Newcastle United 1 Chelsea 0
Saturday 18th January 2020 17:30
The Others: Can’t trust City to get anything done. Gits. Stern finger wag due to Gary Cahill. Pray for Leicester and an absolute miracle. Failing that I will be patenting my own brand of extra durable ear plugs. I’m in talks with Chelsea to have a pair included with every ticket for the Scouse away fixture in the spring.* But as per every other week we can laugh at L’Arse to make ourselves feel better. Because no matter what happens to us, life is sh*tter for them. And as with most other weeks we can laugh at Chequebook Pulis and the Sp*ds. Twats.
*This is a big fat lie.
Them: Some injury returnees. Including their captain. Fingers crossed they’d all be knackered after an hour. Joelinton hadn’t scored in about five years in the league. So you knew what to expect. Two matches in four days for them. Bruce couldn’t have done that when he was a player. It’d wipe him out now. Unsurprisingly Andy Carroll was not fit. Other than for the knackers yard.
Us: Kante back in the starting line up at the expense of Ross. Hooray for the twins, unfortunate for the latter who played well against Burnley. Sadly that meant his nominated, last-ditch Fancast replacement Smutbuddy Glover stayed at home with the dogs too. Sad for the dogs, I mean.
I hate this fixture, though we’ve beaten them the last three times we’ve faced them. Too many occasions it has f*cked us over. I boycott it every year because of the sh*t seats they give away fans. I’m not spending 24 hours on a game when you shiver your bits off half a mile up and the players look the size of mosquitos from where you are. Newcastle can poke it. Especially when some of Thailand’s finest mosquitos have been feasting on my ankles and one of my boobs for the last week. I’ve had enough. I’d rather do Veganuary. Which can f*ck right off. Two chains claiming if the sear a watermelon, (yuck) then if you shut your eyes and switch your brain off it a) tastes like a steak or b) is tuna. Well which one is it? Tell you what. It’s neither. BECAUSE IT IS A WATERMELON. And worse, it’s a rank, hot watermelon. Idiots.
Anyway. Not even the locals had their moobs out when this kicked off, it was that cold. Average possession for Newcastle is the lowest in league this season. Just about 30%. Bruce starting with a 9-1 formation. Which is why he’s had more jobs in the last five years than I’ve had boyfriends. Ever. I wonder what their plan was.
A mistake by Rudiger let them in early on, but the header in the box to set up an attempt on goal was woeful. Only the second time Rudi and Christensen have played together at the back this season, but it would turn out just fine for 93 minutes. Willems was broken inside ten minutes. Only slightly exceeded the length of time he faced us for Frankfurt last season. Innocuous coming together with CHO. All momentum lost by the time we restarted. A good break on 13 ended up running out of play, which was disappointing. Moments later Mount squeezed it across the face of goal but there was nobody there. Another break on 15 came to nothing, and another bar-code was lying on the floor. Caught by Mount, but again, pretty tame stuff. What did I say about Joelinton? Headed one off the bar on 20. Scuffed away in the end by Reece James. Soon enough they were coming at us again. We’d stalled after five minutes of disruption and they’d manage to take advantage of it. There was a good ball into the box by James on 24, but again, there was no-one there to meet it.
We’d got a grip back on the game now, though on 28 it required a sneaky pull back from Rudi to prevent them making a break. No shots on target as yet. It was our turn to hit the woodwork on 32 but Tammy was offside. Kante was on the end of another brilliant James ball on 33, but the keeper took care of it well. First shot on target from either side. Yet another good ball in from James on 39, everything that was good had him involved. We were having a prolonged attacking spell as the half closed out, capped off by a foul on Jorginho that gave us a decent free kick on 42 just outside the area. Mount on the end of it, but it was deflected out for a corner as he tried to bend it round the wall. Five minutes added on. Corner won by Dave on 45, sadly sailed right into the Keeper’s arms. Pinball in the box finally put out by them on 47. Dammit. A quick break from them came to nothing when the referee declared the ball was rolling. Shame. Chorus of “You Don’t Know What You’re Doing” from them. 0-0 at the break. Not horrible but not great either.
The ball was shanked wide by Willian on 52. We outnumbered them at the time going back and should have done better. Rumoured that he had a niggle at half time, so we’ll put it down to that rather than him being a f*ckwit. Another stinging shot by Dave, again from range on 54 but it went straight at the keeper before half a chance for Voldemort went begging.
A wall of barcodes. Did I mention I hate this fixture? It was getting frustrating now trying to break this down, and Frank’s answer was to send Barkley on for Mason Mount. He played damn well, but we were plodding towards Frank’s first 0-0 in charge of the Blues. Best chance yet for Abraham on 71, but the angle was wrong. His feet got muddled and it ended up missing an open path to goal and going wide instead. When have you ever seen a referee ordering a player the other side of the line when he needs treatment so that he can press the game on? Which brings me to Ref/VARwatch: Chris Kavanagh. Douchebag. Buy a bigger shirt. The smuggling peanut pot belly look is off-putting. VAR twat was Kevin Friend. Blissfully anonymous. Anthony Taylor waving the scoreboard. If he looks like getting into his shorts at any point, someone brick him. So we had to do a swift swap and hoik James off. Dave doing his nut at Kavanagh who suddenly wants to apply Queensberry rules to an openly flouted bit of anti-sportsmanship that occurs atelier ground in the country, every week. Emerson on.
Fifteen minutes to go and Emerson still sorting his socks out. A sloppy corner was somehow kept alive, but despite pressing on it came to nothing. Pretty relentless from us as we approached 80 minutes, but barely any of it in the box. When it was, Abraham’s hooked effort was cleared from in front of the line. Off he went for Michy. Sigh. It might make me mean, but I’m never inspired when he gets bowled in as the answer to a situation like this. A CHO cross on 81 just missed Michy’s head. Shame. Tammy being a few inches taller might have got on the end of it. Another effort straight afterwards rebounded out and was absolutely thumped by Emerson, but it deflected wide. B*llocks. Emerson booked for diving. Harsh. Wasn’t a free kick though. They over played their hand on 85 and ended up squandering the chance to have a go, and back up the other end it went. Cross from Barkley could have fallen to someone, but didn’t.
Joelinton smashed it wide on 87. Well wide. And yet probably their best effort in the second half thus far. They’d been flaccid and uncreative. So you knew what was coming. Four minutes added on and we looked bereft now, out of ideas. Nothing had worked. Could Frank bring himself on? Then. Jammy, JAMMY f*ckers. From a shocking corner somehow they’ve put it in. So much a smash and grab it should carry a custodial sentence. Straight out of the playbook of Freddy the Frog.
So: On a day full of draws we fell short of even that. But not really any worse off when you consider Sp*d and City results. I was going to say Arsenal too, but then I looked and saw how far down the league they are and just laughed. Reece James was exceptional, Barkley impressed and brought a new dimension when he came on. I’m really bored of the Kepa bashing. If I was a woke I’d claim it was racist and cry on twitter about it to all my fellow overly PC loser friends. But there’s more chance of me becoming a Sp*rs fan. I’m still confident about Tuesday. They can’t play like the Toon did today, because they have Luiz et al at the back. So it will be much easier to break them down. I’m going to find some gin and to try and buy back the love of my feline overlord, who can smell elephant on my dirty washing and knows I cheated on him.