TOTTENHAM’S demise at the hands of Real Madrid signalled the end of their competitive involvement in this year’s Champions League.

Whatever their fighting spirit, under the inspiring leadership of ’Appy ’Arry Redknapp, it is unlikely that they can score five goals against Real Madrid and concede none, so I think it is adieu for this season. Some people saw the match in terms of a series of compelling on-the-field contests, but I was rather more struck by the contrasting styles of the two managers.

Redknapp typifies the chirpy Cockney football geezer, albeit that he now dresses like a junior trader at an investment bank.

With his crumpled face and permanently startled expression he is a delight to watch, and his range of gesticulations to players, officials, fans, indeed anybody who is watching, is a constant source of amazement: I wonder what they all mean?

It may be some form of code, or private language, much like bookies at a race track. So, perhaps he was not readjusting his formation after Crouch’s sending off, but merely telling his bookie who to back at Aintree?

Jose, on the other hand, provided his usual study in cool. If George Clooney ever needs a break from Hollywood, I can think of a suitable replacement.

Grey hair, smart suits, smouldering glances, and boat loads of camera caressing nods and winks, to say nothing of an ego the size of the Ark Royal.

If Redknapp ends up on Only Fools And Horses, I see Jose starring in ER or Oceans 14. Whichever way it all pans out, I suspect it will be Jose v Pep in the semi-final.

Sometimes the theatre on the touchline is more interesting than the antics on the field.

And a lot funnier.