Words, words and more words, not one of which made any difference to a league table recording the inexorable slide of Tottenham Hotspur. Thomas Frank gave arguably the best performance of any on another depressing night for Spurs, treating with patience and respect every question that came his way, but it was not enough to save him.
Had his inquisitor with the TNT mic joined the chorus promising the prophetic sack in the morning he could not have been more deliberate in his provocations. It felt gratuitous but Frank did not falter, countering every journalistic thrust with explanations if not answers. It is clear he did not have any of those.
He cited injuries, 11 before the game and another to Wilson Odobert after 35 minutes. He referenced a lack of confidence. The players would, he said, be unstinting in their preparations for the north London derby on 22 February, assuming he would still at the wheel by then.
Frank was, as he also pointed out, just one cog in a system that was already failing. The interrogation continued in the Spurs media suite which hosted exactly the same trial a year ago when Ange Postecoglou was in the dock. Big Ange offered mitigations. There were none then, not even a European trophy saved him, and there are none now with Spurs holed up in 16th place, just five points clear of the bottom three.
Had Benjamin Sesko not smashed Manchester United level in added time at West Ham, the Hammers would have closed to within three points. As it is Nuno and the lads sense the panic gripping their London neighbours.
The fans were done with Frank, no matter how sincere his pledge to fight. His presence had become counter productive, the lack of buy-in from the players and the supporters contributing to the negative spiral. It seemed a cruelty to keep him in post as long as they did when it is clear he had lost what power he had to influence those around him.
These moments carry their own ritual elements, a football manager hung, drawn and quartered for our entertainment like a medieval execution, the spectacle intended to gather up the blame and dump it on the defendant, leaving the higher-ups in the clear. Again.
The blurb just a few months ago when Spurs unveiled a new structure aimed at “sustained high performance” powered by a “modernised football operation” under technical director Johan Lange promised rebirth befitting the palatial setting. A jargon-led Spurs fit for the future.
A relegation fight was not mentioned in that brochure, but that is the reality now. Despite finishing 17th, Postecoglou was spared that fate by the hopeless cases beneath him, Leicester, Ipswich and Southampton too far gone to survive.
Whilst Wolves and Burnley appear irretrievable in 2026, Spurs are left to dog it out with West Ham, Nottingham Forest, Leeds, Brighton and Crystal Palace to avoid the Championship. And of that cohort Spurs appear the most fragile alongside Forest. At least Sean Dyche knows the terrain.
Football does not have the patience Frank demanded. It is not like the corporate environment that today’s ownership structures ape. Fans aren’t customers, no matter the desire to make them so. The atmosphere against Newcastle hung like sacks of coal on the backs of the players.
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A group that looked organised and plausible at Old Trafford a week prior before the immolation of skipper Cristian Romero, were hesitant and fearful against Newcastle, rolling over against a team dealing with its own strife.
Frank is clearly a capable coach and were he working in a laboratory under stable conditions would work it all out. But in this game the men and women in white coats respond to mood not fact, and come for you at the first sign of trouble.
It would have been an astonishing act of faith were Spurs to have stood by Frank. Like it or not he was part of the problem, unable to counter the forces dragging everybody down. Getting rid of him might not work. Keeping him felt like a guarantee it wouldn’t.
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