Liverpool 1-1 Spurs: Five Tottenham Talking Points

1. Better

AANP opted to mute the commentary on this one. Charming, well-informed and objective though Jamie Carragher undoubtedly always is, I have long held a preference to gargle with broken glass than listen to his input for an uninterrupted 90. He’ll understand in time.

Thusly did it transpire that I watched this afternoon’s number with nothing more than the humming and whirring of the AANP Towers central heating for audio accompaniment, and frankly it’s the restorative sort of practice I’d recommend. Irrespective of whichever voice is behind the mic (and credit where due, in my fledgling commentary career The Drury has been most amiable towards me), watching without sound provides an intriguing new perspective on things.

Principally, I’ve no idea what the media narrative was for this one. With that in mind, as the game inched towards what seemed a 1-0 defeat, I found myself reflecting that I hadn’t expected a point, but had at least hoped for a spot of fight, don’t you know? And in that respect, this seemed a marked improvement on just about anything our heroes have peddled so far this year. Pausing to check that it is indeed March, and letting out a gentle sigh, the conclusion drawn is that whereas in previous weeks I simply saw zero evidence that we would win again this season – or, perhaps, ever – today at least suggested that there might be a win or two lurking in there somewhere.

Starting at the beginning, I’m not sure whether Our Glorious Leader noted – presumably with jaw on the floor in astonishment – that he had a bevvy of fit strikers at his disposal, and therefore opted for a 4-4-2, or whether he simply threw all his formation ideas into a sack, rummaged around and pulled one out, but that’s how we started.

Now my cheeks turn a damning shade of crimson as I admit that in recent weeks I’ve wondered if formations even matter, the gist being that no setup in the world could bring about improvement amongst our troops. And perhaps even today the formation had little to do with our gentle upturn. However, for whatever reason, it seemed to work a little better than in recent weeks (as not for the first time in 2026, the phrase “Low bar” politely clears its throat, acknowledges all present, and quietly slips back into the shadows).

To conceded just the single goal already represents progress, and beyond that there were not many clear-cut chances I can remember the other lot unpicking (at least not until the game became a little stretched in the latter stages, as we committed bodies forward and were caught on the counter).

And while I’m not sure that a 4-4-2 formation can take any credit for our heroes rolling up the sleeves and committing their souls to the gods every time a 50-50 hove into the view, as the game wore on our lot upped the tenacity notch by notch.

2. Danso and Dragusin

It made a rather pleasant change, frankly, to witness a pair of Tottenham centre-backs simply mooch about doing what ordinary, sound-minded centre-backs do these days.

There were no attempts to play extravagant through-balls; nor any 50-yard dribbles; nor were there any ill-advised charges into enemy territory to aim a thigh-high clobbering at an opponent. Dragusin and Danso simply perambulated the centre of defence, and blocked, tackled and headed as appropriate. As remarked above, Liverpool went home with precious few tales of clear-cut chances to relate. In fact, I fancy that we created more, and better, chances than they did.

Dragusin almost undid it all by indulging in an ill-timed daydream towards the end. Having just about taken charge of a situation inside his own area, rather than blasting the ball off into the atmosphere, or at least gambling on a pass back to Vicario, he seemed to forget he was playing football and drifted off to a different period of his life. Not the smartest option with Mo Salah lurking about 6 inches behind him, and there was a mighty sharp intake of AANP breath as Salah got his shot away; but that aside Messrs D. and D. seemed possessed of all the right sort of ideas.

3. Souza

That Souza nib deserves the subtlest tip of the hat. For a start, being only 17 years old, he’s probably never heard of a 4-4-2, so that would have boggled his mind. Progressive thinking, he no doubt muttered to himself, as the magnets were placed on the tactics board.

On top of which, by virtue of everyone else in N17 wandering around with arms in slings and feet in bandages, this young squirt, who presumably has been diligently left-backing his way through life since he was in nappies, was asked to make the best of life as a right midfielder.

Entertainingly, he reacted to the request by scurrying off to the left flank just about every time we advanced over halfway. Fans of symmetry would presumably have been fainting in the galleries as we ended up in a several-on-the-left-and-none-on-the-right format on multiple occasions. However, to his credit young Master S. displayed a sound understanding of the intricacies involved in flying up the left flank, and but for an inch or two in either direction he might have been involved in a goal before half-time.

He and Pedro Porro were up against a tricky little blighter in Liverpool red, and frankly neither emerged from those particular sit-downs with flying colours, but Souza did at least have the good grace to pump his defensive pistons as required. All told, his is a jib I shall hang in the gallery entitled “Cuts Of Which I Like”.

4. Tel

Tel, in common with the entire collective come to think of it (at one point Sarr turned into Maradona, dash it), was one who grew into the game considerably.

In the first half, The Tel Saga was one of a willing young bean whose repeated attempts to scamper past his man met with a constant stream of failure. However, the willing he showed did not go unnoticed, and looked a dashed sight better than the slumped shoulders and accusatory glares of his chums in recent weeks. Tel, to cut a long story short, brimmed full of willing in that first half.

In the second half, he was switched to the right, presumably to accommodate the left feet of Souza and then Xavi. While I assumed that being stationed in such an easterly post would negate the fellow’s prime weapons, it turned out that his juices were flowing to the extent that concepts such as ‘left’ and ‘right’ were mere detail. Instead, the thrust of the Tel approach by this point was to make himself a nuisance to whomever approached him clad in red.

Put another way, Tel seemed in that second half to have begun adding a spot of end-product to his first half willing. In fact, such was his liking for it all that when his number went up with about 15 to go, I rather drooped with disappointment. “Can’t see what Kolo Muani will do that will improve upon Tel’s performance”, was the gist of my complaint, neatly showing how much I know about it all.

5. Richarlison

As possibly the only member of the cast who actually has any experience of a relegation scrap, I suppose one should expect Richarlison to be prominent in games like this.

Now, as has been well documented, the chap’s love of a scrap is as great as his technical ability is small, and it was all on display today. Like Tel and most others, Richarlison grew and grew into the game, to the extent that he merited his own theme music and highlights show by the time he was hooked at the end.

Evidently tasked with filling the role of “Nuisance”, he set about things with his usual gusto, popping up multiple times in the Liverpool area to apply the finishing touch to our best moves. All errant finishing touches, but finishing touches nevertheless. And here, I suppose, lies the great conundrum of Richarlison, for he simply is not a great footballer, in the technical sense.

Take his goal, as a prime example. It was a pretty straightforward chance. Meat and drink to your standard, 6-out-of-10 striker. A square pass along the floor, unmarked from 6 yards out – there’s not too much additional detail needed in margins for that sort of opportunity. And yet Richarlison managed to mis-hit with his principal foot, thereby bashing it into his standing foot, in a technique one might describe as ‘Kinsky-esque’.

Anyway, it did the trick, mercifully. A mis-hit it might have been, but it had enough dingo on it to bobble its way past the ‘keeper, and it was a rich reward for the young bimbo for fighting the good fight throughout.

As an aside, there is probably an entire thesis to be written on Vicario; at least a sizeable chapter of which would focus on his performance today; several pages of which would zoom in on his flap-handed nonsense from the free-kick; but these good moods come around so rarely when watching our lot these days that I’ll give it a pass. By no means are we out of the woods yet, but for the first time in aeons I can at least see a green shoot of recovery. One simply hopes that our lot don’t take a flamethrower to it next time out, what?