John Terry Loses His Cool After Spurs Fans' Abuse At The Lane

I will not waste your time with a report of the Arsenal game; you all watched it with me, revelling in the ecstasy of victory. Indeed it was a thing of beauty: the melodies of vitriol spewed forth at Judas harmonising with the deafening boo's, Uncle Wenger's leathery old face contorted in disbelieve and disappointment and all set to the beautiful strains of 'We beat the scum 2-1'. Oh and the bitter irony of our two youngsters banging in the goals against an Arsenal defence that enjoyed its vintage years immediately after the defeat of the Armada. 'Arsenal kids'? Only a lingering fantasy in Tony Adams' alcohol ravaged mind. When archaeologists dig up White Hart Lane in thousands of years they will believe we worshipped young Danny Rose as a deity and they wouldn't be far wrong. If the boy never pulls on the shirt again he will still live on forever in Tottenham folklore. In the words of Andy Gray 'Take a bow son, Take.A.Bow'.

I went up to Chelsea expecting little. The injury list looked serious, Chelsea looked strong, 5 wins in 5. We would be tired I thought, just watching the lads since Sunday had me knackered. "Don't expect any favours" went the texts to my scum and Man Utd 'mates'. What actually occurred had me and 30,000 others delirious; two derby wins in two, Top 4 chase back on, the big boys running scared. We didn't just beat Chelsea; we pinned them down, bent them over and gave them the kind of violent and senseless rogering that would have George Michael blushing. It was wonderful,seriously, truly bloody marvellous. Shunted from my usual seat to the South Upper I found myself hugging a balding, sweaty middle aged man like a boy re-united with his biological father (Dad, if you're reading this, please get in touch...sigh...). On 70 minutes they were piling out of the away end, on 80 it was an endless stream leading all the way back to the days when they scrapped for points against West Ham.

Yet one of the most joyous events of the afternoon was the fall and fall of John Terry, beamed out to millions of England fans and all under the watchful eye of Fabio. Once upon a time Terry was a great player, a professional even, but on Saturday he lost every battle; mental, physical and emotional. The result, an early bath as the terraces rang out with adulation for his heir apparent Michael Dawson. Our captain was superb yet again, inspiring confidence amongst all around him. He dealt with the physical presence of Drogba just as easily as the nimble footed, lightweight assaults of the Arsenal. If he doesn't have a place on that plane I will slap Capello personally. Anyway more on him and Ledley (England partnership?) at a later date.

I should perhaps take this opportunity to yet again point out the role the fans have to play in highly charged fixtures like this. Who cares whether Terry actually deserves the abuse he gets? The Premiership is as much of a psychological battle now as it is physical or tactical. In this respect our fanbase are veritable Chess Masters. The Chelsea captain could not escape from the boos, the chants reminding him of his humiliating family life and the accusation he had 'let his country down'. His tackles grew wild and his distribution sloppy, culminating in a confrontation with a fan at half time. His challenges on Defoe and Pav were cynical and his final, fatal lunge at Bale was born of frustration and ineptitude. It was our Welsh prodigy who made the run, who fell to the challenge, yet the target was us. For that gentlemen, I applaud you.

My only slight grumble was at Kaboul. He is a useful player with excellent strength and a surprisingly decent vision and turn of pace. He is however, not a fullback, and spent much of the game being turned inside and out whilst looking lost going forwards. Not your fault lad, you do try hard but we really miss Charlie who made the position his own. As for the rest of the team, exemplary to a man. Thudd and Luka bossing the midfield, BAE looking the player he was at the beginning of the season, Bentley making good runs and tracking back very well. Gomes just showboating with his saves (seriously, watch them again, 'its so easy at the Lane'), Bassong and Dawson rock solid and even Pav leading the line well (albeit it with the finishing powers of an anorexic at a buffet). Defoe still not at peak sharpness but an excellent penalty. Oh yeah and that Welsh kid making the heart shape.Only kidding Gareth, God I heart you too, more than I ever will any woman.

My evening was spent at the Bill Nicholson, smashing down pitchers of booze and screaming out Tottenham chants as yids danced on tables as far as the eye could see. If our seasons ends now it will not all have been in vain. Another memorable year, keep the good stuff coming...

In'ArryWeTrust

"Sol Sol Wherever You May Be..."

Three days have passed since Black Sunday and it has taken me until this morning for it to fully sink in. I have exhibited all 7 stages of grief beginning with denial "That pitch was a disgrace, they'll replay it, surely???' and ultimately ending in acceptance - reciting over and over again the tired mantra of the Tottenham fan "There's always next year, there's always next year...". I have composed my thoughts and have forced myself to watch the game again. What I saw surprised me.

All this talk of us not turning up was brushed aside by our exhibition of total domination - corners, shots, passes, possession. I can still hear the barking of my moustached primary school football coach from the sidelines 'If you don't let them have the ball, they can't score!!'. Yes, they had a few breakaways but our pressure was constant and un-abating. The post match slating of Crouch (for which I have been guilty of in the past) seemed non-sensical to me. He should have made more of a couple of headers but he was hassled and marked effectively all game. His distribution and hold up play proved incredibly useful in the build up to attacks. Not only did he score the equaliser *Google searches 'how to make petrol bomb' followed by 'Alan Wiley referee address'* but he squeezed a tight header against the post and was only denied more goals by an excellent David James. Dawson's slip, Crouch's goal, the penalty that never was - all factors beyond our boys' control, the result of unavoidable errors or incompetent decision making.

The pitch was dreadful and whatever anyone says this favoured a weaker Pompey side, whose only apparent casualty was the far from clinical Dindane. Sometimes you have to sit back, stick one finger skywards and just curse the footballing Gods for their rampant antisemitism. We didn't lose because the players didn't care, we lost because somewhere in the grand scheme o thins we were meant to. With this in mind I was up bright and early; shaving off the facial hair borne from mourning and washing the salty tracks of tears from my cheeks. Its done.Over.Buried. THIS is where the season turns and the buzz of adrenaline is constant.Let's hope our boys feel the same...

I will keep my thoughts on the Arsenal match brief. We are still without Lennon and have now lost Palacios, who was unreal in the same fixture last season(the final factor in me crossing the Wiley family off my Christmas card list). No Jenas, no Woody, No Niko, with Charlie, King and Thudd all doubts - hardly the kind of news that inspires great confidence. Yet Arsenal aren't without injuries and we must hope Wilson's brother from another mother, Alex Song, is not present to toughen up Arsenal's soft centre. However, the main point of this article is a request to the fans. We all heard the atmosphere at Wembley, and credit where it is due to the Portsmouth fans, they are superb. It seems impossible to belief that level of support didn't have some part to play in Pompey's incredible sense of fight and energy. Our boys will be hurt after Sunday and our loud support should be a demonstration that we still believe - that the fans know they are capable.

More importantly I think the Arsenal players should be subjected to some of the roughest abuse of their lives. The North London derby at White Hart Lane prides itself on being the most hostile and emotionally charged fixture of the scum's calendar, we should do that tradition proud. The Arsenal team might have experience but they are still young and lacking the leadership of Fabregas. I chance the fierce atmosphere combined with the pressure of the title race have every chance of converting nerves into errors.

But please, I beg you, save your most potent vitriol for dear old Judas, marching back into the stadium where he made his name, cloaked in the red and white of shame and betrayal. I need not remind you of his behaviour, the money he cost the club, his abandonment of the fans who used to sing his name and his pig headed refusal to accept any fault. I ask you to leave your insults burnt into his conscience for eternity, not for our own sense of vindication, but because he is weak and he will crumble underneath it. Arsenal's defence can be unlocked without a ball even being kicked.

Audere est Facere - Never has a phrase been so poignant...

InArryWeTrust

Darren Bent's Inflammatory and Immature Swipe at the Tottenham Faithful

Lets not talk about last Saturday. I don't know whether it was injuries, fatigue, poor tactics or pre-occupation with the FA cup but the lads just didn't turn up and we were well and truly dominated by a frantic Sunderland side. Whatever it was, and despite the damage it has done to our chances of the Champions League, I have done my mourning and am looking forward to this April's rollercoaster of fixtures. However, there was something from the Sunderland game that has left a rather unpleasant taste in my mouth and looking at the forums I am not alone.

There was never any question Bent would score against us. Not only was it sod's law but, as the statistics show, the guy is good at hitting the back of the net. It was also no surprise that the goal would mean a lot to him, after a prolonged transfer and a very public spat with 'Arry. Yet the way he reacted after both goals was beyond me. For those of you unable to get hold of the highlights (in particular with the first goal), Bent scored and made a deliberate bee-line for the away support. Running past the Tottenham fans he turned and made a talking gesture with his hand whilst pointedly thumping his Sunderland badge. The reaction from the travelling yids was unsurprisingly furious and he was fortunate not to be struck by a bottle thrown from the crowd.

Now don't get me wrong, there are a few reasons for Darren to feel slightly aggrieved. Arry's Sandra comment was, in hindsight, ill-advised, although unfortunately probably accurate (another one for the 'Darren Bent Howlers Xmas DVD'). Then there was the issue of his transfer which took a number of weeks to complete and ended in a famous foul mouthed rant on Twitter. Perhaps someone should have informed him that football is ultimately a business and our notoriously savvy chairman was merely (and understandably) driving to drive up the price. He got what he wanted, slated Redknapp and the board in the media but even then couldn't let it lie. His goal celebration was aimed directly at the fans themselves, designed to cause fury, and I just don't understand why.

My friends tell me he was cheered during the warm-up and I remember him being applauded at the corresponding fixture at the Lane. Sure he was criticised by some fans during his time here for some dire misses but just ask Crouch, and even Defoe, how that feels because I hear both players criticised in the terraces week in week out.

Bent's celebration was unprovoked, unnecessary and put the safety of the stewards and fans at risk. I see no difference between his celebration and that of Adebayor, who suffered far worse abuse from his own fans. Adebayor ran further but Bent made a deliberate policy of running away from his own support to the Tottenham end, even adding and hand gesture abscent in Adebayor's celebration. For all his faults, one only need look at Robbie Keane's attitude to his former clubs upon scoring, to see how a real professional acts.

Bent is, I'm told, quite a big reader of fan sites so if you are reading this, well done Darren. You have turned a large body of fans with no hard feelings against you (dare I say many were actually happy for you) fully and whole-heartedly against you. Real professionals control their emotion and can deal with the pressure. You have shown yet again you cannot handle either; so come this Summer, don't waste too much time sitting by the phone...

InArryWeTrust

Tottenham Prepare For Their Finest Hour

The observant amongst you will have noticed that I have not paid this blog much attention of late. The old excuses flow easily off the tongue; work's hectic, people to see, places to go, but the truth is, my silence comes from the dreadful, all consuming fear that has plagued me for weeks. The fear that comes with every hard fought point, the fear of the giggling, euphoric maniac jumping up and down inside me with every passing game, the fear of daring to believe that maybe, just maybe, this is it. Last night, as the strains of "Que sera sera" echoed around the Lane, I gave up. The beast within cannot be contained by good sense, experience or civility any longer. I will admit it, I believe!

The Tottenham I watched tonight were superb. Not because of the result nor all the cute passes; the incisive cross field balls and delicate flicks. Instead it was the Tottenham team that started the second half that gave me an incredible and irrepressible feeling of hope. We began the game looking lacklustre and clueless. The passing was slapdash, there was no passion, no desire, no drive to win. The midfield was wide open allowing Fulham onto us and they fully deserved their lead at the break. Modric was guilty of missing tackless and being caught out of position leaving Palacios looking shaky and the defence exposed. The natives were growing restless, howling with rage at every bottled header and shirked second ball. As the whistle blew for the end of the first half, the chorus of whistles and boos drowned out the applause of the visitors.

Old Tottenham would have left the field heads bowed. They would have whinged they were being unfairly treated by the fans and would have played the next 45 as though they had been hard done by. Indeed, the charicature of 'Arry so many of you are so keen to drive out of the Lane with your pitchforks would have sat tight, stubborn in the knowledge Crouchie would 'do a job'. Well douse your torches and put down your scythes my heathen peasant comrades. 'Arry risked the wrath of Niko and BAE by throwing on Thudd and Bentley after half time. When Charlie hobbled off to join our injury ward (now being managed by the natural disaster branch of the Red Cross) 'Arry threw on Pav. This was just the kind of gamble that exposes managers to extreme criticism when they backfire. Decisions like that take guts and for all our wonderful ability, it is guts and graft that wins trophies.

I won't bore you with individual player reviews as I'm sure you were all with me in the stands or screaming "Yido Yido" at your TV screens. However I will throw out two quick synopses. Firstly, the 'Zamora for England' lobby can sit down at the back along with the Bent fan club. Fair play, the guy slotted in a great instinctive finish but Bassong had him in his pocket for the rest of the game. Throughout the second half Zamora was out jumped and out muscled by our Cameroonian youngster. Such was the effectiveness of Bassong's defending that the usually placid Zamora ended up lashing out in sheer frustration and getting himself (and inexplicably our man) booked. Then there was Eidur, the 'striker who doesn't score goals'. Two in less than two games says differently. Yet even more impressive was his linking of the midfield and, in the second half, his distribution in the hole behind the two front men. He looks in exceptional shape, brushing off tackles and holding up play without breaking a sweat. Before the ball even reaches him he seems to know where the next pass is going, kind of like an Icelandic version of X-men's Dr Charles Xavier. On top of this, the guy is a veteran of the domestic and European competitions, something that shows in the intelligence of every run and pass. Come the end of the season, the Iceman's cool head may have a huge influence both on and off the field.

Every week seems to be another blow for our boys in Lillywhite. Woody, King, Lennon, Modric, Huddlestone, Defoe; the spine of our team, have all spent long periods on the sidelines. Yet when a man drops, another steps proudly into his place in a style matched only by communis...sorry 'The People's Republic of' China. I can't be the only one wondering whether this Lennon bloke was actually any good in the first place. Down to the 'bare bones', playing in dreadful conditions on rubbish pitches with players in unfamilar positions and still the steam train rumbles on.

The big three as well as the clash with City will be huge for this club, but I finally feel ready to scrap with the big boys. Rather than going a goal down, curling up into foetal position and letting the kicks rain in, this Tottenham are straight back up, spitting blood in their opponents face and screaming "F*cking come on then!!". As ever, the support last night was literally unbelievable and when Eidur scored even the Paxton was rocking. I left with my hands trembling, my voice hoarse and a bigger headache than John Terry's publicist. I'm not saying we'll get top 4 this year, I'm not even over-confident about the FA cup. However after all the years of hurt, I finally feel we are laying the foundations of a club we can all be proud of.

InArryWeTrust

Tottenham's Unbeatable 12th Man Wins Us Another 3 Points

Gents apologies for my recent absence. I have been involved in lengthily discussions with the tabloids over a fee for the pictures sent to my sister and mother by what I have to describe as 'an anonymous Chelsea left back'. Based on the evidence presented to me...lets just say he's no Ledley King.

A rain soaked quagmire in Wigan is hardly the characteristic setting for a fairytale, Pavlyuchenko is hardly the name of a Prince but Sunday afternoon saw an ending that would have had Walt Disney bawling his eyes out. Ok, so the result was no 9-1, in fact it wasn't even a particularly impressive performance, but there are a couple of things that I felt compelled to record to posterity.

First of all it was nice to see us having a bit of luck. Defoe was so far offside for the goal I thought he was having a chat with Kirkland. Indeed, the way he reluctantly picked the ball out the net ready for a freekick said it all. Perhaps the linesman couldn't see through the downpour, perhaps the occasion of a packed DW stadium got to him, perhaps closet Spurs fan Gordon Brown had had one of those 'chats' with him at number 10. Anyway who cares. As 'Arry said afterwards 'sometimes ya get em, sometimes ya dunt'. We usually don't, this time we did, Huzzah!

Secondly something must be said about Wigan's impressive recreation of the Somme. Paul Merson, shortly before wrapping a red and white scarf round his neck and eating a prawn sandwich, claimed the conditions were most likely to hinder the home side's 'flowing passing game'. In fairness, both teams deserve a medal, and possibly counselling, after completing 90 minutes in conditions resembling the toilets at Glastonbury. When I saw little Luka strip off his tracksuit I felt genuine dread. My mind flashed forward to a vision of him, thrashing wildly, shoulder deep in mud and squealing out for Krancjar and Charlie. As it was, he proved an inspired substitution, unlocking the Wigan defence with some determined running and incisive passes.

Then there was Pav. I am not going to start waxing lyrical about our grinning, blonde mulletted Russian. At times he looks lazy and disinterested, like a considerably less technical Berbatov, albeit one who knows what a smile is. Indeed 'Arry has hinted time and time again that he doesn't put in full shift in training and has made it abundantly clear he is infuriated by his lack of English. Still, we are easily won over and after Leeds and now Wigan he must be given his chance. 'Arry need only remember the plight of Bentley and Bale before writing off Pav. Indeed, rumour has it the board were considering a bid from London Zoo for Bale before his run in the team; they have since focused their attention on acquiring Emile Heskey for the donkey enclosure. The way the players mobbed him says much for the kind of character he must be. We will need every striker firing on full cylinders in the push for fourth, Pav could still become a spurs legend.

However, for me, the most memorable aspect of both the Bolton and the Wigan game was the fans. This wasn't Fulham, this was the mythical 'North' where cannibalism and Viking raids are still commonplace. Yet, there they were in their thousands, a sea of white and blue. As both home teams struggled to fill even half their stadiums, we were there, packing a whole stand and drowning out the wind and rain. I can claim no credit having watched both matches desperately hungover on the sofa but it was enough to bring a tear to the eye. Even as we disappeared without a trace in the first half at Bolton, the fans could still be heard loud and proud driving the team on. Lets not kid ourselves, for all Arry's protestations to the contrary, for all his claims of 'im trainin really well this week', it was the fans who had Pav put on. As the game wore on the chants became too persistent to ignore, and what a fine bunch of tacticians we all are. There are clearly backroom forces at work at Spurs but you could see from Pav's celebration just how much the fan's support meant to him. Many things are beyond our power as humble supporters, but the adulation of the fans is the ultimate goal of every player, and chants of 'Super Pav' might just dissipate our Russian's homesickness come summer. If only Crouch was as good as our support...

InArryWeTrust

Peter Crouch: Ready for the Chop?

Forget Bale, there are times when I think our whole club is cursed!

Who can possibly forget Lasagne-gate, where our aspirations of Champion's League glory slipped from Martin Jol's chubby sausage fingers on the final day of the season. My enduring memory is watching Carrick play a long ball forward, a look of horror and disbelief suddenly sketched across his pained face. One hand grasped the back of his sagging shorts, the other gesticulating wildly at the bench as he waddled towards the dugout sobbing 'Martin...its happened again'. Then of course there was the phantom goal that Mendes scored against United. Clattenburg petrified by the prospect of actually making a decision appeared to put his faith in democracy. "Ok all of you who think it wasn't a goal, jump up and down and wave your red scarfs in the air...hmmm ok I think that's fairly conclusive". Even the linesman, suddenly struck down by Wenger-itis, claimed he could not see, instead standing as stiff as John Terry looking at the 08/09 Chelsea WAG calendar. Factor in all the last minute deflections, slices, penalty decisions and general mishaps, and we have every reason to feel somewhat aggrieved. Something tells me that somewhere in North London, a withered old mage known as "Uncle Arsene" is mixing up his next anti-Tottenham hex; complete with eye of newt, wing of bat and still warm y-front of a French academy player.

The Villa game appeared to be just another display of how unlucky we can be. With the number of shots we had, the possession we maintained and the pressure we applied, O'Neill should have been scuttling back to the Walkers stadium, pleading to be put in charge of a decent team. Yet somehow we came out having dropped another two points at home after a comfortable performance. Contrary to what many media outlets (especially the clueless, hideous American agencies drawling about team's "powerful offence" and "awesome set plays") have stated, we were excellent on Saturday. Daws and Ledley were imperious, keeping Heskey, then the enormous man-mountain Carew in their back pocket. Bale continued to demonstrate his phenomenal talent whilst Corluka, despite appearing to spend the game fossilizing was solid as ever. In the middle, Huddlestone and Palacios roamed freely, breaking up play and spreading the ball for counter attacks. Even Bentley had a decent game, his habit of pirouetting every four paces actually becoming rather endearing.

Another two points dropped, another case of the Tottenham curse...right? Actually I'm not so sure. Admittedly important decisions appeared to go against us as Foy stumbled awkwardly round, his tight shorts stuffed with Arsenal's unspent "transfer budget", but such excuses cannot continue. For all the talk of needing a back up keeper, a midfield enforcer and a central defender, I think our real problem lies in our self proclaimed 'strongest area'. Whilst Defoe can be painfully inconsistent, he is a natural goal scorer and has added several pounds of physical presence to his game. Sure, he's no Drogba in the air but the drivel about dropping/selling him I have seen on some forums are as mindless as Zokora's running. He is one of the few strikers in the league who can be anonymous for much of the game before springing up and slotting a couple from no-where. Instead the real issue appears to be the role of second striker.

The jury is still out on Peter Crouch but the metaphorical collection of silver haired pensioners and acne riddled students are beginning to tutt and shift awkwardly in their seats. 'Arry proudly stated "the lad won nearly every header" against Villa and he wasn't far wrong. The only problem was that every header rolled lamely out for a throw-in or was blasted forwards with wild optimism. For much of the game we would have been far better hammering a large wooden stake into the ground and trying to ricochet long balls off it. An old football coach of mine, that's right I'm going all ITK on yo asses (next week...how to win over the woman you love) used to train Crouchy during his time at Southampton and said for a boy of his size he was incredibly weak in the air. Instead, he suggested the other players lay the ball to his feet where he was considerably more adept. Yet, time and time again, slick counter attacking football is exchanged for hoofs up the field. Crouchy is a tidy footballer and is still enormously useful in the air but he is quite simply not fitting into our current style of play.

We are left with one of two options. Either we persist with Crouchy but make a deliberate policy of playing as though he is 5 foot nothing or we change the strike partnership. I hate to sound sensationalist but at such a crucial time of the season, these big decisions need to be made. It is clear that we need a high profile goalscorer in the summer but who is the man to partner Defoe up front and lead our forlorn hope of Champions League football?

Gentlemen, I lend you my ears...

In'ArryWeTrust

Tottenham's Transfer Window: An Unmitigated Disaster?

The last couple of weeks have not been particularly positive for us Tottenham fans. Aside from a brief lift against Fulham we have been struck down by a set of results more disappointing than a tour of the Emirates trophy room. It should be stated that a draw away at Birmingham is by no means a disaster. Yet, having had the lion's share of possession and a couple of chances to put the game to bed; tucking up little Chucho with a kiss on the forehead and a traditional Ecuadorian folksong, we managed to blow it in extra time again. Corluka's languid style always strikes me as equivalent to one of those muzzled dancing bears typical in Eastern European circuses, gyrating lamely to the wheezing of an accordion. The equalizer did little to banish this image as, when the killer ball was delivered, he appeared to be scratching himself against the back post, totally oblivious to the game of football going on around him. Such is the curse of the entire Tottenham team who appear to treat extra time as some kind of encore; an electrifying curtain call filled with rash challenges and needless killer balls.

Despite this, it wasn't all bad. The filth from down the road have gone down in the history books as the first team to be defeated in 3D. And defeated they were, not by a small margin but in "trousers pulled down and bum spanked by Mummy in front of the older boys on first day of school" style. Special commendation must go to Gael Clichy who's idea of a tackle seemed to be running alongside his player hurling handfuls of grass and daises at the ball. Arsenal's effeminate defending was enough to make the usually flamboyant and limp wristed Nani look like some kind of muscle bound, John Terry-esque animal. Talking of John Terry...actually lets not go there...

The potential saving grace of our 2010 was the January transfer window. As soon as 'Arry was quoted as saying this would be "a quiet one", we were instantly linked to every player under the sun. Van Nistelrooy and Huntelaar up front, Sandro and Muntari in the middle; Joe Cole, Anton Ferdinand and Lionel Messi all warming the bench. Instead, the spinning, merry carousel of transfer dealings has left many feeling underwhelmed, disgruntled and wanting their money back from the long haired, chain smoking ride operator. But was it really that bad?

My major criticism would be the lack of an experienced CB signing. Woodgate and Ledley now have a total of about three effective limbs between them and cannot be relied upon to lead the backline. For all his improvement, I still do not see Dawson as capable of mentoring Bassong in the same way C*mpbell did of King, or indeed Ledley did with Daws. An older, more experienced signing, even on loan, would have been the perfect remedy to see us through to the end of the season. Dawson still has costly lapses in concentration and, as the Leeds game demonstrated, often his decision making lets him down. He needs a player with a cool, old head beside him to curb his wilder instincts and underlying indiscipline. Instead we have got Kaboul, who for all this talk of improvement, is still young and may have been made to look good by the abysmal players either side of him.

Another worry is the lack of cover in midfield. With Sandro now, inexplicably, staying in Brazil for another few months, the burden of midfield enforcer falls heavily onto the shoulders of Wilson and Thudd. 'Arry clearly has as much faith in Jenas as Mrs Terry does in her husband (cue lawsuit) and with O'Hara now back on loan, our famous squad depth is looking distinctly shaky. Once again many have suggested that Kaboul has been brought back as a cover for DM. Personally the thought of an unproven Pompey player one injury away from responsibility for the spine of the team fills me with about as much confidence as Terry's marriage vows. Yes I know he's "big" and he's "physical", but so's that fat Portsmouth fan with the cow bell - surely worth a punt on a pay as you play??

However, the rest of the movement has been, on the whole, positive. Naughton will finally get the first team experience he deserves at Boro. I have always rated him but he won't develop jogging up and down the sidelines and having awkward conversations with Pav on the bench. I'm also glad to see Hutton getting to the chance to prove himself. 'Arry seems pretty set with the dancing bear so this move may help bring about a genuine competition for the right back spot next season. As regards the recall of Walker, you need only look at the comments from Blades fans on the article "Tottenham's £8 million mystery man", to see what a prodigious talent we seem to have on our hands.

The most important exchange of the window was undoubtedly Keano for Gudjohnsen, and this is a move I am particularly happy with. I remember Gudjohnsen from his time at Chelsea and always had a grudging appreciation for his intelligent link play and devastating through balls. All my Chelsea friends (we all have to make compromises) look back on him with a bleary eyed nostalgia and there are even allegations that John Terry showed respect and deference to his wife. At 31 he is past his prime, but he is a player that never relied on pace, athleticism or the other fickle trappings of youth. 'Arry may really have struck gold this time.

As for Keano, well what is there to say? There was a time was looked upon you as a loveable rogue. When you pointed wildly, spraying spittle over the referee after you'd fallen over the ball; we laughed and cheered you on your way. When you celebrated your goals with that camp half-hearted flip, not one man stood up and questioned your sexuality. When you mumbled incoherently during interviews, eyes flickering involuntarily like an Irish 'Rainman', we all nodded and concurred. I really do wish you the best at your latest boyhood club. If it works out then perhaps Levy will be able to roll around in a bathload of paper thin, mostly fraudulent Scottish notes come Summer. If not then there's a very comfy looking seat on the bench that a chap called Bentley is kindly keeping warm for you.

For reports on Naughton/Walker: http://inarrywetrust.blogspot.com/2009/12/tottenhams-8-million-mystery-man.html

In'ArryWeTrust

Gudjohnsen's bizarre first introduction to the Tottenham squad

"Great to 'av you on board Eidur" said a beaming Harry as the two men walked casually down the corridor toward the dressing room.

"Honestly Harry there was never any doubt in my mind once I heard Spurs were in for me. West Ham offered a great package but I really didn't like the way Mr Sullivan kept taking pictures of my wife" said Eidur, his face racked with a mixture of confusion and concern. "Anyway" he started, shaking off the unpleasant memories, "I'm just excited to be back in England again and looking forward to meeting the rest of the squad"

"Oh they're a great bunch of characters 'ere, real nice group of lads" Harry rambled affectionately "You've got nothing to be worried about".

After a brief moment's silence they reached the door of the dressing room. "The boys have just come in from some drills, follow me". Harry pushed the door gently open and beckoned Eidur into the room after him with a sweep of his hand. The Icelandic forward shuffled in and was confronted with a buzz of happy chitter chatter and laughter; the various Tottenham players spread out on benches, jostling each other and taking off their muddy boots.

"Right first fings first" Harry proclaimed "You'd better meet Ledley our captain". Harry led Eidur through the bustling crowd of jovial Tottenham players and beckoned towards the corner of the room. "Ledley...Ledley I've got someone 'ere to see you". Eidur glanced around, unsure of where to look, when his eyes were caught by movement from behind a white medical curtain. With the scrunching of synthetic material and a metallic scrape the curtain was drawn back by a haggard old woman draped in Eastern European shawls and there, on a treatment table, lay Ledley King. Encouraged by Harry, Eidur tentatively walked forward and extended a nervous palm.

"Welcome to Tottenham" Ledley began, shaking Eidur's hand enthusiastically "Harry had mentioned we might be getting another striker on boar...", his voice trailed off.

Eidur stood transfixed as the elderly woman proceeded to smear the unpleasant looking contents of a bucket over Ledley's knee; chunks of ochre coloured offal splattering onto the dressing room floor. Turning pale and clearly feeling nauseous Gudjohnsen looked up at Ledley, managing to splutter, "Is that...is that...placen..."

"Part of my world cup preparations?" beamed the giant centreback "Yep sure is, Olga here is going to make sure I'm on that plane to South Africa".

Gudjohnsen suddenly looked perplexed: "But surely with Terry and Ferdinand fit, and players like Upson waiting in the wing..?"

"Right well thats that fella's" Harry quickly interjected, dragging Gudjohnsen away forcibly by the waist. The old woman cowered beside Ledley hissing protectively and making threatening gestures with her withered, leathery old hands. "Don't mention the world cup" Harry mumbled under his breath to Eidur "Only thing that keeps the poor lad going".

"Well" Harry proclaimed, instantly cheery again "Suppose you'd better meet the rest of em". They walked a couple of paces before Harry stopped and pointed out some of the other players.

"Those there are your striking partners". Near some benches Peter Crouch stood with his eyes closed and his arms outspread; bare feet submerged in a pile of MiracleGrow, face pointed up towards the fluorescent strip lighting. Defoe scrambled round his feet, attentively sprinkling drops from a pink watering can onto the compost.

"And there's the team captain Robbie". Eidur gazed over as Keane emerged dripping from the showers, nothing hiding his flabby palid body, and proceeded to wind up his towel into a tight looking spiral. With no warning he began to charge stark naked around the dressing room, whipping his team mates mercilessly whilst emitting a series of incoherent shrieks and giggles. "No Robbie please, not again, we don't like it" pleaded Jenas effeminately as his delicate thighs were lashed.

"Erm shouldn't we do something?" Eidur said, looking concerned.

Harry bellowed with laughter "That's just Keano doin' is thing. Great for team morale, the others just love it!"

The diminutive Irishman's rampage continued, flaying Alan Hutton's backside as he desperately struggled to put on his StarWars Y-fronts. Eventually Corluka lumbered over, pinned the writhing, wild eyed Irishman to the ground and tore his towel in half.

Harry chuckled away to himself "Those lot ey?". He looked at Eidur and rolled his eyes. "Actually, I might av a little treat for you fella come over ere". Eidur followed reluctantly, his expression fraught with anxiety and doubt. Harry pushed aside a couple of players and shouted over at a couple of younger looking characters sitting on a bench together. Bale and Modric who were giggling away contentedly, playing 'Cat's Cradle' with a bootlace, looked up, and Harry beckoned Luka with an authoritative finger.

"Ere we are Luka" said Harry, ruffling the little midfielder's hair "I've got another Croatian for you to play with". Both players looked at each other, utterly bewildered. There was a small silence. "Go on get in there, don't be shy now" laughed Harry as he pushed the two players together uncomfortably.

"But Harry, Im not Croatian, Im Icelandi..."

"Course you're Croatian Eidur" said Harry pushing the players together with even greater force "Why the hell do ya think I signed ya?". The two footballers were now gasping for breath, Modric began to admit an impossibly high pitched scream before biting Harry and scuttling away to hide behind one of the urinals.

Harry grasped his hand and emitted a stream of obscenities before turning to Eidur and apologizing. "Right well that's about that, just one final thing...don't go talking to that Russian lad, he's bad news. Bad attitude ya see? Lazy" Harry tapped his head.

"Why is he in that...cage?" Eidur questioned, looking more than a little perturbed by his experience thus far.

The gaunt looking Russian sat hunched in a restrictive metal enclosure, the tatters of a Spartak Moscow kit hanging from his protruding bones. With what seemed like an exhaustive effort the man raised his doleful eyes up to Eidur and, in heavily accented English, spluttered "Please...help...me".

Eidur stood mouth agape, horrified. Harry noting his reaction stood there nodding sympathetically. "Don't worry son, I don't av a bloody clue what he's sayin either".

A long silence ensued as Eidur slowly shook himself to his senses. Harry glanced agitated at his watch "Sorry lad but I gotta dash, any questions before I go?"

Gudjohnsen looked down, trying to take it all in, "Yes actually...does he always do that?". The striker pointed at his leg to reveal a partially clothed Michael Dawson, thrusting wildly, tongue lolling out at the corner of his mouth with a vacant smile stretched across his face.

"Ahh I think he likes you" Harry chortled as he headed towards the door "Told you you'd fit right in..."

The door banged shut.

The Most Important Game of Tottenham's Season

The Fulham game was like losing my virginity all over again. The performance was, apart from some occasional half hearted forward thrusts, a flaccid and desperate disappointment. Yet, when it was all over (slightly earlier than expected) I was flooded with the same relief and confidence I felt all those mont...sorry...years ago.

Liverpool and Hull had placed doubts in the mind of many a Spurs fan over our ability to last the season. On one hand there was our inability to break down 'park the bus teams', tapping gently and feebly on their windows rather than smashing Bentley's porsche into the side and mugging every terrified pensioner on board. Then there was the criticism we lacked the mental strength to take on the top teams, utterly devoid of the belief and confidence needed to get a result. Fulham has not changed either of these factors. We still spend much of our time against these types of opposisiton looking as clueless and panicked as Sol Campbell in a brothel.

However, Tuesday's game was an enormously reassuring experience for a packed White Hart Lane. Finally, the curse of Gareth Bale was lifted. The monkey that has clung onto his back for so many games can now return to its seat in the Upper West stand, next to the rest of Gareth's siblings. Bale was excellent yet again and the way he took it in turn to applaud every stand at the final whistle showed just how much the result meant to him. He has the fitness and pace to sprint up and down that left flank like no-one else. He also is strong and useful aerially for someone who (hopefully) still has a lot of growing to do. Yes, his positioning and defensive decision-making can be dodgy but many people fail to remember he's still only 20; such mental elements rely on gametime and experience, neither of which he has been blessed with. The real reason I like Bale though, is that the opposition are scared of him. He is capable of lifting the entire tempo and atmsophere of a game with one run and the prospect of Lennon and him galloping down their respective wings makes me feel good in my special area.

I would like to say (as many of the papers incorrectly reported) that Bentley had a cracking game and has put himself back into contention. In truth, watching him was rather like watching your club-footed child playing sport; you are caught between desperately wanting him to do well and screaming 'take that f*cking special case off'. All his desperately ineffectual flicks and spins would be great fun if we had been 5-0 up but they often put his team members under pressure and were greeted with howls of derision from the crowd. He put a few decent balls in but his free kick was lucky, his pace is laughable and he just doesn't look capable of fitting into the team. £10 million from Wet Spam will do nicely. Whats that Mr Sullivan? 10 quid and a pair of Zola's used undies? You sir have yourself a deal!

It gives me even greater delight to inform you that both Sergeant Wilson and Luka put in the kind of performances we have not seen of late. Palacios was back to his best; charging around bellowing Honduran war chants and felling the Fulham midfield with tackles that would have had the Conquistadors rowing desperately back across the Atlantic, pantaloons round their dainty ankles. Modric, who is still settling back into the team, also looked like the old Luka we all know and love. He was the heartbeat of the midfield; dinking delicate balls forward, cutting inside and generally causing trouble with every touch. Perhaps even more encouraging was the understanding that was evident between him and Bale. Stories abounded of Gareth finding a banana in his locker before the game alongside a note scrawled in poor English saying 'we can be friend??' Bale, utterly perplexed, scanned the dressing room and noticed little Luka strapping on his size 4 boots, giggling shyly and hiding under his fringe; something beautiful was born.

It wasn't all good news. Defoe has begun to get frustrated in a way that not even Katie Price can remedy, having wild pop shots in his attempt to break his apparent 'goal drought'. Crouchy is always a useful outlet but for God's sake someone buy that lad a gym membership, get him bicep curling the team oranges...anything!! It continues to astound me that this caricature we use as a 'target man' could be outjumped and pushed off the ball by some of the vertically challenged gentlemen you often (accidentely) come across on specialist adult sites. King was imperious at the back again as was Dawson, but the latter's distribution was dire. Stick to heading it Daws, and if I see you trying to play one more impossibly Beckham-esque cross field ball, I'm going to rip out your knees and give them to Ledley.

All in all, it was an unspectacular and competent performance which in many ways could define our season. Not only have we put breathing space between us and Liverpool but players who are integral to our team, seem to have recaptured the form we require of them to suceed. One game is one game, and this is Tottenham. Anything can happen from here but the signs are positive. Can we make the Top 4?? Probably not, but after the last few games I was starting to see our name engraved onto a shiny plaque saying "7th place". Bring on Birmingham and Villa.

In'ArryWeTrust

Why Tottenham are NOT a Top 4 team!

To say I'm absolutely fuming after that result would be like saying George Michael is "a little bit camp" or that Tevez is "not very good looking". I am absolutely, manically, psychopathically, kick a young child in the face livid.

This was it, our big chance to break the jinx that has lain heavy on our shoulders for 16 long years. Liverpool were not only without Gerrard and Torres, they were also without Johnson and Benayoun. Up against a high flying, technically gifted, full strength Tottenham side were the global superstars of Darby, Degen, Ngog and a long haired Greek gyps...sorry I mean 'traveller' who's name no-one can pronounce. It was set to be an embarrassment for Liverpool; their season so far akin to some kind of hamstrung, mortally injured deer writhing helplessly, bleating loudly, just wanting to be put out of its misery. You can almost picture Defoe and Crouchy jostling each other "You do it Crouchy, I can't, its so pathetic it just seems wrong", "No Jermain I don't wanna kill it, its lookin' at me, STOP IT FROM LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT".

Let's get one thing out the way first: Howard Webb continued his glorious tradition of screwing over every Tottenham performance he officiates. Primarily there was the inexplicably disallowed goal. A goal so blatant that even Andy Gray hinted that his beloved Gerrard FC might have 'gotten a wee bit of luck there'. Then there was the yanking of Crouch's shirt and the eventual bundling of him to the ground by Kyrgiakos, clearly a Liverpool free kick. The second appeal, a blatant trip on Crouch, surely a penalty? Webb, eyes darting side to side with fear at the noise of the Kop, points authoritatively to the bemused looking linesman, stood with his flag firmly down, whimpering something about offside. Every time Crouchy won a header he was 'backing in' or' using his arms', Howard Webb mincing up effeminately after the infringement and having a word with Peter, telling him he was too tall and it was unfair on the other players. I'm fairly sure I saw him blowing kisses at Rafa after the final whistle; waving like a lovestruck pre-pubescent girl and making the 'call me' sign with his fingers. When I see a letter from a "Mr H Webb" complaining about Tottenham's new stadium plans the pantomime plot will be complete.

Yet the truth, and this is the part that really hurts, is that we just weren't good enough. Once again we showed that when the pressure is on and when the fight gets tough, we sink and disappear without a trace. I hate to say it but I was actually happy when 'Arry brought Keane on. Yes he ended up being fairly ineffectual but big games need big characters and we have those in enormously short supply. For all the lovely passing and possession football, it seemed as though every player went in thinking 'Oh well, its been 16 years, if we don't win this no-one will care'. I hate to subscribe to the knee jerk media circus line of claiming Tottenham 'lack mental strength' only to then claim they've 'come of age' next time they win, but the evidence is stacking up. Liverpool had about as much genuine quality as a sleazy backstreet in Bangkok but they wanted it more, plain and simple, and that won them the game.

Our tactics did not help. Kranjcar has been a revelation since arriving and Modric is held up by most football fans as a world class talent but neither are out and out wingers. When played together, their penchant for cutting inside leaves the centre of the pitch enormously congested. 20 players all bunched together in the centre circle hacking each others legs in the vain hope of touching the ball may be one of Phil Brown's more sordid fantasies but it is not the way we play and certainly not the way we win. We look at our most dangerous when balls are being pinged out to the wings and play is being stretched. It worries me just how much we miss Lennon when he is out; his pace and the width he gives us are absolutely crucial to how we play. Both Modric and Krancjar went missing for us and the sooner we have a Gio or a Danny Rose to bring off the bench and shake things up the better.

I'm not going to run through the game exhaustively as I'm sure you all watched it but for me there were two small highlights. The first of these was Bale who really is starting to look like a great talent. His defensive weakness wasn't apparent as he tracked back well, looking good in the air and in the tackle. Going forward he was excellent as usual, invariably beating his man and putting in some dangerous crosses. Tottenham are still yet to win a Premiership game with him in the starting line-up and I have to clamp my hand firmly over my mouth everytime I see the teamsheet to stop a hysterical "BURN HIM" escaping. That said, he is playing well and growing in confidence; the sooner we banish this ridiculous concept of a hex to the dark ages, where it belongs, the better. I was also impressed with Hutton and, as I have said before, would be sad to see him go. He offers a considerably more combative and mobile option than Corluka who spends much of his time staring into space or crafting clumsily constructed daisy chains with his giant hairy paws. I know Hutton is reported to have serious personal issues but he goes in for tackles that make Joe Jordan wince and is never afraid to stick his head on the ball. Unless Naughton or Walker make the step up, 'Arry would be advised to keep him in the squad.

To move back briefly to my original point, Tottenham have scrapped for that elusive fourth spot for many seasons now, always failing for the same reason...we were not good enough. Well now, on paper at least, we are. We have a strength in depth that most manager's would sell their youngest daughter for and have a number of players who could slide easily into a Top 4 line-up. Yet, the reason we will not make the Champions League this season is that others want it more than us and over the course of the season that will inevitably overpower sheer ability. Man City will eventually break the top four and Aston Villa will always be knocking on the door. Next season Everton will be up there as will Sunderland and a free spending Birmingham. If there was ever a season to break the cartel this is it. Liverpool hasn't scuppered our season, it has just placed those familiar doubts in our mind. We still need a world class striker to partner Crouch and Defoe, we still need a midfield enforcer to give Hudd and Palacios competition but most of all we need the guts and desire to see things through. I am doubting you lads, prove me wrong!

InArryWeTrust

Lets all laugh at the Top 4!!

This transfer window has hardly been a Tottenham fan's dream. The Sandro saga rolls on with his agent, club and year 7 maths teacher all pitching in with cast iron quotes about how his 'dream move' to England is 'hours from completion' whilst also stating he will under no circumstances be leaving Internationale. Generally speaking though, it has been quieter and more timid than Luka Modric doing karaoke; little clawed hairy hands nervously gripping the microphone, emitting occasional high pitched squeaks of fear.

The usually boisterous tabloids have acted like an unpopular 15 year old child at his first houseparty; sitting quietly in the corner,hair spiked up for the occasion in one of dad's best shirts, glugging Tesco value vodka in the vain hope of Dutch courage. Suddenly, just as the party begins to wind down and people lose interest, our underage "rep top" boozer will stumble forward, vainly mumble something incoherent but undeniably sexual to the lead cheerleader and then projectile vomit against the wall.

Picking aside the hearty chunks of carrot and turkey twizzlers, the Flamini story is an interesting one and certainly a viable proposition (especially at a Krancjar-esque £6 million steal as quoted). However, we should all view the majority of stories as we would a vomiting child; with undoubted curiosity but ultimately with a sense of repulsion and disdain.

Fortunately for us, our buddies from the Top 4 appear to have teamed up to make this a week of unbridled hilarity for us humble Tottenham fans. First, both Man Utd and Liverpool have treated us to displays of startling incompetence in the FA cup. Berbatov continues to shower himself in glory with his tenacious, work horse displays that have made £30 million look like a veritable snip, and Tevez has demonstrated exactly why Sir Alex let him go; with his on-pitch sulks, unwillingness to track back and inability to score. Liverpool not only lost Gerrard and Torres to injury, they also...erm...lost...to Reading. Truly with characters like David N'Gog and the devastatingly on form Ryan Babel ready to step into the breach I tremble at the prospect of our Anfield fixture. Don't worry Pool fans, only another 4 and a half years left on Rafa's contract.

Meanwhile Chelsea have caused snorts of laughter amongst city types with allegations they are now "debt free". Even the kind of child who sat picking his nose and daydreaming about matron in GCSE business studies isn't fooled by the conversion of debt into equity. Its almost as ludicrous and see through as that idea of Gordon Brown's to print money in a recessio...oh no wait...he actually did that?

Just as I was about to lie back in bed and light up a cigarette, sweaty and exhausted after such generous entertainment from the media hacks, one last story caught my eye. Remember the cheeky chappie pictured? Fresh from his adventures at Notts County under Sven (although I believe he was occasionally on top) I felt a clump of honey nut cheerios catch in my throat as I read of his "re-transfer" to Ar5ena1. Now we all have our feelings about dear old Sol and that deeply unfortunate misunderstanding that saw him forget to sign a contract with us and made him the most expensive Bosman transfer of all time..*breathes slowly, red faced. Opens up Campbell's wikipedia page, taps away on keyboard, giggles*...but, even putting our feelings aside this is a laughable transfer.

I watched Campbell at Portsmouth and he was so wooden that they might as well have just put a dining room table on the edge of the box (at least it might have worked against Keane). Campbell is not only painfully slow, old and lacking in match fitness but, the Notts County debacle is a decent sign his head isn't right. How he will cope against the quick feet of players like Defoe or the pace of Agbonlahor goodness only knows, but one injury may make this Tottenham's fans wet dream a reality. All this has left Wenger looking tighter than Allardyce's waistband and the fury of Arsenal fans on the forums has been a joy to behold.

Anyway I'm just off to take a phonecall from Murdoch's solicitor. Let us hope and pray this insanity continues. Shock 'pay as you play' contract for Greavsey anyone?

InArryWeTrust

Something to keep Spurs fans smiling

Goodness only knows why our Liverpool fixture was cancelled considering no snow had fallen in several days. Unconfirmed reports suggest the local aid services were overwhelmed by patients with fingers frozen to hubcaps but in truth we most likely fell foul of the World of Warcraft playing, sport hating virgins of the red tape brigade. One cannot help but picture a group of unfortunate looking men with clipboards and moustaches walking around outside Anfield mumbling with discontent as they section off puddles of snowmelt with fluorescent Biohazard tape. Whatever the reason, here we stand with a dearth of football fixtures and a transfer market about as dynamic as dinner with Avram Grant.

However here is a little treat for you all. Admittedly we are no longer in fourth spot following last nights "Tevez Show" and have been rocked by the injury to little Lennon but let us not forget last seasons plight. At the turn of 2009 we were still clawing our way up the table in a manner as tediously frustrating and deeply humiliating as Sol Campbell's dreams of Premiership football. This compilation is one of the best I have seen and captures the mood of last season perfectly. Love him or loathe him, you have to have respect for the way 'Arry has turned the club around. Lets hope with a few more 'triffic' results, this season can be one to remember. Enjoy!

In'ArryWeTrust

The Wealth of Young Talent at Harry's fingertips

Sorry for the recent delay in posting, I have spent the past couple of days with my head as far down a toilet as Bentley's head is up his own arse. Just thought I would share a few observations from the Peterborough game, please as ever feel free to disagree:

1) The Tottenham faithful - Ok ok so the atmosphere for much of the game was flatter than Susan Boyle but once again we have outdone ourselves by being one of the only fixtures in the country to sell out. Peterborough, with the greatest respect, were hardly the champagne derby fixture that every spurs fan was hoping for but there was barely an empty seat in the stand. Special mention should go to the reception given to Pav when he came off the bench. We have all read the comments he has made in the press and like him or loathe him, most feel he was never given a proper chance. The standing ovation he received and the deafening chant of 'Super Pav' were not lost on him as he clapped the crowd in return and threw himself at the ball for his first corner. Equally heartwarming was the almost homoerotic relationship Gomes continues to enjoy with the south stand responding to chants of "we love you Gomes we do" by thumping the badge and saluting the terraces. I truly hope reports linking us with James are the daydreams of bored and lazy journos. Gomes fully deserves his jersey and is fast becoming a Spurs legend; it would be both unwise and unfair to bring in another qualified keeper to 'mix things up'.

2) Tottenham's number 2?: Peterborough's Joe Lewis was superb from start to finish and it is little wonder that Capello has taken an interest in him. I have my doubts that Cudicini will ever represent Tottenham again and our number 2 slot is glaringly empty. I have previously stated that someone like Scott Loach would be an ideal signing and Lewis is in a similar mould; young, ambitious and homegrown. His reflex saves were top notch and his 6 foot 6 frame makes for a commanding figure. As chants of "Tottenham's number 2" echoed round the ground I realised I wasn't the only one incredibly impressed by the young keeper. Let us hope 'Arry looks very carefully into the alleged story that he has been offered for sale.

3) Robbie Keane - Once again the only comments I heard from the stands about Robbie were negative. At times when he was over in our corner people were shouting loud and abusive insults at him, many of which must have been audible. Everyone is entitled to an opinion about Keane; he is the ultimate Mr Marmite, but no true fan would ever treat him the way he was treated on Saturday. Personally I would agree with the majority that Keane is no longer good enough to help the club push up the table and despite the arguments about him boosting team morale I would sell him if the right offer came in. Yet one thing no-one can deny is that Keane works incredibly hard for the team and he deserves credit for that alone. Much has been posted about his reaction to the penalty he scored, looking downcast and world weary but how many players can keep their head high when they have lost the love of the fans? If Keane is here to stay then he needs the our vocal support on matchdays to recapture his form, if he is on his way out let us at least give him a positive send off. The move to Liverpool was a mistake but Keane is a Tottenham legend and does not deserve the level of hatred he is being forced to endure.

4) The left wing conundrum - There was a time when an injury to Lennon spelt disaster to a Tottenham season; this time it has spelt only opportunity. Krancjar has been a revelation since joining us and as things stand I would not bench him in favour of Modric. The gap that has opened up on the right hand side allows 'Arry a perfect opportunity to nurse Modric back to full health without having to drop the excellent Krancjar from the team. Modric's future is in either the centre or the left hand side of midfield but he was very comfortable playing out on the right and one assumes this is where he will stay until Lennon's return.

5) The wealth of young talent - I published an article on Naughton a couple of weeks back and had a good response from Blades fans all of whom seemed to rate him. It was obvious to see their criticism that he is still a little light weight for the Premiership but he's still young and can learn much from Defoe in the battle to bulk up. Aside from this he displayed excellent pace, composure and awareness. If he continues to improve I would expect to see him seriously pressuring Charlie in a season or two's time.

Danny Rose was often referred to as 'the left footed Lennon' because of his blistering pace and poor final ball. Yet apart from one ballooned cross I thought he played very well. His control and first touch were impeccable even when dealing with difficult passes and he demonstrated an ability and a willingness to take people on. Peterborough's right back had an absolute nightmare trying to close him down and the penalty came as no surprise. If 'Arry can get his staff working on Rose the same way he has done with Lennon; focused running and final delivery especially, there is no reason why a few seasons from now we can have the fastest wing attack in the country.

Bale, for me however, was the stand out performer. I fully realise the constant criticism he is unable to defend but there was no evidence of this particular failing on Saturday. Certainly he will come up against tougher challenges than Posh but he stood up well, was decent in the air and put in a couple of impressive slide challenges. Going forward he was excellent, linking up well with Hudd, Keane and Krancjar. The second and third goals were his own creations and he looked a threat whenever he was on the ball. What a terrible shame we no longer need a left winger as Bale is certainly beginning to look the part. Once again he needs serious work on the training ground in basic defending but fantastic to see the boy displaying the talent we all know he has.

Leeds up next and hopefully another run out for some of the fringe.

In'ArryWeTrust