The Spector of Defeat
I’ve spent a thousand sweaty nights gawping at my bedroom ceiling wondering what piteous act of incompetence Jonathon Spector is about to perpetrate next in a West Ham shirt. He may have the winning smile of a Saved by the Bell alumnus, but based on his ongoing domestic inadequacies, the rest of him is well and truly losing. His timid performances at Upton Park have been of a man brought up on too much non-contact flag football with his soccer mom waiting on the sideline to protect him if things get too tough out there.
But I won’t sleep much tonight either, fitful in the knowledge that Spector is precisely the type of player that is wont to improve dramatically against the country of his employer. So instead of the shy soccergeek we normally see, he’ll belligerently put Joe Cole in his pocket and then crash forward with a terrifying intensity that will have the English defence melting before him. Clint Dempsey may look like Gollum’s guyliner-wearing emo older brother, but tomorrow he’ll be Zidane. Jay Demerit? Beckenbauer.