Blog Front Page: A Solemn Dugout

Not sure how many would remember Jimmy Greaves.

One of the most prolific strikers ever during his days but Greaves, a Tottenham and Chelsea player in the 50s and 60s, his career is perhaps best remembered for being surprisingly dropped by England in place of Geoff Hurst shortly before the 1966 World Cup Finals.

After retirement, Greaves overcame alcoholism to become a popular and humorous TV pundit, best known for "it’s a funny old game".

It’s a funny old game because sometimes things happen that just can’t be predicted. Just like in White Hart Lane, Greaves’ former home ground, when the scoreline reads: Tottenham 0-1 Wigan.

Let’s put it into context. Tottenham had just qualified for Champions’ League group stage by thumping Young Boys of Bern 4-0. In the Premier League, enjoying the better of a goalless draw against Manchester City and earning a tough away win at Stoke.

Wigan, on the other hand, started the season with a 4-0 home defeat to newly-promoted Blackpool and then suffering a 6-0 thumping by champions Chelsea. Two games played, no goals scored, 10 conceded.

Against Tottenham, last season’s corresponding meeting ended with the biggest Premier League victory of the season as Jermain Defoe scored five for Tottenham 9-1 Wigan victory.

So how, just tell me how, could Wigan possibly have won at White Hart Lane on Saturday? Because, as Jimmy Greaves well knows, it’s a funny old game.

Every season, if not every weekend, contains these seemingly freak results: last year it was Burnley 1-0 Manchester United, Stoke 3-1 Arsenal, Wigan 3-1 Chelsea. And now Tottenham 0-1 Wigan has kicked off proceedings in this season’s list of “expect the unexpected.”

So why does it happen? Why do we get games like Saturday’s at White Hart Lane, which on paper was the biggest home banker of the day as a clearly superior and in-form team hosted a horribly out-of-form and inferior opponent?

Of course, there are many contributory factors and no simple answers – if it was possible to ensure that superior teams could defeat inferior opponents 100 per cent of the time, managers as great as Sir Alex Ferguson would have figured it out by now.

Occasionally, but not often, it’s just luck: one team will dominate the game and create countless chances but find their way blocked by an inspired goalkeeper, obstinate woodwork, poor refereeing decisions or miraculous goalline clearances, and then see a wicked deflection send the ball into their net for the only goal of the game.

But games are not often decided by luck and it certainly wasn’t true on Saturday, when Wigan fully deserved their victory.

Sometimes it’s tactical: a manager will devise a strategy and his players will then execute the plans to perfection.

Then there are physical factors such as niggling injuries or tiredness, Tottenham had played only three days previously, while Wigan’s players had been able to rest and recuperate for a full week prior to the game.

Probably the biggest factor in allowing a team to upset the odds, though, is the mental side of the game: things like motivation, confidence, will to win, team spirit.

Surely, you would think Tottenham’s 9-1 victory over Wigan last season must increase Tottenham’s chances of beating the same opponent at the same venue the next time they meet; they’ve already quite clearly demonstrated they’re a far superior team to Wigan – eight goals superior.

But rather than being deterred by those horrific memories, Wigan’s players were just as likely to have been spurred on by them. “We were humiliated here last year. They ridiculed us. Remember that, and don’t let it happen again,” will have been their attitude.

Tottenham, likewise, approached Saturday’s game with the wrong attitude because of their 9-1 win the previous season. The fine line between confidence and over-confidence: the former allows gives you freedom and allows you to reach your peak performance; the latter lulls you into casual sloppiness, which seemed evident in Tottenham’s defending on Saturday. And often, you don’t know that your mental approach is wrong until the game has already started and it’s too late.

I remember watching this American Football movie called The Replacements starring Keanu Reeves as Shane Falco, a former star quarterback who choked in his final college game who said this during a game briefing, "You're playing and you think everything is going fine. Then one thing goes wrong. And then another. And another. You try to fight back, but the harder you fight, the deeper you sink. Until you can't move... you can't breathe... because you're in over your head. Like quicksand".

So, there we have it. so many words yet we’re still not really any closer to understanding how Wigan beat Tottenham – other than a vague sense of a combination of factors including luck, tactics, physical fitness and, most importantly of all, the intangible, indefinable mental aspects of the game. Put them all together and you might just get the answer to how a bad team can beat a good team, but one thing’s for sure... it’s a funny old game... or is it just quicksand?

* article by Andy West but i gave it a twist, that's all.

The coffee aroma was undenyingly refreshing as soon as I stepped into Starbucks.

"The Dutch are in the semifinals!" as my regular Barista hailed my arrival.

As fresh as my coffee is brewed, my memory journeys back to the Oranje game against the mighty Selecao. One would vividly reminiscense this glory as exorcism akin to slaying the ghost of 1994 when Branca vicious freekick ended all Dutch hope. No! Not this time.

The team did well. Too well infact! The fact that De Jong and van Bommel was labelled a nuisance for continuously hacking down Kaka & Dani Alves. The fact that, if memory serves, Luis Fabiano didn't register a single try at Stekelenburg. The fact that Robinho verbally lashes out on Robben is proof enough of how bad Oranje needed this win. And it didn't came beautifully. But neither was the opposition.

Just ask any Brazilians. One would sense an enormous frustration from these so-called favorites. Albeit a whinging one at that too.

"Brilliant game" as i would normally respond but not this time either.

"We rode our luck out on this one", as i casually put it.

Humbled for the fact that we needed an own-goal to savour this match. The brilliance of Julio Cesar, the Champions League winning goalkeeper of Internazionale Milano was absent. He's a winner without a doubt. And it was also his goalkeeping error that prompted the Dutch revival.

Just as I was walking towards my usual spot, I heard...

"Robben was diving, wasn't he?".

I stopped at my track, tracing the voice that prompted the question.

"He was falling over every nudge" it continued...

He was sitting at the sofas. A starbucks corner reserved for those who called this coffee joint a "second-home". He's a regular here nonetheless, one that would quickly judge the frailing and wailing of world football week-in week-out; EPLs especially. As usual, he held his morning papers over his head as he spoke aloud in his thick British accent.

I see him almost every morning. An avid football fan is all i know about him. Passionate. An emotionally charged and hardened supporter of the English team. If Nike's Write The Future must include a fan, I have no doubt he would be part of it.

But his outburst silence the room. Everyone in the room was astounded at his remark. The clock almost stood still for a good 30seconds before...

"Good morning Sir!" as I quickly restore the atmosphere to its rightful state.

As I took my first sip of my quad-shot Chai Latte and continued,

"Left back was Brazil's Achilles' heel. And Robben happened to play there. So I'm not surprise their entire gameplan is all about stopping him" was my reply.

"These Samba partying boys are bloody foolish then" he had me this time!

I stared blankly at my drink. I didn't know what to say.

He changed side. And I'm not ready to defend Dunga & boys. I was shot twice in a space of 30 seconds. By the same man!

I struggled to muster any thoughts without showing much fragility. I'm just not ready for this... yet!

"There's nothing Brazilian in this Dunga team".

"In fact, there is very little Brazilian element even. They played a brand of dirty defensive football no Brazilians would be proud of..." I continue to shoot back.

That's it! There's no need to play devil's advocate here. That's uncalled for since I'm richly bias towards my Oranje. Yes my Oranje. My loyalty has everything to do with this man - Marco van Basten. He's the very reason why I, amongst my friends, supports the Dutch; the best team ever not to win a World Cup.

No! It's not about sympathy. It's about how Oranje moves the ball so graciously one would wonder if physical contact is part of this game.

But modern football has changed the facet of how a game should be played. The Dutch have adapted well too, I thought. Blending flair with physicality.

"Those are bloody strong accusations there" he nefariously wails out.

Okay. That's it! Time to put things straight.

"Look! If they hadn't been too obsessed with defense and Robben, Brazil would be closer to lifting the FIFA World Cup Trophy for the sixth time".

There you go, it's finally outta my system.

"So you reckon Uruguay will compose the same brand of football in semifinals?"

At that moment I really have no clue where this is going. My day-depending coffee is getting cold and stale and here I am, relentlessly trying to politely attrite myself before this conversation is blown away.

Uruguay, led by the fallen "Celeste" Manchester United forward Diego Forlan has been an "Angel" in this tournament I thought. He's singled-handedly carved out win after win for the team. This isn't forgeting how Suarez "took one for the team", aptly put by former international, Gustavo Poyet. But they weren't just playing, they were fighting. A fight akin to restoring national pride. The pride of being the first nation to ever win the Jules Rimet Trophy. A pride that every Uruguay players wear proudly. And by reaching semi-finals for the first time since last winning it in 1950, this is as if a renaissance. The reincarnation of a football powerhouse! These South Americans are really something, I wandered again.

"With all due respect, we both know Uruguay players are warrior-like. One that would go all out and wouldn't give up so easily but really, I just don't see how they will be reaching the finals again. This isn't because we have a quartet in Robben, Sneijder, van Persie and van der Vaart but because we are hungier. Alot hungier. If the Celeste are warriors then the Dutch are a pack of very hungry wolves" i stand politically correct.

I have my pride too. And I am not going to give in to praising others without acknowledging my Oranje is the better team in the end of the day. I held my ground.

"The Dutch it is then, good luck lad" he said while lifting his papers over his head as if ending the conversation.

What?!?? That's it? I was planning my exit all this while but I'm the one left hanging! I'm left high and dry! Again!! This man is really pushing it I thought.

He got me so worked out and all he did was lift his papers? Unbelievable!

I'm raging inside for more "confrontations" now! But I just couldn't recollect my thoughts to strike back at him!

Finally...

"I... lost..." the thought finally reign over me.

I probably stood by the exit for a good minute before I could regain myself. Humbly I bid my final goodbye and walk off.

This conversation is almost as if playing 90 minutes of football. Fighting for every ball and strutting down the flanks for the perfect cross. You can do all that but you just don't know if your team would score...

... and that's exactly how I felt.

... I just have no clue.

... did i win?

... or embarrassed myself in the process.