Spurs - West Ham local derby and a marvellous Premier League title race.

Spurs - West Ham local derby and a marvellous Premier League title race.

Now why can't every Premier League title race be like this every season?  There's everything to play for, two games of the season remaining and the top two refuse to give an inch. We've been here before of course but this season things are different and this is just the finest, most exciting finish to a Premier League season since, quite possibly, Arsenal's last gasp, final seconds winning goal that pipped Liverpool to the old First Division title in 1989 when Michael Thomas swept through almost theatrically to clinch victory and lift the championship.

But with one of the most remarkable of ironies it is Liverpool who find themselves within tantalising distance of the Premier League title with only Manchester City in the way. If  City can once again edge ahead and closer to retaining the Premier League title then all that huffing and puffing may be in vain. This time Liverpool have no Steve Mcmahon or John Barnes in their ranks and the sense of deflating anti climax that hung over Anfield that evening 30 years ago must still leave a bitter taste in the mouths of the Kop faithful.

Today Manchester City go to Turf Moor where another workmanlike Burnley side will slump over the finishing line in a couple of weeks time just glad to be where they are in the Premier League. The Lowry mills and old factories which provide the backdrop to Turf Moor are rather like a suitable metaphor for the kind of football Burnley's supporters have been subjected to this season, grey and sometimes bleak but not necessarily ugly.

Their manager Sean Dyche increasingly reminds you of one of those 1970s working men's clubs comics where Bernard Manning and Frank Carson battled out bragging rights for the funniest joke. Dyche's gravelly voice is reminiscent of those gag tellers who cough their way through a fog of cigarette smoke and then lean on their microphone as if it were an extended member of their family.

On Friday though Liverpool trod on Huddersfield as if they were some annoying obstacle in their way. Poor old Huddersfield, now relegated back to the Championship after one fantasy season in the top flight, were beaten 5-0 by a Liverpool side boasting one of the cleverest finishers in Mo Salah, a hugely impressive Sadio Mane and a collective team ethos that maybe Bill Shankly and Bob Paisley would have heartily approved of. Even a new and refurbished Anfield would have left both Shankly and Paisley glowing with happiness.

Meanwhile back in North London Spurs, who are still settling into their new Tottenham Hotspur Stadium, may be in need of either a commercial sponsor or just some heavy editing. White Hart Lane just seemed to trip off the tongue and besides there are too many consonants and vowels. Still, after their first defeat at their new ground against their so called sworn enemies and London neighbours West Ham, the new soft furnishings may take some getting used to and the sound system could do with some re- adjustment and tweaking.

We all know about the good natured if rather spicy rivalry between both Spurs and West Ham. But after all the hullabaloo which accompanied their move into their spick and span, stunning new home Spurs, having now played their first couple of matches in their new stadium, must have felt like lodgers or sitting tenants. West Ham may never have been welcomed with the warmest of greetings at the old White Hart Lane but they could at least have had the decency to put out a bowl or two of crisps and some tasty vol au vents in their new home.

Spurs will now have to prepare for the first leg of their eagerly anticipated Champions League tie against Ajax next week just a tad shell shocked and little uncertain on their feet. This was not meant to happen. West Ham were supposed to roll over and have their stomachs tickled by Spurs. This was personal, a spiteful grudge match, loathing at its most local and the kind of game Spurs were expected to take in their stride. But West Ham were just awkward, stubborn and determined to re-write the prepared script.

For much of the first half Toby Alderweireld, Ben Davies, Danny Rose and Eric Dier, although constantly ambitious and full of good intentions, never really found the right lock and key to pierce open the West Ham defence. Spurs looked both fluent and cohesive while in possession of the ball but once the 18- yard box had been discovered Spurs were rather like one of those holiday makers at an English seaside resort who forget about the time and find that the hotel manager has already gone to bed. The doors were locked and they'd have to find alternative accommodation.

Still, there was always the permanently creative bright spark in Christian Eriksen, the sweetest of Danish pastries and a midfield playmaker extraordinaire. Surely Eriksen would come to Spurs rescue, igniting a light, creating and inventing, fashioning and manufacturing something out of nothing, guiding and coaxing his team forward, making space where none had thought previously possible. Sadly, this was not the classy Dane's day and while Spurs struggled and banged their heads against the  proverbial brick wall, West Ham grew in confidence and stature.

By the middle of the second half Spurs were beginning to think this would not be the lunchtime that they might have envisaged. Somebody should have remembered to get the chutney for the cheese sandwiches. All of their routes had been blocked and gradually West Ham picked up the baton and ran with it. Spurs star studded passing game had been banished to the sidelines and West Ham's pacy and imaginative breakaway football was beginning to cut the luncheon mustard.

With Felipe Anderson scurrying down the flanks with the most graceful loping style, captain Mark Noble controlling and steadying the ship in midfield, Declan Rice, smartly intercepting any loose ball he could find, Robert Snodgrass at his most professional and grittily purposeful and  Michail Antonio bursting away on lung bursting runs through the heart of the Spurs defence, West Ham looked as if their lengthy away day drought would finally come to an end.

Finally after providing their supporters with some of the eye catching and attractive football they'd seen for some time, West Ham scored the only goal of the game and what a peach it was. Moving the ball quickly through the gears and a succession of lightning passes, Marko Arnautovic, who may still be longing for China, chipped the ball beautifully into the path of Antonio who, seemingly from nowhere, darted towards the near post and cracked the ball fiercely past Spurs keeper Hugo Lloris.

Spurs were now drained of energy and gave every impression of the kind of team who have played so many matches that something had to give. They were passing the ball cleanly and truly but without the threat or menace that most of their fans thought  would come so easily to them- particularly against West Ham. Unfortunately, Spurs were now completely out on their feet, grinding to a standstill and wondering if they'll ever see Manchester City or Liverpool in their rear view mirror.

Back on the managerial padded seats Spurs manager Mauricio Pochettino was sharing notes with his staff and compiling some wondrous hi tech game that would amaze all of us. He seemed to be chatting endlessly and pointing at a screen that nobody would ever see. Over 40 years ago any game against Ajax of Amsterdam would have represented a much more daunting task than the one Spurs will face on Tuesday. Cruyff and Neeskens though are no longer Ajax's plate spinners and the feeling persists that if Tottenham get it right on the night then the flying Dutchmen may find themselves grounded. It's over to you Mauricio.