Frustration grows on a lame day at the Lane

TAKING advantage of Sunday’s respite from this arctic winter, I jumped on my motorbike for the brief four-mile trip from London N5 to N17. It meant that I was able to park up directly opposite White Hart Lane and following the final whistle, I was out of there and back home in time to have my feet up for the kick-off of the afternoon’s second sitting from Upton Park.

Being on the Away Ticket Scheme, where away tickets turn up in the post and the payment is debited directly from my bank, I don’t tend to notice the price of individual tickets. But our neighbours have some audacity charging us an extortionate £47 for their shoddy, sardine-like facilities.

You just know this anti-climax of a North London derby never lived up to its over-hyped billing if I’m left moaning about ticket prices. It speaks volumes for the lack of quality that until the remorselessly-infuriating Manny Eboue tested ref Mike Dean’s patience once too often in the first 30 minutes and earned himself a red card, our immature Ivorian had at least demonstrated the sort of dynamism, to make him the Gunner most likely to give the Spurs a headache.

The Spurs stretcher-bearers deserve a reprimand for the positively way in which they subjected Adebayor to a barrage of abuse from three-quarters of the home fans, when they carted him off a few minutes prior and appeared to intentionally take the long route around the pitch. It wasn’t so surprising the Togonator tore a hamstring, as this was just about the first time he’d turned on the gas. If he’d been grafting, perhaps his muscles wouldn’t have cooled to cause such an injury.

Adebayor of last season would’ve already gobbled up two goals before limping off, sufficiently on his toes to scent the possibility of getting some contact on a couple of dangerous balls across the face of Cudicini’s goal. But whether Ade was a one-season wonder, or has lost his appetite and is merely marking time until a big money move abroad, he’s become a pale shadow of the striker who poached 30 goals in our previous campaign.

Then again, with Lennon running Clichy ragged (mercifully with the ever vigilant Gallas to mop up after our error-prone full-back), with Modric ghosting past Denilson and Song as if we didn’t have a midfield and with the majority of them guilty of gifting Spurs possession with slapdash passing, you could be forgiven for wanting to report the Gunners first-half sham to the Department of Trade and Industry for their feeble misrepresentation of the sort of slick, one-touch entertainment we’ve grown accustomed to (and been spoilt by) under Wenger.

Sadly much like last week’s derby, there was little evidence on the pitch of the sort of passion felt on the terraces. Sure Song huffed and puffed, but with Alex’s nasty habit of allowing opponents to get goal side, he’s still a long way from maturing into the Mascherano class and you got the sense both teams feared defeat too much, to risk going for victory in the second half.

Considering Spurs might never have a better opportunity to end their abysmal Premiership run against us, I was surprised they didn’t try to turn the screw and aside from Almunia’s great anticipation to block Modric’s last gasp effort, I thought we looked the team most likely to nick it at the death.

However as we took pleasure in reminding the home fans of their predicament with chants of “Spurs are on their way to Barnsley” and “We’ll never play here again”, I guess there’s no better testament than Tottenham to the fact that a successful side needs to be moulded, rather than bought off the shelf, by nature of the measly return of their Mickey Mouse trophy for the £335m spent by eight different managers, compared to the success we’ve enjoyed under Wenger at a cost of over £100m less.

Perhaps the highlight of our afternoon was the prospect of Eduardo’s return and the arrival of Arshavin, as we regaled the two Gunners warming up below us. With Walcott and Fabregas, we eagerly anticipate the injection of nearly half a team’s worth of fresh legs. Until recently, I harboured hopes we’d have some influence in the title run-in. But with Villa establishing a seven-point gap over us and with me finding it hard to believe Chelsea won’t recover once Essien returns, I’m beginning to panic.