NaijaSpurs
Les Ferdinand
https://www.theguardian.com/footbal...round-genius-chelsea-spurs-exhilarating-goals
There was a fascinating moment towards the end of a slightly dull opening half-hour at Stamford Beige. Dele Alli had been on the fringe of things in a game that had barely clanked up out of second gear. There were a few loose touches, some misplaced passes. Even then Alli had been his unignorable self, an oddly captivating figure even in those moments where he seems to be playing through a mild fog, circuits jammed, flicks and feints a little out of whack.
That sense of power in reserve was there again as Andreas Christensen and Victor Moses closed on a loose ball, only to find themselves nudged aside by that slender figure in the blue boots, wriggling in between with a thrust of the hips then accelerating away with startling ease, drawing the first real gurgle of excitement from the travelling fans.
For all the noise around elite sport, the talk of systems and structures, not to mention the great British obsession with hoodoos and jinxes, there is still nothing quite like talent.
Dele Alli is having a slow season. Dele Alli faces a battle for his World Cup spot. Dele Alli has now scored or made 60 goals in 100 Premier League games. He might flicker at times, or have a little raggedness about him. But he remains a ludicrously gifted 21-year-old, able to produce moments of exhilarating incision, and to play with a degree of imagination beyond those who might show a little more discipline in other areas.
That cutting edge was there again just after the hour, as Alli produced the touch that killed the game. Someone may at some stage this season produce a better cushioned, full-speed, tip-of-the-toenail touch rushing in on goal with half an eye on the goalkeeper and the great barrelling rush of expectation behind them, a season there to be seized in that moment. But none spring to mind right now.
Veering on to a pass over the top from Eric Dier, Alli conjured up a beautiful miniature, a first touch so good it took him just wide enough to give an angle to his second, which saw him flick the ball past Willy Caballero with a wonderful, galloping impudence. Spurs were 2-1 up at that stage. The third goal, and Alli’s second, came a few minutes later, made by a pass from Christian Eriksen and some fine ferreting work from Son Heung-min. Chelsea’s defenders flailed as the ball trickled across the six-yard box. Alli’s finish again had something of the playground genius about it, the ball switched from right to left foot, then rolled into the space past Caballero, a moment of clarity in the middle of all that fury.
And so Tottenham added another line to the gathering sense of purpose around this team. They will now surely finish as the top club in London for the first time since Blackburn Rovers were champions. Even better, this was an occasion where Spurs might have been thrown by Álvaro Morata’s opening goal just after that first rousing moment of skill from Alli.
Instead they snatched their way back into this game against the head. It is a constant criticism of Spurs that they only win well; that they fall short when there is need simply to spoil and grab. The Spursiness of Spurs, that essence of almost-there: change the head and the handle however many times you like, that broom still doesn’t quite get into the corners, still tends to snag a little at the vital moments.
Not so here. Spurs were fading a little at the end of the first half but they were dragged level by another moment of pure talent, this time from Eriksen. Alli chased a long drifting pass to the touchline and back-heeled it infield towards Moses, who then gave it straight to Ben Davies. Davies fed a pass infield to Eriksen, who took the most grudging of backlifts and shot with a startling ferocity past Caballero, the ball swirling and dipping with all sorts of malevolent energy.
Eriksen was excellent again here throughout. But somehow it always seemed inevitable that Alli would make the difference. The heightened pressure around him in recent weeks, the hand‑wringing at the odd fragile moment is unsurprising. This is the dominant weather system of English football, a corrosive, endlessly sceptical revisionism applied to every talented player. Two vital goals were a wonderful riposte, on an afternoon when Tottenham’s coherence, the sense of greater purpose around this team, found a cutting edge in the pure, non‑negotiable talent of their roving No 10.
There was a fascinating moment towards the end of a slightly dull opening half-hour at Stamford Beige. Dele Alli had been on the fringe of things in a game that had barely clanked up out of second gear. There were a few loose touches, some misplaced passes. Even then Alli had been his unignorable self, an oddly captivating figure even in those moments where he seems to be playing through a mild fog, circuits jammed, flicks and feints a little out of whack.
That sense of power in reserve was there again as Andreas Christensen and Victor Moses closed on a loose ball, only to find themselves nudged aside by that slender figure in the blue boots, wriggling in between with a thrust of the hips then accelerating away with startling ease, drawing the first real gurgle of excitement from the travelling fans.
For all the noise around elite sport, the talk of systems and structures, not to mention the great British obsession with hoodoos and jinxes, there is still nothing quite like talent.
Dele Alli is having a slow season. Dele Alli faces a battle for his World Cup spot. Dele Alli has now scored or made 60 goals in 100 Premier League games. He might flicker at times, or have a little raggedness about him. But he remains a ludicrously gifted 21-year-old, able to produce moments of exhilarating incision, and to play with a degree of imagination beyond those who might show a little more discipline in other areas.
That cutting edge was there again just after the hour, as Alli produced the touch that killed the game. Someone may at some stage this season produce a better cushioned, full-speed, tip-of-the-toenail touch rushing in on goal with half an eye on the goalkeeper and the great barrelling rush of expectation behind them, a season there to be seized in that moment. But none spring to mind right now.
Veering on to a pass over the top from Eric Dier, Alli conjured up a beautiful miniature, a first touch so good it took him just wide enough to give an angle to his second, which saw him flick the ball past Willy Caballero with a wonderful, galloping impudence. Spurs were 2-1 up at that stage. The third goal, and Alli’s second, came a few minutes later, made by a pass from Christian Eriksen and some fine ferreting work from Son Heung-min. Chelsea’s defenders flailed as the ball trickled across the six-yard box. Alli’s finish again had something of the playground genius about it, the ball switched from right to left foot, then rolled into the space past Caballero, a moment of clarity in the middle of all that fury.
And so Tottenham added another line to the gathering sense of purpose around this team. They will now surely finish as the top club in London for the first time since Blackburn Rovers were champions. Even better, this was an occasion where Spurs might have been thrown by Álvaro Morata’s opening goal just after that first rousing moment of skill from Alli.
Instead they snatched their way back into this game against the head. It is a constant criticism of Spurs that they only win well; that they fall short when there is need simply to spoil and grab. The Spursiness of Spurs, that essence of almost-there: change the head and the handle however many times you like, that broom still doesn’t quite get into the corners, still tends to snag a little at the vital moments.
Not so here. Spurs were fading a little at the end of the first half but they were dragged level by another moment of pure talent, this time from Eriksen. Alli chased a long drifting pass to the touchline and back-heeled it infield towards Moses, who then gave it straight to Ben Davies. Davies fed a pass infield to Eriksen, who took the most grudging of backlifts and shot with a startling ferocity past Caballero, the ball swirling and dipping with all sorts of malevolent energy.
Eriksen was excellent again here throughout. But somehow it always seemed inevitable that Alli would make the difference. The heightened pressure around him in recent weeks, the hand‑wringing at the odd fragile moment is unsurprising. This is the dominant weather system of English football, a corrosive, endlessly sceptical revisionism applied to every talented player. Two vital goals were a wonderful riposte, on an afternoon when Tottenham’s coherence, the sense of greater purpose around this team, found a cutting edge in the pure, non‑negotiable talent of their roving No 10.
