Freedom For Our People

Freedom is a strange thing. Blood, and drinks, may be spilt over it, but sometimes it can be, quite literally, at your fingertips. Last week I was gaily walking to the tube from work, basking in the late afternoon sunset, when I absent-mindedly put my hands into my trouser pockets. A small act, you might think – and you'd surely be right: inconsequential to even the most expansive of minds, and yet one which suddenly took on great personal significance. As my digits rested against the cushiony linen lining, I experienced one of those moments of stratospheric self-awareness, my mind crashing back to my school days and the shrill tone of prim teachers telling me to stop doing such a thing at once, while tersely enquiring as to where exactly I had left my manners.

Back in the present, this laughably unimportant act of hand-pocketing all of a sudden became (in my own head, at least) a mind-blowing feat of defiance and liberty; a realisation that I was my own person – an adult, yes, but a free one too, understanding that no harm comes from putting one’s hand in one’s pocket, so long as you’re not about to retrieve a knife and lunge at the nearest pensioner. I felt like a weight had been lifted, the albatross of expectation resuscitated and set free. Which brings me neatly (I'd argue) to the football…

While I was busy marvelling at the wondrous synchronicity between enlightenment and boot-cut M&S slacks, something tells me that England’s four Champions League managers were going through their usual routines of expectation management and set-piece trial and error. With Tottenham travelling to Milan and Arsenal facing a daunting rematch against Barcelona, their conquerors last time out, last week was about as mouth-watering as a second round knockout stage gets. This week we witnessed two rather more prosaic encounters, with Chelsea travelling to Copenhagen while Manchester United took in the glories of southern France with a brief sojourn to Marseille. Tricky ties all round then, except for possibly Carlo Ancelotti’s men, although with the kind of pressure currently weighing on his big spending shoulders, any opponent capable of successfully taking a thrown in seems to pose a very clear and present form of danger.

For the first time since all four English sides escaping the group stage became a regular occurrence, Liverpool were nowhere to be seen, replaced – seamlessly and, frankly, far more entertainingly – by Harry Redknapp’s Spurs. While they struggle to decide whether domestically they’re title challengers or fourth place scrappers, the North Londoners have been a breath of fresh air in this year’s competition, playing with an attacking verve and an (occasionally naïve) disregard for their opponents’ qualities that belie their Champions League inexperience.

If you look over the fortnight's results, a couple of notable things jump off of the page. Perhaps most impressively, our three sides playing their opening legs away on the continent conceded not a single goal between them. Indeed, the only success had in front of goal by an opposition team was a solitary strike by Barcelona – a chance created by Lionel Messi and finished by David Villa. Which is fair enough, really. Even more surprising is just how little our continental brethren tested the English rearguards. Milan forced two fine second half saves from Heurelho Gomes but otherwise threatened very little, an eyebrow-raising state of affairs for a team hitting the domestic net with such regularity.

Speaking of eyebrows, Chelsea went about their first leg task with cruel efficiency, dispatching Jesper Gronkjaer and co with relative ease. That Fernando Torres again linked up well with hero-of-the night Nicolas Anelka will please Signore Ancelotti, but the result itself will be of far more satisfaction to him right now, considering the pre-game rumours of impending personal doom should his side have suffered another embarrassment.

Unless you consider White Hart Lane 'home', the one everyone was waiting for took place at the Emirates and whilst last year's contender for game of the season could never be repeated, we were again treated to some delicious fare. Two sides who only really know how to attack did just that; Arsene Wenger's men exhibiting far more gusto and taking the game to the Catalans. As Clive Tyldesley was so achingly eager to remind us, twelve months ago Arsenal barely touched the ball before half time as they somehow went in level, and yet this time around, for all their vigour, they trailed at the interval. But with Young Jack Wilshire in the kind of form that makes you start to believe he might just be our great white hope after all, and Laurent Koscielny putting in the ninety minutes of his life, they turned the match around. The tie sits on the most precarious of knife edges.

The only real disappointment of the four were United, held to a stalemate in the Stade Vélodrome, and in all honesty lucky to score 'nil'. You'd believe they have the power to overwhelm Didier Deschamps' side at Old Trafford, but you can rest assured that the haunting visages of David Trezeguet, Lars Ricken and Fernando Redondo will sit uneasily at the peripheries of their supporters' mind's eyes until they do precisely that.

All of which cleansheet-keeping and advantage-grabbing makes me wonder if English teams have experienced some collective hand-in-pocket moment all of their own. Not that it has necessarily occurred out of the blue this season – our teams have been smashing the crockery at Europe’s top table for a good few years now – but somewhere along the way our teams have coupled the ability of their players with a belief that they can be the equal of the Milans and Barcelonas of this world. As Champions League debutants, Tottenham should have had no earthly right to go to the San Siro and turn over the Serie A leaders (and seven time European Cup lifters) but that’s exactly what they did, playing without fear, defending resolutely when they had to, and causing Rino Gattuso to very publicly lose his shit. In short: the perfect European away performance.

When they weren't busying themselves liveblogging the download progress of a zip file, the Guardian managed to touch upon such a notion themselves, suggesting that Redknapp's troupe has nothing to fear from even Europe's most battle-hardened warriors. That may be a little generous at what is only the mid-point of the round (and let's not turn a blind eye completely to their first half mauling from Internazionale's jaws late last year) but the sentiment certainly rings true. Credit where it's due to Mr Redknapp: his resurrection of Spurs in a shade over two years has been little short of miraculous, and if nothing else has begun to cement some solid England management credentials. His star, like that of his team, is in its ascent and you'd think that only off-field matters stand between him and a shot at World Cup qualification. He must be praying Joe Jordan has a law degree.

One of Redknapp's strengths has always been his desire to let his teams express themselves, recruiting creative types like Eyal Berkovic, Paul Merson and Rafael Van Der Vaart to add guile and artistry to his overachieving projects. Received wisdom states that going blow-for-blow with the best in Europe requires something more than gung-ho bravado, and understanding what this involves has been an arduous process for many of his peers. It took Manchester United several disappointments and a failed experiment involving Juan Sebastien Veron and a shoehorn for Sir Alex to come up with a working, long-term European away formula, one which has since taken them to two of the past three competition finals. The constituent parts appear simple in hindsight: sit and soak up the pressure, push when possible, hit when you can, pay respect to the opponent, but never overly so. It worked in Rome and the Nou Camp in 2008, at the Emirates the following year and against Milan last season, but it was a long time coming.

By contrast, Tottenham's elite learning curve has been a dramatically hurtling and zigzagging one, but they've shown themselves to be fast learners. Their hands may be casually tucked in their pockets but it seems this is no bad thing, as they've happened, by design or otherwise, upon a level of freedom that others have taken years to achieve.

~ Matt