Mission: Improbable

Play it at Wembley. Play it at the old White Hart Lane. Play it at Stamford Bridge. On a normal day, the venue doesn't matter. Tottenham don't beat Chelsea. Put aside the context that we are two awkward teams (one with a little more luck than the other) wrestling with our imperfections. The context never seems to matter. Form goes out the window in a derby game some try to tell me. Maybe for some. But for Spurs, our best teams, our worst teams, our new ones and our old ones all lose to the Blues. It was a Chelsea team on its knees that ended our title hopes in 2016.

Thankfully today was not a normal day.

At first, it had the look of business as usual. Chelsea began the game the brighter and carved their first scoring opportunity quickly, Felix failing to connect with a wise ball over the top on the stretch with Sterling lurking unmarked at the back post. To say I felt negatively about our prospects would be an understatement. This shiny new stadium of ours has been devastatingly besmirched by Chelsea in recent history.Its been a home away from home for them. Lampard won here. Werner scored here. Another defeat today and I'd have wanted yet another stadium to be built.

Yet, asides from some flashy footwork from Kane and encouraging, zippy link-up play with Richarlison, much of the first half was stagnant and tentative. Both teams were managing their own inefficiencies, but in a feisty game were both giving everything they could muster. Chelsea were the slightly more threatening side, managing 2 shots on our net to our 0, but Forster was largely untroubled. The biggest roar of the opening 44 was roused by Romero's successful nut-meg on Kai Havertz. It was that kind of a game. Until it exploded.

The major talking point of the first half arrived with only seconds left before the break. A scrapping mass of blue and white shirts is traditional viewing for the tie. There is no love lost in this particular derby. On this occasion, body shoves and daggered looks were escalated by a jab at Emerson Royal by Hakim Ziyech. I assume he intended to thrust the defender away from him, in response to the hefty shoulder-charge he received moments earlier. Instead, he caught Royal on the lower chin and the Brazilian took to the turf. It was a push reflective of the quality of Ziyech's shooting on the day - tame and inaccurate. It was one of those embarrassing red cards for which football is famous and chastised globally by those who regard our beloved sport with derision. The referee took three minutes to think about it, booked Kai Havertz (?), then booked the victim (???) and then finally decided to show the Chelsea striker the red card.

But then something even more strange happened. The referee, Stuart Atwell, with 50 minutes on a clock of 45, had the sudden thought; maybe I should actually look at the incident I've judged? So then he wanders off to the pitch-side screen. Ziyech is stood on the touchline waiting for someone to tell him what's going on and, low and behold, he is invited back on to the field to continue with just a booking - red card rescinded. With offsides and handballs we are told the same thing; offside is offside, handball is handball. It is matter of fact, black or white, yes or no. Red cards are not, but next week they might be. Is the rule book objective or subjective? Do referees make allowances for context or do they play to the letter of the law? I have no answers to these questions and honestly anything goes these days. I see pundits celebrating his eventual decision. I just don't get it. It being the sport. At this point, I'll take anything I'm told and will assume they're making this all up as they go along.

With the ghost red, a stolen drop-ball and the near surgical removal of Royal's shirt going unpunished, I was beginning to think that the FA were attempting to course correct the officiating damage that had been done in the reverse fixture earlier in the season. Yet, for all Atwell's efforts, he was unable to conjure up the calibre of nonsense Anthony Taylor produced in Tottenham's favour back in August.

Although they began the game with comfortable spells of possession, Chelsea started the second half as a collective abomination. It took just 19 seconds for their game to end, losing out on the second ball on no less than three occasions, all in the same passage of play, resulting in Oliver Skipp scoring his first goal for the club, lashing a ball on the bounce into the roof of Kepa's net.

From that moment on, our opponents were the antithesis of the team we have learned to dread. Their confidence, their professionalism, their ruthlessness had all completely ebbed away by the advent of the full-time whistle. You know Chelsea are in trouble when they cannot collect from their Tottenham bank of points. Thiago Silva left the pitch injured early on after kindly cushioning Kane's landing in the box. His replacement pulled a muscle. Their game-saving subs came poetically too late, lining up by the 4th official as Kane lead the celebrations for Tottenham's second goal. All fortune has abandoned them. Mason was all mouth and no Mount.

Where Tottenham are concerned, it is a momentous day. It is our first league win over 90 minutes against Chelsea since Son side-stepped David Luiz at Wembley under Poch. Since the stadium's opening, Skipp's swerving long-range strike was only our second home goal against them since Lamela's equaliser in the league cup run to final in 2020. Kane is the first player since Gary Lineker to score both home and away against Chelsea in a league season.

Perhaps more importantly, the team is getting better. At the back, everyone performed without error. Leicester and Arsenal are beginning to feel like memories. Our scariest moment came with Mason Mount through on goal, but an alert Fraser Forster eliminated all danger, pouncing on the loose ball. It was how all Chelsea's attacks withered and died, in the grateful hands of our second-choice goalkeeper, who's kit looked as fresh at full-time as it did in the morning. Romero was a stand-out and struck every clearance with intent to kill. His outrageous tackles tow the line expertly between precision and aggression. He was even able to sleep twice on the ball, but a truly toothless Chelsea left him unpunished.

Skipp and Hojbjerg were the more effective midfield partners, the former in particular for his eye-catching goal. Tottenham's midfield hunted in packs, with wing-backs Davies and Royal capably chiming in. Kane was his reliable self, marking the game with another goal. Kulusevski wriggled numerous times out of difficult situations; he too is lookinga little more like his old self. The 88 minutes Richarlison played will serve him well. But in truth, for the bulk of the game he found himself nullified by an excellent Reece James who outmuscled his every manoeuvre.

Only when Tottenham were 2-0 with five minutes left on the clock, did the Spurs faithful find their voice. That's not a criticism, but more of a recognition of just how unlikely it always feels. There's a hope that we might beat Chelsea, never an expectation. Even now as I type these words, I'm struggling to believe it. It was the most expensive Chelsea team ever assembled against us and Tottenham managed to beat them with two academy products scoring the goals. There might be a lesson in there somewhere?

Before the game I felt the sides were similar. Now I am beginning to acknowledge the 14-point gap between the two. It seemed written in the stars that Ziyech, having miraculously survived a fatal red-card would comeback to haunt Tottenham's score-sheet. Yet, his walk back to the pitch is the last thing I remember him doing. Chelsea are in closer proximity to the relegation zone than they are to Spurs in 4th. This match has made something clear; it can often feel like there are dark times ahead at Tottenham Hotspur, but there is more than a foundation in place for success. We can score goals and we can keep clean sheets. So long as those facts remain, we have the capabilities to win football matches. Any football match. A cup final even. We have just had it demonstrated to us what a team without direction actually looks like.

Wednesday night, Sheffield United away, FA Cup. We've won our warm-ups, now comes the real deal.