Risible Then Remarkable

Another win in a game where we played some decent football without ever being in full control. It’s becoming a bit of pattern. This time we defended in the second half with uncharacteristic but welcome vigour. Naturally by this time we had tried to throw the match away but Sunderland weren’t quite good enough on the day to exploit our lacklustre start by getting any more than a single goal clear, and by the end I was enjoying some old fashioned everyone back bodies in the way defending.

I can’t remember why www.dictionary.com send me a Word of the Day. Probably one of my periodic attempts at self-improvement that usually ends with a swift click of the ‘delete’ button before it’s been opened. However, Saturday’s word was ‘risible’. How appropriate. In my reflections on last week’s match, I noted our talent for the farcical, starring Gomes as N17′s Brian Rix (one for the kids there). Just when you think all the gags have been done, b’dum tish here’s new one. Gallas goes off to change his boot, teammates apparently totally oblivious to this fact, huge gap into which dashes sharp opposition striker. The eventual outcome on the game has meant this incident has been underplayed but how on earth can a professional football team get up to such rubbish?

Throughout the first half we showed a distinct lack of drive and imagination. Despite our good squad, we don’t adapt well to the loss of certain key players. We’ve learned to cope without Huddlestone but looked lost and bereft without Luka or a matchwinner like Bale or Rafa to turn the game and set the creative juices flowing. Even with the absences we should be able to generate some momentum from within but none was forthcoming, although it provoked a concerted burst of arm-waving from Harry. Our task was made harder by Sunderland’s pressing game, pushing right up on our back four to stifle attacks at source. This left gaps in behind their midfield that we tried to exploit with a series of long balls but this isn’t Pav’s game, back to the goal, so back it came. We searched in vain for a ball out wide but no width either. JD worked hard for the team, pulling out to hold up the ball. He deserves credit for this and he held it up well enough, but we were stuttering at this point.

I’m grateful for the goals when they come, obviously, but sometimes I wish we don’t need to wait for a goal to shake us from our lethargy, or a stunner to win it. How we needed Dawson’s header. The keeper should have done better. We’re off then. More bounce and nouse. Still much to be done and nothing was being created for our strikers. Then Nico’s stunning volley, studied technique preceded by shrewd positioning: rather than take the easy but worthy option of the space at the far post, he came inside diagonally to just the right spot.

Now we were keeping the ball much better. Corluka’s value was demonstrated once again in the way he times his runs (his strolls?) forward. No pace of course but he comes up from deep when the attack may founder and there he is, out wide, enabling the centre midfield to switch the point of the attack. As with last week, Benny did this less but just as effective once he got the hang of it.

Jenas had another strong game, working hard and energetic from first to last. Nothing more. Won’t say anything. That’s two or three now…STOP IT!

Sunderland as expected had plenty of possession as the game went on but we protected Gomes well. More often than not, our opponents were forced to shoot from a distance. When they did get into the box, the centre backs were able to come across to intercept because our midfield shield provided the first line of defence. So often this season we’ve conceded because that has not been in place and the back four have been compelled to come out.

Sandro played an important role in our win. Recovering well from a poor first half, he showed promise and application in the second. To me he looks a natural defensive midfielder for the modern game. In particular he seems comfortable just in front of the back four or dropping into the box when we are under real pressure, as opposed to Palacios who is more of the old style midfield destroyer, ranging across the centre looking for tackles. Equally, Sandro has  good touch on the ball and can pass short or long. He moves well, gets forward quickly and usually his first touch sets him well for a quick pass on, should something be available.

His weakness is getting caught with the ball and Sunderland tried to pressure him. Too frequently in the first half he played the ball forward and it was intercepted. However, this wasn’t all his fault. He usually played it to feet as Pav or JD dropped back and they were easily dispossessed, whereas a run into the channel and a ball to match could have suited better. That’s not just for Sandro: surely our strikers, who had barely a chance between them, could thrive on those sort of passes and start their runs from deeper, rather than being caught with their backs to the goal.

So a resolute second half plus a brilliant goal and we have yet another win without playing fantastically well. Yet in its way this current run that we are putting together is remarkable. On Saturday we were without the heart and soul of the team. Four top class footballers were absent – Modric, Bale, Van der Vaart and King. Let’s not forget the excellent Huddlestone or the promising Kaboul, who has done so well this season. Umpteen changes in the back four, different players meaning different patterns, yet we are regularly wining matches. Such an injury list would unbalance any team – just look at Chelsea with all their riches and how they struggled without Lampard and Terry. Full credit all round.

Public Information Service: don’t go yet. TOMM is warm-hearted and generous, thinking only of its readers’ well-being. I’ve been contacted by a few people with some things you might like to know, so read on.

First, a shirt from our friends at Philosophy Football:

OFFSIDE!

Offside? An always controversial decision but none so more than when an oafish pair of TV studio so-called experts make the claim that it is gender that determines your knowledge or otherwise of the rule. Philosophy Football’s handy T-shirt design provides the signals of the Assistant Referee as they wave their flag for offside together with the rulebook definition to start the argument. Complete with ‘Lets Kick Sexism out of Football’ campaign logo against dinosaur attitudes to wear on your sleeve. Available from www.philosophyfootball.com

Next, memorabilia fans sit up:

Double winners Les Allen; Peter Baker; Maurice Norman; Cliff Jones and Terry Dyson will be appearing at the Memorabilia Show, NEC Birmingham, 26-27 March.

www.memorabilia.co.uk/birmingham

Finally, Our Ledley endorses a worthwhile scheme, showing our Spurs make an effort in the community:

LEDLEY KING SPURS ON BRITAIN’S APPRENTICES

On the final day of National Apprenticeships Week, www.notgoingtouni.co.uk has received the backing of Tottenham Hotspur and England defender Ledley King. King has joined forces with the online portal for apprenticeships and vocational opportunities, to encourage young people to consider vocational opportunities during National Apprenticeship Week 2011.

“Apprenticeships are a great way of entering the world of work for those who, like me, know what they want to do for a living,” King said to notgoingtouni’s free digital magazine for prospective apprentices.  “Apprenticeship Week is the perfect time to start looking into the options. I came up through the Tottenham youth academy, so I know the value of on-the-job training. And I know it can lead to the best job in the world!”

The increase in tuition fees, as well as one in five graduates currently being unemployed, is opening the door for more and more young people to consider vocational qualifications.

“Young people looking to enter the professions are now beginning to discover, for example, that it is actually quicker to become a chartered accountant through an apprenticeship programme than via a degree, with a higher proportion finding employment at the end of it,” explains Spencer Mehlman, managing director of notgoingtouni.co.uk.

A free digital guide for Apprenticeship Week, is available at www.notgoingtouni.co.uk, also tells the story of Rohan Duncan, 25, who joined Tottenham Hotspur Foundation’s Future Job Fund programme in February 2010. He was offered an apprenticeship on completion of the programme and now leads coaching sessions and studies for an NVQ Level 2 in Sports and Allied Recreational Studies at Croydon College.

“I was a Spurs fan before I got the job. I went to the job centre because I’d been unemployed for a while and I saw there were jobs going coaching at Spurs. I’m a sporty guy but I’d never done any coaching before. I didn’t think I’d get it – it seemed too good to be true!” Rohan explained.

Now, Rohan coaches young people from the local community, leading PE lessons, table tennis sessions and the Kickz programme aimed at keeping young people out of trouble on the streets.

“I’m on contract until June,” Rohan adds. “I’d like to stay on at Spurs, but even if I don’t I’m much more employable than I was before. I’d like to stay in coaching or mentoring.”

40,000 companies work with notgoingtouni.co.uk including industry giants such as IBM, British Gas, Rolls Royce, Unilever and Tesco.

What A Waste

Not That Frustration. Although the Popamatic Dice Shaker Brings Back Memories

Against Birmingham, a decent performance for the most part that ended in frustration, at least in my back room where I was hiding from the builders. Peace and quiet, you understand, total focus. They weren’t after me for money. Yet.

Harry seemed to share my exasperation. Post match, he waxed philosophical about being on top for so long, moving the ball well, holding possession and making chances, only for the game to turn on the introduction of Zigic.

Two points dropped for me, this one. Birmingham are a hard nut to crack. They have an enviable home record with one loss in over 30 games, I think. Much of this is built upon their famed powers of organisation and resistance, which can be of a ferocious intensity as they demonstrated in the derby against Villa in midweek. I thought they missed a trick in starting 4-5-1: these days we can deal better with this than when teams are able to put pressure on our defence. That’s what holds us back, the need to think about the possible repercussions of coming too far forward too often.

As it was, we passed the ball smoothly with the excellent Modric once more on top in midfield, energetically supported by Palacios and with Lennon and Bale as willing accomplices out wide. Loads of room despite the 5 midfielders. Anyway two of them were treading on Bale’s laces for most of the time in order to protect Steve Carr. Bale can play his part these days just by standing still.

Carr was a terrific player, flying down the wing and alert in the tackle, better coming forward than at the back, a mop of wavy black hair. He was never the same once injury blunted his pace. Although he became a better player technically on his return, making up in some part for the deficiencies imposed on him, he was encouraged to bulk up but athleticism not muscle was his game. Carefree expression gave way to surly shaven-headed dissatisfaction. I’m glad he’s still in the game after his career was threatened. I just hope it’s not a portent of things to come for another, much better, carefree flying wide man. One of the many tackles Bale rides each week finds its mark and the head clippers come out.

I admire the way Birmingham defend. Pinned back in their box, as they were for long periods on Saturday, they respond like wild cats backed into a corner. Bodies pile into the box to form a barrier packed tighter than bricks in the wall of a Mayan temple. Despite this, and here’s the source of that frustration, we were able to stretch them out of shape and out of their comfort zone.

Usually we had an extra man, not something that has always been the case this season. Defoe’s movement around Crouch, centrally stationed, was effective, Lennon and Bale were available as I’ve already mentioned and Crouch himself pulled wide to the far post usefully. He had a good first half, coming a little deeper so he could link up better with his team mates and encouragingly he had a couple of runners coming past him as targets for a lay-off or flick, another quality often absent in our play.

This Frustration

Chances fell to Defoe and Crouch and were missed but the advantage of 60% first half possession was not converted into scoring opportunities because of a problem with the final ball. JD, Crouch, Lennon, even Modric made poor choices when the moment came. Too often the wide option was taken: it’s safer but easier to defend if it ends up with a slow high cross and could have been balanced with incisive central thrusts into the channels. The goal when it came was from a loose ball after a set-piece, rather like Liverpool’s last weekend.

We began the second half well enough but soon the Spurs fans’ songs, loud and clear on my stream, sounded gradually more anxious, a sure sign that our opponents were creeping back into the match. I thought we had worked through a troublesome 20 minutes or so as we regained both our composure and possession.

However, Zigic meant a 4-4-2 with a focal point that hitherto Birmingham had lacked. The signs were there: Crouch becoming increasingly isolated and our midfield dropping deeper. Lennon and Bale out wide had worked back admirably well thus far but they stood off now. It’s not as if we don’t know what was happening – we get Crouch wide onto the full back often enough – but it’s hard to defend. Our back four missed Dawson and Kaboul all of a sudden. We should take our opponent’s example and have big men hammering through the middle to pick up the headers across the box. Gomes and Gallas scrambled one way from Ridgewell but Gardner did enough.

By the end, Lennon seemed reluctant to take on his man when given the chance in the last 5 minutes. I’m sure he was tired after a hard afternoon’s work but I hope they weren’t settling for the point.

Wilson worked so hard, again tiring towards the end – perhaps he felt safer away from the crazy booing last week. Gallas had another solid match and Bassong is back to good form but they weren’t quite strong enough in the end. Hutton’s passing was off and he was lucky not to be dismissed. The problem with these incidents Is not what happens on the day, it’s the mental note made by the rest of the League as they watch MOTD that Hutton can be wound up.

Harry was on about taking a point at Birmingham before the match but as I’ve said before, the problem with this ‘settling’ business is that it denies the potential, what might be. On the day, we should have converted our first half superiority into goals, so two points dropped for me, although to be fair, a year or two we may well have lost 2-1.

No sackcloth and ashes, mind. Progress can be judged over sequences of matches, beat Chelsea on Sunday and that’s 10 from 12 including victories over 3 of last season’s top four. I remain a little disappointed, however. I don’t obsess over the table but the fact is, this is the most open league for years. We’re opening a gap between us and 7^th, thinking of Europe next season, but we should be looking up not down. A win would have left us only 4 off the top, 1 off the top four. We’ve let slip a few too many points already and can’t afford to waste many more.

Not So Much a Match Report, More a Celebration

Last night Spurs produced a fearless, compelling and utterly irresistible display of bravura football, the like of which I have seldom seen in my 40 plus seasons of watching my beloved team. Inter Milan, proud champions of Europe, a defence the envy of the competition, were repeatedly torn to shreds. One of the greatest nights in our modern history, but with football like this, there’s scant need to be parochial – this morning the eyes of Europe are upon us.

At the end of the night, a shy, modest young Welshman was anointed as a world-class talent. Gareth Bale shattered Inter with an unstoppable combination of muscular direct running and devastatingly accurate crossing. Top class players with every trick in the book,  pace, hard tackling, positioning plus the arcane dark arts of international defenders, they’ve seen it all before but on the night all they saw was his backside as he powered past them. As they thrash around in the middle of the night in storm-tossed demented half-sleep, the number three will float into their consciousness and torment them for evermore.

I’ve seen a game or two in my time but I’ve never seen anything quite like Bale. In full flight this big man is a fearsome sight. he needs a stride or two to get moving but once he gains momentum he’s away. Yet despite this, the most remarkable aspect of his play is the final ball.  Viciously swerving crosses that are nigh on impossible to handle or the far post ball on the ground, they are dispatched with great accuracy whilst he’s stampeding through at full tilt. The touch to the byline, the amount of times the ball does not cross the line but is pulled back as his instep curls around it and into the box. This is not a reflex reaction. Rather, he’s learned to pick his passes much better, witness the second and third goals last night. As the blood pumps furiously and every sinew strains, his mind remains focussed and calm. He is twenty-one years old.

It’s not as if Inter were unprepared. Not only was there plenty of first hand evidence from the first leg, Benitez knows the English game intimately, yet his team offered too much space. Even if they had closed him down, Bale would have escaped their clutches. This signals a new strand of defensive tactics. Against Bale, formations are no longer described with players spread across the pitch horizontally. Goal-line to goal-line, 5-3-2. It’s the only way.

This was no one man band. Modric was outstanding in the centre. Low to the ground, seeking space and then filling it with an angled ball or a short stabbing run to collect the pass and move on. Always active, he provided both an outlet for team-mates and a steady supply of creativity. Little arms outstretched, give it to me, give it here, I want it give it to me. The opening goal was exquisite, a simple natural beauty rather than the glamour of those that followed but nonetheless it took the breath away. The touch and turn, head up, how can a football rolling 6 yards be so sumptuous? Van der Vaart, on the same wavelength, as one and in. Stunning.

VDV roamed wild and free in the first half. Not everything came off but Inter could never rest. Hud was solid in the centre, spraying the ball wide and undertaking defensive duties diligently. Gallas had a decent match. He bounces around like tigger, hopping up, down and sideways, alert and balanced, barking out instructions. No thought of bygone days, only Spurs on his mind and new challenges ahead. Lennon occupied Inter’s attention, if only the final ball were better but he made his fair share of opportunities. Another word of praise for Kaboul. He should be way over his head in this company but he’s not having any of that. He wants it, wants it bad, and he had another good game. For our third, the little Inter forward had possession, edge of the box, back to goal, and Kaboul stayed patiently on his feet rather than diving in. Result? We gained possession and Bale disappeared into the wide blue yonder.

Yet the really wondrous aspect of this match was the team itself. No hint of the disjointed, aimless play we’ve seen so often with this squad. They produced a sustained display of attacking endeavour, moving as a single organism with one intent, victory. The movement was excellent throughout with barely a moment to catch their breath. They supported each other magnificently and played from the off with sustained purpose and high tempo. From the kick off Bale took a waist-high pass under pressure and first time knocked it back, to Benny I think. A footnote on a wonderful night but it was a sign of confidence. Spurs imposed themselves on their illustrious opponents from the beginning and never let up. My head was spinning as we tried to break down the Italian barrier – both wings, running, passing, onetwos, the entire gamut of creative football.

I suspect Benitez had no sense that Spurs would dare to attack so consistently. It’s the Champions League, a group match, you want to win but are cautious because losing is a crime. Everyone knows that. Kudos to Redknapp and the coaches for setting up the team in this way and for instilling the will to win. The fluency up front was a joy to behold. Not just VDV and Luka, but Bale making diagonal runs off the ball into the middle and pushing JJ forward when Rafa went off. Inter had barely a moment’s respite from this unceasing assault.

So Bale, this giant of the game, runs amok then amidst the tumult of celebration absent-mindedly checks his hair. In the post match interview, he looks at the floor, says he’s still learning. Last week he had a few days off. Went to stay with his mum. Just a kid of twenty-one. Me, I’ve seen it all before, but I’ve not seen anything like this. Past 1 am, can’t sleep, watch the recording and waves of goosebumps flow down my body from head to toe. After all this time, I should not surprised by what Spurs does to the emotions, but once again they’ve floored me. A head-spinningly joyous night of wild passion and wonder.

True Love Blossoms Against the Villa

I demand my rights as a taxpayer and citizen of our great country. A public inquiry, nothing less. Maybe a Royal Commission, I’d accept that if pushed. Never mind Chilcot and Iraq, the might of the nation’s investigative forces should be re-focussed on a single key question: who told Daniel Levy that Rafael van der Vaart was available for transfer from Real Madrid?

The story goes that in mid-afternoon on deadline day, Levy rang Harry Redknapp to say he’d heard the player was available at an acceptable price. Might H be interested? No doubt you’ve heard this one, a moment in our modern history that is fast becoming part of the club’s folklore. What I want to know is, how? How did Levy know? Who called him? Why Levy and not some other chairman?

The reason is, find that person and I will give them everything. The house, the car, new flat-screen TV, that nice art-deco lamp from my wife’s family. Take it, anything you want, I’ll get down on my knees in gratitude because you deserve it, my friend, you deserve it.

Well, actually, you know, it’s a lease car so that’s not really on. And the house, nice little end of terrace but mortgaged to the hilt, so you might have to wait 20 years. OK then, all my worldly goods and chattels. That’s it, I’ll collect all my chattels for you. There’s the watch – no, that stopped 9 months ago and I haven’t got round to fixing it. The laptop! No, from work. This second hand thinkpad notebook that I’m typing on now…. Look, Ok, it turns out that I own nothing of any value whatsoever, but have it. What are chattels anyway?

You all adore him already. Bet I love him more than you. The control, vision, the quickness of thought matched only by the pace at which he moves the ball on. Athletic, squat and bullish. The confidence and swagger. Pointing, the ball here, give it here, now. Let him roam, wander wherever you wish. Where you end up, it’s the right place to be.

More than this, he makes everyone else play better too. They scurry around where before they would be still, waiting for something to happen. Now, now they want a piece of this. So Pav comes off the front man, Crouch peals away in expectation, JJ pushes forward with determination, head up, looking for the channels, Bale and Lennon on the charge out wide, Hutton comes from deep and Luka, lovely Luka, has a partner at last, someone on the same wavelength. Push and probe, up the pace of the attack suddenly at the edge of the box. VDV, just by being himself, opens up space. Defenders are uncertain, on the back foot, anxious. Notice how we had room for one-twos around their box. Not all worked but there was room for willing runners.

Dream away, there are goals too. The first, prosaic. A far post cross (the sight of one striker crossing to his partner, rare with Spurs these days but so welcome) and he with predatory instincts makes a run that Pav, Keane and JD should be able to do with their eyes shut, but don’t. And he’s in there, muscles needed now, no danger that anyone else will beat him to it, the power to force it home, the will to be first.

The second, breathtaking. Another header across the box, this time he’s in the thick of it. He hears Dunne’s heavy tread thundering down upon him, the brave defender launches what he believes, certain, would be another block like that which thwarted VDV earlier…and Rafa shimmys, a flicker of movement enough to take the ball under control…it’s like he has the power to manipulate the laws of physics, such is his ability to create space. Elemental particles bend under his thrall. So there, as the ball bounces to knee height, there is clean air where before there was none. Then the hammered volley. A moment of shimmering brilliance that will live long in the memory.

Before I go on, one more thing: what a fan-bloody-tastic game of football. The second half in particular pulsated with excitement, end to end, thrilling football, high drama, top quality skill from both teams at breakneck pace, near misses galore, heroic individual performances, old-fashioned physical challenges, frustrating mistakes. We are lauding a fine victory in what has been a great week for the club, while any Villa fans glancing at this will be aggrieved at not picking up a point to reward their excellent counter-attacking, but in the end we all love this game of ours. Here was a reminder of why football so captivated us as kids and weaves its magic spell to this day.

One reason for such an open game was that neither defence was able to get on top. Villa brought 10 or 11 men back without hesitation and for once Spurs deserve great credit for consistently finding a way through rather than floundering on the massed ranks at the edge of the box as happens so often. Movement, purpose and the ability to come down the flanks as well as through the centre created several chances, Pav, Hutton and Pav again failing to hit the target in the first half when well placed.

At the other end, our 8th choice centre half was targeted by Villa as our weak link. First Heskey then Carew was pushed up against Big Tom to exploit his inexperience in the role. Heskey destroyed Huddlestone. He had no idea whether to come tight or to drop off, and Villa wreaked havoc in the opening exchanges. Young was excellent throughout: I had long since dismissed his potential but in a freer role he will prosper. Always a danger yesterday. Albrighton looks a real prospect too.

Heskey it was who bullied the hapless Bassong into conceding the ball, then a bulish run into the box led to the goal. Coincidentally, he was a celebrity audience member in last night’s Comedy Roadshow. Michael McIntyre duly took the piss re the World Cup. Nothing like a bit of topical humour. Heskey smiled sweetly throughout his humiliation as the crowd roared their derision, but his wife’s fixed grin was truly terrifying. Astonished that this could happen, she then gazed at the stage with a rictus grin, eyes burning laser beams of hate straight into McIntyre’s heart. His performance today was a reminder that with all his faults, and there are many, he could have been so effective a player. His injury was a turning point – it relieved the pressure on our ailing defence and allowed us to move forward with less risk.

After the break, Harry allowed VDV more freedom in the middle and Lennon out wide kept Villa’s left side occupied. Most significantly, Jenas was stronger in the centre, offering more defensively and coming forward into the gaps ahead of him. Another fine performance.

However, there were still wide open spaces at the back that became a series of heroic individual contests, Benny and Seb one on one with their attackers, deep in the box. Great stuff, and they both did so well. Bassong is much better alongside some experience, playing off another centre half, but he had a good second half. Benny had a stormer, hurling himself into challenges and barely putting a foot wrong. Positioning not so hot for either of them but one on one they won their battles.

I would have liked Hutton to have tucked in more to assist Huddlestone but Harry was urging him forward. On the other flank, Bale as ever a danger.

In the first half, Villa counter-attacked at pace, effective indeed but we gave them the ball all the time. back it came, pinging off Pav and Crouch’s feet. This was another thing we handled better in the second period, keeping the ball.

Luka played in fits and starts, good combination play with VDV in particular but he does not look match sharp as yet. Together as regulars in midfield – dare we dream?

So a marvellous game and a deserved win, just about. Villa obligingly refused to spoil our week when two players missed the same cross and whilst they were always threatening, Gomes did not have to make a difficult save.

Rather than losing momentum in the international break, it will provide precious healing time for our injured centre backs. Without wishing to sour the mood, we won’t get anywhere without at least a couple coming back to full fitness. Then watch us go.

Always On My Mind. Spurs Stories: In Hospital

There’s always a stir when the ward has a new arrival. Disparate individuals thrown together forge temporary bonds in adversity as a lifetime of carefully tended privacy is at a stroke upended by the indignity of pain and bed-pans, honed by a nurse’s scolding when powers fail.

A fragile culture is shaken whenever a newcomer appears, the tension is palpable if it’s a man. The last man was oblivious to his surroundings, baring the West Ham tattoos on both thighs and when he wasn’t snoring bellowed his suffering down his phone louder than a Tunbridge Wells stockbroker on his mobile in a rush hour train.

We, the regulars, practised in the fine art of hospital visiting, we who long ago said everything that there is to say but still talk, feign indifference but are alert to the swish of the plastic curtains being pulled back.

‘Leave me alone, woman. Leave me alone.’ He’s a shouter.

She sits, she stands, she sits again. ‘Have a wine gum, go on, they’re nice’

‘I’ve told you, I don’t want a wine gum.’

‘Go on, have one. They’re nice’

‘I don’t want a wine gum!’ The whole ward knows he doesn’t want a wine gum.

‘Go on, do you good, you need the energy. How are your pillows? You’re not comfy.’ She’s up again. ‘Let me do them for you.’ She glances around without making eye contact with anyone.

‘Leave me alone woman!’

In hospital nothing happens. The slightest provocation is acted upon, if not created, in minute detail, then discussed with a similar nuanced attention. All undertaken in the name of the patient but in reality it fills the time and provides the visitor with a reason for being there.

She looks around again with a nervous grin. ‘All right if I have one?’

The young man, quiet until now, has had enough. ‘Spurs are playing tonight, granddad. Go and get a coffee, mum. Cup game!’

‘Up the Spurs!’ Animated now, alert and bright. ‘They’re doing all right this year, eh? Told you Harry would sort them out. Told you.’

‘Win this one and they’re at Wembley, granddad.’

‘Ahh, Wembley. Did I ever tell you about when I was there in ’61?’ The boy settles back with the air of someone who has heard this one before, several times, but he’s happy to listen once more. ‘Never be bettered, son, not the same these days.’

‘I couldn’t get coffee. Bloody cafeteria’s closed. Coke from the machine all right? He’s not going on about bloody Spurs again, is he, the old sod?’

‘Mum,’ says the boy, ‘Just shut up.’ He settles down again for the rest of the well-worn saga. His mother stands. Moves the pillows a fraction. Smith scores. Sits. Tucks in the blankets. Blanchflower lifts the cup and he’s lost his hat, tossed high in the air. Stands. Sits.

A few days later, when we are all familiar with tales of Tottenham heroes, of Smith, Greaves, Blanchflower and especially White, glorious, silky, best ever  White, I pass the bed on my way out. ‘Good to meet another Spurs fan.’

He stirs and sits bolt upright. ‘Two sugars please!’

He dozes again, as suddenly as he woke. I walk on, past the laminated pledge on the wall that guarantees same sex wards from 2007.

Next day I stop again. ‘Bought you a programme’. I’m not a good visitor, despite the practice over the last two years. I’ve deserted my duties. Even now, under these circumstances, the game and being there is on my mind.

The boy thanks me, ‘Look granddad, a programme. 3-1 today’. The woman, more agitated than normal, thanks me repeatedly, and no, for the tenth time, I really don’t want the money. The boy shows him the pictures, as you would a toddler.

He barely stirs, a flicker maybe of an eyelid buried deep now in hollow sockets surrounded by grey drawn skin. His lips move, ‘What’s that granddad?’, says the boy, ’3-1 today, Defoe again!’ Faint and barely audible, he summons the  strength from somewhere to respond. I swear I heard, ‘Up the Spurs’ but I couldn’t be sure.

Sunday afternoon and I pass the woman in the corridor, on the phone telling someone that she has the money but will be late because she’s at the hospital. The boy brushes past, carrying a small bag with the programme in his hand. ‘Thanks for this,’ he looks at his shoes and doesn’t stop. Turn the corner and the curtains are pulled, the bed empty. It will be occupied by the evening.