Glory Of The Football Manager System

[FA CUP QUARTER-FINAL. SELHURST PARK. KICK-OFF: 17:30 GMT.]

Six minutes in, we were one down.

A long ball from Lloris that Tomkins could only nod into Dier’s chest. Dier laid it off first time. Eriksen took two touches and slipped Kane in behind a back four that wasn’t a back four yet. Kane didn’t break stride. Low into the corner. Hennessey beaten.

Kane. 6’. Crystal Palace nil, Tottenham one.

The Holmesdale held its breath for ten seconds, then it started up again. ”South London is OURS TOO, South London is OURS TOO.” I have never been to a ground where twenty-five thousand people sing in the seventh minute of a match they are losing.

Dann had the four of them in a huddle on the eighteen by then. Pointing at Tomkins. At Joel Ward. At Digne. Not at himself. Hennessey was on one knee retying his bootlaces and listening. I said nothing from the touchline. Dann said it all.

Twelfth minute. Townsend’s corner from the right. KB-29. Eze took Dier away with a dummy run to the near post. Benteke peeled off the back post into the cushion of space Spurs always left, and headed it in past Lloris.

Benteke. 12’. Crystal Palace one, Tottenham one.

Benteke ran to the corner flag with his shirt over his head. The yellow card was inevitable. He didn’t care. Eze tackled him into the grass and they ended up laughing.

Dann walked back to the halfway line. Looked at Vertonghen as he passed. Said nothing. He did not need to.

The match settled. For fifteen minutes Spurs probed and Palace absorbed and Dann was everywhere. Three headers won. Two interceptions. He went up for our corner and won the flick-on that started the break that Zaha shot wide.

Got a foul in our own half by stepping in front of Kane before Kane could turn. Kane went down clutching his back. The referee gave Dann the free kick. Pochettino did the cup-of-coffee gesture with both hands. Dann didn’t look at any of them. He walked away.

Thirty-fifth minute.

Riedewald to Milivojević. Milivojević to Eze, half-turned, twenty-five yards out, with Wanyama closing him down. Eze went past Wanyama on the outside with a step-over that the Holmesdale audibly gasped at. He went past Dier on the inside. He was inside the box with two touches and he hit it low with his right foot into the bottom corner past Lloris.

Eze. 35’. Crystal Palace two, Tottenham one.

He ran to the Holmesdale and pointed at the badge. The Holmesdale lost its mind.

Bray was next to me in the technical area, hands on his head. He said, ”That kid is going to play for England before his twenty-first birthday.” Pochettino did the cup-of-coffee gesture again. The fourth official told him to sit down. He did not sit down.

`[FIRST HALF, 40th MINUTE. Crystal Palace 2-1 Tottenham. Possession: 53% / 47%. Shots: 6-5. xG: 1.1 - 0.9. Selhurst on fire.]`

Forty-first minute.

Eriksen long ball. Son in behind Joel Ward who had been pulled out wide chasing Eriksen’s drift. Son to Kane at the top of the box. Kane on his weaker right foot, low into the corner. Hennessey at full stretch.

Kane. 41’. Crystal Palace two, Tottenham two.

You could hear three thousand Spurs fans for the first time in the match. The away end started up with ”Are you watching are you watching are you watching Walsh?”

Dann at the back four again. Shorter huddle this time. He spoke to Joel Ward for ten seconds. He did not raise his voice. Joel Ward nodded twice and put his hand on Dann’s shoulder.

Half-time. The Holmesdale did not boo. They sang ”South London is OURS” for thirty seconds as the players walked off. The Spurs end sang ”We’ve got Mauricio Pochettino” back. The Holmesdale answered, immediately, in unison: ”You’ve got fuck all.”

It was the loudest tunnel I have ever walked into.

The dressing room was not panic. It was Dann in the middle of the floor holding a water bottle, looking at the nine other men in white with red sashes.

”Both their goals are transitions we should not have conceded. Joel, you don’t go alone with Son. You shout. I’ll shout. Tomkins and me cover the inside, Digne tucks in. We don’t get pulled apart again. Yeah?”

”Yeah, skip.”

”Eze. Wanyama is going to come at you in the second half. Get rid of it quicker. Save the magic for when you get round the corner.”

Eze nodded.

”Wilf. You keep cutting in. Trippier is on yellow and tired. He’s going to back off you. One of those backs off, you go past him.”

Zaha nodded.

”Two more for Ibou.”

I didn’t speak. I didn’t need to. Sarah at the back of the room nodded once and went out to get the tactical board ready for the second half.

Dann put the bottle down. Looked at me.

”Second half is ours, gaffer.”

”Second half is yours.”

Second half. The Holmesdale on its feet for the kick-off.

Fifty-fourth minute. Eze to Milivojević. Milivojević to Townsend. Townsend cross-field to Zaha. Trippier two yards in front of him. Trippier had been pinned all match and had played eight Premier League matches in six weeks.

Zaha stepped inside. Trippier backed off. Zaha stepped inside again. Trippier backed off again. By the time Zaha was at the edge of the box, Trippier was seven yards inside it. Zaha placed it. Low. Far post. Past Lloris.

Zaha. 54’. Crystal Palace three, Tottenham two.

The Holmesdale did ”Wilfried Zaha he’s one of our own” for ninety seconds. Zaha got booked celebrating in front of the Spurs bench. He did not care.

Then Spurs came at us. Eriksen had two from outside the box, one wide, one over by Hennessey. Son hit the post. Aurier rampaging up the right. Dann won a header at the back post that should have been Tomkins’s and threw himself across the line to clear a Vertonghen flick to keep us in front.

Sixty-fifth minute. Dembélé caught Eze in the chest with a flying elbow. The referee saw it. Booked him. The replay went on the big screen. Should have been red.

Pochettino was screaming at Dembélé not for the elbow but for the yellow, which would suspend him for the semi-final if Spurs got there.

The Holmesdale did ”Off off off.” The referee didn’t change his mind. Eze got up holding his ribs but waved Rebecca away.

Sixty-seventh minute.

Eriksen lobbed a ball over the top from inside his own half. Son ran onto it. Joel Ward was half a yard the wrong side of him. Son took it on his right thigh, his left thigh, his right foot, and lifted it over Hennessey from twelve yards with the outside of his left. The best individual goal scored at Selhurst Park in seven seasons.

Son. 67’. Crystal Palace three, Tottenham three.

A beat of silence in the away end, then the roar. ”Super super Son, super super Son, super super Son, super Sonny Heung-min.”

Dann on Joel Ward immediately. Hand on the back of his neck. Saying something quietly. Tomkins came over. Hennessey jogged up. The four of them stood in a tight circle on the edge of the eighteen and the referee waited.

Three minutes later, Benteke went down. He had landed on his hamstring. Rebecca was on within twenty seconds. Three checks, then she looked up at me and shook her head.

Sub. Benteke off. Blake on.

Sammy Blake was eighteen. He had played sixty-three minutes of senior football in his life, all of them in the Carabao Cup against AFC Wimbledon in September. He had scored a hat-trick that night and not been on a senior pitch since.

The Holmesdale stood for him. He nodded at Pochettino in the dugout as he passed. Pochettino looked at the floor.

Seventy-fifth minute. Townsend had a quad. He had not had a sprint in six minutes. We needed legs.

Sub. Townsend off. Olise on.

Michael Olise, sixteen years and four months. His mum was in row C of the family stand and she was crying. The big screen cut to her.

Seventy-eighth minute.

Eze was holding his ribs every time he turned. The Dembélé elbow had been worse than he had made out. I looked at Sarah. She nodded.

Sub. Eze off.

The Holmesdale stood for him. He clapped Aviero on the back as Aviero passed him on the touchline.

Aviero on.

Seventeen years, three days. FA Cup debut. Number ten in a back-against-the-wall cup tie at three-three with twelve minutes left. He crossed himself once and walked on.

Sky cut to him. Martin Tyler said, ”And here is Brandon Aviero. Seventeen years old, three days. Brought to Crystal Palace from Sporting CP at fourteen. The academy product Walsh has been developing quietly for two seasons. This is Walsh’s tenth academy debut of the season.”

For three minutes Palace did not get a touch. Spurs pressed. Kane held it up. Eriksen finding pockets between the lines. Aurier throwing himself forward.

Dann was a wall. Four clearances in eighty seconds. Shouted three times for Hennessey to come for crosses. Picked Sammy Blake up by the shoulder once and pointed at where he needed Blake to be, because Blake was eighteen and had not been on this pitch before.

***

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