Springing

Today felt like the first day of spring. The sun was shining for the first time in what seemed like months (time is a highly relative concept) and there were smells! My nose went mad with excitement. So I took the bike and cycled the 25 kilometres or so to the pub, the sun shining in my face all the way. I couldn't help smiling at the beauty of the world, and at anyone unfortunate enough to be in the vicinity. Before the game I had a little picnic on a bench in a park, eating a runny kebab with increasingly cold hands. It was lovely. By the time I couldn't feel my feet anymore it was time to go to the game anyway.

I had had daydreams about this game, in which West Ham were going to play just as badly as they did a week ago and my boys were going to play just as well as they did a week ago. In my dream the final score was something like 10-0, with Berbatov scoring at least a hat trick. I also had nightmares, in which this was the game where West Ham finally picked up their form and arose, transformer-style, suddenly becoming the team they could be and hammered (pun almost not intended) us. Reality was somewhere between the two, and the outcome was nerve-racking.

Initially, when West Ham looked very good and Spurs looked a little disorganised I thought for a while that my worst fears had in fact been realised. Two down at half-time... away from home... when was the last time we crawled out of that kind of mess and lived to tell the tale? An injured Steed had left us with an erratic Ghaly and it was reassuring when Tom Huddlestone came on at half time. Tom immediately made an impact with his calm directing of the ball and suddenly the midfield looked like a midfield again. Tainio had been good throughout, working at his tackling best. Jenas, not at his sparkling best, had to be replaced as well (due to injury feelings?) and the combination of Chimbonda and Stalteri on the right was surprisingly effective. The response to falling behind which the team displayed was admirable, and just what we have been missing for a while. Rather than falling to pieces, the team regrouped, adjusted and played on.

Lennon was mesmerising and even if his runs became predictable to the point where four West Ham players started marking him whenever he touched the ball they still found that the only way to stop him was to take him down. 3 bookings, a few free kicks and a penalty were all the result of fouls on Lennon. The second goal was poetry in motion. Berbatov again dazzled with his sublime ball control, collecting it and sending it over the penalty area right at Lennon's feet. Lennon's clever little flick - no idea how he managed it - then found Tainio's feet and Teemu fired his lethal shot straight into the goal. Just amazing.

I also feel a need to praise Michael Dawson a little... Perhaps a game in which the team conceded three goals is not the best time to praise the defenders, but then again, perhaps it is. (One goal was a free kick and the other two were well executed by the opposition, not due to defensive errors.) I don't praise Dawson enough, nor do others. And I think the reason is that it is easy to forget how good he is, or, rather, take his efforts for granted. He has been building a great partnership with the older and more experienced Ledley King, which was attracting attention and praise before Ledley got injured. Ledley out, all of the sudden Michael was expected to step into his captain's shoes and be the stable man alongside Davenport, Gardner and new recruit Rocha. We trusted to him to sort it all out somehow. And Michael, who is after all just 23, has done just that, with increasing confidence in his own ability to marshal the defensive line. It is an impressive and hope-inspiring sight. The way he has handled things in Ledley's absence has been so good that we forget about it. Well, I just wanted to say that I haven't forgotten. Well done, Michael.
(Incidentally he was mentioned on Fighting Talk when, in response to the question - who, when John Terry is out, is the best central defender in England - one contestant said: "you know that lad at Spurs... what's his name... Dawson - he's very good isn't he?")

Ok, back to the game, where Dimitar Berbatov, who of course had dazzled throughout with an unsurpassed elegance, scored from a free kick. And showed that he does that just as skilfully as he does everything else, making it look easy... It was so pretty and I cried a little, as did a West Ham fan sitting next to me, though for opposite reasons. Her sobbing continued until, with 5 minutes of ordinary time and my nerves frayed like a silk scarf run through a blender, I watched in horrified amazement as West Ham scored again! The girl's scream of joy was deafening. Surely that was it - the most hard come by draw of the season. But no, time for more action and again the team responded beautifully to every opportunity. Four minutes into injury time, just after a free kick for West Ham, and with practically all players in the Spurs half, Defoe gets the ball. And makes a run for it, followed by a clean line of team mates. It was timed and positioned like a military operation. They charged across the field and when Green blocked Defoe's shot (which he had also taken past the only defender in place) Stalteri was there to kick in the rebound. The West Ham fan left, in tears, as did the West Ham players on the field. And in the midst of my own ecstatic joy and pride I still felt immensely sorry for them.