Bonsoir, mes amis, Bienvenue. Wilkommen. Come in and take a comfy seat, you might need it.
I’m writing this fresh from the game versus Everton. Well sort of fresh. I mean getting home close to midnight is a bloody bind, and bloody knackering even after a bobby-dazzling 6-0 win. Even after an odds defying, jaw dropping 4-3 win having been 3-2 down with 5 minutes to go until the end of added time. Ageing, tiredness, aching and intransigence are all temporarily soothed by games like last night. When you’re my age that is….All I can say is ….it really is an age thing and it will come to you all, you can be sure of it, so wipe your smug grins off your face you….you….youngsters* you!
*Pretty much anyone under 50 in my view…..
So, two fabulous wins , interrupted by a mind numbingly piss poor 2-2 draw away to The Dog And Duck second XI. Look yes I know it was Sheffield United, but they’ve been poor enough that even a Dog and Duck team would take three points there.
But back to the ‘review’.
At the time of writing we have three camps amongst the fans . The Poch Outs, the Poch Ins and the splinters in the arse agnostics. Under this you have New Owners Bad, New Owners Good, Bring back Roman and Prawn Sandwich Lovers. Further fragmentation occurs with CFC in Financial Shit, CFC Will Be Fine, and We’re Doomed. Surely that is it? No, because another layer is added with Buy Young Players Good, Buy Young Players Bad and Bring Back Chopper Harris etc.. types. So far so good yeah? Still following me? Good……because as Jimmy Cricket, an appalling Irish comedian from the 1970s, would say ‘and there’s more…’ the next layer is Players are shit,Players are good, Players need time, Players all need selling brigades. When you add New Ground Good, New Ground Bad, New Ground Good if in same place, New Ground Good if we move, New Ground Bad whatever happens, factions into the mix and it’s not hard to see why the media and others might view us as a complete basket case of a club. But after the Mears family nearly bankrupted us, and the Marler Estates episode when we were nearly sold for flats only to be saved by cattle farmer Ken Bates who saved the club, backed the CPO, but wanted to kettle us fans in behind electric fences….it’s no surprise we’re a fragmented and somewhat tetchy fan base. Add to this the romance and glory of the Roman Abramovich era, ending ignominiously under the standard issue heels of the ‘least corrupt ever’** government barely disguised jackboots, forcing a sale of the club for £billions that sit earning interest for the government instead of helping victims of the war in Ukraine and you wonder how any of us can be considered normal. Of course the Roman Empire created further factions between mainly young and old, those who knew only glory and those (like me) who remember the 27 years of nothingness between 1971 and 1997, punctuated only by dismal relegation, glorious promotion and pseudo trophy wins (Full Members Cup anyone?) .
**in ToryWorld where least means most
So…your point being what GJ?…. I hear those who have read this far wonder? I guess the point is you could fit some of those issues over virtually every other football club at some point in their history, so it’s not Chelsea Exceptionalism at play entirely. It’s more like the weird dystopian world of the football supporter who feels constantly hard done by irrespective of success, and in our case, who will in the aftermath of the last two utterly fantastic, for different reasons, home games still find a way to drink their own boiled piss rather than a glass of Verve Clicquot when the team puts in a decent winning shift. It was still not enough for some to witness the thrill of the Manchester United game where the spirit of previous Chelsea sides was invoked via the ‘never giving up’ attitude from Jose, Carlo, Antonio and Tommy coached era’s, saw us throw away a deserved exciting 2-0 lead to crumble to a 3-2 deficit due to our own cock ups, ending in the sheer heart bursting, near orgasmic finish to draw level and then slay the enemy with a final rapier like blade into the footballing heart of Manchester United. For the first time in a while the Earth actually shook for me. There is literally no feeling quite like winning with a last gasp goal. Well…maybe scoring your first goal for your beloved home club (Yes Alfie..I mean you) comes close. Of course we floated away from the ground that night convinced it was a turning point (it may well still prove to be that), but of course the apathy, lethargy and cluelessness returned the following game against a pub side. Charity FC has definitely not been exorcised yet.
Last night , the warm glow of confusion at this Chelsea sides consistent inconsistency (copyright Me – surely a phrase ranking alongside ‘glorious unpredictability’ in it’s appropriateness to Chelsea?) returned for 38,000 home fans. Yes, the potential banana skin of facing an Everton side battered from all directions, including new ground issues, unpopular owners , dismal form, relegations threat, financial anomalies, marmite manager and now points deductions (a heinous and vicious sledgehammer to crack nuts punishment) doled out by an elite, anonymous group of blazered bureaucratic nobodies that form the FA and PL.
What could possibly go wrong?
Well…in the end nothing. The brave souls who gave up their Monday night to get to the game were rewarded by a riotous orgy of entertainment in a footballing sense. 4-0 up at half time, a perfect hat trick for Cole Palmer, left foot, right foot header…..the right foot being from a horrible ricket from Englands No.1 Katy Jordan Price….sorry Jordan Pickford , although I doubt Ms Price would have made such a howling error herself had she been in goal. It was a moment of audacious skill from Cole, alongside the Keystone Kop humour of seeing Pickford’s face when picking the ball out of the net. Even the erratic Nick Jackson scored with a deft touch and slotted shot, to which i can only say…more please. Add to that a second half with another two goals, a fourth for Cole Palmer and a debut goal for young Alfie ‘One Of Our Own’ Gilchrist. A joyous moment indeed, a great win, a happy fan base.
Well…sort of……there were a few drinking their boiled piss, no doubt upset that they had no real reason to scream ‘Poch Out’ into the void, but also fed by the pundits and commentators of the main stream media and keyboard warriors of social media over the penalty incident. In my observations on X/Twitter, I likened the incident to The Bonnie Situation scene from the Worlds Greatest Ever Movie, Pulp Fiction. Two people arguing over the minutiae of details whilst cleaning the car of the remains of the unfortunate now dead Marvin. If Jules was Cole Palmer, and Vince was Nick Jackson/Noni Madueke and Conor Gallagher was Mr Wolf, it was comical, farcical and ultimately trivial. In the end, Cole Palmer with one shove to Nick Jackson enshrined Jule’s immortal words ‘I’m a mushroom cloud laying motherfucker, motherfucker’ before slotting home the penalty.
Was it embarrassing? Maybe for the snowflake brigade. Was it ‘disgusting’? Of course it wasn’t. It was at worst petulant from Noni and Jacko, and judging by Pochettino’s post match statement unlikely to happen again. They’re young men, very young men, they have passion, arrogance, and a lack of perspective . Go to any young persons pub on a Friday night near closing time if you want to see the spectacle of ‘mates’ squabbling over utter bollocks before laughing it off and declaring their undying love and loyalty to their mate.
As a good person said to me on X/twitter, it’s a storm in a thimble.
On to Saturday, an FA Cup semi final versus the in form Manchester City. We are still ravaged by injury and mysterious phoned in illnesses and I’m not sure last nights defence will cope, although Silva and Chalobah did little wrong and lots right, and Cucurella is turning into a chippy little busybody who has rediscovered the art of forward passing (something completely lost last season). Gusto continues to impress and must have Poch wondering where Reece James comes back in next season. It’ll be a nice problem in a veritable sea of selection headaches if we have a fully fit squad. I won’t be watching this game as it’s my better halves 60th birthday (shared date with….errr…Hitler), and we will have a pretty full house of friends, relatives , kids and animals. the game will be recorded and followed via surreptitious peeks at X/Twitter/BBC Sport/LiveS core/Futball24 etc. She deserves my attention for one day a year at least. In a life long pessimistic way I think we’ll lose, and avoid the prospect of losing a seventh final in eight should we get there. I am not convinced this teams hunger to win at Wembley is there yet. But, we do have that chance of finishing in the top 6. It needs cock ups elsewhere, and almost perfect form from us…so it is unlikely. But then so was beating Manchester United in the dying minutes a few short weeks ago. It could be emotional.
Glorious unpredictability and consistent inconsistency. As it has ever been.
KTBFFH, GJ
