Chelsea 2 Arsenal 2
Tuesday 21st January 2020 20:15
Mid-table opposition for us tonight. From my sick bed this one. I was actually forbidden from going by a doctor after some spluttering gitbag on an Eva Air 777 gifted me a respiratory virus. So BT Sport it is. The only satisfied party is Bertie my Feline Overlord, because we now basically live on his schedule of sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, eat a bit, sleep. If all of this suffering doesn’t make me thinner I will be devastated.
The Others: Not a lot else going on tonight, other than Everton initially proving that it isn’t f*cking difficult to beat Newcastle and then going to sleep and City making a meal out of yet another game.
Us: James injured, Emerson starts, Kovacic comes in over Mount who drops to the bench.
Them: Bellerin back after shirking most of the season. At some point he’s reflected on awful choices in life and cut his hair. BT resorted to showing Arsenal goals from ten years ago because there is nothing newer to excite their fans. Van Persie is a useless pundit. Predicts a 3-5 win for Arsenal. Says we’ve become likeable since Frank took over. Same will never be true of him. Stat wankery has also hit new levels. Using a vaguely mentioned collection of data, they have now claimed to pinpoint every time a team SHOULD have scored. Yes, apparently now they will tell you what your “expected goals” tally is measured against what you’ve actually scored. We should have scored 23 goals this season. And we’ve drop nine. Which is more than any other side. So in the figment of some sad b*stard’s completely f*cked up imagination, we suck. Right.
Here’s one for them to cling to. In the opening two minutes they had 96% possession. If they were Sp*rs they would have a DVD made. Half run from the Goons early, but then we broke free and it took Luiz and a block for them to get away with just a corner. Sham clearance from Kepa will have got a fair few people moaning. A Kovacic shot was blocked on six, at the expense of any future children Mustafi might have wanted. Build up play for that was excellent.
Torreira made a complete arse of himself rolling about on the floor as we waited to take a corner. Apparently a glancing blow from Dave’s arm is akin to being hit in the face by a wrecking ball judging by the hysterics that followed. Next corner saw the ball bounce off of Christensen, who just about headed it but it wasnt under control and went nowhere near the goal. Hold the press, Ozil was running. David Luiz looks bizarre in a red shirt. Sort of like if you put Jeremy Corbyn in a tux. Point blank range for Tammy on 14. Cross from CHO, strong header across from Rudi and surely it had to go in. But no, he couldn’t quite get hold of it. At this point we were building momentum and they hadn’t fashioned any kind of effort on goal. Not that that means anything with us. 16 minutes and CHO spotted Leno off his line. Think he was going to cross, but he hit a swinging shot that glanced off the bar. We’d had eight corners in little over 20 minutes, so you can’t say the attacking intent wasn’t there. Needed more to show for it though.
Tammy was away on 25, past Leno and running on an empty net when Luiz clattered in from behind. Mustafi’s fault, what a clown. Watching him defend must feel like Melania Trump every time her husband picks up a microphone. But a humiliating return to Stamford Bridge for Sideshow, who saw red for denying a clear goalscoring opportunity. He didn’t go at it like a maniac, but he still couldn’t temper his tackle so as to stay on the pitch. Jorginho stepped up: hop, skip and a jump and slides it into the right hand corner of the net. Boom. 1-0 up against ten men.
Just taking the piss out of them at this point. Shot from CHO with the outside of his right foot required a flying save by Leno on 31. One way traffic, literally nothing going right for L’Arse. Loving Kovacic tonight. Dancing about all over the place. They actually got in our box on 37, but still couldn’t get a shot off. Arteta still hadn’t made a change, though Rob Holding was bobbing about on the sideline. They had, however started stringing more than one pass together at a time. Even when we broke we looked either too scared or too lazy to press as the clock ticked down. Can we not be complacent please. The first half petered out with them crying about a hand ball. Three Gooners giving it 1-0 and you still don’t sing. That there is called irony. If it’s possible, they look even worse than Sp*rs did in the giant toilet bowl a few weeks ago. Three word team talk required by Frank at the break. “Kill, boys. Kill.”
Still no changes by Arteta as the second spell began. When they got the ball they were having a go, and who can blame them, they had nothing to lose at this point. They’ve got no dignity left. By 50 minutes they had resorted to playing football with their hands, though more through ineptitude than crafty intent. We needed to grab the game by the scruff of the neck again, as it was starting to look more like they still had a full complement on the pitch. Languid, was the only way to describe us. Unwilling to risk letting them in and so hanging back.
Guendouzi came on for Ozil, who despite accelerating above a walking pace once in the first half, had looked pointless again. Despite our unwillingness to finish them off, Arsenal had not had a single attempt on goal, on or off target in an hour of play. So you knew what was coming on 64 minutes. The usually infallible twins fell over, leaving Martinelli with a clear run on goal. Nothing Kepa could have done about that but Jesus f*cking wept, how did they end up two on one? Half an hour for us to get our sh*t together. A long range punt from Rudi went straight into Leno’s arms. Barkley getting ready, on at the expense of Kovacic. Three of them down at once with non-existent injuries. In case you were in any doubt as to what their game plan was going to be going forward. Mason Mount also getting ready to come on for Kante.
73 minutes and they were feigning cramp. At this point I was, Lord knows why, reasonably confident. Bellerin was hanging out of his arse, Torreira looked broken. Header by Tammy caught easily on 76, Lacazette robbed Barkley on the edge of the box but luckily they squandered the benefit. Willian off for Batman. Going two up front. They finally brought on Holding for Pepe, who was chased off the pitch for being a time-wasting git by the referee. Ref/VARwatch: Atwell in charge, didn’t do anything to piss me off. Which I think might be a first. No intervention at all from the Virtual A*sehole Referee, which was glorious.
A floating ball in was delivered onto the head of Barkley, but saved again. Corner followed corner. Batshuayi with a chance. Offside. My diatribe aimed at his silly ponytail and their subsequent time-wasting caused a coughing fit. DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAVE!!!!!!!! Tammy limping trying to get onside, Michy offside again, but Dave was a mile on, surged out of the crowd and poked the ball with his right foot. GET IN! 2-1 less than five minutes to go. Tammy on the ground, we’re too idiotic to put it out, Arsenal reaping the benefits, me howling at the TV, Bertie howling for food. Chaos. And then what happens? F*cking Bellerin, who cant put one foot in front of the other he’s so wasted goes and scores with his right foot? I don’t think I’ve seen Arsenal with this much backbone since before I took my GCSEs. Tammy devastated because he couldn’t do any better, Rudi screaming with rage. We are absolute morons.
It had effectively been ten against ten since Tammy buggered his foot. The Batman had the chance to be the hero as the minutes ran away from us, but couldn’t turn it it. Four minutes added on. I’d won a £40 bet but at this rate I’d have to spend all that on getting sh*tfaced. If only we’d put this much effort into attacking for the previous ninety minutes. I. Hate. Short. Corners.
So: I’m torn. I’ve not lost sight of the fact that for Frank to be in this position come the end of the season would be an incredible achievement. I will take it. But not without swearing tonight. A lot. I’m pretty sure that Frank is going to swear more. Because we’re getting sucked into a scrap to stay there. Yet again our management of the game from a commanding position was questionable. Could have been eight points clear of United tonight. Half that now. Lead squandered twice. How we are still even in fourth when we’re this erratic is baffling. Arsenal had bigger stones than us tonight. Just let that sink in for a moment. Arsenal.
Photo comes from Chelsea's official website
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.
Watford 1 Chelsea 2
Saturday 2nd November 2019 17:30
Chelsea 1 Manchester United 2: Don’t know if it was a police decision because last time they had the whole Shed they bought flares, or whether we just couldn’t tolerate anymore whiny Southerners pretending to be Mancs, but the stand was half empty. It was a steady start. CHO almost played in Michy after after three minutes, and Kovacic had flown out of the blocks, as the visitors were subjected to a barrage of “live round the corner.” United were flailing somewhat. After ten minutes McTominay had been booked after clattering into Kovacic like a drunken cart horse. That’s what happens when you train with Phil Jones. It’s catching.
A truly awful corner from them on 12 made our usual disasters look competent, but somehow they got on the end of a shot which went thankfully wide. Their sum achievement so far was somehow mustering 29% possession, and yet we hadn’t fashioned any meaningful effort on goal with all of the work we’d put in. McTominay couldn’t take what he was dishing out. Michy booked for a foul that saw him rolling about on the floor like he’d had a limb severed. A relentless ditty from them about how happy Solskjaer makes them. Oh how the mighty have fallen. Then the game was turned completely arse about face when Alonso tried to make up for losing the ball and gave away a silly penalty. Rashford converted having done nothing else so far. Typically. 100% against the run of play, but that’s what you get when you don’t make the most of being on top. We hadn’t yet managed a shot on target. We just needed to show our teeth. Playing the ball about prettily is nice, but sometimes you need to read a game right and just get stuck in to make it work. We were too nice. The telling point was that Slabhead hadn’t just stashed Michy in his pocket, he’d packaged him up and mailed him back to Belgium. There has to be something severely off with The Beard that you don’t stick him in this game if you are resting Abraham, because he would not have given Manchester’s answer to Wreck it Ralph a moment of peace at the back.
The highlight of the night sitting in the posh seats with JK? Other than the gin and pick n mix? The moment CHO came flying over the advertising boards beneath us. One elderly fan was so incensed (beclad in blue and white afro wig and multiple scarfs) that she gave Williams sh*t, decided that wasn’t sufficient and then powered up her mobility scooter, drove up to the boards as far it would go (slightly ramming them) and proceeded to give it to him louder. She’s a legend. I met her at Leicester last season, she’s been going to games for half a century and when they tried to park her with the home fans she hammered them with swear words that I’ve never even heard of!
Anyway, the second half was better. Zouma was leaping at high balls into the box like a trout on speed, we looked much better going forward. Gilmour, who was excellent, absolutely deserving the standing ovation he got when he was subbed, broke again and when he got a follow up shot off it drew emphatic shouts of handball, which of course got ignored. A misguided shot by Pulisic on 52 should have been laid off to a teammate on either side, another ball went across the face of goal a minute later. Different side to the first half, and yet not scoring. Rashford’s MO, I’ve noticed, is to climb all over people he can’t keep up with. Another handball shout from a Reece James ball went ignored. The crowd sang for Abraham - and with good reason, for Michy had not been good enough thus far. Tammy and Mason Mount were getting ready. You watch, said JK, now he’ll score a wonderful goal. And in that moment he did. And in the next instant I asked JK for the winning lottery numbers. 1-1.
United clearly second best, then halfway through the second half, Pedro gave away what I thought at the time was a necessary free kick outside the box. Rashford decided to pick that moment to score a world class goal. Apparently it was because of the ball. Either way, he had done literally nothing but score two goals, if that makes any sense. Tosser. As could have been anticipated, they then wasted time like they were Burnley. For our part, we never really grabbed hold of this game. We were down to Kovacic and Zouma taking shots at twenty yards with three minutes left. Frustration mounted. Ref Paul Tierney disappointing, to an extent, less so that the lino on the East Stand side, though to be fair the guy looked like a Ken doll after a plastic lobotomy who’d been thumped in the face with a mallet and left with a permanently baffled expression on his face. I we had done our job properly, United wouldn’t have got a result. We did not.
In the News: Pulisic was so ecstatic after Burnley that he almost forgot to take home the match ball. Spy nearly had heart failure because everyone labelled him Chelsea’s youngest ever to score three in a game. Jimmy Greaves was 17. Frank is understandably a little peeved at the notion that he has had no choice but to play our academy boys. He points out that at every turn they have EARNED the right to play for Chelsea, and that despite the transfer ban, he could still field a full team without any of them if he had to. Apparently he turned down offers for Zouma in the summer. Good show, because since that horror show at Old Trafford he has hardly looked back. Xhaka-gate has been highly entertaining, his having been thick enough to tell his own fans to f*ck off. Apparently the club are going to offer him counselling. Though I fear nothing can work through the life disappointment of ending up in North London. Apparently he’s grief stricken. Probably about that last point. And apparently Bill Kenwright offered £1m of his own money to help stop Bury going under. What a nice chap.
The Others: Total clownery in the land of Scouse midweek. The Goons managed to lead 12 times and still get knocked out by the jammy red turds. And today? Jammy, feckworthy, lucky red b*stards, who have spent the last month robbing points they didn’t really earn. Still, we can always laugh at United. Who lost to the mighty Bournemouth, and L’Arse, who drew at home to Wolves. West Ham inexplicably capitulated at home to the Geordies, who scored two goals in a game for the first time under Steve Bruce, who admitted that he realised his team were rubbish whilst sitting on the toilet. Let’s face it though, under Steve Bruce is a suffocating place to be for anyone. Another impeccable performance from Sheffield United, another home win for Brighton, and City managed to get their sh*t together in the end. So Operation ABL still intact.
Them: Heard two of their fans in the cafe beforehand. “We’ve been punching above our weight for years now, this is our level.” Seemed like an apt appraisal based on my not really paying attention to them but looking at the league table.
Us: Kepa returned, as did Dave, Alonso taken out prior to Ajax on Tuesday and Emerson back in. Jorginho and Kovacic in front of them, Mount, Little Willy and Abraham and Pulisic leading the charge. Gilmour earned a place on the bench with his display on Wednesday.
We were going for a fifth away win against a side who haven’t won any game yet this season. I was Sexpest’s babysitter today, which meant I got to threaten to let his chair roll downhill every time he was inappropriate (every time he opened his mouth) and that I got to blog side by side with Chris Evans (special alias) who came to Watford dressed up as ginger Delboy. Dumbo (special alias again) had seen that Anthony Taylor was in charge with Mike Dean in the VAR f*ckwit bunker in Middlesex and predicted nothing but doom. I scoffed at this, till about the 80th minute.
The away support was in fine voice, but it took four minutes and a goal from Tammy to get us singing about Chelsea instead of all the people we apparently don’t like. I’m not preachy, or PC bonkers, but there is nothing funny, in any context, about calling someone a sex offender, no matter how much you dislike or disagree with them. What a ball from Jorginho. Chris Evans and I spontaneously developed the girliest celebration possible, which involves jumping up and down and squealing whilst holding hands. His wife was disturbed. Watford could barely get a foot on the ball at that point, unless it was in the desperate attempt of hacking it away. Gray jumped so early at one point, he’d come down and left a dent in the pitch before the ball even arrived. Nothing was going right for them. Watford ran about like headless chickens, and yet we weren’t exactly making anything more happen in the box. which meant it was not over yet.
On 17 minutes an effort was blocked, before a minute later a Pulisic attempt was predictably saved by Ben Foster, who seems to play out of his skin every time we meet him. At this point it looked like those blokes in the cafe were right. A brilliant turn from Pulisic on 23, off he went, though our final effort bobbled painfully across the face of goal. At this point the wasp, or whatever their mascot is, was losing the will to live. He’d had a brief spell banging on a drum, but was now alternating between sitting on it with as much of a hangdog expression as is possible for an inanimate costume head, lying on the floor like the act of watching Watford hurt, or chatting to a bald bloke in the crowd. And yet soon he was back up on his drum, for we were still not being clinical enough, and they began to come into it more. Their first corner on 38 ended with a shot that went slightly wide, before a block by Zouma in 49 slightly made up for the short sleeves and gloves combo. We nearly managed to double our lead on 42, when a Mason Mount shot was shoved up onto the bar by Foster. Git. The “Oh goodie,” said Chris and I, a set piece aimed at us to finish the half. And yet we survived to go into the break ahead.
Home side's staff couldn’t have been nicer to Sexpest in his chair today, nor the Chelsea fans, who were hampered by a total lack of room for the disabled fans to move or get to a toilet at half time. On a side note, Sexpest trued to get me to hold his little willy, at which point I shoved his chair through the cubicle door and shut it behind him. How did their setup ever get signed off? The whole thing is dependant on two Stannah stairlifts that make Kolo Toure look like a whippet and roughly ten wheelchairs would be stranded on the upper levels with no other way out if there was an emergency.
They looked far better at the restart, though Ben Foster is so predisposed to time wasting that he doesn’t seem to realise that it doesn’t do any good when you are losing. It was soon even more for nothing though, because on 54, Pulisic arrived perfectly to pick up on Tammy Abraham’s ball into the six yard box. Little Willy and Kovacic also instrumental. 1-2. The American took us close again on 57, but the ball deflected harmlessly across the face of goal. Chris and I had decided that we wished we could be linos. Because it is slightly tempting to yearn for a job where you can turn up and literally do f*ck all and get paid for it. It’s either that or we are running for parliament.
Watford hadn’t rolled over and died, but they were back in the same depressed state as the opening spell of the first half now. On 61 minutes, I sh*t you not, Kovacic, who had his name sung for lengthy spells today (It’s not mind-blowing, it’s the old Matic song) actually got a f*cking shot on target. Which is rarer that rocking horse sh*t. Also a mass of singing for Vialli, both of which are far more worthy than singing about Sp*rs or journalists. The Croatian, of whom a picture has emerged that apparently shows him as a child being snubbed by Slippy G, was at it again as the clock ticked over to 64, with a driving ball along the floor that was nearly picked out on the line. Close again on 68, but only a corner after Abraham’s shot was blocked by Mariappa.
Mount was next on 72. At this point I made a note of my surprise that referee Anthony Taylor - usually a thunderc**t of the highest order when it comes to Chelsea, had done nothing to displease me so far. But his time was coming. 75 minutes and Chris Evans says to me: “another goal and a clean sheet will do nicely.” But this is us. Five minutes later along came VAR.
We had had a penalty shout ignored, presumably because it did not constitute a CLEAR AND OBVIOUS error. So tell, me in the name of all that is holy WHAT WAS CLEAR AND OBVIOUS about the nonsensical twattery that, after stalling the game way beyond their timeframes given out at Stockley Park, in which we all sat there baffled in the ground, that resulted in a f*cking penalty for Watford? What about the one for us that didn’t get checked? Utter balls. In the words of El Salvador (special alias) “The only thing more despicable than VAR will be when Deschamps plays Kante against Moldova.” Once again no check by the referee on the screen available? It took them longer than their own parameters for making a decision to even alert the fans in the ground as to what was going on. “F*ck VAR” sang the away end, as on the pitch we tried to do our best Ben Foster impressions and wind the clock down.
CHO on with seven and a half minutes to go, then Tammy off on 87 for the Batman. Watford have a sign next to their clock that says: “The original family club,” as if a family never went to a football match until 1881. By the time we were notified of five added minutes, I had reverted to my standard position re Anthony Taylor: wanting to beat his shiny head with aplastic club like it was a piñata. Who knows what would come out. Certainly not any sense. Michy on the break on 89 minutes, but his run could not match the skill of his turn. Back we came again, but the cross too strong. Suddenly Watford looked like Real Madrid coming forward. Clawing our way over the line didn’t begin to describe it. We were Sam Allardyce dragging himself across the desert on his hands in pursuit of a mirage of a pork pie. Ben Foster, of all people, nearly nicked them a point. He was extremely gracious about the outstanding save from Kepa that denied him a first ever goal, which made me feel slightly bad about always giving him so much sh*t for habitual his time-wasting. But only slightly. As we left, one of the Watford stewards joined in singing Super Frank, which was fun.
So: The utter lunacy of VAR remains. In no way, shape, or form are the league abiding by their own ever fluid, ever changeable parameters when it comes to implementing it. It is so subjective in every individual game as to make it laughable as a tool for improving their percentages across the league, which they have admitted is their lofty ambition. Listen to Frank. He sat in on a meeting himself this week which has once again borne this out. Happily, however, despite their f*ckwittery, (which MoTD will just gloss over) pending the Leicester result (Palace away tomorrow) we sit third, and are now only two points shy of St Pep and his fantasy football squad. Eight wins out of nine, top end of the league just behind a side worth half a billion, 23 goals thus far in the league and Tammy equal top scorer. Not bad for a club who couldn’t sign anyone in the summer, eh? With a manager half the country thought would fall on his a*se? Kovacic majestic, again, some outstanding moments from the likes of Jorginho, Mount, Abraham and Dave at his tenacious best. Kepa the star at the end. Sexpest told us at his birthday party last night that one of the Krays once caught him nicking off them. He got away with a finger wag. Cookie Monster and I have just done a covert run to Chelsea Village Stores when her husband wasn’t looking so we are equipped for the last bit of the journey home with cans of gin and tonic and we’ll be home in time for MoTD. That planning took twelve seconds, so lord knows why the league can’t function sensibly with VAR when they had a year to get ready.
The annual collection for the domestic violence shelter that I run at Chelsea is now up and running. Each year we play Santa to the children living in the refuge with their mums, without a home to call their own over the festive period. This year in addition we have managed to provide winter wardrobes, fund a summer event at the home, send them out at Easter for a day, assist with things like food delivery and a sensory garden and even taken one family to Disneyland Paris. We’re also looking at educational courses for some of the mums to get back on their feet with work. You can use any of the donation details from last year. Paypal address is firstname.lastname@example.org or you can contact me on Twitter/Facebook for bank details. Alternatively, in the run up to Christmas there will be elves on hand at games home and away to take donations if you contact in advance. I’ve also got some things to auction, namely a signed pair of Ruben Loftus-Cheek’s boots, a signed Carabao Cup final shirt, and a signed training shirt from the winning Europa League run last season. All of these have been kindly donated and we have offers to frame them up nicely from fellow Blues. Watch out for an alert when I put them onto eBay in the next couple of weeks.
Lille 1 Chelsea 2
Wednesday 2nd October 20:00
To be honest, I’ve been so wrapped up in laughing hysterically at any Sp*rs meme I could lay my mitts on, it’s a miracle I even remembered that we were playing this game.
In The News: Ross has to be escorted to a cashpoint to pay for a cab, by a copper. And somewhere in all of this a portion of chips was involved. Frank only concerned for the Cabbie having to clean the grease off the back seat. Gooners set to loan out Ozil, willing to pay towards his wages despite not benefitting from anything he does. No change there then. Eriksen’s bird got knobbed by Vertonghen, or nearly got knobbed. Kane tried to punch the latter, now nobody is talking to anyone else in the Sp*d dressing room. The internet says so and the internet never lies. Bernardo Silva charged with being “racially insensitive.” To WHO? Certainly not the “victim,” who wasn’t remotely offended. And what a borefest the big “MNF” fixture was. Rashford has now scored one goal in 16 matches, to add to Ole’s many woes.
The Others: Pahahahahaahhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahah. Paahahahahahahahahaha ahahahahahahahahhaaahhhahahahahahaha. Wait a minute. Pahahahahahahahahahahahah. Favourite quip? “Have Munich declared yet?” Harry F*cking Kane said that beating Southampton was a MASSIVE STATEMENT from them. Not as MASSIVE as tanking seven goals to Bayern. Pahahahahahahahahahhahahahaha. More importantly how does Aurier escape being sent off by on site officials AND VAR when trying to kill David Alaba? That challenge was disgusting. Yet again the Scouse clawing their way over the line and not convincing anybody. Also, City made a waffly big deal out of Zagreb, no win for Real either. Zidane left Bale out. Basking in the fact that Courtois was subbed off at halftime. The fans are laying in to Eden. The longer his misery lasts, the more my addled brain thinks that he might realise he’s made a massive mistake and come home.
Us: Kepa - A defence of Dave, Tomori and Zouma with James and Alonso as wingbacks. Kante returned from a twingey hamstring to partner Jorginho, Willian made his 300th appearance and we were finished off with Mount and Tammy Abraham. The Beard back from illness on the bench, alongside Batman, Pedro Pony and CHO which all bode well for a positive attempt to get three points out of this and atone for squandering points against Valencia.
Dominant, possession wise at the start, but Lille by no means there to make up the numbers. In the meantime Ajax had gone ahead of Valencia in the other group fixture, which was a big plus for us. Early effort for Mount was controlled well by the youngster but struck terribly. On 21 minutes Lille were convinced that Tammy was offside, but he was miles on. Rubbish marking from the hoe side, cross in, Tammy turned and fired right into the corner like it was the easiest thing in the world. A 22nd birthday present to himself and an early lead. Alonso ran face first into a defender in the penalty area three minutes later, but shouts for a spot kick were dubious. Their best effort yet came on the half hour when they broke at speed. Excellent save from Kepa and put out by Reece James for the corner. Still they came at us, Stupid zonal marking. Stupid free header. Stupid equaliser. Another set piece for the home side, but a long way out and Kepa claimed with ease. Osimhen trying to pick a fight with Dave. Who wants to fight DAVE?! Back down the other end and a clumsy foul on Mason Mount gave us a free kick just outside the area. Much chatting between Willian and Alonso ended with the Spaniard lifting it up fine, but failing to bring it down again. Willian reckons he should have taken it. There’s a surprise. Out of nowhere on the stroke of halftime Jorginho came up with a whipped shot that was only kept out by the post, and so we went in level at the break.
Plenty of firepower on the bench if need be. Must make dominance pay. Must be clinical. Must not concede stupid set play goals. Apparently we haven’t won in France for 15 years. That’s an embarrassment for Englishmen. Banging save from Kepa on 51, shabby defending again. Liked this referee. Not interested in whining sh*thousery of any kind. Zouma was looking very adept at the back, James was more settled. Nothing really doing going forward though, we’d gone off the boil. Same can’t be said of their fans who were doing an impressive rendition of the bouncy. Their manager looked like a sleazy(er) French version of Paul Hollywood. Frank needed to change things up now. We hadn’t really got going in the second half. I’d have brought on Pedro Pony for Willian, who was by now rolling round on the floor. Everyone carried on playing on around him and he soon got up. Instead we got CHO for Reece James, who had acquitted himself well overall on his Champions League debut. We went to a back four, with Alonso falling back and CHO slotting in in front of him. Lille went backwards on our formation change, but we had to make it count. Tammy almost did on 70, but it was swept clear and off they ran on the counter. Lucky for us the shot soared miles over. Brilliant move from us led all the way down to Mount dragging a shot just wide on 72. Corner. Not only cleared the first man, but everyone else too. Then a goal from nowhere. CHO shrugs off a defender on the wing, lifts it over the box and Willian somehow smashes the ball into the ground so that it rebounds up into the net. Great subs by Frank and great response from the players. Now don’t f*ck it up. Does make me laugh to suddenly hear pundits and commentators lauding our loan army and the experience the likes of Mount and Tomori have gained from spells away. Having laughed at the numbers we were sending out the last few years. Pedro Pony ready to come on as Osimhen did his best to win a penalty. Kepa stood up brilliantly. Willian was, by now, looking broken. Lille failing to put the ball out. We’d done it for them twice. Mount not looking too spritely either. Kovacic replaced him on 86. He was all over the ball straight away. A bit hairy as we went into four minutes of injury time. Kepa got away with a nightmare in trying to punt it out to Tomori, but somehow we survived.
So: When asked to assess the season so far, Frank said prior to tonight that he wishes we could have had a few more points in the league, and that we hadn’t stuffed up against Valencia. It was essential to get off the mark in what looks like being a very tight group, and we’ve done it. Yet again though, we’ve conceded a rubbish goal on a set piece. Listening to Joe Cole, the club have no intention of abandoning zonal marking, but the tweaking continues apparently. Tweak more, boys, tweak more. Tweet of the Week so far? Well, it’s a Facebook status: “Really? No Pulisic? Blatant favouritism to his old pal CHO. He is a new manager with little experience and is a big obstacle to PuliGOAT development to next big football youngster like Mpabbe or Joe Felix.” It might be scarcely visible amidst a clusterf*ck of awful grammar, but it is nonsense nonetheless. So far you lot have been rubbish at pointing these out. Send them to @CFCgwlb.
As an aside, one of our number has been critically ill in intensive care for a number of days now, so all good wishes going to them for a speedy recovery and a return to the Bridge soon.
Chelsea 2 Brighton 0
Saturday 28th September 2019 15:00
Behold. The largest blog ever.
Chelsea 1 Filthy Red Scouse 2:
Rarely are you this proud of your boys when they don’t win.
The return of the Kante twins! Huzzah! Mason Mount also fit to start. Emerson also made his comeback in the starting lineup after a spell out. The game started at a frenetic pace amidst a righteous and everlastingly entertaining chorus of Steve Gerard (Gerard) slipping on his f*cking arse. They were rampantly trying to get an early goal as we moved on to In your Liverpool Slums. There was a lot of puzzlement as to why Michael Oliver was wearing the same outfit as their time-wasting schmuck of a goalkeeper, before the first real forward movement from us saw Little Willy comfortably manoeuvred off the ball. “Got to scream for a penalty though? Haven’t you?” Said Tyler (Sitcom alias) next to me. Alonso already warming up. Sigh. Was Emerson ever really fit to play? Was it worth the risk? Best chance for either side came to us on the ten minute mark, but fell short. Abraham, however: anyone worried about how he’d shape up to Dick Van Dyke, he was most certainly willing to give it a go. Then a stupid, stupid foul from Christensen gifted them a dangerous free kick. Admittedly we were at the other end of the ground, but it looked far too close to be that scary. Lucky c*nts scored anyway. Another set piece, another zonal marking fiasco, another goal conceded. Alonso was on. First thing he did was put a convincing ball into the box along the floor, but they punted it out. W*nkers. we were leaving so many back on corners etc., that Tammy was alone in the six yard box with the scum, but what we weren’t doing was rolling over and playing dead. Which was something.
Two filthy fouls from Wijnaldum already. No punishment. Fearless tackle from Mason Mount blew away all semblance of nerves he might have had over that ankle. On 23 minutes we were in, and Mount was desperately screaming for Tammy to square it to him, as were 38 thousand odd Chelsea fans. We’ll forgive him; because the run he made was outstanding. Their fans kept nicking the ball. Shock. Then came an equaliser and yet another VAR clusterf*ck. How f*cking far back do you want to go?! I’ll tell you how far, however far they fancy. Because it is completely subjective and therefore a waste of time and f*cking money. If anyone deserved a moment like that it was our leader Dave, who has looked bedraggled of late. But it was ripped away. VAR ruins yet another game for the people that fork out a fortune to be there. It was pointed out to me that it was no fun 4,846 miles away either. “I just startled my dogs, my wife, and my unborn child celebrating a goal disallowed for an offside seven plays before the goal was scored.”
Nobody entertained the psychological impact of this sh*t, did they? Never more evident than at Leicester the day before when the home side came back to nick the game from Sp*rs. Jumping stadium, Pundits banging on out. But what about when it’s the other way around? Immediately afterwards they were offside. VAR didn’t care. They get a free kick. Then they’re two up, every semblance of atmosphere was sucked out of the stadium, which now sounded flatter than Cheryl Cole trying to string a ditty together without 100k worth of autotune. Another set piece. Another shambles at the back. My interest in what I’m watching was wiped out flat. 1-1 to 0-2 in the space of a couple of minutes. Rewind in football is arse. The score in no way reflected the game, but it was the score, nonetheless, and the crowd was sincerely f*cked off. Short of Michael Owen cracking jokes over the tannoy, nothing else exists that would suck the atmosphere out of a stadium as quickly as quickly as this sh*t. By the time we got to the break, we’d lost Christensen too, so any chance to effectively change the course of the game using our substitutes had been halted in its tracks. We almost scrambled it over the line in injury time, but still no goal. Not that I would have got up and celebrated. VAR has rendered that redundant.
Their first act of the second half? Handling the ball. None of the 26 officials present or in Middlesex cared. Yes, I was still sulking. Lino must have the eyesight of a geriatric mole with cataracts. He f*cked us again straight after. Lovely chap. We subsequently cheered like we’d scored when he got a decision right. Their time-wasting was so bad that Henderson was called over and told to get them all to cut it out. Which ironically succeeded in wasting more time. To Oliver’s credit though, a minute late he booked Alexander Arnold for attempting to spend four hours taking a throw in.
We made it twenty minutes without conceding again. In fact, we had clearly not given up, building momentum, despite continued slow-walking and their fans stealing another ball. On 68 another effort skimmed across the face of the goal, a shot curling just wide. Then the twins scored. Find something wrong with that. I f*cking dare you. Milner on for them. The Scouse equivalent of bringing on Mikel. Which pretty much summed them up for the remainder of the game. They’d never remotely been two goals better than us at any point, and now we battered them, whilst doing a pretty good job of shielding ourselves against the occasional counter attack. Shot into Adrian’s hands on 73, the Batman came on for Tammy whilst Wijnaldum finally got booked for an outrageous professional foul. Henderson and his plasticine face were rightly booed off, as they resorted to just hacking us down in an attempt to stay ahead.
87 minutes we played a cross into the box just too high for Michy, he had a free header but it was wide. Dave, Mount and Kovacic combined and at this point the Vermin would have been doing really well to leave the Bridge with three points. But it was not to be. Players and management team gave it absolutely everything. The players sank to their knees on the final whistle. Everyone hanging out of their arse. Not a man out there that could have given it more by the time those gits crawled over the line having been dealt a reality check about running away with the title and all in blue deserved to be applauded off the pitch.
So: VAR is a c***. Especially if you are Chelsea, it seems, as it has not benefitted us once. the opposite, in fact. All you’ve done is taken the subjectivity of officiating a game of football off the pitch and put it in an office miles and miles away where nobody can see what happens and the paying, match-going fan gets utterly shafted. Human error, I could stomach, but looking for perfection when it’s an impossibility has destroyed the Premier League. Actually, it’s worse than that. They aren’t even TRYING to achieve perfection with all of this f*cking offside toenail nonsense. Do you know what they told us the grand aim of VAR at Stockley Park? “To Improve their margins.” This is what they have ruined football for. To slightly reduce the number of errors in the game. At a cost of millions and crapping on thousands of fans across the country. Give them a round of applause. And before any whiny red tossers call me bitter about the result, I’ve been a vehement opponent of this sh*t all along. The head of PR for the Premier League and a top person from PGMOL had three hours and multiple slideshows as well as an interactive session IN THE VAR ROOM to change my mind. They failed.
Nothing I’ve seen so far this season has done anything to change my opinion that zonal marking is douchey and the refuge of fools. Frank NEVER played in a successful team that did it so WHY?! It is the only issue I currently have with what he and his team are doing at the club. As the great Brian Clough once said, he’d never seen empty space score a goal. However, that is the second time already this season that we’ve played the team that didn’t finish runners up in the final of the Champions League (I can’t actually say it) and the second time we’ve run them down to the wire. They were positively desperate as that game wore on, and so that bodes well for the future. On our day, we can push anyone. Now we’re looking to build consistency and integrate all these players coming back from injury.
Also, say hello to the new JT. Fikayo Tomori was a f*cking revelation and for me, an obvious choice to partner Rudi when he’s fit again. It was also the best outing yet this term for Kurt. While we may have been guilty of a collective groan when Alonso replaced Emerson, through fear of what we were losing defensively, we never would have attacked with such vigour without him. He was excellent going forward. And let’s all raise a glass to Mo Salad (autospell) who maintained his 100% record of not being able to play football at Stamford Bridge. Klippity Klopp is still fishing round in Kante and Tomori’s pockets to find him. Little birdie tells me too, that a number of Scouse gits were ejected from the Shed Lower on suspicion of homophobia for using the rent-boy chant. Excellent.
Chelsea 7 Grimsby Town 1:
Us: What a team. Teenagers Reece James, Marc Guehi and Billy Gilmour (who looked younger than the kids he was high-fiving on the way into the ground) got their full debuts. A welcome return for CHO, then we got Big Willy, Zouma and Alonso; Pedro Pony wore the armband, and there were chances to impress for the Batman, Barkley and Pusilic.
Hats off to Grimsby fans, a huge contingent of them, not only for making the effort, but for keeping it simple with their songs. Plan A appears to be to insert the word fish into any standard refrain. If this is not possible, Plan B is sticking it on the end. For example:
Everywhere we go
Everywhere we go
Everywhere we go
Everywhere we go
Everywhere we go
A day out in the East Middle for me having been booted out The Shed. An evening with the indomitable JK of Fancast fame. Arrived in my posh seat just on time to see Barkley poke one home. Shocking of the keeper to let that past and less than four minutes gone. We could have had a second on six but it was mere seconds before Pedro and James walked round them and set us off on an attack that saw Michy pocket one too. James into the box, Pulisic leaves it for the Batman, who hammered it in. You’re not singing any more. Harsh. Ross with something to prove after penalty gate, and he almost had a second after eight minutes.
Were we winning? Check. Was it likely that Grimsby would make a comeback? Not really. They weren’t biting. So we commenced mocking Sp*rs, who had crashed out to Colchester the night before. Sing when We’re Fishing from the visiting fans. A powering run from the Batman on 18 was only stopped with a handball. Alonso took the free kick, in complete defiance of JK who insisted he wouldn’t, and over it went. We were the note fairies, side by side on our phones getting ready to report on what was turning out to be a thoroughly enjoyable night out. Not only on account of the hospitality sweets, but because we were seeing “the youth” take the stage at the Bridge. Then Grimsby got a cracking goal. Hurrah for the whole Shed End. Slight nerves at this point. We didn’t want to end up all Sp*rsy. They were very fired up now. Their assistant was trying to fight the fourth official at every decision. Indeed, their keeper was so fired up he forgot how to put his gloves on. A smart chip from Alonso on 25 was just too long for Pulisic, who had started well, and three minutes later Michy leapt up but was too slow to get on the end of a header. Probably hampered by downforce generated by that silly ponytail. Acts like a spoiler. Pulisic made another deft run on the half hour, crowned it with a winning cross, but it was headed clear. A fair amount of Grimsby slow-walking going on, not to waste the game, I don’t think, but they were blowing hard already and looking for breathers. Their manager was just as out of breath as his players. Made Wayne Rooney look sportsmanlike with the amount of whining he did. He was that kid in the playground that mouthed off then cried as soon as someone touched him. Also, there’s no point turning up in a suit somewhere if you’re going to continually spit your drink all over the floor and shove your hand into the arse of your pants to adjust your crack. We were beginning to reel them back in now. Stonewall penalty on 41, very silly defending to drag Kurt to the floor, though given the fact that he is the size of a bison, distinctly impressive. Ross Barkley less emphatic about taking this one, and Pedro Pony slotted it in for 3-1 before we ended the half.
A smattering of chances at the beginning of the second half. CHO was giving himself an unnecessarily hard time. Granted, it must be hard to watch this revolution occurring and feel like you have been missing out, but give yourself a break, kid. You’re on the way back from a nasty injury, and you’re not there yet. Eventually it was Zouma who grabbed the fish by the horns and put a fourth in. Another James cross, and the Frenchman sticks a long leg out to poke it into the net. Save forced by Hudson-Odoi on 62, Grimsby looking exhausted now. More kids coming on: Tino Anjorin, English, 17 and Ian Maatsen, Dutch, also 17, on for Pedro Pony and Alonso. Where was the armband going to go? Barkley, but he handled it like a stick of dynamite and chucked it on to Kurt. I don’t think he’ll claim anything every again. Anjorin slotted right in, but Maatsen was something else. He zipped about like Sonic the Hedgehog, looking like Ashley Cole reborn so far as his pace was concerned. He set us off on a spectacular run, but Pulisic’s finish was just wide. Then he was off again, faster than Sam Allardyce when he got the memo about Wilkinson’s two for one pick n mix offer this weekend. Meanwhile, CHO was driving himself slowly mad. On 80 minutes he was lying on the pitch in despair after the keeper blocked yet another one from him. But it was Reece James who banged in the next goal. It fell to him on the edge of the box, he thinks, why not? Hits it and in it goes to the lower right hand corner. Quite obviously meant the world to him. Thus putting, perhaps, the first nail in the coffin of our beloved Dave’s Chelsea career. Expectations were stupidly high on his return from injury for this game, and he met every single one of them. Repeatedly. CHO was a good enough sport to go and congratulate him, before yet again he had an effort saved as he tried to stick it under the keeper on 83 minutes. Michy bagged a brace thanks Pulisic. The American had put in a stellar performance. Are you T*ttenham in disguise? We sang. CHO still wasn’t giving up. In he ran again. He went one way, no path through, he went the other, then he changed his mind again and smacked it at the keeper’s nearside. In it flew on 89 minutes, he finally had his reward for a solid comeback and we had seven.
So: Barely a first team starter in sight, and yet a demolition job. United next. Imagine my surprise that we get the w*nk draw. A chance, at least, to avenge that painful opener in August. Back then they thought we were going to win the league and the nappy sh*t was hitting the fan. What a difference a few weeks makes. And what a future some of these kids have at Chelsea if they continue to impress like this. Even if the opposition was off the pace, you can’t fault the attitude on any of them. Everyone wants to take his chance under Frank. He didn’t get on the scoresheet, and I haven’t yet mentioned him, but Billy GIlmour was stunning. A thoroughly enjoyable exercise for those who made the journey up to the Bridge.
And so on to today…
In the News: Just about every country in the world wants Tomori to play for them. All we’ve heard about since Wednesday is how the Red Scouse’s kids powered past MK Dons during the week. Not one of the Daily Fail’s headlines about our game mentions that it was our academy that smashed Grimsby. Chelsea Twitter stupidity of the week? #JusticeforPulisic. This might be more incomprehensible than the removal of beef flavoured Wotsits. He’s settling in. He is doing fine. Every time something is asked of him, he steps up. Yes, he cost a lot of money. Yes, he’s our replacement for Eden. But do you remember the grown up, sensible conversation we had when he arrived? He is a baby. He has to settle in to a new club where the people coming up from the academy do not. WE’RE NOT EXPECTING HIM TO BE EDEN HAZARD NOW. He has a DECADE on the likes of Willian and Pedro Pony, so what do you think Frank is working towards? He is going to do great things at Chelsea. There’s no reason to soil ourselves because he hasn’t done them in six weeks. Lampard does not need to be sacked on account of imaginary bigotry or favouritism towards English players. Speaking of nonsense like this. Bernardo Silva has not said anything racist. Investigated for racial stereotyping? What? I’ve heard of everything now. Can we not actually deal with proper racism instead of fabricating it where it doesn’t exist? Have you seen any single photo of him and Mendy? They look like a loved up couple. They are quite clearly very fond of each other. Is Mendy offended? No. Is their boss offended? No. Are their black team mates offended? No. Come to think of it, as an ethnic minority and recurring victim of racism myself, am I offended? No. Why is it the prerogative of strangers to get wound up about what they or any other mates say to each other? If you don’t like it, don’t follow them. If I started wailing every time I saw something I found moronic and offensive on social media I would collapse in a fit of exhaustion inside an hour. And that would just be reading Katie f*cking Hopkins’s timeline. And so I ignore the hag. The Twilight Saga offends me because it’s a crime against the English language. So I don’t read it. If you don’t like Silva’s sense of humour, move on. Because the person he is joking with obviously does. I call Mowgli a c*** on average 200 times a week. Sometimes in front of other people. If he laughs his head of am I concerned about a few people I’ve never met interpreting that as my being discriminatory against vaginas? No. A large contingent of society needs to get over themselves and worry about actual problems humanity has like genuine hatred, wars, global warming and plastic pollution and world hunger and Nicola Sturgeon and other sh*t that deserves their wrath.
Having tanked against Olympiakos, and Leicester, and the mighty Colchester, Sp*rs are in crisis. Klinsmann ready to come in, apparently, or Allegri. Ozil apparently needs rest. After playing, at the time Emery made this stupid statement, a massive 71 minutes of football so far this season. Solskjaer’s appointment was a flawed act of desperation, claims one Press Pleb. No sh*t. Does he also know that the sky is blue and that Gary Lineker has slightly large ears? The Norwegian says he isn’t after yes men. Says he expects Carrick & Co to tell him if he thinks he gets it wrong. Hope Carrick gets paid overtime. I wonder if he has got to work with the fact that Ole thinks the answer to his problems is to try and pack Eric Dire and Moura from Sp*rs. Away from the Premier League: Leeds were given FIFA’s fair play award, after being busted for “Spygate.” Rio Ferdinand says Hazard didn’t look happy during Real’s PSG defeat. How many times did you look happy when you were losing, pillock? The Chairman of the Italian Olympic Committee says that diving is more of a problem than racism in football there. Which tells you exactly WHY racism is so rampant in Serie A. And if you want to be entertained, get online and watch Egyptian team Enppi Club’s goalkeeper, Mahmoud Gad, make possibly the most ridiculous save in history against Pyramids. Shame he shipped four other goals in that one.
The Others: Standard City result against Everton. How, in the name of ALL THAT IS HOLY did the Vermin manage to get anything at Sheffield today? Barely a shot on target when they scored. The newcomers have really surprised me so far this season. By no means are the here to make up the numbers. As for Sp*rs managing to claw their way past Southampton, every dog has its day. Still made me sick in my mouth. Leicester still to play Newcastle and and United and Arsenal to scrap out the Premier League Laughing Stock Derby.
Us: Almost a total change of lineup after the midweek cup tie. Kepa, Dave, Christensen, Mount, Jorginho, Willian, Tammy all back. Barkley retained his place after Grimsby, CHO continues building up his return on the bench, joined by James and Guehi, who had earned that after Wednesday. Rudi’s groin is still giving him jip, Giroud is either sh*tting through the eye of a needle, puking his guts up, or a combination of the two, Emerson is slated to be back after the next pointless international break and Ruben has resumed jogging.
We really needed to secure a win at home today, and we started well, if not explosively. Willian was first at it with a long range swing after a minute and a half, but his effort was blocked immediately. They were already time-wasting determinedly after eleven minutes, which didn’t stop Christensen attempting to back heel it into the net, or Tammy heading the ball at the post shortly afterwards. For all of our efforts though, which included more long range chances that were punted at the keeper, we hadn’t created any heart-pounding moments, and we weren’t battering them. They seemed intent on keeping the box full and the defending precise, and it was working. Pedro Pony jumped onto a loose ball to hammer yet another chance at the keeper on 18, right before Mount almost put us in again. We were getting there. Meanwhile Marriner was doing his usual: keeping his cards in his pockets until he could justify waving them at Chelsea players. Douche. We were guilty of wayward balls, which began to grate; especially from Willian And Barkley. After half an hour, the game had completely lost its way. They still hadn’t achieved anything, but now we were pottering along pretty aimlessly too. A Dave shot took a dodgy deflection just wide on 34, and there was more effective blocking for them from the corner. Our moment should have come a minute later. One of Alonso’s floating ships into the box, Ross should have put his foot through the volley, but he tried to control it better and sort of took it off his shin at a funny height. It went right at the keeper. The corner that followed was atrocious, and Willian got a mouthful from someone in the Shed Lower, decided to go back and argue with them. Theres a surprise. The chances kept on coming. Pedro Pony straight at the keeper one on one, again, on 38. On 40 Alonso came sliding into the box. His shot was aimed in our direction, and it started on target, before we watched it gradually arc away from the goal. B*llocks. If only he had a right foot.
And so there was much more work to do after half time. A floaty effort from Willian ended up in the keepers hands on 47. He had kept his team in it so far. Then Marriner pointed to the spot after an obvious foul on Mason Mount in the box. Which means he just about levelled himself back to neutral from twat territory earlier on. Never will you see a more concrete penalty call, and yet now we had to run the VAR f*ckwit gauntlet. I’m not giving them the credit for then calling a penalty a penalty when the referee (surprisingly, in Marriner’s case) had done his job and given it anyway. Ross went nowhere near it, Jorginho put it on the spot, did a little skip and thumped it to the left of the goalkeeper. His name rang out around the bridge, deservedly so. First home goal for him in the league “About bloody time, you slacker,” joked Alf Garnett. We could have had another soon afterwards, and the game was instantly more lively, with Brighton coming out now, abandoning playing at the speed of Lukaku with his legs tied together.
A tired looking Pedro Pony went off for Hudson Odoi, which was a popular choice with the fans. Then off went Ross for Kovacic again. Sarri sitting somewhere in Italy waving a fag at the screen going THAT WAS MY IDEA! Straight away CHO was combining with Mount to set us rushing forward. 71 minutes sparked two chances that were their only opportunity to get anything from this game. First shot deflected and bobbled just wide for a corner. Then zonal marking almost gained them an equaliser, but luckily the bar got in the way. To their credit, they might still not have fashioned an attempt on target, but they were having a bloody good go. Willian secured the points for us on 75 with his first goal in 17 league matches. Ran in, hogged the shot, hit it well and a deflection carried it through and into the back of the net. As someone who had a bet on 3-0, I wanted more. Another diving save on 77 from an Abraham run that he then managed to get on the end of himself. On 81 Tammy set CHO up, but the pesky goalkeeper got in the way again. The timing on his runs is repeatedly excellent. They finally registered an attempt on target in injury time: We’ve had a shot, they sang. At no point were they awful, but they never really competed in this one.
So: Yet another banging performance from Mount. We’re sitting right outside the top four; having had a sh*tter run of fixtures and injuries than most. We’ve also got a positive goal difference for the first time this season. This was our most measured performance so far across ninety minutes, and we controlled the game for almost the entirety of the match to comfortably earn our first home win in the league under Frank. We also kept a clean sheet. Things to improve? Must continue to shut other teams out. This had been our worst run, as far as those are concerned, at the beginning of a season, in three decades. Brighton nearly undid us again on another set piece, and we must improve this. Also, we generated nearly a dozen shots on target, and scored twice. Admittedly they packed the box out, but we have to be more clinical. Three more points against Southampton next week and I’ll feel like we are starting to build some momentum in the league, but first, we need to get off the mark in Europe. Here endeth the marathon blog. I’m going for a nap.
Chelsea 0 Valencia 1
Tuesday 17th September 2019 20:00
Just remember that, if this is how we are to go out of Europe. First home defeat in continental competition in three years, though, look at who we have been playing.
In the News: It’s only been 24 hours since the last blog... so cut me some slack. Firstly, and most importantly, we can forgive the club their every indiscretion in allowing themselves to be commercially violated by the People’s Republic of Nike, for not only do they wear a thousand yard stare as a result of their silliness, but the megastore now stocks F*CKING CHELSEA UNICORNS!! Shevchenko’s twelve year old is training with our academy. Presumably he’s going to play for free until he is 57 so we can recoup what we spent on his dad. City only have one fit centre back. When they’ve bought everyone. Shame. Speaking of Centre backs, when Chequebook Pulis was quizzed to name three English defenders he has managed, he could cite only Gary Cahill and John Terry. Sad for Ashley Cole, but quite why anyone is alarmed that he forgot Smalling and Jones, I can’t imagine. I’ve not seen either of them defend in years. Now, while I think Lukaku is a douche of epic (chubster) proportions, apparently Cagliari have escaped punishment for fans doing monkey impressions at him. How? And an Italian pundit is in trouble for saying you could only stop him with 10 bananas. Apparently, he argues, his partner is black and he has two little black granddaughters. So that makes it OK. I propose stripping him naked, dangling him upside down and flogging his knackers with a cat-o-nine-tails coated in acid. My grandad had balls, and my Feline Overlord used to, so that makes it OK. I’m not the only one struggling for news today. The Daily Fail has put up a whole article about the fact that Kepa is about to wear his fifth coloured kit in seven games. Thanks for that.
Us: Same line up as Saturday except for Rudi. Poor sod.
Them: In utter turmoil apparently. One win in seven league games. Sackings. But this club know what they are doing in Europe. No big names. Half a dozen who didn’t really make the grade in the Premier League and fancied a year round holiday destination instead of North London, or Manchester. Hardly surprising.
Tammy Abraham is quite the new fan favourite, as was evident from massive amount of singing his name. Where’s my Champions League flag? Asked the wit behind us. I’ve only got twelve at home.
Brexit, init. His mate replied. Could have had a goal on three minutes. Corner was headed convincingly by Alonso but ended up being an easy claim for keeper. Mount brought down in a nasty sh*tbag challenge. What the f*ck was VAR doing to miss that? All us in terms of attacking intent, though it was not exactly Napoleon being chased out of Russia. Kovacic did a Mikel on 13, as in run over the halfway line, made it to the edge of the box, then it dawned on him how far forward he was and he sh*t his pants and forgot what he was supposed to be doing. Mount already fouled again. This time he was leaving the pitch, which was sh*t. Very neat passing from us, but yet to do anything in exciting in the box after 20 minutes. Nothing at all from them at the other end, but they looked far from incompetent.
Willian was off and running on 21, but nobody kept pace with him. In the end Alonso worked it out for a corner. It had all got a bit stop start since the loss of Mount, not really flowing. Our best chance yet came on 26 with a header across the box from Tammy, but it went wide. Bit of a shambles at the back on the half hour, but thankfully their final shot is sitting on top of Fulham Town Hall. They’d come into it a bit more now, but then we had a solo effort from Willian, who unfortunately dragged his shot wide. Tomori took half their team on to run it into the box shortly afterwards, but the rebound volley from Dave is somewhere in West Brompton Cemetery. Brilliant work from Willian on 39, and he was understandably pissed off that Dave didn’t keep running. Poor bloke already shagged our with all the forward bursts he’d been doing on the right. More great stuff from Willian as we approached halftime, but he was under too much pressure when it came to the shot and the ball didn’t quite drop for him. At the other end there was a slightly hair-raising moment from Kurt after a loose ball was picked up by them in a dangerous spot. The Valencia man must have felt like he’d hit by a coked up water buffalo, but the referee judged the challenge as fair. A rare display of common sense from the man in neon yellow. Tammy and Jorge almost combined in the six yard box straight afterwards. Was going to be a shame if we couldn’t make all of this count before half time, but they continued to be very solid in the box. Best chance so far came in injury time from Willian, who had been his usual spritely European self, but 0-0 it was at the break.
Pressing straight away at the restart, which is new. Most games this season we’ve looked like Diane Abbott attempting to do a Rubik’s cube out of the blocks after halftime. But though we did not implode, with an hour gone, we were lacking any kind of potency. Not for a want of effort on anyone’s part, but it just hadn’t clicked for us. We came close with a corner on 63, the follow up, not so much. We needed some inspiration. The Beard. Or Pulisic. Why has Frank suddenly gone off him? Side netting on 67, close again on 69. Getting painful now, but The Beard was imminent. Zouma off. Well that ought to shake things up a bit, ballsy from Frank. But this time it backfired. As their goal sailed in, all of our defenders seemed frozen to the spot. We didn’t give up. First shot on target in what seemed like forever from the Beard on 78. In the meantime Valencia had resorted to rolling round on the floor like a load of displaced cod.
Barkley for Kovacic. Again, lol. Buy Frank an oversized tracksuit top and a packet of Marlboros. His hands are pretty much tied in midfield at the moment, to be fair. Turning out to be a frustrating night. We broke. Guedes had transcended now, to a cod being tasered in the middle of it, in an attempt to cheat us. Not that any of the officials gave a sh*t. Meanwhile where the real footballers were actually doing some work, but our final ball went across the face of the goal. Then they hand-balled it in the box. Now, we all know that it only has to graze your f*cking fingernail in Europe so I was ready to throw down if we were denied. We all got excited and everyone chanted V-A-R. Oh dear God, modern football has infected us all. Not that it mattered when they finally did get to the bottom of it. Off the bar.
Just think of that Barcelona game if there’d been VAR, said Alf Garnett. We’d still have been there at midnight. I answered. Come to think of it we would have still been sat there after the final was supposed to have kicked off. A reaction save from their keeper denied us, and Tammy came close in injury time, but it was not to be.
So: Not our night. Not for want of trying. Really we were a bit unlucky. Squandered the few good chances we did have, and missed a penalty, but everyone worked damned hard and silver lining: we lost by less of a margin than the Scouse. Watch how the results get spun against each other tomorrow. Composed at the back for almost the whole match, especially on counter attacks when all five were spiffy at getting back in line. Pedro Pony categorically not ready to play for over an hour, took one for the team there after Mount went off. Speaking of, Mason’s ankle needs looking at before they know if he’s capable of playing Sunday. But it isn’t all about us. Valencia defended well throughout and their keeper had a blinding night. B*stard. We lost to them in September 2011 too, and that didn’t turn out to be too bad that season. Huge amount of injuries to boot, at the moment. Options for turning around frustrating games like this around will get infinitely better.
Penaltygate the chosen topic on the way home. Tammy, Pedro Pony, Willian and “Jorge” all looked to talk Barkley out of it. Dave may have had a finger pointed at some stage too. He was adamant he was having it from the other side of the pitch. You’d have more chance stopping a joyous gang bang at Scouse Sports if those turds win the league this season. Even if he got those bum cheeks out and used them to open bottles of tonic for us in the bar before Sunday’s
game I don’t think we’ll forget that for a while. Never mind those, his nuts are looking pretty small tonight after that miss. He must be as welcome as a fart in a lift in that dressing room right now, despite Frank trying to cover for him in his post match interview. But more importantly - why was Jorge walking round with his shirts hoiked up like a go-go dancer towards the end? My money is on chafage, but I’m open to other suggestions.
I don’t know about tweets this week - but this is wisdom off the Tube: We should play the youth the next two games, f*ck off out of the Champions League and go into the UEFA cup. F*ck the league off and just concentrate on the UEFA cup, get back in the Champions League next season and win it. (Then I zoned out for a bit before this next gem) Frank’s gonna be our if a job in two weeks. If we get done by the scousers Mourinho will be back and the youth won’t get a chance and (then I just switched off, but I’m assuming the world ends at that point. I resisted the urge to suggest he learn the names of the various competitions before imparting his sh*t opinions)
If you like what you read, you can help support this blog via my patreon page. It might eventually fund ubering my way home to avoid sharing trains with these fools. You can donate as little as $2 a month, which is less than what Firminho spends on his teeth in an hour.
Wolves 2 Chelsea 5
Saturday 14th September 2019 15:00
Or On the Buses with Sexpest. We had the annals (he thought I said anals) of Sexpest back in the 60s as a London bus driver on the way to the game. Egging his own bus so it would have to go for cleaning and he’d not have to drive, stink bombing his passengers and stopping the bus at Clapham and leaving everyone waiting while he picked up his fish and chips. That is until the night he got busted by a plain clothes inspector... I’m seriously thinking of ghostwriting the Memoirs of Sexpest based around his match-going experiences. A hapless, harmless, loveable Chelsea rogue, meandering his way through football life in the last half of the twentieth century. Starting with crawling under the turnstiles in 1953.
In the News: B*stard international break cost us yet more injuries. Kovacic was a worry, Emerson more so. Apparently England are unbeaten now in a decade in qualifying. 43 games. Surely a more impressive feat is that not one of those games remotely threatened to entertain anybody. Shaun Wright-Phillips supports the idea of the players walking off the pitch if they are subjected to racist abuse in Bulgaria next month. So do I. I wouldn’t work anywhere I had to put up with it and neither should they.
Here’s one that will really shock the world of football. Premier League Referees Chief admits VAR is making errors. Make. It. Go. Away. Human error I will tolerate. Computer error is f*cking with the game for no reason and ruining it. Loving the vitriol going from Gary Neville in the direction of Lukaku. Because everything he says is true. He was sh*t, overweight, whiny and didn’t try. And in this travesty of a modern day world where nobody is allowed to say anything for fear of making someone cry, Gary’s championing the art of not giving a f*ck. Romelu says he was made the scapegoat for Chequebook Pulis’s failure. As well as delusions of grandeur, he really has got the IQ of a rusty spanner. So has Sanchez. He says the pair of them just happened to be at United at the wrong time. Yes. During the season. Apparently the only entertaining thing about Arsenal this season is “manager-cam” where you can watch the waxwork vampire/corpse jumping around like a knob. Watford surely taking the piss getting rid of Javi Gracia this early, one feels. After their best season ever. Police launched a load of fraud investigations during the break, surely there must have been one at Old Trafford, where Ole has no away wins since taking the job full time, and one clean sheet in 19 matches.
International break means stupid headlines to fill empty Press Pleb space. Deliveroo sponsor England and they don’t deliver to St George’s Park. Nobody cares. Wayne Rooney says if Pep had managed England’s golden era they’d have won trophies. Ignoring the fact that Wayne himself would have had to turn in a performance that rated higher than 2/10 for that to happen. Fat twat. And apparently the Queen once b*llocked Michael Owen for getting into a lift with her at Ascot. Has nothing to do with etiquette. Her Majesty was just utterly terrified that he might launch into more boring stories of his playing career in that monotone f*cking dopey drawl of his and she’d have no escape.
The Others: Our East Anglian clusterf*ck suddenly not looking so bad. Is it? Norwich fitting back into the Premier League nicely. I wish we were playing City next time. Jammy f*cking Sp*ds. Jammy f*cking Scousers. Jammy f*cking Mancs. But Arsenal. Mwhahahahahahahahhaahaha (Evil Villain laugh) David Luiz played 160 Premier League games for us and conceded three penalties. He has played FOUR league games for L’Arse and is already approaching that record. Hurrah.
Us: Three across the back, to match their formation; including Rudi, yay, and Tomori, which must have had Alonso skipping about the dressing room clicking his heels like Willy Wonka on finding out a Cadbury’s factory had burned down. He got to be a wing-back for the day and other people could do the bulk of the defending while he worried about what he’s better at. Still too soon for CHO, but he obliterated everyone else on the pitch in the under 23 game. Born again Jorginho and Kovacic shielding the defence and Mason Mount, Willian and Tammy leading the charge. Apparently, there are only three years between Lampard in our dugout and Uncle Albert in theirs. How many wars HAS he fought in?!
We began with a rather elaborate flame-thrower show. Which was amusing for the rest of us because we got to watch Fletch (Sitcom Alias) Wickham, with his complexion, which is akin to that of a delicate, unripened peach, slowly getting barbecued before kick off. How discombobulating was playing at three o’clock on a Saturday? It’ll never catch on. Started off by flapping about, but Mason Mount dug the ball out and set us off. Alonso was immediately out to impress after playing second fiddle to Emerson so far this season. Wolves had started well, we’d not been bad either. Ten minutes gone and we were getting into our stride, but manufacturing no clear cut chances. Twenty minutes in and we were still missing that final ball. My mind had drifted onto the subject of Raul being pretty and how Fletch was starting to resemble a soggy baked tomato. Mount continued to put in more effort than anyone else, as usual. Made up for Willian, who thus far had only been prolific at giving the ball away. Kovacic too continuing to work his nuts off and get so much further forward than last season. Even much-maligned Dave was looking far more on the ball today after some shaky performances of late.
Tammy is a useless c*nt apparently, according to the bottom-feeder across the aisle who presumably spends most of the week playing with his minuscule knob in one hand while he fills Twitter with all manner of b*llocks with the other. We’d just had a corner, when the ball spun into the middle of the field along the floor. Jorginho let it run and out of nowhere Tomori decided to have a go because there was absolutely nothing else on. Scored with his first ever shot in the Premier League. And it’s not like it was a tap in. As soon as it left his foot it started to curl and it was like “F*ck me! That’s going in!” He was stunned, the goalkeeper was stunned, we were hysterical and I don’t really remember much of the next thirty seconds. A couple of minutes later he was at it again: Running into the box, squared it into Mount who was fouled in the box, Scott played the advantage and Tammy leapt on the ball to take a second. Chelsea don’t do nothing for youth. Init. Two shots on target. Two goals. My world is askew. But we weren’t done yet. Ball chipped in by Alonso, who was under no pressure at all from anyone in a bumblebee outfit and whoever was supposed to be marking Tammy is a twat. Put up about as much of a fight as Katie Price being dragged down the aisle for the thirtieth time. Headed clinically past a standing keeper who hasn’t seen any of these coming. Tammy again. Closest they came to a shot on target was in injury time. Headed over the bar.
Back out we came for the second half. Let’s not concede two in the first five minutes, OK? Kurt was on for Rudi, who looked none to spritely at half time. Worst part of the day losing him so soon after his return. Hopefully he was just stiff, she says in all seriousness knowing that it was a groin pull. Stop laughing. It’s not funny. The sun had gone behind a cloud, which was a merciful, if temporary, release for Fletch and the fair Beaker, who with his pink cheeks and his strawberry blond hair was starting to resemble a fruit salad sweet. Wolves were much more measured, but they still hadn’t had a proper shot. We survived eight whole minutes without f*cking it up, and then we actually began to attack. In fact, we went and scored again! This time it was all Tammy’s. Made the defender look like a moron with a potato for a brain by stopping, then accelerating again and sending it across the keeper. Hat-trick. All goals different. Proper centre forward display. We had a box belonging to Eastgate Commercial Ltd behind us, and to say that it was like watching a lot of angry wolves attempting to get out of a zoo enclosure is an understatement. Which was obviously hilarious for all of the Chelsea fans baiting them on the other side as they slobbered on the windows.
They had one go across the face of goal, but still hadn’t actually fashioned a shot on target. Chelsea are Back, some were singing. Oooh, too soon. But this was coming from the one that called Tammy a c*nt and whilst singing his name after his three goals managed to get the words wrong. There are three words. Oh. Tammy. And Abraham. Some even went on to We’re Gonna Win the League, I hope with irony. Beaker contented himself with We Are Staying Up. Could we keep a clean sheet? Every centre-back we own who can currently walk was on the pitch, so I suppose out chances were better than usual. Mason Mount almost wiped the floor with their keeper on 65, but it hit the side netting. Just ran out of space. Looked a lot on easier on TV than it did side on from the stands. In fairness, their supporters were all still there in the stands, and were rewarded. Having still not manufactured a single shot on target, Tammy put one in for them out of pity. First player ever to score a hat-trick and an own goal in the same game in the Premier League. With a handball to boot. So our goal difference was in positive numbers for all of 13 Minutes. B*llocks. Kovacic for Barkley. Laughing at the connotations with Sarri there. That sub made me gag last season. Most fans now focused on a rotund Wolves fan with a better pair of boobs than me. Most of them with substantial bellies of their own. You probably read it in the Daily Fail this morning. Chelsea fans in fattist storm. On interview, the victim cried and said he was going home to eat five battered sausages to cope with the pain. Refwatch: Think they thought that Graham Scott had it in for them. He empathically waved away a penalty shout, but I thought he had a good game yesterday. Despite the fact that the Lino on our side was a pillock and about as much use to him as a tampon.
We were still trying to get another. Volley way over by Tammy on 73, then he was down in the box at the other end. Getting hit by bottles. You probably read about that in the Daily Fail too. Mean Chelsea fans sneak into the home end and pelt their own striker with bottles. Good headed shot from Zouma on 79. Just over. He’s actually starting to aim them now, instead of head butting the ball like it’s a brick. Another shot, possibly Tammy but I was blinded by the sun at the moment, and Fletch was actually starting to sizzle. Neither one nor the other from Dave on 82 as he got into the box and fluffed his lines, something in between a cross and a shot. Then they had another. Spilled by Kepa and smothered into the back of the net by Cutrone. That goal difference was back down in the minus figures now. How am I scared on 88 when we were 4-0 up? Again, Scott was decisive when they were moaning on 89, before we got six minutes added on. SIX F*CKING MINUTES? Was this all the time that VAR currently owes every team in the league being stuck on one fixture? Morons. By now Batshuayi was on, presumably so Giroud will be fresh for Tuesday. Just as I screamed at him not to try and do anything clever, he hit one well, just wide on 95. Decisive play from Zouma as the time went down, Willian full of running by now. I won’t make any snide comments. Just as we were trying to decide if we were safe to start bragging, Mount put us out of our misery, The defender on him could not have given less of a sh*t if he had tried, but Mason was utterly determined he was going to get on the scoresheet.
So: We are currently two points off of St Pipsqueak and his half a billion pound squad. The world is not ending. In fact the future looks damn rosy from where I’m looking. One in every 200 is the club’s expected academy success rate. That is what they expect to see come through to the first team. So to have perhaps SEVEN in Loftus-Cheek, CHO, James, Mount, Tomori, Abraham AND Christensen in the frame together is outstanding. Every single goal that we have scored so far in the league this season, has been scored by an Englishman aged 21 or under. Tammy is currently the Premier League’s top scorer. Mason Mount's first touch is filth. Our goal difference is back at zero. Today? Six shots on target, five goals. Useful return. Wolves fans were crowing about our trio on their way out. Even Ian Wright sounded like he had a boner on Match of the Day and he would rather lick a turd than say something nice about us. Everyone putting in a shift on the pitch, Jorginho even being called “George” now instead of “that c*nt,” by some. Banging day out. Entertained all the way home by Donte the human beatbox. For those in the anti-Lampard camp - none of this would have happened if our hand had been forced at some other time, or if someone else had been given the job. Make no mistake, these youth players are special, have worked their arses off, kept their heads and made this happen for themselves too. They believe in him and vice versa. Just don’t be surprised if they can’t all sustain it for the entire season. They’re still terribly young and inexperienced. Personally, I’m happy to enjoy these kind of displays as long as they can keep them up.
Let’s try a tweet of the week, because there are people on Twitter that deserved to be laughed at. Using @CFCgwlb mark up the most ridiculous, piece of sh*t statement made by someone claiming to be a Chelsea fan, and we will have a chuckle at their expense in the blogs. We’ll put them all in the Hall of F*ckwits. That should be a hashtag. We went for my birthday drinks at Frankies when we got back. I showed Sexpest my pants outside Stamford Bridge. Barely a flicker. “I clocked it,” he says, “but I’m on hormone injections and nothing happens.” I’m so writing this book.
Chelsea 2 Sheffield United 2
Saturday 30th August 2019 15:00
I warn you. I’ve been on the rum. Dead Man’s Fingers. AWESOME. I’ve also started adding disclaimers for the PC watchdogs out there who have no lives and presumably approve of smug veganism and hoity-toity road-hogging cyclists in all their horror.
Naaarwich 2 Chelsea 3: Just your average, run of the mill VAR CLUSTERF*CK. I was moaning enough about it before it screwed us. Nevertheless, we picked up our first victory. Despite the best efforts of Pukki and his farmyard posse. I sh*t you not, I watched this on my phone, in part, with a WW2 contingent of American servicemen stationed in the far east and eating Pringles. In Kent. It’s as bonkers as it sounds. They were dressy-up people. But they get the raging hump if you don’t call them “living historians.” Tammy came to life, Mason was notable, so was Jorginho. Losing Kante so late and Pedro Pony in the warm up was less than ideal, but we battled through it, and thats all I really ask for at this stage. We’re not looking at the finished team. We’re doing the best we can in the face of a new style, the loss of our best player, a new management team, a transfer ban, and a pile of significant injuries.
In the News: Frank is thrilled for Jorginho in the wake of his new popularity. He’s earned it, and as Frank points out, “he never hid” despite the criticism he received in his first season. Let’s face it, he was saddled to Sarri, whether he liked it or not. This must have been like the kid who sh*ts his pants at school and eats his own bogies telling everyone he’s your best mate. But he’s come through the other side. Good for him. I said it on the Fancast this week, as far as I’m concerned, him and Kovacic get a fresh start this season. Mason Mount has got an England call up, though Tammy is coming into form just a little too late for this round of international dirge. Rudi hustled his way through 90 minutes for the U23s last night. Huzzah. Apparently, new boy Pulisic rejected a move to United on the basis of his dad not being able to stand Chequebook Pulis and not believing that he would get a chance to actually play football. Zappacosta has been loaned out to Roma, paving the way for Reece James to make a play for a first team spot. We’ve blocked Bakayoko going back to Monaco temporarily though, because we’re worried about not recouping the £40m we paid for him. Sorry, but the only way we’d ever recoup that is if we chopped him up and sold his organs off on eBay, and even then he‘d have to have a blood type as rare as Unicorn p*ss.
More streams of vile, racist abuse on twitter. Especially after Kurt’s own goal today. What on earth gives these people the right? Actually, what gives Facebook and Twitter and their ilk the right to let it happen? Oliver Holt thinks clubs must do more to stop the scapegoating of black players. What? Firstly. What are you talking about, you hairband wearing fool? You are giving pond scum far too much credit. This is not what is happening, what is happening, is morons with the intellectual capacity of your average amoeba seeing a black person miss a penalty, or scoring an own goal, flapping away at a smartphone because they have no comprehension about the social connotations or impropriety of what they are doing. The clubs are not letting systematic and preventable abuse happen. There is no strategic thought behind it such as Holt insinuates, they are not capable of such a thing. At fault are the social media twats themselves for letting these a*seholes use their apps. They make BILLIONS as a result of providing these platforms. Therefore there is no argument in which it should not be their responsibility to safeguard users against this kind of sh*t, and all the other negatives that come with their great fortune. Anyone who says otherwise is a c*nt. So there. In the words of the prophet, Christopher Reeve: What makes Superman a hero is not that he has power, but that he has the wisdom and the maturity to use the power wisely.” Read that and weep, Twitter bitches.
In the world of the Virtual A*sehole Rampage, apparently referees are now being dissuaded from checking screens after a tumultuous introduction to the Premier League. Sure. Because that will make everything ok. Apparently Lukaku was bored at United. Might have been less so if he’d taken the revolutionary step of attempting to earn his wages. He reckons he’s lost half a stone already under Antonio’s revolutionary regime at Inter: Move off the spot once in a while and stop eating like a fat b*stard. Someone should patent that. Podgettino rueing the fact that he rejected swapping Eriksen for Dybala and now it looks like he will end up with neither. Oh well, what a shame. The wisdom of Eric Cantona: As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods. Even allowing for the fact that he’s French, there has to be a screw loose there.
*I have lots of French friends who think he’s barking and are laughing at that, before anyone contacts the Daily Mail.
Lineker apparently being probed after mean comments about bald pundits. Do give over. In such situations, can we not just send the archive footage of him sh*tting his pants in front of the whole world round on TV? Far more satisfying. Mind you this is the BBC, who are so frightened of offending anyone, ever, that they will literally steal your work if they can give it to a disabled, LGBTWTF alien to present on camera so they can crow about how inclusive they are. Yack.
*You can’t have a go at me. It’s fact. They’ve GENUINELY done it to me enough times.
More to the point, that big-eared chump, who is about as fun as period pains during a prolonged Nandos with Michael Owen, in which he leaves you to go and get the cutlery and place the order, gets paid nearly £2m a year. And some of it is MY money. I’m going to find something to kick.
*I have no defence for mocking big-eared people. I’m just a bad person.
The definitive argument on Brexit came from Ian Holloway on the subject of the continent’s butt-monkey, f*ckwit ruling on handballs. You can suspend all of the bad feeling, the squabbling and the uncertainty. Because the oracle has spoken: “I hope we get out, Brexit… because you cannot have someone telling us how to do our own game.” I’m drunk. And even I know this is ridiculous. And RIP Bury. I’d like to type a heartfelt missive about the plight of lower league clubs in today’s game. But I’m half cut. And I don’t even know where Bury is. Still, sad.
The Others: The Daily Fail are doing their utmost to award the Scouse the title IN AUGUST. Apparently it will be the first time since Maggie Thatcher resigned, since Klopp played in front of 5,000 people and Baggio smashed the transfer record at £8m. Excuse me while I choke on my own vomit. They realise we’ve play FOUR GAMES. Right? Since believing that they were going to win the treble after their first game, United have come crashing down to earth faster than a space shuttle with a lawnmower engine for a booster. Firstly, former blue Van Aanholt sank them at Old Trafford, and today, they couldn’t beat Southampton. Teehee. Not sure we could at the moment, but that’s not the point. Also, they are paying £16m this season just to make Sanchez go away. Sp*rs lost to Newcastle. See, we’re not the only ones. We had the lameness of Atkinson last week, and what is his punishment for a truly f*cking atrocious performance at Carrow Road? He gets the North London Derby tomorrow. Jesus wept. Speaking of which, apparently we were disgracefully behaved up there. One John Conway complained that he witnessed Chelsea fans singing about Canaries having six fingers, and that when he asked them to stop, they threw a steak pie at his head. The only travesty of that is that is sounds like a waste of a decent pie. Apparently it was very hot and he had pastry in his eyeball. Which I think is a lie, because last time I checked eyeballs weren’t permeable. Certainly not at the hands of shortcrust. Oh and VAR made a tit of itself. Again.
Us: Frank was always going to give Tomori a shot, but he couldn’t let them all of the leash at once, and arguably Mason Mount and Tammy Abraham play in more stretched positions, or had performed better in preseason. We’d been leaking goals, so a change wasn’t out of the realms of possibility. It could have been either or, so far as Christensen and Zouma are concerned for me, so not a slap in the face for either. Our bench looked pretty thin, in terms of midfield, as was to become painfully evident. Once again we took our youngest ever starting lineup last week, and went even younger.
Gonzo (Muppet alias) would like it told, that he has a one hundred percent record of being in his seat before kick off. I told him we’d only played two games at home so far, but he was determined not to let anyone p*ss on his parade. Tyler (Sitcom alias) was seen rapidly cramming a pie in his face in order to be ready to take him on in the four-pint-challenge at halftime. He was duly mocked. In the meantime, Alf Garnett was chipper as you like. This was not to last.
The usual pacy start. Barkley looked desperate to impress. A little too desperate perhaps. Tammy was in on five minutes, but it got away from him under pressure from two defenders. A minute later Ross was heading it into the six yard box, but nobody claimed it, before Mount wrestled the ball away from them to run at goal; only to be pulled up for a foul. We’d been much the more proactive in the opening ten minutes, and yet chances had been slim on the ground. There followed a lull, in which Tyler regaled us as to his wedding plans, before on 18 minutes we broke out. Pulisic made it, cross in from Dave, Tammy’s header was weak, but Henderson spilled it and Tammy was there to make good. 1-0. Maybe. Life has been forever ruined for the match going fan, for although we get up and applaud, we stand looking at the referee waiting for confirmation, by which time the heat of the moment has passed, along with the instant jubilation of seeing the ball hit the back of the net. F*ck VAR. And f*ck the Premier League for inflicting it on us every week, for not giving a damn about the people who pay to go to the games, and for lying abut the extent of the impact it would have.
We needed to be sensible, for Sheffield were already proving that they were far from pushovers. There was an elaborate amount of showmanship over the ball from Emerson and Barkley, who hit the free kick in the end. Straight at the wall. Another ball in from Abraham went through to Kovacic, who just shanked it wide across the face of goal. In return, we were very nearly undone in two balls on 38. The only hair raising moment of the half, and luckily Callum Robinson missed the diving header. Big inquest by the United defence after they ballsed it up and gave Abraham another chance. Another great goal from Tammy, he’s taking chances that require composure and skill, which is all good going forward. We could even get the goal difference back to zero, said Alf Garnett with a big grin. Mason Mount found himself in before halftime, but it deflected on its way towards goal and out for a corner. We may not have been frantically attacking for the whole game, but rarely did we look troubled at the back either. But. And it’s a big but.
We came out dozing. Again. They came out very perky. Not surprised given our record of being half asleep after the break. And what happens? They score in seconds. Dave done, Kurt done. Their one single effort on target so far. Sorry Alf. Very evenly spread game going forward now. They had a lot more actual attacking intent about them, and grew in confidence. That said, an outstanding flick almost led to a hatrick for Tammy. Then it was back up the other end and it looked like we’d been carved open, but Tomori was there to clean up. Not the only time today.
Alf: “We’ve only got to hold on for any other 35 minutes.” It would have been funny if it wasn’t so accurate. It looked like we had got our sh*t together, but still we squandered our chances and there is that worrying tendency of giving the ball away. If we could not strive to be as beneficent as Mother Theresa on a guilt trip on a weekly basis, it would be appreciated. Willian on for Barkley on 60. Please be better, I said. Or at least look like you’re interested, quipped Alf Jr. To be fair he played an outstanding ball through to Tammy straight away, but the latter took his eye off it. Kovacic sprung forth again on 62, but Abraham couldn’t play it out to Willian without clipping the defender and another chance went to waste. An emphatic block from Zouma on 68 as they ran in on goal, and he smacked it into the ad boards. They were still looking for something from this game. Jorginho continues to impress with his do over, and the adulation that followed after he dug the ball out on the edge of the box was deserved.
We had looked better since Willian came on at that point, I’ll give him that, but we still couldn’t get back on top of this game. From a lovely summer day we’d ended up with floodlights on in August and pouring rain. Said it all, as the match deteriorated from our point of view. Fair play to them, it’s becoming clear to opposing teams that if you stay in touch, you can hope to get something out of the game. We badly needed to change up the midfield, but we couldn’t. Not effectively, because every first team choice not on the pitch was injured. Come to think of it, Kovacic was on the pitch AND injured. Frank was either going to have to play Christensen out of position and lock it down, or bring on an actual midfielder: Billy Gilmour, who turned 18 a few weeks ago.
Corner headed just over the bar by Zouma and then they came back at us. Come on Chelsea sang the crowd, which is code for please don’t f*ck this up. On 87 they looked in again, after the Batman gave ball away high up, but there was Tomori steaming in once more. He did well today overall. Then an own goal from Kurt. Harsh on him. He’ll become the whipping boy again, when in actual fact he wasn’t sh*t today. People streaming out. Not on. Where is this solidarity and this emotional investment in a new era, one we’ve proclaimed to want? Sadly, when JK said on the Fancast this week that he thought there was plenty of snarkiness simmering beneath the surface regarding this “free pass” for Frank this season, it doesn’t appear that he was wrong. 2-2 and for some, it seemed, it was the end of the world.
So: It was the hardest result to take so far, I’ll give you that. But, to be fair to Frank, he went for the option you should at home: to win the game, not cling on against a newly promoted side. The Batman came on, as did Gilmour, the teenager. Who wasn’t even listed on the programme. He’s little, unlike the size of Frank’s balls. He made Mason Mount look old, and yet Frank wouldn’t have put him out there if he thought he was incapable. People have pointed to this as the reason we conceded, but actually, it had nothing to do with the debutant. We were under the cosh the entire half, and it was the only midfield option Frank had. Sheffield United had plenty of opportunities to take something from this game that had nothing to do with our substitutions. I didn’t have a problem with it. “Play the yoof,” people have proclaimed for several seasons. “F*ck all these prima donnas, let the kids have a go. We’ll finish 10th but we’ll have our Chelsea back.” Well, we did. We are, we might, and we have. And yet certain fans don’t seem to be able to comprehend that the price you pay is a lack of experience, a lack of composure, the inability to close games out and the chance that you might have to live with a dip in the results that you have become accustomed to, especially when half the experienced players are out injured and others: Dave. Willian, are well below par. Some people don’t seem to be able to marry one with the other. Added to that, this is categorically, unless there is an outbreak of bubonic plague, the weakest our squad will be: ALL. SEASON. Was today disappointing? Of course, we led by two goals. Is it the end of the world? No. Six goals so far and all of them from Mount or Abraham. How’s that for yoof? I think we should just do what Gerrard did his whole career and fake niggly ingrowing toenails and fake injuries so nobody goes on international duty. These next couple of weeks are really important for Frank and his team. Rudi and Kante we need back desperately to be able to shut teams out. The likes of Pedro Pony, Ruben and CHO coming back will give us infinitely more options going forward. Then maybe we can all calm the f*ck down.
Chelsea 1 Leicester 1
Sunday 18th August 2019 16:30
You’d have been forgiven for forgetting that there was a football game on today, and assuming that this was a vast gathering of the Super Frank Appreciation Society. Which is fine with me as a one-off.
In the News: F*cking VAR, VAR, VAR. The Virtual A*sehole Rampage. The first talking point for every Premier League game now is computers. Not the football. I’m all for things like the goal line technology. Did it cross the line or didn’t it. Simple. But this is an outrage. To quote someone slightly less sweary than me: “The refs or linesman didn’t always get it right but it was part of the game day experience and post match. Now like so much in society football is being “sanitised” to make it “too pc” like everything else in life. To err is human in any aspect of life FFS.” Amen. This f*ckwitted pursuit of perfection has fundamentally changed, nay, RUINED the league overnight.
It’s about how I react and keep my head up, said Tammy. Showing maturity beyond his years after his penalty miss. Same can’t be said for some of the a*seholes on social media. His girlfriend was eloquent too, although one of the technophobes being me asked today “what’s being a vlogger?” You make videos of yourself talking and put them on the internet. And if enough people give a sh*t someone might pay you.“ I get that much, he says, but what does it mean?” Honestly, I replied, it probably means she hasn’t got a real job and Tammy pays for everything. Jan Vertonghen dropped for a lack of fitness. Dick. And Sp*rs are trying to bribe Eriksen to stay for £200k a week. I wouldn’t spend my time in Seven Sisters for that. Additionally, Kolasinac and Ozil supposedly now caught up in all out gang warfare. North London never was a happy place. David Moyes says he would consider managing Beckham’s new side. Isn’t that big of him. He’d consider moving to Miami for an easy life after making a tit of himself all over Europe. I bet the other David is really excited. Wilfrid Bony is training with Newport because no club wants him, United still can’t find anyone that wants to give Sanchez £560k a week. “Paul can’t do everything at United” says his brother, as the European window drags on. They either misheard him and he said “anything” or his brother has been sniffing the same funny substance as his big-headed brother. Oh and Eden has spent £10m on the ugliest new age mansion you can imagine in Madrid. It looks like a Stasi holding pen from the outside and Dirk Diggler’s 70s porn hub within.
The Others: Pep VARdiola is outraged. Day that ends in a Y so Sp*rs must have been given something for nothing by some mug sitting at a computer in Stockley Park. The Scouse were PLUNGED into an injury crisis when one of their own fans invaded the pitch after penalties in Istanbul and broke Adrian. Little did they know they’d have been better off if they’d plunged him into the Mersey with rocks tied to his ankles themselves. Because he did play, and nearly gifted a spirited Southampton a way back into the game.
Us: I don’t have any problem with the ability of either Christensen or Zouma. Together, though, I’m not convinced. Leaders and followers, that’s what it’s about. There needs to be a gobby centre back in charge, the leader, and for me both of them are playing like followers, which makes us frail. Bound to be rotation after such a long midweek slog. Mount started, so did Kante. Bench for Kovacic and Willian.
Them: So blinded by their hideous kit I couldn’t tell you. Although I did chuckle at Vardy running about in it. I took pleasure in his pain.
The inevitable Frank love in; which was nice. A real buzz around the Bridge today before the game. It’s quite amusing to watch us lot wandering about wondering what to moan about, for we do love a good whinge. Here’s something: Card only at the Kiosks. All checked by VAR too says Boycie, too. Reckons he waited 25 minutes for them to confirm his coffee.
Fast start - so fast Pedro Unicorn had hit the side netting before a minute was up. Then we had a save from a Mount shot and a follow up from Pulisic that led to a corner. Behold, an open goal, but nobody was there to prod it in. Rabid atmosphere inside the ground, players fired up, fans fired up. At this point we’d come out and punched Leicester in the face. 99% possession They’d only managed to claw that back to 4% in their favour when Mason smashed home a goal six mins into his home debut. Not heard the Bridge this loud since Napoli at home in 2012. Pedro Unicorn had been like a train. We had been relentless for ten minutes before Leicester finally started to get into the game. As in touched the ball. Then it settled down, though we still had our chances.
Almost two for us on 20 when Mount had a free header, but he nutted it weakly and straight at Schmeichel; but doesn’t he always seem to be in the right place at the moment? Then the Kante twins came from nowhere like little roadrunners to stab it wide on 25. When are we going to take a decent corner? We’ve been asking for at least a decade. Now, is the answer, provided their are at the feet of Mason Mount. Back away, Willian. Back. Away. The fact that Zouma was playing left wing and taking three Powerpuff Girls at a time shows you how much defending he’s had to do. Not for want of trying, but Leicester had achieved nothing to far. On 27 Kante was away again but nobody managed to get a shot, then they may have got in. Kepa had a Courtoisesque brainfart on 29, but we got away with it and they still hadn’t managed to fashion a shot on target.
The way we are hurtling out of the blocks at the moment: If you can steal early goals it can cover a variety of deficiencies later on and change the way that opposition approach the game entirely. Smart. But you have to have made the most of the energy expenditure and we hadn’t. Naughty foul from Jorginho on 36. This is where VAR almost awarded Sp*rs a penalty. The free kick from them went unmolested across the face of the goal. 35 minutes in and they’d played their way fully into it. Curses. But still they hadn’t exactly missed any sitters and we’d defended solidly enough. Zouma in particular continued to build on his midweek performance. So. Let’s get in for half time without fucking it up. Corner for us to round things off thanks to some f*ckwttery from Schmeichel, but the shot from Jorginho that we eventually got was way over. That’ll do. But work to do in the second half.
Leicester threw the kitchen sink at us as soon as the whistle went for the second half. And effectively. Some timely defending to back up Kepa on 49 kept them out, just, but the fact that we let ourselves get into that position was stupid. If Vardy wasn’t a cockwomble they could have scored by now. He squandered many a gilt-edged chance today. Five minutes in and they’d got a bit of an inkling about what might happen if possession turned over with them so high up, i.e. they’d get mauled like we did at Old Trafford. I appreciated Zouma out sprinting ratface. That was satisfying. Good to see him stretch his legs like that and get there first, for I still remember the scream when he went down with that knee injury. Speaking of, a break for the Unicorn to get some treatment. During which, even Maddison had to laugh when we were singing Who's the w*nker in the pink, at him as he waited to take a corner, and Your kit is sh*t. Good job they’ve got a sense of humour about it, because they will get that abuse at 18 other away games this season. And deservedly so. Choudhury looked like a Neapolitan ice cream when you added his big, luxuriant chocolate afro and his yellow boots. Wolf whistles abounded all afternoon.
Half an hour to go and it was going to be time for Tammy. Different prospect for the defenders. Huge reception for him as expected. Another shocking effort from them on 60. It had more chance of going in the net at Craven Cottage. Tammy had got straight into the game with a very determined look on his face. Already we were creating more, and on 63 the Kante twins broke through, but we faffed trying to get a shot it of it. Then we had some neat interplay between Tammy, Mason Mount and Emerson to break out on 64, before it bounced off the striker’s foot at the other end and went haywire. But still we looked fragile, and our whole defence was stationary for their goal. Free header for a dodo. That’s what auto spell does to Ndidi’s name and I can live with that. To be honest it had been coming for a while. Over to you, Frank. Plenty of time to fix this, but we looked like a team that played 120 minutes three days ago. Obviously not as tired as the poor Scouse though. A shocking miss from Maddison on 72 when he should have given them the lead, but it was all a bit shambolic from us. Some very tired legs out there and after Kovacic and Willian replaced Jorginho and Pulisic, Pedro Pony and Dave were going to have to last the 90 when they already looked utterly w*nkered.
Another criminal miss from Vardy this time as they played Christensen out of it with ease. Ref/Varwatch: Jesus wept. Look at what football has become. In the quest for perfection, which Chelsea fans alone have lived without for 114 years, the game has lost the plot and VAR has become a weekly inclusion. It was going to be Graham Scott on the pitch, but he got lost, or wanted to watch the cricket and didn’t turn up till kick off, so it was Oliver Langfield. Whoever he is. Doesn’t know what a foul is. Cards are evidently still in Scott’s pocket because he couldn’t find them. VAR was led by Mike Dean and thankfully did nothing to f*ck up the game, for once. 76 Willian was in, but hit the side netting. Any result was possible at this point, because the ball was just up and down the pitch. The fresh legs perked us up, but we would have needed three more pairs of them to really replace everyone who was lagging. Another excellent ball was squandered by Dave, who was one of them. Off we went up the other end, and then it was our turn to attack again. Both teams were riddled with silly mistakes at this point.
A free kick from Mount well over on 82, and our attacking intent was now well and truly back, but it had been lacking for too large a portion of this game. Leathered by Mason on 84 and that was as close as we came to the win, but it deflected out as it headed for the top corner. Dear Leicester. His name might be Mount but it’s not a f*cking invitation. Stop climbing all over him. Great stop by Kepa on 88, Zouma wasn’t far off moments later, but he shouldn’t really have had a go. There were better options. As four minutes of injury time started, Tammy did really well but it came off his foot all wrong. Not impressed with Willian giving it away and then standing there while Mount tracked back like a beast to win it back for him. Wake up Willy. By this time Dave was so bollocksed he couldn’t even jog the length of the pitch, and we were lucky it didn’t cost us. Vardy kicked the ball away like the petulant twat he is at the last, and that was that.
So: Welcome to our reality this season. Leicester were never going to be pushovers. We have exactly the same points from these two fixtures as we got out of them last season. There was no utter capitulation, more a general degradation of what we were trying to do as the game went on and the almost-heroics of Istanbul caught up with too many players. The opening spell was brilliant, and we need to get better at not tapering off. When you have got someone so void of ideas as Sarri, there is no hope. Frank is full of ideas, but lacking in experience, and needs time to establish which of them work best. So there is always hope. Unless he turns into a dribbling lunatic like Chequebook Pulis and starts sleeping in laundry hampers and chucking his pet chihuahua over the garden wall. Individually Pedro Pony’s effort was commendable. Ran his legs off.
Mount refuses to be bullied off the ball, and his delivery into the box on set plays is also arguably the best we’ve had for a long while. More good signs from Pulisic, who already looks to be settling in with far more ease than the likes of Ramires ever did. Zouma was excellent today for the most part. He improved again after Turkey, and dare I say looked more like a leader. Lots of pivotal interventions today but the burst of speed against a half-whippet (explains the nose) like Vardy was extremely encouraging. A couple of days off now, I imagine, and a chance to recharge again before we really will be looking for three points up at Norwich.
Many thanks to all those who contributed to the summer party at the domestic violence refuge this week - it was a huge success. Unless you were one of the mums who had to clean up after it. The generosity of our Chelsea family (and beyond) continues to astound all involved. We’ve also provided a new bike for one of the kids who had his stolen, some free professional tax advice for one mum and are looking at some vocational training for another. Not long till I start hounding you all for their Christmas present money!
If you like what you read and want to contribute towards the cost of keeping me at cup /European games or sozzled on enough gin to be amusing, I have a Patreon page here: https://www.patreon.com/girlwholikesballs
Poor Tired Red Scouse 2 Chelsea 2 (Gits win 5-4 on penalties)
European Super Cup
Wednesday 14th August 2019 20:00
Victor Meldrew (Sitcom alias) went. Can we all stand and give a round of applause to the group of fans that acquiesced to spend their time and money on a pointless game two days after a car crash at Old Trafford. Only to surrounded by 50,000 scousers, most of them plastic.
In the News: A load of dull sh*t talking about the European transfer nonsense, how the Armageddon is night, complete with Aerosmith power ballad, at Stamford Bridge and probably handing the Scouse the title already yawn.
Them: Made some changes. Because they were sooooooooo tired. In case you failed to have that hammered into your brain last night.
Us: Interesting team selection. Frank said he had to freshen it up because we only played on Sunday. He also had an eye on giving a shot to the guys who got us there, such as The Beard. Tammy and Mason dropped to the bench, Kante twins not only ready to come back into the starting line up, but ended up running round like a boss for about four hours, and so recently injured, looked fitter than half of theirs. More of the good stuff from Sunday please. Same positivity and daring, but more awake on the counter for a start. It needed to be more constrained. More sensible. And it was.
A high octane start, Scouse playing a high line and risking the wrath of Pedro Unicorn and Pulisic getting in behind. On 5 minutes we defended a corner and got to the ball first. Boom. Progress. In fact we defended well at the beginning full stop. Kepa was also decisive in the opening spell, especially on 15 when some little Egyptian bloke I’ve never heard of was away. Then it was our turn. The Beard broke straight afterwards. If only he was fast, as it was he saw his opportunity closing out, took the shot to early and shanked it. Great play from him though. Another good ball, this time from Kovacic to The Unicorn on 20 but barged off it by the defender. Best chance of the game yet and he was involved again, playing a 1-2 with The Beard. Off the crossbar. Fecking woodwork is getting on my tits this week.
It was not as harebrained as the start of Sunday, but still really positive. A bicycle kick from The Beard was not on target, but not embarrassing either. Perfect choice of our three strikers to go up against van Dyke because he was giving him no quarter. Mane unmarked on 29 but luckily his header was sh*t. Goalkeeper denied Kovacic shortly afterwards. Apparently we might see more of him surging forward this year now he’s not constrained by Sarri rules. Hopefully he’s been practicing his shooting. Better team so far by a mile. Though that meant nothing at Old Trafford. Possession was even, but all of theirs had been at the back. Then BOOM!!! Kante twins had been the difference compared to Sunday. His ball forward after shaking off the Vermin led Pulisic to play a perfect assist through to The Beard and we were ahead. The youngster scored himself straight after, with a cut across and corner shot that was 100% Hazard, but he was offside. The Scouse were switching sides all over the place trying to change it up and get a foothold. That said, at some point surely it was going to show that they had had two more days rest, right?
It certainly looked that way as soon as the whistle went for the second half and they immediately equalised. Shot wide from them, then a save from Kepa once again on 50. Christensen and Zouma had reverted back to Sunday’s latter stages. Too vulnerable on the counter. Firminho had come on and taken a massive dump on their evening. Time to act like grown ups. Don’t collapse, hold firm and weather the storm, because even with two days extra to prepare they couldn’t keep this pace up. And we did just that. Dropped much deeper, tried to settle down again and then predictably they went off the boil. Then we started to make inroads. Great ball in to Pulisic but they got a foot in on it 64. Mount and Abraham were ready to come on, and Firminho looked bollocksed after 25 mins. How are they collectively more tired than us? They’ve had a lot of high profile games says Jermaine Penis. Charity Shield. Norwich at home. This. Some other friendly wank. So no more than us. Because one was against Norwich. Only high profile there is Milner’s forehead.
Kepa kept us in it on 74 with a stunning double save. First one despite everyone’s legs in the way and the reaction time for the second was stellar. Tammy back and defending right on top of both of those too. Good work. Courtois would have still been trying to get down for the first one come the weekend. Promising chance from the Unicorn on 81, but it went straight at VD. This is my nickname for Virgil, because Mr Ballon D’or (Bitch please) is about as welcome as a dose of that in my world.
We were back on top now and would remain so, though this waiting to raise the flag for offside in Europe is about as welcome as Wayne Rooney running at your nan with his todger out. Total dross. Also sh*t for the players in terms of wasting energy. Poor Mason saw his effort disallowed, but he was doing really well since his introduction. Criminal miss from Mane on 8 but the flag was up again. Did I mention how much I welcome this delayed flag waving in Europe? Course we were hearing now about how tired their little legs are. Aw. Then it’s because the poor Scouse lambs have got to play on Saturday. Klopp’s spindly scarecrow hand was forced personnel wise otherwise they would have walked this. No mention of the fact we’d left the pitch at Old Trafford and had to get straight into the plane. Zouma once again first to a corner at their end. He’s doing well at that so far, he’s like a runaway rhino but he is struggling to aim those headers at the moment. Little less rhino, more finesse is a job for him in the coming weeks.
Extra time it was after they faffed a ball going across the face of goal right at the end. Flaccid comeback from “The Ox” after they made a massive deal out of it on BT. Forgot he was there. Don’t even know when he went off. Don’t care. On 97 minutes Abraham was running toe to toe with VD, but Adrian got in the way. Not being thrashed off the ball though by a brutal centre back, which is really good. Then their makeshift keeper went and brought down Tammy. Penalty from the referee. She was pretty adamant and VAR couldn’t overrule her as she hadn’t made a “clear and obvious error.” Good. Refwatch: Why should I mention that they were all girls? In a patronising tone about how well they did. Game flowed, not fussy at all. Behold how the world did not end with boobs on the pitch. Mind you Allardyce has ensured that that’s not exactly new. It was no different to having blokes in charge, she was certainly fitter than Phil Dowd ever was in terms of being up with play. One dodgy corner was all you could level at the officials. I forgot they even had vaginas. Which is probably the best compliment you could pay them.
I’ve neglected to mention they’d scored a goal at some point and gone ahead, because I hate them. Anyway, Jorginho booed by the whole stadium as he lay the ball down for the spot kick. Basically rolled it in whilst sticking his finger up at the keeper. Now the commentators really wouldn’t shut up about how poor Liverpool have got to play on Saturday. Jermaine Penis apparently sitting down in the commentary box because he was tired too. About as much stamina as he had as a player.
Abraham a gnats fart away from giving us the lead back on 103, but everyone looking proper ragged now with fifteen minutes left to play. Emerson lying on the floor grabbing his junk, cramp issues for others. On 112 Mount forced a reaction save from Adrian after a killer ball from Jorginho started us off. Seconds later the Unicorn was inches away. 114 we were in miles of space with Emerson on the ball, but the best he could manage was a corner after insisting on a shot and denying Tammy a crack at it in the box. Unlucky not to have finished them off tonight.
Off we go then on the lottery of penalties.
Firminho: Sends Kepa the wrong way
Jorginho: Does exactly the same to Adrian
Fabinho: (Who was pretending he couldn’t walk two minutes ago) Kepa doesn’t move
Barkley: Smashed home
Origi: Kepa got there but it goes under him. Surprised Origi could see the goal with that stupid fringe
Mason Mount: Never in doubt - top corner
Alexander-Arnold: Kepa knew he was going right, we knew he was going right, yet agin somehow it wriggles in
Emerson: Right down the middle in response to Adrian yelling at him
Salah: Sends Kepa the wrong way
All down to Tammy Abraham: and it was a poor effort. Indecisive. Oh well. I think everyone will agree that that was much, much better than we were expecting.
So: Hell of a learning curve from Frank & Co. after Old Trafford with no time to prepare for this and it was approached in style. Some exciting individual showings. Remember Sunday was Zouma’s first start for us since May 2017. He did much, much better, as did Christensen. The difference with the twins on the pitch is palpable, especially where those two are concerned. Kovacic had a good game, and Kepa was outstanding at times and was close to being the difference in the shootout. He is really growing into that price tag for me. Not pressing so high, more measured and the result was that but for a twenty minute blast at the beginning of the second half, we were the better side all night long. I’m more than happy with how we acquitted ourselves. Many had us down to take a pasting. Time to get down to proper business now with three points against Leicester on Sunday.
If you like what you read and want to contribute towards the cost of keeping me at cup /European games or sozzled on enough gin to be amusing, I have a Patreon page here: