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18 hours ago
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The midfield press was non-existent, Morgan Rogers carving past white shirts before releasing Jacob Ramsey to shoot. The goalkeeping of Antonin Kinsky bordered on appalling but the travelling Tottenham fans who filled Villa Park’s North Stand had another culprit for the opening goal.
It usually takes longer than 57 seconds to be voiced but “Daniel Levy, get out of our club” – or variants thereof – will be heard at every Tottenham game until, well, Daniel Levy gets out of Tottenham. Or, far more unlikely, he changes his approach to spending the club’s money.
Somewhere along the M6 and on the Avanti Express to Birmingham that kicked out at Rugby for a classic Sunday service, a rebellious movement had been formed among visiting fans. The same one as last week, last season, last manager. If a second cup competition exit in a week and a dreadful Premier League position are likely to bury Ange Postecoglou, the Ryan Mason caretaker speed-dial button triggered so that the club can enter another spell in its unhappy place of high liquidity and heavy inertia, the Australian will not be taking full blame. As he kept his usual sideline vigil, arms deep in puffer pocket, expression as implacable as possible, it was the Villa fans who mocked him, not Tottenham’s.
If Postecoglou’s alpha-male obstinacy has worn thin quickly, his freeform tactics outdated, unworkable, how is he supposed to prosper with four teenagers in his team? Beyond the here and now, a long-range worry is that Archie Gray, Lucas Bergvall and Mikey Moore – three of the most talented young stars around – get burned out by heavy exposure; Bergvall added to his growing collection of yellow cards with another mistimed midfield chop. He found himself unable to tackle as Villa broke away to score their second through Rogers.
The other teenager, Mathys Tel, a player Postecoglou horse-whispered from Bayern, scored a dying-seconds consolation, a sharp debut goal. That Tottenham possess talent is inarguable. That the talent is thinly spread is also without doubt, even in the light of the injuries Postecoglou lists as a mantra in defence of his team’s failings.
Villa are the type of club those who sing for Levy’s exit would probably like their club to be like. A fallen giant taking risks to compete again, playing the transfer market and Champions League football alike seems ideal. Were Unai Emery not tarred with the Arsenal brush and his sporting director cohort Monchi not so active and risk‑taking on the margins of profit and sustainability rules, they might be ideal for a Tottenham reboot. But then there’s the vital statistics of Villa’s 92% spend on wages to turnover to Levy’s 42%, plus the additional costs of a high‑end stadium.
A revived Marcus Rashford, Villa paying a not insignificant share of his wages, might well fit into a Spurs team short of zip and elite experience but, again, too risky. There is logic at hand. Perhaps memories abound of Gareth Bale’s less than valedictory loan during lockdown football; someone else’s damaged goods freely available for a good reason may be best avoided.
Still, it brought excitement. The sight of Rashford in Villa tracksuit, hood-up shuttle-running down the sideline warming up among fellow substitutes, was a welcome development from his sad coda at Manchester United – out of sight, out of mind, a name only taken in vain during his manager’s press conferences.
After freezing through the first half on the bench, he stretched away on the sidelines until the call came immediately after Villa’s second goal. Wearing No 9, he arrived into a team enjoying its football. It had been a long time since that was the case at Manchester United. As if encouraged by the magic that Rogers in particular was exuding, Rashford set off on a solo run, beating his man for pace and skill. It had been a while, though a late burst where Gray expertly closed him down showed there is probably much rust to be chipped away. There was even a glimpse of a smile at full time.
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Without Rashford, without Ollie Watkins, without Jhon Durán, now resident in Bahrain as an Al-Nassr striker, Villa had been still dangerous if often wasteful. Donyell Malen, another new arrival, fizzed around, Leon Bailey was lively. Youri Tielemans often loped through Tottenham’s midfield at will.
If Kinsky may not be the most convincing keeper, he saved a deluge of shots. Without him, Villa would have been in the fifth‑round draw by the half hour, the Czech another player of promise possibly scar-tissued by playing for malfunctioning team built by a malfunctioning model.
Like a team fighting for its fallen leader’s honour, Tottenham did throw themselves at the tie after the break and in those dying seconds after Tel’s strike. They had already been undone by the aching gaps and transitional tragedies that may soon damn Postecoglou to joining that long list of predecessors that flashes up whenever the yellow ticker of doom reveals the latest Tottenham manager’s fate.
