Question of the Week
How much would you accept for Omar Bogle?
20/09 Tottenham Part 2
By: Tony Butcher
ROBBIE Keane is a paper tiger which Spurs use to scare people, it looks terrifying but in fact is terrible.
Grimsby Town 1 Tottenham Hotspurs 0
As the half skipped gaily towards half time Town tightened the tourniquet. Spurs were slowing, mowing their own lawn in increasingly erratic patterns. More passes were tippled out of play, heads dropping, arguments flowing. Keane was at Cleethorpes station already, making his funny gesticulations. The ball was played near where he wanted inside the Town area, but not to the exact spot. He gave up. Parkinson was more than a pest, a threat, suddenly vibrant. Cutting infield on the edge of the penalty area, rolling past his marker and drifting a shot across Robinson, who was uncomfortable with the silence. England, England's number one (well better than David James) parried aside with the finesse of puppy on rollerskates. Ooooh. More Town pressure, more free kicks, more chances for the Panzer division to roll forward. Rickety, ropey, Robinson doing the hokey-cokey: advancing to the edge the area and flapping at the Kalalalalalalala bear. Shoot! He didn't; the moment was lost, but belief was stirring. Macca raiding, Cohen va-va-vooming, crosses from the left, crosses from the right. Town banging on door and the butler peered timidly through the spyhole. Parkinson again, spinning, winning and grinning as he flabbled a shot at Robinson.
Apparently Michael Carrick was playing. Did anyone tell him?
Half time: Grimsby Town 0 Tottenham Hotspurs 0
Is it half time already? Oh yes. Premiership demystification: a standing ovation, Town fans proudly beating out a rhythm. But Spurs can't be as disinterested, disjointed and plain dim again, can they? Town's defence was having a stormer: Whittle and Jones l'arc de triomphe framing Mildenhall, Keane and Defoe had to run a long way round. Plus they took heed of the keep off the grass signs. Macca had his winger on toast, with a little bit of brown sauce, just to spice things up. Croft was generally coping. Kamudimba and Bolland, in particular, were a solid wedge of wonderfulness, flanked by the tireless twosome. They were clearly frightened of Reddy's pace and Jones the Lump occupied their thoughts on a regular basis. That's us, who cares about them?
We're normally forty five minutes from Doncaster, it could be forty five minutes from dreamland. No, that's not the same thing.
Stu's Half Time Toilet Talk
"The ball moved - is Uri Geller flying overhead?"
The report continues in the Second Half.
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