- Jun 5, 2004
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[banner by the emphatic chrissivad]
I don't get the feeling often. I expect a lot of other Spurs fans don't either. But on the Saturday just gone by, I experienced it again and to gauge just how many of you also have it, I'm going to take you all back a couple of years.
The fixture was a home one, the year was 2005 and the third window on my advent calendar had been opened that morning. Martin Jol was enjoying his first season in charge and had the relatively easy task of taking on a woeful Sunderland side. Fifteen minutes into this game, however, as I sat buried beneath many a layer in the Shelf, we contrived to go 1-0 down to a free-kick that Robinson could have done nothing about. Now the usual moans and groans surfaced but I was not worried. Mido soon backed up my lack of worry and put us 1-1 in at half time, and soon after the break we were 2-1 up thanks to Keano yet we relinquished the lead again and then Keane contrived to miss a penalty. But still I was not worried, and soon enough Mr Carrick tucked in a low bender [;-)].
So as I hedgehog towards the point I've opened with, against top of the table Liverpool, I never thought we were going to lose. Whether it was due to Superman Bentley, or whether Harry had waved his magical staff in my direction, I can't honestly tell you. Anyway, here are those stars again to whisk us back to the game ...
***
As I coughed and spluttered my way up to the back of the Paxton having been laying in bed since Friday night – only rising to shower to go to WHL (!) – the NoLose feeling was stronger than ever. John Williams greeted the crisp November evening to an optimistic audience, one buoyed by the time-defying heroics of Jenas and Lennon mid-week, and Spurs were ready: ready to show their crowd what a week under 'Arry had done for them. Well, obviously Dirk Kuyt had also being paying attention to what Redknapp had been telling our team too, as he smacked an arrow straight and true (slightly deflected) passed BigNoseGomes in just the third minute. If the White Hart Lane faithful was a balloon soaring skywards towards freedom, that goal cast ten thousand flaming arrows into the air. The balloon would have no chance; and our crowd gave no chants.
As I coughed and spluttered my way up to the back of the Paxton having been laying in bed since Friday night – only rising to shower to go to WHL (!) – the NoLose feeling was stronger than ever. John Williams greeted the crisp November evening to an optimistic audience, one buoyed by the time-defying heroics of Jenas and Lennon mid-week, and Spurs were ready: ready to show their crowd what a week under 'Arry had done for them. Well, obviously Dirk Kuyt had also being paying attention to what Redknapp had been telling our team too, as he smacked an arrow straight and true (slightly deflected) passed BigNoseGomes in just the third minute. If the White Hart Lane faithful was a balloon soaring skywards towards freedom, that goal cast ten thousand flaming arrows into the air. The balloon would have no chance; and our crowd gave no chants.
Liverpool subdued us, and began to rip the Hart out of White Lane just when everything had been looking so much rosier. We couldn't pass for toffee, our midfield was overrun by Gerrard, Alonso and Mascherano – and the Scousers looked every bit like a side that could go all the way this season. Assou-Ekotto was consistently beaten to the ball by Kuyt, who was obviously aerially superior and I think many supporters were shown just what Jenas brings to the team by him being cruelly removed from the fixture due to injury. Bent rarely got a sniff in the first half and Modric took his time to make some sort of impression on the game and that brought about our first "something to get excited about moment" when he drilled our first shot of the game low and true, but straight into the supposedly safe hands of Pepe Reina. The time on the clock for our first shot was 41 minutes and the vibe I picked up on – and I’m no clairvoyant, not even a Stoofvoyant - was that it was going to be a long night.
But I was not worried.
We began the second half much as we ended the first – but we’d changed the fullbacks around and put some height at the back and left, and thrown on Pavlyuchenko (later we’d learn that he was told to "f***ing run about" – hardly a Chrissy and his clipboard moment) to boost an isolated attack. It took us a while to get into a groove, and Liverpool had chances to put us away. Thankfully our returning striker paid us a compliment in not scoring against us – and I think this says a lot about Ledley and Woody's chaperoning rather than anything else. But the referee had the darn-right cheek to book our King! Can you believe it? I couldn't.
So worry-free, I watched from afar as Carragher headed in his third goal for us – something I expect Harry noted on his striker wishlist – well it's not like we have an abundance of players who can score against Top 4 opposition? ;-)
The Lane breathed a sigh of relief, I hugged my compass point fans (to the left, to the right, one behind and one in front) and exchanged rubbish high-fives as our players jogged back to our half, embarrassed by Carragher’s scoring record. Redknapp’s Tottenham (still sounds strange, doesn’t it?) grew visibly in front of me – the second balls were falling our way, the refereeing decisions were too. Lennon was thrown into the mix and brought some of that Wednesday Night Jive with him, and ran at Liverpool and scared the BeJesus out of them. Lennon of old he was – and he has been more-so of late – running at defenders, taking them on, drawing fouls and being a pacey threat; different from the precision of the Bentley right foot, yet completely complementing it at the same time.
Pavlyuchenko then had his moment. Bentley hoofed the ball into the area, Bent went for the header and Reina could only punch. This was his chance. "Make yourself a legend, son" I patronisingly thought. He ballooned it over. Disaster.
But still, I was not worried.
Some minutes later, we won ourselves a throw in. Corluka did throw. Zokora then passed. Bentley then turned. Bentley then shot. Reina then saved. Bent then rescued. Pavlyuchenko then scored. What? Paylyuchenko then scored!!
Delirium set itself upon the Lane. The stands bounced, the cockerel crowed and Harry did a merry little jig. We held on in four blurry injury time minutes and we had our seventh point in six Harry days; and on that seventh day Harry did rest.
But like I say, I was never worried. OK. Maybe just a little bit. ;-)
