The Chides of March

Those of you preoccupied by the larger-scale questions of the world - the meaning of life, the validity of deities, how the universe began and how it may end - I invite you to keep a close eye on Tottenham Hotspur for your answers. For the last few weeks we have been living vicariously in the bubble universe of Cristian Stellini's implausibly triumphant Tottenham. This week, visits to Sheffield and Wolverhampton have seen that universe come to an end. That bubble has burst, and with it, might come the end of another.

Would three points at Molineux have undone the catastrophic devastation caused by Wednesday's elimination to Sheffield? No. But to fail to respond, to slump from one beating to another, to fall to defeat so late in the game, so transparent and identical in manner, certainly exacerbates the anguish we are feeling. This game held little meaning; something robbed from us three days ago. Yet, questions begin to mount. Why were certain individuals rested midweek? If the plan was to prioritise this match ahead of the other, how is it the performance was of such a familiarly poor standard? Why is it that those benched previously would not have looked out of place today on the field at Bramall Lane?

Uncharacteristically, Tottenham actually started the game well with the midfield benefiting from a hungrier group of forwards, who played the game at a greater intensity and moved both themselves and the ball with more zip. However, after a promising opening 45 minutes their fires quickly fizzled out and neither the introduction of Lucas Moura nor Richarlison could reignite the flames. Our substitutions came only after Wolverhampton had utilised all five of their allotted changes. Spurs were slow on the field and slow off it too.

Pedro Porro at least showed signs for encouragement. Where Emerson Royal can at times be guilty of hesitancy and indecision, Porro plays the game with ferocity in a not dissimilar fashion to a certain Cristian Romero. His first half free-kick was particularly eye-catching, but it was disheartening to see him stripped of his opportunity to have another go in the second half in the favour of Harry Kane. Porro's strike thundered hard against the bar, but Kane's predictably stung the legs of the Wolves wall. If memory serves me, Kane has only scored just the two free-kicks in his time at Tottenham - both of which were deflected.

Son had a mixed bag, firing the worst shot of his career to date well over the bar from 12 yards out in the first half. The hoisting of the offside flag did not expunge him from his guilt. In the aftermath, I prayed that the Korean would be able to regain his composure and his positional nous. Early in the second half, my prayers had nearly been answered and Son was unfortunate to see what would have been a trademark Sonny strike cannon off the crossbar.

While Davies is undeniably the safer option at left-back, he simply cannot match the output that Perisic produces. The Croat had a better game today, but that isn't saying much in comparison to his recent contributions. Until the Summer, we are left with the following conundrum; who do we trust as a temporary left-wing back? The blunt Welsh wall, the marauding, misfiring assist-machine or do we give it to Sessegnon for a few weeks again? Does anyone even remember how Sess plays?

Kulusevski can have no complaints with being the first to receive the hook and it is quite possible that Fraser Forster was our man of the match (if that doesn't tell you it was another bad day for Tottenham Hotspur, I don't know what will). His acrobatics prevented a Wolves breakthrough on no less than three occasions, but he could do nothing about the goal that eventually came.

Where do we go from here? It is the same direction that became apparent in Sheffield; Milan at the Lane. Newcastle's defeat at the Etihad is another missed opportunity. The Toon sit behind us by 4 points, with two catch-up games still to be played. Next month we visit Anfield, St James' and host Manchester United somewhere in-between. The Premier League is not a destination we should make any detour for. It is the road towards Milan we must drive. It is the only road we can take. After that, I fear, that the only path left to tread will be the long, dirt foot-trail all the way to Summer.