I didn’t think that football life could get any bleaker than Middlesborough away. I forgot about Burnley. For those who were lucky enough to occupy an armchair for this one, it looks like someone rounded up every dump that’s ever been squatted in or shat on by a tramp or a junkie and plonked it on the side of a grim hill at the a*se end of the world. Sprinkle with slush, populate with largely inbreeds, turn the wind up, add a dash of damp and blast-chill for 200 years, then ignore conclusions and basic human rights learned of Industrial Revolution (such as electric lighting in public toilets) and, ta-da! Burnley. If a serial killer was looking for an anonymous, godforsaken hole in which to lurk, where nobody would want to go looking for him, even if they knew he was there, because they just couldn’t face venturing inside, this would be it.
I was so sh*tfaced last Saturday night after L’Arse that I can barely remember how I got home. I got a match report up, somehow, but completely forgot to say anything about Frank Lampard. In fact at the time I don’t think I knew who Frank Lampard was. This by way of an offering to eulogise a phenomenal career and a smashing pair of thighs…
People are saying plenty about the obvious moments, so I thought I’d mention a few of my random favourites. His 400th appearance is one of my “off the beaten
I’m sad he pulled on a City shirt for a bit, but only because I think events conspired to mean he didn’t get the send-off he deserved from us. It doesn’t take one thing away from what he was to Chelsea in my opinion, as he’d earned the right to go wherever he pleased, but it would certainly be apt now for him to get the recognition he deserves, to his face, at Stamford Bridge. Then he can get on TV and do something about elbowing the red mafia off our TV screens.
Looking at just some of the things Frank was good at: I mentioned last week that Alonso’s awareness in following balls into the box has already netted him a couple of goals, and that, allowing for the fact that he’s coming from a more defensive position, this is the first time we’ve had someone nail this consistently since
In the News: Ian Wright is burning his bridges with Arsenal napalm style by speculating about Whinger being off soon. Firstly, I’d question any kind of intelligence coming out of him as suspect based on the fact that “Ian Wright” and “intelligence” is about the biggest oxymoron going. Secondly, I find his attention seeking a bit sad. Apparently, Cuadrado‘s Mum was “praying every day” that Juventus would buy him off us. As Granville (sitcom alias) pointed out, not as hard as we were. Must have been a slow week, as the Daily Fail were running an article imploring you to pin the sh*t tattoo on the footballer. And @ArsenalGuvnor (give him some sh*t, you know you want to) would like us all to know that if you redid the league table based on points per pound spent on players in your squad, Wenger’s copouts would be top. Unfortunately, Mr. Guvnor, that’s not how it works. Where does that leave you? Fourth probably. And tighter than a camel’s a*se in a sand storm.
The Others: I didn’t hear Wenger moaning about decisions in the box this week. Surprise. The Alonso/assault whining was almost as pathetic as the Gooners flaccid non-boycott boycott where everyone actually turned up in the end. Even their own were rolling their eyes when one faction started bleating about that one in the week. The whole of Chelseadom collectively went NOOOOOO! In slow motion when Jake Humphrey started conceding the title to us on BT Sport on Saturday evening. Hush your mouth man. Wreck the finally balanced chi and we will come looking for you! Speaking of BT. A famed player does not a pundit make. In fact, in Slippy G‘s case it makes a bland, horribly biased and slightly whiny/inarticulate person without anything of value to add to the debate who scowls a lot. Please make him go away.
Our Game: Even fervent, fanatical Antonio looked miserable as he set foot on the pitch at Turf Moor to make his way to the dugout. It was horrific up there
Burnley came out of the blocks quicker, but five minutes in we manned up and settled down and we looked quite accomplished for a while. Joy was forthcoming down the right hand side through Victor Moses. Three passes and a run the length of the pitch from him was all it took. Both Costa and Pesto (yes, auto spell, you win *sigh) made the run, but it was the latter who got on the end of the final ball and slotted it home. I spent a whole minute debating with Lew Zealand (muppet alias) about what we could call Joey Barton that would be an adequate reflection of his c
For any dominance in pinging the ball about in the first part of the game, after the goal we barely created anything. At first, Burnley had no answer as to how to
take the ball off us, unless it involved a foul. I counted three players on “very last warnings” complete with firm pointing from the referee within the first half an hour. No cards though. Surprise. Never fear though, northern peasants, because if you can’t win the ball, Chelsea have decided that all afternoon long they will benevolently hand the bloody thing over at every opportunity. This culminated in a gift wrapped free kick given away by Matic in a dangerous position. Which was most unfortunate. Not as unfortunate as the fact that despite having achieved nothing of note in our half, Burnley now had an equaliser. B*llcks. A couple of counter attacks as the home side grew in confidence, but nothing resembling a goal before half time and this was turning out to be a difficult afternoon.
I asked Victor Meldrew to draw me like one of his French girls at half time. He told me to f*ck off. I was quite consumed with trying not to die of hypothermia and find myself passed off with some weepy Irish music whilst Lew Zealand made off with my expensive necklace and left me to freeze after the break. However, I did notice that for the first five minutes we were shocking, and that we gradually regained a measure of control but remained below par. They had six at the back at times, but what Burnley set out to do, they did well today. Matic went off, as did Moses and Pesto and Cesc, Willian and Mich
by, Kevin Friend shows Luiz a yellow for dissent when he and his officials failed to spot or punish the 100th Burnley foul of game. I swore. Probably not as much as Luiz preening and doing his homage to a 90s pop star. (He just needed a saxophone to go with the yuppie ponytail – I love his hair. It’s my new life ambition to touch it) Which brings me to Refwatch: the only one I dislike more than Friend is Marriner. Despite his name, he is about as friendly as your resident neighbourhood neo nazi. He has a Wengeresque capacity to see bugger all, and somehow manages to come out of every game I’ve ever seen him take charge of with both sets of fans hating him. In turn, one of his lino jobbers was also about as observant as a lookout on the Titanic today. Yet frustratingly eager to wave his flag around like a monumental bellend regardless. The home side gradually wound it down and were warned for time wasting as injury time approached. They set out to stop us picking them off, and they did that well, but ultimately it took an outstanding free kick to get a point out of us. We were probably on top when the final whistle went, but no first class smoking room cigar. And they could have just as easily caught us on the counter and nicked it. A draw was fair in the end.
So: Frustrating. On a better day we could have had this lot. But today was not a better day. Matic had the touch of the guy steering Titanic when she face-planted the iceberg. Everything he went near turned to a steaming pile of turd. He was far from the only one having an off game though. Cahill struggled, though made up for it with decisive action at other times. Diego was not at his best, neither was Kante, though he got better as the day went on and you couldn’t say he
I mentioned on the Fancast that I feared this fixture more than Arsenal. Burnley are going to stay up on the back of their impressive home form. When we return to league action against Swansea on our own turf I’ll be far more optimistic about a win than I was today. But cheer up. We could be Sp*rs. (Snigger) In the meantime, Wolves in the cup next week. I’m off to apply for a job with the Burnley tourist board.
AC