Like a song that changes time signature for the hell of it, like a friend that inexplicably blanks you, like a match report that noodles away for ages instead of just telling you what happened, Tottenham Hotspur remain medically incapable of doing things the simple way. This is becoming a kind of mania, a disorder, a cry for help. What is this? Who are you really? And, you know, can you not?
For all this, Ange Postecoglou’s side are Carabao Cup semi-finalists, the latest plot twist in a season in which nobody can really agree whether things are going well or not. Great football. But also some terrible football. But also, two games from a trophy. But also, 10th in the Premier League. But also two goals for the brilliant Dominic Solanke. But also two goals basically given away by Fraser Forster.
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