The highs and lows of rooting for Spurs

On the morning of February 24, 2008, Sir James and I woke up at the obscenely early hour of 8:30, had a meeting with a certain Mr. Daniels at 9:00, and were ON OUR WAY TO WEMBLEY... ahem... I mean, LUCKY BAR... by 9:30. It was the day of the Carling Cup Final, and it would be one of the best days of my life.

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The sight at Lucky Bar was pretty amazing - the supporters split was about 70-30 in favor of Spurs. And the place was pretty packed. I didn't see an empty seat when we went in. James and I pulled up the last two chairs in the place right in front of the big screen in the back (a little too close, but I can't really complain).

We came out flying early on. Keane got a chance less than a minute in on a poor giveaway by Belletti (who might have been the worst player on the pitch), but his shot went wide. Chimbonda also hit the crossbar on a header off a corner in the 9th minute, and Berbatov and Woodgate also had decent chances off headers. The first half rhythm that was both steady and unsettling. Spurs had a good share of the possession and threatened often, but our pretty passing couldn't help us break through in the final third. But it wasn't because of a lack of fan support at Lucky Bar. James lead the Spurs fans in song from kickoff to the final whistle.

Chelsea ended up breaking through first with a 39th minute free kick by Drogba from about 26 yards out. He had just tried a free kick a few minutes before and come close, and Robinson should have known he was going to try something similar. Instead he stood basically in the part of the goal that was protected by the wall, leaving the right side more or less open. He stood rooted there as Drogba curled the kick just right of the wall into the lower right corner of the net, and Chelsea had an undeserved 1-0 lead. One of the few Chelsea fans hiding in the corner of the bar came out and did some weird silent dance in front of us and shoved his flag in James's face and then ran back. Before we could figure out exactly what the guy was doing, he halftime whistle blew.

After politely waiting for me to finish my breakfast of eggs, beans, and chips, the game resumed and Chelsea promptly went into their defensive shell. Our chances dried up until midway through the second half, when Wayne Bridge forgot that the game was soccer and not hot potato, and his odd play, which didn't even gain him any sort of advantage, resulted in a penalty kick. Berbagod, the silent Ukranian assassin, hit the coolest penalty you will ever see (aside from any of his other penalties), and the game was level.

With Chelsea lacking the will/talent to respond, regulation time ended with the teams at one goal apiece (but not before Zokora totally blew a breakaway, which left me on the floor, pounding it with my fists). Roman "I'm not a Russian mafia boss, no really guys" Abramovich was unable to buy any other players for $20 million more than their worth during the intermission, and so Chelsea was forced to take the field for extra time with the same obscenely-salaried team that had ended the first 90. It didn't take long for Abramovich's gaffe to be exploited, as Woodgate scored the go-ahead goal on a somewhat fortuitous play. Jenas struck an excellent free kick that Woodgate got a head on unmolested. Cech parried the attempt - but straight into the still onrushing head of Woodgate, who, with his eyes closed, nodded the ball into the back of the net. It was a bang-bang play, but it gave Spurs a much deserved lead they would not relinquish. The rest of the game felt like a coronation. We sang and chanted til the final whistle blew, and then the roof came off Lucky Bar, as all of us who have waited so long for a trophy, after so many close calls, were finally to celebrate. We were so dazed that we sat and watched rugby for the next hour or two, though James first ran outside and declared "LET'S GO BURN DOWN THE WHITE HOUSE!" After James left for Princeton with his pyromania unsatisfied, I took the longest bus route back to my house, still in a stupor, still incredibly happy about the victory. Silverware... beating the Chelski scum after beating the Arsenal scum... it was a happy, happy day.

That was to be the highlight of the season, however - there is no more cup glory left for Tottenham. Last week, we faced PSV Eindhoven - leaders of the Eredivisie - in the round of 16 of the UEFA Cup. We blew a number of chances and lost the first leg at White Hart Lane, 1-0. There was still hope for the return leg - the last time Juande Ramos was there, he was lifting the UEFA Cup itself - but the game ended up being frustrating more than anything. PSV came out in a defensive shell, and stymied our numerous attacks through the first half. When all seemed just about lost, Berbagod broke through with an absolutely stunning strike in the 82nd minute to level the tie at one all. He volleyed a high ball out of the air on the first touch from near the edge od the 18 yard box, and deposited it coolly into the far bottom corner of the net. All of a sudden we had a lifeline.

Fitness would undo us, however. Just a few days before we'd a game against West Ham. It was something of a laugher, as we sent the Hammers to their 4th straight 4-0 loss, but it was still 90 minutes we had to play, much of it with our first XI. Meanwhile, PSV's weekend clash with Ajax was canceled thanks to a Dutch police strike (seriously, what the hell?). The result was that they were completely fresh, and we were unable to make much headway in extra time. Not much, that is, until the final minute, when Steed Malbranque (Steeeeed!) hit an absolutely perfect dipping volley that the PSV keeper was just barely able to touch over the crossbar. It was excruciatingly close.

With extra time a stalemate, it came down to a penalty kick shootout. The order was Berbatov, O'Hara, Huddlestone, Bent, and Jenas. Berbatov was a no-brainer, and I had been hoping that O'Hara would be called upon, as I had faith that the youngster had the confidence not to shrink from the pressure - he has shown himself to be a player who always wants to be a part of decisive plays. Huddlestone was no sure thing, but he's got a good shot so I wasn't too worried. Bent worried me greatly as he's shown little finishing ability in a Spurs shirt. Jenas worried me even more, as he has neither the mental fortitude nor the shooting ability to be a good penalty taker. Weak mental approach + finesse rather than power on the shot = small chance of success.

Spurs ended up kicking second, which is the much more difficult position. Berbatov coolly hit his kick (as usual), and O'Hara muscled in his shot powerfully after Robinson saved PSV's second shot to give Spurs the upper hand. Huddlestone and Bent also put away their kicks, giving Jenas a chance to win it all. Naturally, he lazily kicked a mid-height floater to the right side (giving away his side by opening up his hips on the approach to the penalty spot), which PSV's excellent keeper Gomes saved. In the second portion of the shootout, Zokora nailed his shot, but with Chimbonda up needing to score to keep it going, he missed far to the left, coming nowhere close to the goal. And just like that, our UEFA Cup dreams were over.

I was really depressed after this game, as the season was effectively over. The Premier League season means little, with us sitting in 11th and already qualified for UEFA next year via the Carling Cup win. Many people tried to console me with my Gmail status set as "gutted." though few were really able to comprehend the emptiness I felt. It's not that I was upset about the season overall, but it was hard to come to grips with the fact that there wouldn't be another Spurs game that mattered until next season.

However, I've come out of my funk. This is a good time in sports. As Jonathann pointed out, the NBA is awesome again. March Madness is about to explode. MLB spring training is well underway, as is the MLS preseason, and both will be starting up come April. Right now, I'm watching the ACC final between UNC and Clemson and listening to the Mets spring training game against the Tigers on the radio. Soon I'll switch to watching the Rockets-Lakers game on the TV and the Red Bulls-Charleston game on the computer, thereby hitting all four of those sports in the same short span. In addition, the Olympic qualifiers are going on, and the US has won its first round group. It's a good time for sports, and you can expect more posts on all of these topics from us in the weeks to come.

Spurs are on their way to wembley because we beat the scum 5-1, and we'll do the business that's for sure! -- SUPER DELUXE GUEST POST!!!

so tomorrow is the big day. the mighty tottenham hostpur vs. the blue meanie, commie bastard, evil chelsea scum in the carling cup final. 'curry' and i are sitting around in his basement drinking and listening to 'ossie's dream -- spurs are on their way to wembley' on repeat with 'under siege' muted in the background. oddly fitting, since spurs will probably be in that condition from the word 'go' at wembley tomorrow, and they'll have to play with the same skill and passion as they did when they destroyed the significantly more evil, dirty, filthy, whiny, gooner scum last month. still, i've got a good feeling going into the game, much like the semi-final, or at least i'm not shitting my pants, but i could just be delusional.

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despite having played their uefa cup game on thursday, scraping through against slavia prague, spurs are in good shape heading into cup final sunday. keane and berbatov only played 45 minutes each, lennon came off after an hour, jenas got 30 minutes, robbo had a good game coming back off the bench and looks set to start, and the king remained wrapped in his cotton wool. meanwhile, reports are that frank lampard and john terry may be out for chelsea, but that could just as easily be avram grant misinformation. typical soviet politburo deception and such.

whatever, it's high time for tottenham to bring home a cup again, and i couldn't be more excited for tomorrow -- hopefully it'll end without me wanting to jump off the george washington bridge.

LISTEN TO ME SPURS -- IT'S ALL IN YOUR HANDS! and since i can't think of anything else to say, here's who i think will/should start for spurs tomorrow:

Berbatov -- Keane

Malbranque -- Jenas -- Tainio -- Lennon

Chimbonda -- Woodgate -- King -- Hutton

Robinson


so there.


14 hrs., 27 min. to go.... COME ON YOU SPURS!


-- sir alec GUINNESS (from the grave)
(a.k.a. captain james mcbride)

The Team America Loves to Hate

You know that team. The team whose fans consider anything less than a championship each and every year an abject failure. The team with the old, curmudgeon-y coach who just cannot stand to lose. The team with the clean-cut, golden-boy hero who splits his time between dating various movie stars, appearing on your least favorite commercials, and finding new, previously unimaginable ways to heap utter misery upon your hometown boys or girls. The team that is omnipresent, appearing on hats, t-shirts,
The Yankees, Notre Dame, Duke, the LA Lakers, Manchester United, Arsenal (COYS!), the Patriots and the Red Sox all fit this bill . . . wait, did I detect a hind of indignation? Did you just point your right index finger at your chest and say “Who? Moi? You mean my team? My beloved Red Sox, America’s loveable underdogs who beat the evil Yankee machine? My adorable Patriots and our 1,999th draft choice quarterback/heartthrob who has risen to the pinnacle of NFL success against all odds?” If that’s you, then you are a Bostonian (or bandwagoner) in denial. The sad truth is that every last one of the other (two) people who read the above sentence didn’t even flinch when I lumped the Pats and BoSox into the list of loathsome teams. That’s because, you, the New Englander in our midst, has graduated . . . or at least your team has. Your teams have finally become everything the rest of us despise. The collective roar that erupted across the nation when the game clock struck one second in the Arizona desert confirmed your teams’ entry into the pantheon of most hated teams. The entire non-New England portion of the country was rooting for Manning and the Giants . . . and that sentence alone should remove any remaining doubt that your team is now the villain. A New York team played the role of America’s underdog. Most Americans (myself, included) tend to root against New York teams on principle, considering the city a bastion of athletic evil. Yet the Patriots managed to evoke enough hatred that the New York Giants, for a four-hour period, captured the collective heart of Anti-Patriot Nation as we watched the dismantling of the Evil Empire before our eyes. This morning, most of the nation awoke with a warm, fuzzy feeling inside knowing that our Patriot-loving friends and neighbors were all still frozen in shock, having seen “The Best Team of All Time” crack under the pressure when it mattered most.
Yes, Bostonians, we abhor your teams. We cannot stand to see them win. A Rockies’ victory over the BoSox would have been second only to the Giants’ victory. Your teams are rich (see: BoSox payroll), they cheat (see: Belicheat), and their coaches look like infamous dictators, sort of (see: above). But all you’ve got to do is learn to embrace it. Wipe that indignant smile off your face and replace it with a smug grin. Stop denying the accusations of arrogance and accept them with pride. Take it from a Duke fan. The hatred means one thing and one thing only. Your teams are good. Really, really good. And they probably will be for a long time to come. Super Bowl XLII was much more than a victory for the Giants and an epic defeat for the Patriots. It was an inauguration. The Patriots may have lost the battle, but they can still claim victory. They (along with the BoSox), have entered an elite circle, a position that is loathed and envied among the rest of the sports universe.
And that is why, despite my glee in seeing the Pats crumble on the biggest stage of all, I am not entirely satisfied. That is why constant replays and YouTube videos of the Giants defense sacking Tom Brady fail to bring a lasting smile to my face. That is why the warm-fuzzy feeling is already giving way to nausea. The most essential element of that team is that no defeat, no matter how epic, and no collapse, no matter how devastating, can ever fill the bottomless pit of hatred felt by all opposing fans. Bostonians, take solace in the fact that all the ill will directed toward your teams is born of fear. We fear that next year (and the year after that, and the year after that, and the year after), you will be back on the verge of watching your team compete for another World Series Championship or Super Bowl ring while we look on, helplessly, clinging to the only thing we have left: hate. But don’t ever, ever refer to one of your teams as America’s loveable underdogs again.

Take a bow, Michael Dawson

Truth be told, when we set out to start this blog I don't think that we would have predicted that the first three posts would be about Spurs, and that two of the three would heavily focus on Michael Dawson, but North London is where the action is these days. That's where it was this morning at least (or afternoon over there) as Manchester United came to town.

Spurs last beat United in 2001, and the Red Devils came out on top in last week's FA Cup match thanks largely to some boneheaded plays by one Michael "RAWR" Dawson (see two posts down). Well, 6 days later, he did it again. Take a bow, you numbskull.

Spurs put together a fantastic team effort and stymied United for all but the final 20 seconds, when Dawson saw fit to leave one Carlos Tevez unmarked at the near post on a corner. The possibly insane Argentinian tapped it in to erase the earlier tap in from the Berbatov Cocktail (Shawn H. gets credit for that one) and leave all Spurs fans pondering for the 23448th time this season exactly how they should kill themselves.

When one steps back and looks at the big picture, it's really not all that bad. Taking a point off of Man U is good. The team played very well. The passing was sharp and the movement was cohesive. Aside from Dawson, the defense kept its shape and everyone tackled well. New signing Alan Hutton looked especially sharp, marking tight, making timely tackles, and springing forward when given the opportunity. But this game continues the Spurs disease of giving up late goals to blow leads and throw away points. And Dawson's mental lapses continue to be troublesome, especially in light of this report. It may be that we will never see the dream Spurs defense that I alluded to two posts ago - not for more than one match at a time, at least. For now, the team will have to take what consolation it can from its strong performance and move on.

SPURS TRANSFER UPDATE

It's official: Jermain Defoe has been sold. Nine million pounds and just like that - he's gone.










I have never understood why Spurs have been so keen to push him out the door. He just scores goals like its his sole pursuit in life. He probably has the highest per minute scoring average on the team. He is the IDEAL striker off the bench. He does not need service. He's aggressive. Good shot from anywhere, fantastic finisher in front of goals, fast, HUNGRY. And he was always dedicated to Spurs. It was heartbreaking - the more they repeated their desire to be rid of him, the more he declared that White Hart Lane was his home.

The only explanation is that Spurs are determined to get some production out of that 16 million pound albatross, Darren Bent. Well, good luck to you, Darren. You have some huge shoes to fill. Defoe was one of my absolute favorite Spurs. Do what he did. Just score goals. And Defoe: best of luck to you. I've no doubt you'll continue to score goals in bunches.

As for the other last second Spurs transfer news, the team has acquired Gilberto from Hertha Berlin. I don't like this move either. What the hell is the point? When Bale comes back, he's obviously the starter, right? I mean, Gareth Bale, at 18, is the most incredible attacking left fullback I have EVER seen. EVER. So what the hell are Spurs going to do with this 31 year old Brazilian, more flash than substance? Play him at left midfield? That wouldn't make any sense when Steed Malbranque has been one of Spurs' most consistent players all year long. Don't get it. (UPDATE: Bale has since been ruled out for the rest of the year. This move is making much more sense now.)










I think these two moves are crazy. Prove me wrong, Juande.

Michael Dawson and T-Rexes Are Equally Good at Defense.

Both Jonathann and I will tell you that we think dinosaurs are pretty cool. Jaws rowed with razor-like teeth, bodies studded with horns and spikes, pulsating muscles - I was going to punctuate that by typing RAWR, but that looks kind of lame. Anyway, they're pretty fierce, and T-rexes were some of the fiercest dinos out there. They're believed to be the strongest meat-eating 'saurs. But if you were a smaller, quicker dino, and you attacked a T-rex, well... it might just look silly trying to fight you off before it succumbed. I mean, what is it going to do? Swing and miss with its oversized head? Flail about with its practically vestigial arms? Certainly it couldn't run away from you. DESPITE the ending to Jurassic Park, I declare: a T-rex is no match for a couple of velociraptors.
















Jonathann and I are also united in our love for Tottenham Hotspur, one of the highest scoring and most exciting teams in the English Premier League. The problem is that their games end up being more exciting for the opposition thanks to Tottenham's poor defense. Time and time again this season, Spurs have blown leads thanks to absolutely incompetent defending. The return of the masterful Ledley King from injury has helped somewhat, but more than anything it has highlighted the failure of Spurs' other center halves to live up to a reasonable standard. Michael Dawson partnered with King two seasons ago and looked fantastic. Indeed, it looked like King and Dawson might be the partnership of the future for the English National Team. Unfortunately that idea ignored the fact that Dawson is a crap defender who is utterly useless to any team with any trophy aspirations in England.

He is constantly out of position. He misses balls in the air and on the ground and fails to recover. He's slow. He just can't stay with opponents who have any speed, and all he can do is swing his oversized mug as they fly by. Occasionally, like in last weekend's FA Cup tie against Manchester United, he'll do something incredibly stupid to try to recover, costing the team dearly. He's big and strong, and fairly useful on set pieces on offense, but defensively, Michael Dawson is basically a T-rex who is useless against any and all raptor-like opponents.






















Luckily, we Spurs fans don't have to suffer much longer. Juande Ramos has proved himself to be a master of in-game adjustments, and he now is proving to be just as adroit in the transfer market. Scoring the talented Jonathan Woodgate from Boro is a masterstroke, provided that Woodgate and King, both of whom can be called Mr. Glass, can stay healthy. Put those two together and you have a legitimate all-England centerback tandem. In addition, the signings of Alan Hutton (possibly the biggest signing ever from Scotland!!!) and Chris Gunter provided added depth on the wings. Injuries have ravaged the Spurs backline this season, forcing players to play out of position far too often. The returns of Gareth Bale (!) and Ricardo Rocha in the coming weeks will further bolster the defense. When everyone is healthy, you'll have:

fullback: Chimbonda, Bale, Hutton, Lee, Gunter
halfback: King, Woodgate, Dawson, Kaboul, Rocha

That's depth AND frontline talent. The starting backline of Chimbo, Woodgate, King, and Bale will stop the bleeding, and with Bale manning the left flank, the ball may not even ever make it back to the defense. One can only wonder what might have been had we had this defense all season long... but hopefully it can lead us to some cup glory in what remains of the season.