KETCHUP ON THE MENU, GEEZERS IN THE HOUSE…

It has, by any stretch of the imagination, been quite a few weeks for Spurs. Prior to what can only be described as ‘the radical surgery’, it was impossible to see where the next goal, let alone point, was going to come from, and players made a mockery of the word ‘professional’ by showing less confidence than a one armed juggler. It was absolutely dire. Communication within the club seemed dead. And Spurs already had the shadow of a club on their way to the likes of Turf Moor next season.

Regardless of whether you think he’s responsible or not for what went wrong, chairman Daniel Levy made the sort of decision that requires balls the size of elephants; he sacked the manager, he sacked the coaches and he sacked the structure in place behind them. He cleaned house. And he brought in a man from whom the majority of Spurs supporters wouldn’t accept a free used car. Out with Juande, in wiv’ ‘Arry. Out with sophistication, in wiv’ a geezer. Out with the continental style, in wiv’ the ol’ knees-up ‘Ackney Marshes geddit it dun sun. And by proxy, for thousands of Spurs supporters, out with pre-conceived notions that ‘Arry Redknapp is the dodgiest man in football and in with the FACT that ‘Arry was exactly what we needed, is a messiah, is old-school genius and is the natural successor to Houdini. Football has always been a great place to find hypocracy, and I along with the aforementioned supporters can shamelessly tell you how brilliant the appointment of Redknapp has been despite mere months earlier wondering how much bird he might end up doing if the FA charges stuck.

Redknapp’s appointment coincided with the now-annual capitulation (albeit a little earlier than usual) of Arsene Wenger. Going on 5 seasons without silverware, Arsenal are once again displaying a curious inability to kill off games, or even win them, whenever the going’s a tiny bit tough. And by proxy, their manager continues his metamorphasis into Basil Fawlty with the sort of physical touchline gestures which reveal a petulant, spoilt and vulnerable child beneath the blue bench coat. It is, of course, everyone’s fault that Arsenal have stopped winning. People have been kicking them. Referees have been wronging them. And the players have been weak at vital moments. The manager, of course, remains blameless. His substitutions never come into question, his team selections are never open for debate. His choice of captain, Mary Gallas, remains untouchable, and his refusal to spend more than a few million at a time on necessary players has finally come home to haunt him; Mikel Silvestre, a Man Utd reject, will not bring solidity to your back-line.

‘Arry has brought with him the controversial Kevin Bond, ketchup back onto the canteen menu, and a coaching manual which sometimes totals ‘fucking run about out there’ amongst other things. But it is the language he speaks which has galvanized the first-team squad. To be fair, ‘Arry’s English is probably harder for the likes of Luka Modric to understand than Juande’s dialect, but this isn’t about vowels and consonants, it’s about verve and confidence. It’s about telling these highly-paid and highly-talented footballers that they’re actually pretty damn good. It’s about telling them that when they work together, they’re very very effective. And it’s about knowing who needs a hug and who needs a rollicking, who needs a reminder and who simply needs instruction. More than anything, it’s about imparting confidence IN THEM AS A TEAM. And as an ex-pro himself, ‘Arry knows how to do all of the above.

It is why players like David Bentley, previously struggling with the weight of expectation in foreign areas of the pitch, found themselves in a position to try the audacious and achieve it at the Emirates. His 40-yard goal had little to do with luck and everything to do with sublime skill and confidence; the amazing first touch will have informed that to any naysayers. It is why players like Modric are finally able to show their full range of talents, ‘Arry recognizing that you give players like this the ball in dangerous areas. It’s why forwards like Bent and Pavulychenko, previously rendered unplayable as a pair, combined sweetly in the final minute against Liverpool to fashion a cute and clever winning goal for the latter, though it took Bent’s persistence and pull-back to create the moment.

And the bounce-back through the entire club has been enormous. Everyone, from the trainers to the tea-lady, are ‘appy wiv’ ‘Arry’s vibe and personality. His bounce and his simplicity. His directness. His inclusion of everyone. Indeed, one of his first moves was to give squad numbers to the previously exiled likes of Ghaly, Taarabt, Stalteri and Kevin Prince-Boateng, something which not only lifted their spirits and that of their fellow team-mates, but made decent, logical practical use of players who the club are paying! Football is not a complicated game in this respect.

So when Aaron Lennon stabbed home a Luka Modric post-deflected re-bound in the 94th minute at the Emirates for Spurs 4th, and equalizing, goal, it was (on reflection) a triumph for simplicity and investment in the human spirit; ‘Arry had given them belief and ‘Arry got it back. And when Liverpool failed to bury Spurs in the first 70 minutes of last weekend’s match, everyone sensed that Spurs could (and would) snatch something. Because ‘Arry has remembered that however talented, however famous, however well-compensated, all you need is love. Which he gives each and every person he works with. And it is why this writer has found himself saying something he never, ever thought he’d day; that is that right here, right now, Harry Redknapp is the PERFECT manager for Tottenham Hotspur FC.

Long may it continue…