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If you’re old enough to remember the Dagenham pop group The Tremeloes, you may recall their 1967 hit ‘Silence is Golden’ where lots of oo-ahs were used to conceal the rubbish lyrics.
Around the same time false number plates were used to conceal the source of those cars on the road that had been conjured from thin air with components nicked from Ford’s Dagenham plant, but that’s another story.
While the World Cup has proved a welcome diversion from the endless summer transfer speculation, when facts are rarer than the silver in Arsenal’s trophy room, there is no concealing the reality is that since his much publicised maiden interview in English, new Spurs coach Mauricio Pochettino hasn’t said a word, at least not in public.
The club, too, has been struck dumb. It depends how you choose to spell it, but perhaps schtum is a better word. While sounding appropriately Yiddish, it’s probably prison argot coming from the German word stumm, meaning silent. If you want to check, drop Rolf Harris a line.
As the FIFA extravaganza comes to the boil, the only ‘news’ emerging from Three Point Lane was a gastronomic visit from that sanctimonious MasterChef windbag Gregg Wallace who sampled next season’s menu for the Executive Boxholders. Watch out for the tea-smoked duck with sesame snow; remember you saw it here first.
While Spurs fans may be worrying that nothing is going to happen and that they will be lumbered with last season’s raft of mediocre journeymen, they should welcome the silence. Some of you will remember what manager Keith Burkinshaw did in 1978 with the signing of Argentineans Osvaldo Ardiles and Ricardo Villa. These two totally changed the face of what was then Division One football and the legacy is apparent from the starting line ups of all current Premier League sides. History will hopefully repeat itself.
It doesn’t need a judicial enquiry to ascertain that Spur’s defence last season had more holes than a toasted crumpet, so the continued lack of news has kept the rumour machine coughing up more names of potential defenders than there are Chins in the Beijing telephone directory.
Among the more possible candidates are Southampton’s Dejan Levren, Ben Davies of Swansea, John Stones of Everton and Serge Aurier of Toulouse. This is logical enough; we’ve heard nothing about Kyle Walker’s niggling pelvic injury that stopped him getting on the plane to Brazil, and many fans feel that the headstrong Danny Rose is not up to the job in a top six side.
There’s lots more will-he-won’t-he talk, of course, the most recent of which is that ace Frog stopper Hugo Lloris will become Poch’s first skipper.
Spurs themselves see the club as being a top four side; the fans would like to think so, too, but know that since Harry Redknapp, Sandbanks most unlikely inmate, got his P45, that’s totally unrealistic until you’ve downed 10 cans of Carlsberg Export and can dream in stereo. It was squeaky bum time making sixth last season and only possible because Moyes’ Manchester was duller than a Phil Neville commentary.
Spurs and its chairman Daniel Levy have been rightly castigated by the media as exemplars of the hire-today-fire-tomorrow school of management, but they seem to have learned their lesson at last in that Pochettino, Tottenham’s third most famous Argie, is expected to be given time.
Whether that means two or three seasons, the end October or before the beginning of the January transfer window remains to be seen. Time in the Three Point Lane boardroom is measured in injury minutes rather than light years.
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