Come on Ange Postecoglou, save yourself. Something has to change at Spurs. Plus, mails on why Man City are boring.
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Come on Ange…save yourself
Hello, been a while since I wrote in. I hope everyone’s well…
Anyways, I really fear for Ange here. When there’s a horrible sense of inevitability about a team getting beaten, that’s when…and sorry for the PFM sound bytes…you lose the changing room.
It’s all just so needlessly noble. I’m not quite sure what we’re fighting against here – playing a different style of football occasionally, not asking Ben Davies or Emerson Royal to get rinsed by Saka and Salah, being really cheesed off at naughty Ben White flicking the goalie’s gloves…?
To have to make three changes after an hour suggests he got it wrong from the start. And this has been happening over and over again.
How on earth can you put the same team out at Anfield, barring Richarlison, and expect a different result. What’s going on there – arrogance, freezing like a rabbit in the headlights…? What are you standing up for here Ange – defeat, consistency, defeated consistency? Yes Mourinho was boring, and yes Conte thought he was above us…but we’re okay with a bit of pragmatism when its needed.
Please mate, save yourself. We don’t especially want to go back to square one, we like you, you’ve got something about you. But you’re going to have to be a bit less proud and one dimensional to make it to November.
Andrew, Woodford Green
It was around the 67th minute of the US broadcast of Liverpool vs Spurs, with the visitors trailing four in arrears, when Jon Champion uttered this tremendous mic drop of a line. He said it deadpan, ice cold, with absolute crickets in the commentary booth to follow. I thought to myself, Wow, surely he’s gone early there with such searing assessment of a still nascent Postecoglou era?
Then post-match and out running routine errands with the missus, it belatedly occurred to me: this is Tottenham Hotspur Football Club we’re (he was) talking about.
When Villa opened the day it meant two things: we were assured of third in the table, and Spurs were back in with a fair shout for fourth. Such as circumstances were I’d expected a full head of Ange-ball steam for our fixture, with perhaps the customary Liverpool gift of a goal or two shipped early doors. What we got instead was red arrows for an hour and a tidy 4-0, before flip flops and beach towels came out and Spurs clawed too few back too late.