The concourses at the Etihad Stadium are already swelling by the time Tottenham score their first. The bleak news quickly filters through to the urinals and the pie queue. Shakes of disbelief and muttered curses through pastry-flecked lips. Then another noise, somehow both hollower and more urgent than the first. This noise is harder to decipher. There can’t possibly be the time for a second Spurs goal. Also, the very idea of a second Spurs goal. But what else could this noise be?
Manchester City are 2-0 down and Arsenal are going to be eight points clear at the top of the Premier League. With a game in hand. Nothing about this team, this squad, this stadium, in this moment, suggests an impending title win. It feels ridiculous at this club, in this era, to declare a league championship gone in January with more than half the season still to play. But what else could this noise be?
The first half is a perfectly told joke: a long and winding setup with the punchline that takes it in exactly the opposite direction you were expecting it to. City start mildly but they start well. Erling Haaland is taking up newer positions, more interesting positions, slightly worse positions. He comes deep, almost to the edge of his own penalty area, to receive. At corners he steers clear of the six-yard box with its fortified escarpment, wending his way around to the far post where he puts a meek volley at goal.
But paradoxically, the way defences are now set up to combat Haaland plays beautifully into the hands and feet of Julián Álvarez. This is only his second league start of the season and, even allowing for a World Cup blowout, it’s a surprise he hasn’t featured more. Álvarez doesn’t make the obvious runs, doesn’t approach from the usual angles. If you have a Haaland-induced blind spot he will find it, as he will later demonstrate.
Few sirens, then, as the break approaches. Tottenham have a few counterattacks but City defend them well. Sad to report that Rico Lewis has been lying to everyone about his age. The profile on the City website says he’s 18 when he’s clearly at least 28 and has been running a Champions League-level midfield for a decade. But everyone else has been having a solid 6/10 or 7/10 game. The stands begin to thin out a little. Pep Guardiola prepares a few key messages for half-time.
The next couple of minutes pass in a blur. Something isn’t right here: Ederson misjudges a clearance and Rodri loses the ball to Rodrigo Bentancur and Dejan Kulusevski scores. While we’re all processing that, Tottenham have launched another of their high-speed, low-percentage counterattacks. Harry Kane tries a shot that is really a cross that is really neither; Ederson parries it; Emerson Royal heads into an empty net. Names and faces blending into each other; the night begins to pixelate. Thus far City have largely avoided the fatalism and disquiet that sinks many title challenges. This feels like the moment that changes.
The City players jog out for the second half chastened, impatient, like apologetic lovers bearing flowers. Jack Grealish is playing more centrally. Everyone is playing with more energy. Are Spurs sitting a little deeper? Does Riyad Mahrez have just a little more room to build up speed against them? In the time it takes to ponder these questions Mahrez has taken Ivan Perisic’s phone and wallet and disappeared to the right byline. Álvarez stays out of the melee, waits for the ball to pop back out, pops it right back in.
Somehow going 2-0 down has simplified City’s task, whittled down their options. There are no longer any subplots or moral victories to be pursued. Do, or watch Rob Holding lift the Premier League trophy; there is no try. Two minutes later Mahrez heads across goal and Haaland makes the obvious run, approaches from the usual angle, scores an entirely on-brand, desperately needed goal. It’s hard to know what has been afflicting him these past few weeks. Maybe he’s just lacking half a yard in his legs. Maybe the issue isn’t tactical or physical but mental. Maybe a month of watching Messi and Mbappé tussle for greatness has reminded him of his real place in the order of things. For now, doing the simple things well will serve him just fine.
And now everything feels a little freer, the shapes a little clearer, time has slowed to its usual pace. City are back in their comfort zone: applying pressure, looking for holes, and this Tottenham defence is suddenly leaking in every direction. Mahrez toys with Perisic, toys with Davies, finishes at Hugo Lloris’s near post to complete the comeback. “We have some patterns of play that we need to reignite again,” Guardiola said before the game. By the end, City’s patterns and passing triangles are burning themselves in fire on the pitch.
Mahrez completes the rout. And City claim the win that everyone expected them to before kick-off. Only this time, something has changed. The resting pulse rate of the past few weeks has quickened a little. Haaland has his goal. Mahrez has rediscovered his scintillating edge. From the pitch to the stands to the dugout, everyone looks a little wild-eyed and breathless: like travellers who have stepped to the very edge of the abyss, peered over the edge, and taken a step back.
