Like a song that changes time signatures for fun, like a friend who inexplicably tunes you out, like a match report that rambles on forever instead of just telling you what happened, Tottenham Hotspur are still medically speaking unable to do things the easy way. This becomes a kind of mania, a disorder, a cry for help. What is that? Who are you really? And you know, can’t you?

Despite all this, Ange Postecoglou’s side are in the semi-finals of the Carabao Cup, the latest twist in a season where no one can really agree on whether things are going well or not. Great football. But also terrible football. But also two games from one trophy. But also 10th place in the Premier League. But also two goals for the brilliant Dominic Solanke. But also two goals that Fraser Forster basically gave away.

At least Tottenham’s late fourth goal, scored straight from a corner, dashed any illusions Ruben Amorim had about the extent of the wreckage that still awaited him. For all their new energy, Manchester United still look extremely uncomfortable in defense and deeply troubled by teams forcing them to turn and run. For an hour, Spurs tore them apart, Dejan Kulusevski and James Maddison running amok, Yves Bissouma a pillar of poise in midfield.

And this was the version of Spurs that Postecoglou wished he could roll up in a holdall and take with him everywhere, full of hard runs and clever angles and shot after shot. This is Spurs, if it all makes sense. When the players are largely interchangeable because the parts are meant to be exchanged anyway. Djed Spence, a right-back and left-back. Archie Gray, a midfielder in the midfield half. Kulusevski on the right, but occasionally blacklight on the left. Passages of humming chaos in which possession is lost, regained, lost again, regained again, to the point where one is no longer entirely sure whether they are attacking or defending.

These were the combinations that led to the first goal: Maddison was fouled and then took a short free kick himself, Pedro Porro finally shot from distance and Altay Bayindir parried the ball, but only into the path of Solanke, who sank the rebound for the first From a post. The stadium – as is somewhat usual this season – rose but did not roar, the sheer randomness of the goal disconcerting them a little and perhaps also warning them that the lead had come a little too easily to pass console.

United’s plan, on the other hand, was not easy to read. Early periods of possession quickly morphed into something more reactive, a defensive shell that is the hallmark of a team not yet comfortable in its own skin and thinking more about individual future prospects than collective endeavors. Nobody wanted to make a mistake. No one wanted to be the man who was out of position. “Tara Marcus,” read a banner in the north stand where United fans had gathered: a reminder of how bewilderingly quickly the ground can move beneath you in the early stages.

It still didn’t make sense when the Spurs doubled their lead 47 seconds into the second half, another triumph of familiarity over new. As Son Heung-min raced through the middle, as Maddison overlapped on the left, as Kulusevski checked his run towards goal, United were still reaching for the phantoms, pushing and narrowing, looking for each other rather than the opponent, a safety in Numbers that meant that was really no security at all. Kulusevski shot the ball into the goal from close range after Lisandro Martínez failed to clear the ball.

And for all the vague Jesus vibes that have followed Amorim in his first few weeks at the club, this was perhaps a valuable reminder that these are still the same players who thrashed so ineffectively under Erik ten Hag, one Combination of what was once good enough, potentially good enough, and not quite good enough. Solanke made it 3-0 after a mix-up by Jonny Evans, who came on as a substitute for the injured Victor Lindelöf. Yes, these guys are still hanging around.

That was pretty much it: at least, unless the Spurs did something unspeakably stupid. Like passing the ball to Bruno Fernandes five meters in front of the goal. Or letting Amad Diallo shoot the ball into the net after a Tottenham goal kick. Well, you won’t believe what happened next!

First, Forster and Radu Dragusin had an awkward moment, Fernandes stole in and substitute Joshua Zirkzee shot into the empty net from two meters: the kind of distance from which Zirkzee and indeed your oldest relative are absolutely deadly. Next, Forster hesitated on a free throw, Diallo made a speculative slide, and Forster – a man older than many countries – obligingly hit the ball straight to him.

There were a few late scares and even after Son scored from a corner, Evans headed home from United’s corner and added something undeserved in the dying seconds. But Spurs persevered as they clung to the dream of their first trophy since 2008. It would be deeply strange if something were to happen. But Spurs are becoming a deeply strange team.