And played like one too.

The final featured lots of Argentinean diving, stalling and whinging and great Dutch football. But again, the Dutch couldn’t win it. They hit the post with a minute left in the game and that should have been it. But it went to overtime and Dutch looked spent and the Latin tide couldn’t be resisted and Argentina won 3-1.

As those Generals all slapped each other on their pink uniformed backs smirking behind their sun glasses I wonder if they realised by the next world cup they would be at war with England – real war.

Neeskens scores in 1974 WC final

1974 was an important year for me. It was the year I made it into my second decade. It was the year I began notice girls. Well, it wasn’t so much an interest as a newfound lack of apathy. I distinctly remember kissing Lisa C and her friend Julie S (try that at 30, doesn’t go over so well) during morning break for research purposes.

It was also a good year for music. I became interested in stuff other than the Cat Stevens signalong crap they made us sing at Newington Junior School. The head master of the school also used to make us all listen to Mozart and Beethoven at morning assembly in order to make us better citizens or something. My parents were addicted to Radio 2 and the middle of the road crap that was de rigueur on that awful channel. I am sure that listening to No Charge on Family Favourites every single flipping Sunday made me the angry man I am today. Thank god for Top of the Tops. A weekly fix of T. Rex Garry Glitter and Slade. I was probably a little young to be exploring the nuances of The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway so Bang a Gong had to suffice.

And I finally got into the whole football thing. Thinking back upon it, I had some pretty detailed knowledge of the teams in the 1974 World Cup final by the time it rolled around. I had some book that you assembled from pull outs from the Daily Express or something featuring world football players. This was back in the days when players from various countries played in their home leagues. So teams like Panathanikos and AC Milan seemed impossibly glamorous and all the photos of the tanned players had them bathed in sunshine. Similar photos of Burnley’s centre forward featured rain and mud and comb-overs.

In 1974, England had failed to qualify for the World Cup, which appeared  to send England as a nation into a depressive spiral that lasted until about 1982. I remember the 70s as being drab, rainy and grey. I vaguely recall seeing Alf Ramsey’s bland squad of journeymen collapsing in the rain to the Poles and a mist of depression settling on the whole country.

To further aggravate us English, Scotland had managed to sneak into to the finals. That was back in the days when there wasn’t a lot of difference between the two countries.

Thankfully, the orange dressed Dutch perked everyone up for a while as did Zaire, whose players appeared to only have a rudimentary understanding of the rules.

Back in those days there were no South Americans playing in Europe, so you had to wait every four years to see what those geniuses would turn up to do. So, we were all expecting a repeat of the 1970 Brazil team. We basically got it, except that were all forty years old by that point. So it was going to be a European World Cup winner then.

It is odd to admit, but even at the age of 10, I was already inculcated into the world of national stereotypes. Now, my family had welcomed a couple of German families in as hosts when they went to the local school of English. And very nice they were too.

But come the World Cup final, I desperately wanted the Germans to lose. It wasn’t some hatred brought on by the war or something, but there was just something boring, relentless and cold about those Germans. They just seemed to plod on and bore the opposition to death before scoring on the break. Then reverting to an 11 man wall and winning one-nil.

The Dutch on the other hand were rock and roll stars. Their club teams, such as Ajax, had dominated European football. Johnny Rep still has one of the best names in football history. Johan Cryuff was the new Pele. They all seemed to have long hair and tossed the ball around for fun. They played what they called total football and made other teams look like they played on wet sand in clogs. It was the era of rock and roll football and the Dutch had turned that freewheeling, cocky attitude into an art. The Dutch just seemed cool. And everyone thought they would win it, even if it was on German soil.

Well, we all know how that turned out. Brilliant Dutch football finally defeated by a Paul Brietner dive and a typical Gerd Muller goal scored from two yards out followed by 45 minutes of eleven man defending. Football lost a bit of its soul that day.

But the result was that every kid playing football started rolling their socks down and wearing longer hair. Less Norman Hunter and more Johan Neeskens.

It was the first time I felt the elation and the depression that one can get from a football game and it was probably that day that my addiction to the game was born.

So football, girls and rock and roll. Not a bad year then.

Danny Rose scores against the Gooners

Sorry not to have been around. Nothing like a sick kid and subsequently sick father to put things into perspective. Call it my Fever Pitch moment.

So a few interesting games, games that showed the genius that is Harry Redknapp and the “WTF were you thinking” ‘Arry Redknapp.

As I looked down the fixture list, the crop of games that featured Arsenal, Chelsea and Man U back-to-back-to back looked like it would define the season and either make or break us. A FA cup semi final against a depleted, depressed and bankrupt team already relegated looked like and easy lead in. So, I waited with baited breath and saw the best and worst of Tottenham.

Ironically, losing the semi-final was probably the thing that got the team fired up. But it was a lousy loss. Tottenham has shown a propensity all season for, despite all the attacking talent, being unable to break down teams who defend in numbers. And the longer they hold out the inevitability that they will hit Spurs late with a breakaway grows. And with some help from a truly appalling Wembley pitch and some pretty shocking refereeing it took Portsmouth the second part of extra time to finally pull it off. Harry showed very little interest in changing things to get the win.

Still Spurs fans had little chance to be down about it as the next six days brought up the Arse and the chavs from up the river. In both theses games, Harry played it perfectly. His one forced gamble in playing young Danny Rose at left back played out perfectly. The team outplayed two of the top three teams in the league quite comfortably. These were not lucky smash and grab wins. Spurs out-played both rivals. Part of me thinks it was a bit of luck that Palacios was suspended after the semi final. The team that Redknapp was forced to send out – Gomes, Kaboul, King/Bassong, Dawson, Ekotto, Bentley, Huddlestone, Modric, Bale, Pavlyuchenko and Defoe is the best team – with the exception of Lennon for Bentley if he ever gets over his injury.

So with that in mind, ‘Arry immediately opts to play Ekotto as right back, move Bale back from midfield to left back, play Palacios and Hudd together and move Modric out left. Result a shellacking at the hands of Man U. Fault to Man U goals, Ekotto getting screwed up and causing a penalty, (although it being Old Trafford you might as well get your penalty call out of the way), second goal was Bale losing Nani. Can I just say again – Bale, brilliant left winger, the new Ryan Giggs, but a crap, crap left back – and the final goal was Palacios unable to judge speed and voila another rubbish penalty.

Thankfully, Spurs returned to form yesterday and managed to eke out a 1-0 win against Bolton. But it took a wonder goal and Spurs spent a lot of time trying to score again with no success. But a win is a win is a win.

So it is the big showdown on Wednesday with Man City for the final Champions League place. What team will Harry put out? The team that beat Chelsea and Arsenal or the one that flopped in Manchester? Tottenham can probably still get fourth with a draw, but Spurs need to go for the win. They need to put out a team that will get goals, so the means Bale on the left, Lennon if he is fit on the right and Hudd in the middle with Modric. The Citizens will certainly be going for it so expect an early barrage.