You’re Getting Sacked in the Morning: AVB leaves Spurs

December 16, 2013 in Premier League by Joseph Kingsley-Nyinah

Pin It

So, where now?

I’m serious, where the fuck do Tottenham Hotspur go now?

Because going into the busiest part of the year with no manager, with players who seem to barely know each other, while only eight points away from the top of the table doesn’t really seem like a good situation to me.


The only way is down.

It was only two weeks ago I was talking about giving the manager time; I was hopeful that he’d use the points he scraped to build a platform and get the attacking players working again.

Yesterday that went out of the window. AVB played a high line with Michael Dawson against Suarez, Coutinho and Sterling. The description thrown about for that was “suicidal”, and I wasn’t to know how prophetic that would be. Spurs also didn’t have a shot on target; when I saw Levy’s face after the game yesterday, the writing was on the wall.

Essentially, AVB has been sacked for two very bad days: luck on a par with Steve Clarke. But upcoming fixtures against West Ham, Southampton (without Artur “Dribbling Tekkers” Boruc) and West Brom aren’t exactly on a par with two title-chasing teams that can’t stop scoring. And though AVB looked broken, maybe it would have been prudent to see how he reacted to a setback such as this.


No, not his sacking: the game yesterday.

Assuming the main, on-the-pitch reasoning for an early P45 was a lack of fight and no swashbuckling football in sight, the new guy’s brief is obvious.

He needs to mould the players, who right now have one available first-team centre-back and central midfielder, into a coherent force. He needs to be able to do this while playing football with thrust. And he needs to be able to do this while potentially navigating the disapproval of both the British media and fans.

The two favourites are Fabio Capello and Roberto Di Matteo.

Levy, you idiot.


As things stand, AVB gets what I’m sure is a lucrative pay-out, Levy gets to feel like he’s doing something and some unemployed fucker (don’t care who he is, he’s destined to fail) gets the honour of managing in the Premier League.

Everyone wins. Apart from Spurs.