Fabulous Weapons.

Well, what can one say?
Tottenham bolted out of the gates like a well-oiled thoroughbred on
Saturday afternoon. A first-half of complete, exhaustive dominance
which, at its most one-sided, left City looking as if they’d stumbled
into a warzone in their pyjamas. Title contenders? Pfff. They
couldn’t get near us. For long periods. And, in spite of all the dazzle
which the Eastlander’s new playthings hoped to blind us with, it was a
man costing the equivalent of three weeks of Yaya Toure’s wages who
wrestled the point from about our person. Joe Hart. Their savour.
Lip-readers among us might have discerned the thoughts of Fabio Capello-
who watched from the stands-as another ball ricocheted away from the
net via the England stopper’s mitt… Sheeet.

But enough about him. Points dropped aside, there was joy to be found
under many an upturned stone this weekend. Mancini may’ve bulked out
his midriff for the occasion- on the day outnumbering us centrally by
three to two- but it was Huddlestone and Modric who ran the show. Privy
to the Italian’s selection, you’d be forgiven for thinking ‘Arry
might’ve slotted Palacios in there- if nothing else, to temper City’s
numbers. But, such was our Croatian’s own doggedness, Wilson
was barely missed. A few misplaced passes you can forgive when Modric-
supposedly a bantam-weight attacking midfielder- puts so much exertion
into winning it back again. He harried, harassed and zipped his way
along. Cracking stuff.
Gareth Bale has hit the ground running. And running very quickly at
that. On each instance Micah Richards was required to trackback, the
portly Midlander’s face contorted in the manner of someone whose
appendix had just burst. It’s no exaggeration to say that Bale was
exceptional; echoes of a young Ryan Giggs, if you wish. And as such, I
propose the lickety-split winger should never be asked to play left-back
again. He’s far too precious. It’d be like asking a Neurosurgeon to
take the bins out. BAE’s good enough anyway. Plenty good enough.
So how didn’t we win? The bone of contention, I guess, is whether
missed opportunities were down solely to the superhuman efforts of Joe
Hart, or, rather, the lack of ruthlessness proffered by our frontmen.
I’m inclined to argue that, while Hart was remarkable on the day and anyone
might’ve found themselves wanting in the face of such heroic
goalkeeping, there’s a genuine concern that what we have isn’t quite
good enough. Collectively, there’s a varied and- for the most part-
talented quartet of line-leaders there, but nothing individually that
looks bang on the money. Defoe can be devastating when in the mood; as
can Pavlyuchenko. And Crouch, too, is fine as squad player. But even
against minor opposition he tends to look at odds. We appear to be one
or two notches away from an immense proposition. I’ve no idea who- or
even who’s available- but it just feels like we ought to shake things up
a bit. Install some new ideas into a forward line, which, I have to
say, at times looks bereft of ideas. But it’s small fry, really, when in
all likelihood goals will come from other areas and between them, our
forwards should net a handsome total.
All in all, little for us to moan about. The wrong result, granted, but very much the right vein in which we should continue.
Bring on the Young Boys. In its most appropriate sense.


Posted by who framed ruel fox? at 11:35 am