- Jun 5, 2004
- 32,221
- 64,290
- Staff
- #1
[banner by the hugely awesome chrissivad]
I've been called a liar before. But I was telling the truth ... this time. "I don't believe you", chimed a tipsy Jimbo and a slightly tipsier talkshowhost (of 86 fame) as our Strongbow cans hissed into open-canned life. They didn't have to believe me though, and as the sun shone after our successful collection of points 10, 11 and 12 I had always known that there was going to be a result against Birmingham. What I didn't tell them (and what they're probably finding out now) was that I was never sure of who would end up possessing those precious three points.
***
It felt a lot more like a Spurs day on Saturday at half past one on the top deck of the stadium-bound 279. I had already been offered tickets, been asked for spare tickets, been complimented on my 99/01 home top [rather worryingly matching Jimbo] – mine appropriately Ginola-d – and also had to direct some boozy away fans in the general direction of our footballing Mecca.
Time flew by in the B&H as Strongbow after Strongbow slipped effortlessly down willing throats. We left the pub at 2:40 to try and beat the pre-game rush and headed down the horse-debased road to the Shelf, ready for the serving of main course football to follow the cider starter.
***
17 minutes appeared on the Stadium clock. Had Birmingham even touched the ball? If they had it couldn't have been anything meaningful or at most more than two passes. Spurs had come out of the traps meaning business and Modric had his wizard's hat firmly on. It had been a while (if ever) since I'd seen a Spurs side so dominant without reward, which is why after I looked up and saw an electronic 30, my "game with a result" feeling started to feel a tad foolish.
We had created bits and bobs though to go with our massive percentage of possession: Defoe being untypically wasteful (given this season's form), scuffing a shot wide where Keane could have been rolled in to score a tap-in. Keane was also guilty of some final third wastefulness too – choosing to square a ball in from the left when surely pulling the trigger would have yielded a bulging net. He also missed his kick, to the groans of the ever-frustrated crowd, when he was in a similar position to where Luka picked him out so brilliantly against Liverpool for that diving header.
An even better chance came when we got in behind again, Lennon was rolled the ball across the box and simply had to side foot high to beat the covering defender. His low shot was snaffled away, and the chance had gone.
As the fans' frustration became ever more evident, Birmingham edged ever so slightly into the game – they'd only previously been making up the requisite numbers for the game to actually take place. Come the half-time whistle though, it was them Brummies who could say that they had the better chances. One effort parried by an otherwise untroubled Cudicini, and one other that whistled past an outstretched right hand and fortunately past the post which it was attempting to guard.
[ar]
The bad news then came in thick and fast as the second half kicked off. Firstly Ledley had been taken off, then Luka (whilst tracking back magnificently) jumped into a challenge and came off second best. It looked fairly innocuous from my Shelfy view. It wasn't until I saw MOTD that his awkward landing was clear for all to see.
There was no saving our magician, who gallantly limped off amid pockets of fans exclaiming "oh s**t". Not only had we started the half a bit slowly, but the guy to bring us out of this stalemate was hobbling off. Nightmare.
So Three-Metre-Peter came into the fire with the Irish chappy waving his way to the left-hand-side of midfield. My problem with bringing on 3MP is that it instantly causes our players to forget all that's gone before. No gorgeous triangles of interplay, no fantastic movement. It's suddenly: "look for Crouch … hit Crouch" – and that's what I feared most. But it brought us into the game. Birmingham had obviously come prepared for an eventual assault from the Bean-Poley one, but I still think we caught them by surprise. It took firstly a post and then secondly a defender on the line before a beautifully flighted Huddlestone freekick was planted across goal by Crouchy to make him strike lucky on his third effort at the Paxton goal.
The deadlock broken, the result surely not in doubt.
***
"Clear it", "CLEAR IT" – moaned and groaned the White Hart Lane faithful as the ball bobbled nervously around our box. Ball over the top. It's OK, Hutton's got it. Uh oh. No, it's OK. Cudicini's got it. No! Not both of you leaving it! NO! NO! NOT BOWYER. Bugger.
And with that we were all square. All that hard work from the Bean to drag us kicking and screaming into the lead had been undone by a Scottish-Italian disaster of epic communication problems. Hutton hadn't been great since his half time arrival – then again replacing The King is no easy task. But this was another in a steadily increasing line of obvious individual errors that surely can't continue. Others would say Cudicini should have cleared them all out – and I agree with this too – it's what HG would have done and it would have surely lead us to a clean sheeted win. Both definitely got a "minus one" from me after the incident.
***
90 minutes on the clock. 4 added. COME ON YOU SPURS. An anxious crowd roared, experiencing an unfamiliar drawing feeling. We'd conspired to give Birmingham the three points on a platter, having abandoned any ideas of the lovely football that we had overpowered the travelling Blues with in the first half. No time left at all now. Carr's got it on the half way line and we've dropped two points for the first time this season. Can't believe it. Ooooh. He's fallen over. Go on Tommy, give it to Pav. TO PAV. Go on son, run at 'em.
When Pavlyuchenko gave the ball to Aaron Lennon, it was on. We all knew what he was going to do. So how it came to be that the Birmingham defenders misread the little chap's intentions, as he faked past both of them, is still incomprehensible. He then let that tightly wound spring go in his right leg, and fired the ball into a sun-kissed net. The Lane erupted. I hugged my fellow Block 31ers and out of the corner of my eye saw talkshowhost gallop across 20 seats for a mammoth high five – his first game as a season ticketed man had yielded a fantastic last minute winner.
All that was left to do was for Birmingham to shoot from the halfway line straight from kick off into a grateful Cudicini's arms and then the whistle blew 3 times for each of the points we'd nicked at the death. How lovely it was too, that Larsson had wasted about a minute trundling off the pitch – especially how he'd been involved in that desperately fortunate last minute winner in Birmingham's last visit to Spurs – giving his side no time to recover from Lennon's devilry.
So as I said, I've been called a liar before. But I always thought there was going to be a result. All that mattered now was that I was right, that I could tell the lads of my pre-game feeling, and that we were heading to the pub … for dessert.
I love you stoof
