UEFA Cup: PSV Eindhoven 0-1 Tottenham Hotspur

[funster]

Ah man, where do we start? Its a serious question. We could start at the beginning - the hours sat at Heathrow for example. We could start at the end - the gut wrenching feeling of seeing Chimbonda slide his penalty wide. We could even start at White Hart Lane and conceding possession on the edge of our own box to gift PSV a goal in the first leg. Mmmm..... let's see..... right, we'll start at the beginning.....

Flights and hotel booked a couple of weeks ago, tickets for the game in hand, an 11:45 departure from Heathrow and we were set. I met my sister at T4 just after 10:00 to give us plenty of time to crack into a couple of beers while waiting for the flight. No BA lounge this time. The added cost of flying Club just wasn't worth it so instead we found the Wetherspoons and quickly sank two pints of strong lager. Well, I did. She's only small so it was only a pint-and-a-half!

Expecting that we'd have to set off very shortly we actually ended up still sat in the pub two more pints later. Pretty much everything into Heathrow was delayed because of the winds. I'd kind of anticipated as much. Years of travel in a previous job had served me well, but even I couldn't believe we were going to be two hours late away!

Eventually we got the call and onto the flight, a few other Spurs fans also on the plane. With the plethora of options for getting to Eindhoven the number of Spurs supporters wasn't quite in the same numbers as when we took the trip to Prague, but, resourceful bunch that we all are, there was little doubt we'd be there in numbers.

The flight was short. I'd forgotten what a short hop it was to Amsterdam. Still, enough time to polish off a couple of G'n'Ts! I'm going to be unfairly labelled as being overly partial to those!

The two hour delay at Heathrow played havoc with our plans. We were going to meet up with my mate John from the garage down the road when we got to Eindhoven. He'd opted for the day-trip from Stansted. Sadly, that had been on the premise that we'd get into Eindhoven for about 16:00. Hmmmmm..... no chance of that! It was already pushing on 16:00 and we hadn't even left Amsterdam!

I like travelling in large parts of continental Europe. You get off the plane at Schiphol and walk straight onto the train station. Tickets are easy to buy and a return costs double a single. Trains run on time, they're clean and the staff are polite. Not exactly statements that could all be applied at the same time about train travel here in the UK!

Having missed the direct service to Eindhoven we had to go via Dordrecht. No worries. Time enough for more beer on the way. Sadly with the amount of beer I'd already had I totally forgot about the conference call I was supposed to be on. Oops! I've blotted my copybook at work a couple of times lately. That won't have gone down too well.

Anyway, that's all besides the point. We got to Eindhoven, straight to a taxi and off to the hotel. Dump our kit and straight back into town to meet John and his travelling Spurs companions. The taxi driver was good value. Decent banter and pointed out where we should go after the game to get a taxi back to the hotel. Nice chap, and, as we found out, typical of all the cabbies in Eindhoven - polite and only too happy to have a good chat about the footie!

Eventually, pushing on for 19:30 local time we got back into Eindhoven, called John and attempted to find the Bavaria Bar where he said he was. No luck. We wandered around for ages trying to find this place until I twigged that Bavaria is a brand of beer and every bloody bar serves it meaning they all have the word Bavaria plastered on their front in big neon lights! Aaaaaarrrrrggghhh! Still, we did find them and in just enough time for one final beer before setting off for the stadium.

Its an impressive stadium too. Not massive, but looks good, outside and in. Massive heaters hanging off the roof to keep us warm. Nice touch!

The Spurs contingent were tucked away in the far upper corner and, unsurprisingly, in good voice. We were all bang up for it. A single goal deficit to overturn, and following the weekend's result against West Ham, every confidence in the lads to do the job.

The team line-up was a bit of a surprise at least as far as the fact that Lennon had been dropped to the bench was concerned. All other areas pretty much as expected given Gilberto hadn't even travelled so a chance for Lee to return to his old haunt. The Lennon move was a strange one. I thought he had one of his best games - maybe his best game? - of the season against West Ham having looked genuinely up for it, but faith in Ramos and his team selection was overriding.

As we got underway the hope was for an early Spurs goal. It didn't come. In fact, the first half wasn't exactly anything to write home about as far as goalmouth excitement was concerned. We dominated - utterly - in all areas of the pitch. From front to back we looked solid and well organised, comfortable on the ball. A total departure from the performance at The Lane last week. It was almost as if the tables had been turned with PSV having held the upper hand while we underperformed, only to now have the roles reversed.

Problem was, there still wasn't that last little bit of incisive play in the final third of the pitch that was going to set us up for the goals we needed. There were a few chances, but nothing notable. Certainly not that I really remember vividly anyway.

PSV rarely threatened and the back four was composed enough, even Lee who had been out for a good few weeks. Our reliance on Huddlestone for his range of passing wasn't paying off with, as usual, far too many misplaced or mishit passes. Don't get me started on his corners! Jenas too was strangely muted. Probably on account of the slightly different role he was being asked to play, and maybe a consequence of the injury he'd picked up at the weekend. But really, with the level of possession we had, the dominance we held, even without the goal we so wanted to see, we were confident enough.

Nil-nil, of course, was of no bleedin' use to us, and with forty-five minutes of football separating us from keeping the tie alive and going out of Europe, Ramos went with a very brave decision right at the beginning of the second half. Lennon on, Lee withdrawn, re-shuffle at the back and across the middle. Maybe if Lennon could recapture some the form he showed on Sunday his pace could give us something we'd seemed to lack in the first half.

It wasn't happening though. Still we dominated. Utterly. The chances that did came generally came to us. The reshuffle and more attacking line-up meant there was more space for PSV to exploit, and just like last week the game opened up more as a result. They did, finally, start putting together some decent moves themselves, but we were the better side.

Frustration felt like it was going to start creeping in and with an hour played and the score unchanged, an even braver move. King off, Bent thrown on. You can't fault Ramos for having a crack. No shirking of responsibility, no "let's wait another five to see what happens". He was going for it. Maybe Bent's introduction would inject a bit of pace up front?

Maybe not. He had his chances. With almost his first touch he could've slotted us into the lead, but miscued badly, sidefooting back to Gomes. He had more chances too. A volley here, a header there, but nothing of substance and when he got himself into decent positions by doing what he did at Charlton and running of the back of the last man, his indecision got the better of him and it looked like the final ball was somewhere between a shot and a cross that never reached Keano.

As the half wore on, as we continued to press and create chances and fail to convert, the frustration grew. Where was this goal going to come from? It looked unlikely. I just couldn't see it. For all the possession, for all the dominance all over the pitch, we just weren't creating the quality of chance that would see us get back into this game. Conversely, PSV were coming into it more as full time drew nearer and probably should've scored. Koevermans (I think?) squandering a chance when one-on-one with Robbo.

And then, a bit of magic. Berbatov had flitted in and out of the game, not really recapturing the same exquisite level of play he'd managed on Sunday, but still showing the flashes of brilliance with his first touch that make him such a joy to watch. The mind still boggles as to how he can bring a ball down, under pressure, when in the air himself, with either foot, and, in the same flowing move, play us into a position of attacking threat. He is a joy to watch, but last night he was also a tad frustrating!

Until..... until that absolutely glorious 81st minute from the edge of the box to cap off a move from Chimbonda's cross. A lovely cross it was too, but how Berbatov got on the end of it with a run timed to perfection, catching it off his right peg perfectly and firing low past Gomes..... oh boy!

G-O-A-L! YEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSS!!! The Spurs fans went utterly, utterly nuts! My sister, suffering from a really bad headache by this stage, managed to enjoy the moment, as did John, myself, and the 1600 other Spurs fans in the stadium! Come on!

All of a sudden we were right back in it and the goal that had looked like it wouldn't come, had. My calves felt it too! Those seats are all very close together and when you score, go nuts, jump up and down..... your calves take a battering! Mind you, I didn't notice at the time. This morning though..... ouch!

With the ninety minutes played it was going to go into extra time. League Cup final here we go again! At least we'd experienced it, and knew how to win from here. O'Hara had been thrown on in place of Keane - not sure about that if we went to pens, but a lad full of running and willing - had to be a decent shout.

The chances were there in extra-time as well. There was still that niggle that none of them were clear enough, none quite decisive enough. We were still dominating possession, still controlling the ball, controlling the tempo, but we still weren't quite getting it right into the danger areas.

Lennon had been a total flop since his introduction. It was so disappointing. He just couldn't get himself in the game. With that threat nullified it all really came down to what we could create through the middle and through Malbranque.

Jenas made one terrific bursting run but could quite convert at the end of it. Zokora showed a couple of fantastic turns of pace, but still no end product.

As the clock ticked down, and despite a couple of PSV efforts to put the tie beyond our reach, penalties were looming. John had said to me at the start of extra time that really it didn't matter too much if they scored. We'd still need to score just once to win. He was totally right, of course, but as we got closer and closer to the end of extra time I thought I'd rather settle for penalties.

And then, one, almost glorious moment. With a minute left, a sweet, sweet volley from Steed on the edge of the box destined for the top corner. We were there ready to celebrate in slow motion. That's how it felt. Only for Gomes to deny us. A save of the highest calibre at the very end of the game to deny what would've been a goal worthy of winning any game.

Penalties.

Oh no.

I just couldn't feel any confidence about this, and if that's how I felt, how could the players be feeling any better? Its a sad, lonely syndrome of English football. Our total and utter failure at converting in penalty shoot outs. Mind you, the Dutch aren't exactly great at it either!

The first two were scored without problem, and then, confounding us all, Robbo saved one! Not possible. He doesn't do penalty saves, but sure enough, the ball stayed out! We went nuts again. Cue sore calves - even sorer - in the morning.

From there it proceeded with one PSV and one Spurs player converting, generally with pretty good penalties. How we hoped PSV would miss one more, but it wasn't to be. Destiny in our own hands, Jenas stepped forward, last penalty of the shootout, quarter-finals beckoning.

It looked a decent strike from where we were high and diagonally behind the goal. It looked an equally decent save, pretty much full stretch. The ball stayed out. Oh no. Hearts sank. We'd stood, ready to go through a third bout of calf bashing. Not to be.

Sudden death. I've only been here once before. England-Germany, Euro '96. The first two hit the back of the net, PSV score theirs, its 6-5, Chimbonda has to convert to keep it going.

I wasn't confident. Its so wrong. It feels almost like it was my fault for lacking the confidence in him, in our ability to convert. Gomes went the wrong way, but the ball rolled wide. PSV's supporters piped-up. They were through. The worst outcome possible. Knocked out, on penalties, in a game we dominated, in sudden death.

No doubt the recriminations were there. In fact, I know there were given some of the comments I've read in the Players Lounge! Actually, in the ground, there was no real blame. The emptiness took it all away. Our UEFA Cup campaign was over for another season.

We stood. Then we sat. The stadium emptied, few words were exchanged. Eventually the doors were thrown open and we drifted outward. A few comments about why Malbranque and Lennon didn't take pens, but no real blame laid at JJ or Chimbonda's feet.

Sure enough, as our interloper from Liverpool said earlier this week, free trains laid on from right outside the stadium to Amsterdam, but we headed back into town to find a taxi. Goodbyes exchanged with John, we set about seeking a taxi and eventually resorted to finding a hotel in the centre of town who ordered one for us.

Great taxi driver again. He was shocked PSV had won. Back to the hotel about 01:00, an early-ish start required in the morning to train it back to Schiphol in time for the return home.

A bad night's sleep. A sore head in the morning. Another great taxi driver! Another one who couldn't believe PSV had won. Its an indication, I think, of how surprised so many of the Dutch supporters were that they beat us. They maybe weren't the hardcore PSV supporters, but it just goes to show - they were surprised.

Train back to Schiphol, through to airside, onto the plane, headed home. It was all a bit of a hollow return. Such a shame that in a game we had so utterly dominated we couldn't proceed to the quarter finals.

You could look for all sorts of reasons. Chimbonda's miss. JJ's miss. Gomes saving brilliantly from Malbranque. Bent failing to come up to scratch. Lack of quality chances given the dominance we had. You could even look back to the game at The Lane. Conceding possession on the edge of the box to gift PSV a goal. The generally awful performance we'd put in.

Its all irrelevant though. In the cold light of day, we're out. Its disappointing. No two ways about it. The experience will do the players, the supporters, and the club good for the future. We'll know how to deal with it! Most of us are still getting used to European football on a regular basis again, but that doesn't help..... it doesn't feel like it helps..... right now.

Ten games to go. Realistically, one place in the Premier League to play for. Probably a lot of interesting team selections and formations to be tested out. Could yet be quite an interesting end to the season. Just not the sort of end we wanted. Not an end with another piece of silverware to add to the trophy cabinet.

[Beats]

Good report as ever, stop drinkin so much GnT :6: