Bloody Big Garden!
Chelsea 2 Southampton 0
FA Cup Semi Final, Sunday 22nd April 2018 15:00
In the News: I would sincerely like it if the grim reaper would take a step back from Chelsea legends. Roy Bentley fell asleep this week. Captain, Champion, family man, gent; gone to have a kick about with Ray and the rest. You will be missed.
But it’s only been five minutes since the last game so what to say?
Well. Whinger. After claiming that he’s not worried about thousands of empty seats at the Emirates because they sell out every game (Let’s not point out that this means people hate watching his team play so much that they pay and then STILL don't go) he's chucked in he towel after 22 years. There will be a big hole left behind, I mean for the last decade in terms of a sure thing so far as amusement was concerned and the knowledge that at least one club was always worse off than you. But it was go or be lynched I think. And there was the faintest rumour that Benitez might replace him amongst the Red Swarm. Oh, but if only wishing made it so.
Man United having signed Pogba for £90m + him having proven he was massively overpriced = them believing that they will now be able to get £140m for him. Not. A. Chance. Although in fairness, half of this might be Chequebook Pulis using his massive, rainy day, severance pay fund that he has amassed over the years to make him go away. And the Fleetwood Chairman insists he’s not giving Joey Barton the manager’s job as a publicity stunt. So he’s just a moron then.
The Others: Yesterday. Wembley.
Ok. I’ll stop now.
Or maybe not. 8 semi-final losses in a row. Still no silverware. Podgettino still saying they’ve come on as a side. Ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahaa.
“The FA Cup? Is it going to change our lives? I don’t believe so,” says Podge beforehand. They’ve won two league cups since 1991. I can’t imagine that was what their fans wanted to hear. But then they’re mainly dicks so who cares.
My favourite part? It’s a toss up between sitting at Waterloo last night, pointing and laughing at anyone in a white shirt and Slippy G on TV criticising them for having a weak underbelly and not being able to get over the line. Ok. one more.
Us: Big Willy gets the nod in goal. Nice, this is his competition after all. Still no place for Christensen, Emerson continues to deputise for Alonso. Fabregas trades places with Bakayoko and Little Willy and Hazard return at the expense of Pesto (whatever, autospell) and Morata. (Ouch)
Them: Ex-Blues Romeu and Champions League winner Bertrand feature. Bared my teeth a bit at the little rat face of Shane Long. I don’t know why, but every time I see him open his mouth, I’m surprised he’s got teeth. Then I saw Charlie Austin, started perving and didn’t get any further than that. I can’t hate them, but then I saw Mark Hughes’s face as he stole a living doing his pre-match interview and wanted to crush him like a flea wearing a Sp*rs shirt.
Sunshine at Wembley. Our last chance of silverware this season. And they owed us a good showing after the final last year. Conte had apparently told them to play live they’ve got fire in their eyes. Let’s hope that they don't take it too literally and run around with them shut, clutching their face. Because that would be like… well like watching us for a lot of this season. First blood to Hazard after four minutes after a one-two with The Beard. He hit it so well and the keeper was done, but it just drifted wide. My beloved Charlie had a half chance at the other end before we burst forward on the break, led again by Eden. Ball goes out to Little Willy who cuts inside and you’re expecting him to bury it; but it cracked the bar. Good stuff so far. First ten minutes was all us. Great ball in from Fabregas on 11 but some good defending blocked it off from Hazard. On 12 it was The Beard trying to get a shot off after a great takedown but then tying himself up in knots. One way traffic.
And yet we hadn’t had a shot on target. And they began to come back into the game. But at least it hadn’t been a clusterf*ck of ineptitude like the opening spell against them a couple of weeks ago. Relatively easy save for Big Willy on 24, which at least let us know he wasn’t asleep. Hazard was bright, he got some good little exchanges with The Beard going. Rudi looked up for it at the back. Already some really nice touches from Emerson, but we really needed to make them pay. Half an hour had passed now. The longer it went on like this, the more likely we’d be to crap our pants and do something stupid, like concede just before half time.
Great corner (No I haven’t been sniffing glue) from us on 32, flicked on by Dave but then it skimmed across the box and there was no blue head to plant on it. Ball from Cesc on 38, horrible angle for The Beard who better that you would have hoped with making a shot of it, but it went wide and lay on the pitch screaming in frustration. Seconds later cross into the box from Emerson but Moses was lagging behind coming in on the back post and another half chance went begging. We had not conceded a single foul, that should tell you something about the domination in the first half. No added time either. Their service in to My Charlie and Long had been woeful. And yet behold how we are not winning. I’m not sulking yet. But if it’s still like this after an hour then expect this write up to get fighty.
And THE BEARD DOES IT AGAIN! Right from the kick off, Cesc ball in, Hazard pulls it over to the beautiful lump and he winds past FIVE of their team as they all trip over each other like bellends. 28 seconds of the half gone. On 47 Southampton were calling for a penalty but it was a great effort from Cesc, then a swift break, Hazard shot, just wide. More entertaining so far than the whole of the first half. On 53 We almost blew it, great ball from My Charlie through to that little git Long, whose first touch was about as subtle as Allardyce at a buffet table. But they did seem to have suddenly woken up, though I couldn’t help thinking that that means we are going to smash them on the break.
Until they tried to kill The Beard. And failed. They looked ready to crumble after play resumed. Needed to take advantage quick. Not what we usually do. Which is miss multiple opportunities, let it stay at 1-0 and then concede at a really awkward moment. Hughes attempted to look like he actually earns his money by getting Redmond and Tadic after an hour. Willian leaves for Bakayoko, shaking his head, slower than Bosingwa at his timewasting best and goes straight down the tunnel. Blues not happy. Booing. Conte’s trying to shore the midfield up but it’s gone down like a lead balloon tied to Charlie Adam’s ankle.
They came close from a corner on 67 and they looked like a different side now. If it goes wrong from here Antonio might as well rock up by the Osgood statue at the Bridge, pull his pants down and just wait for anyone involved with Chelsea to line up and boot him up the a*se. Because nobody will care about the logic in his substitution. And behold. 72 minutes. Somehow Big Willy goes over the line with the ball. But apparently My Charlie shoved him it over with his a*se. Oh to have been Caballero at that point. Refwatch: Martin Atkinson. He booked three players for fouls on Hazard. I don’t think I’ve seen a referee actually do his job like this, well, ever. After that goal/not goal for Austin they will think they just can’t get a break at the moment. (In the words of Frank Lampard, you might as well het the goalkeeper a VIP rope and a bouncer) But I like to focus solely on the happy fact that Atkinson took a massive sh*t on Hughes’s weekend
74 and Pesto came on for Cesc. Two minutes later a cross came in from Eden and a Southampton player somehow scooped it just onto the roof of the net. Then on 79 Morata finally got some pitch time, The Beard having done his job for the day. And fair play to Morata. Within a minute and a half, basically his first touch, goal. He needed that after Thursday. Dave doing what he does best, setting up his mate for a header.
They were almost back in it on 83 with a miracle shot from My Charlie, but he cracked the post, back up the other end and we nearly stung them on the counter but that Dutch bloke of theirs cleared it off the line after Morata scuffed his shot. By 85 he could have been on a hatrick, but let’s not split hairs. We’re going through comfortably. 86 minutes and Charlie had yet another effort at the other end. He was looking a very frustrated bunny now. Into the first of five minutes of added time we went. Loads of empty seats at the red end of Wembley now, and the fizz gone out of the game. Dutch bloke who cleared it off the line almost scored an own goal, but 2-0 it remained.
So: Chequebook Pulis at Wembley it is in the final. There were a few minutes, when Willian went off and they weren’t allowed a goal, when Antonio could have looked like a prize dickhead. But football sometimes turns on moments like this and today it turned in his favour to take him to his second consecutive FA Cup Final, which isn’t exactly sh*t is it? Giroud is unbeaten at Wembley. He says it’s like his garden. Overall we were the better side, but they could have put a spanner in the works several times throughout the course of it. I don’t want them to go down, it’s a good day out. We’re still in a position to salvage something from this season. I anticipate the price list for final tickets and the pitiful small amount of them available to actual fans with joy. At least our season now ends with a Wembley day out and not a 2000 mile round trip to the northeast.
*Picture of a happy beard comes from Chelsea's official website
Let's All Play For England
Burnley 1 Chelsea 2
Thursday (What. The. F*ck?) 19th April 2018 19:45
Burnley. It basically looks as depressing as “Sterk,” but the locals don’t eat their young.
Southampton 2 Chelsea 3: The nay-sayers had to take it back. Yes Janice (muppet alias) I’m talking to you. I was giving a lecture about monarchy and the Great War entitled “Georgie, Willy and Nicky” which implies I may have used puppets. Part of me wishes that I had been there to witness the meltdown at 2-0. But then perhaps not. Only two players have scored more goals per minute this season than The Beard. Salah (never heard of him) and Aguero.
In the News: Lo and behold the FA exact the maximum punishment on a Chelsea player and give a three match ban to Alonso. I wouldn’t object if certain other teams didn’t just have all of this sh*t routinely swept under the carpet. Ben. Davies. A yellow card? Ridiculous. Another slew of managers linked with us. I’m still leading the cry for Eddie Howe. Just because it’d be funny to see the nappy sh*tters implode and because I’ve had to google all the others. Are we going to get Rudi back today? After asking the question that we have been screaming from the stands all season. Just why do we fall back after we’ve gone ahead and invite teams to score? I suppose David Luiz will at least have had someone to keep him company scrubbing the urinals at Cobham with a toothbrush this week. Rearrange the words: nose your off cutting to face your spite. And Conte’s press conference was interrupted by his phone ringing. His wife. At least it forced him to crack a smile.
I can’t keep up with the emotional rollercoaster that is the life of Paul Pogba. One minute he’s a footballing god, then he’s supposed to be getting booted out with more force than Allardyce attacking a pizza delivery boy. Combine that with the IQ of a flea and no wonder he trips out and attacks his own head with clippers. Pip Squeakiola hints he needs more money spent on him this summer. Because he’s only had half a billion and didn’t buy him all of the trophies he wanted. Supercoach my a*se. Just a couple a hundred million if you are dumb enough to believe the Red Swarm. But then again if they really are going to spend it on the likes of Mahrez then as you were. Conversely, Podgettino thinks he can win without spending any money. It’s not all about money, he says. How did that work out for you this season, skippy? My prediction was that if they won nothing this season their players would be off. Now I’m not sure, they’ve already won one cup final at ours and who can possibly put a price on the excitement of winning the FA Cup for the first time in 300 years. Heady times indeed. The three wise men are at it again. Keown praises special talent Shelvey. Insists he will fit will well into the England squad. Someone has been on the funny fags again. Oh Martin. Martin. The fact that he is a fit for the England squad doesn’t mean he has arrived. It means that England’s prospects are now so dire that they will let anyone in. I’m pretty sure if I could get a pair of gloves on Bertie’s giant clown paws, he’d get a go in goal. You thought our woes with VAR were bad over here. In the Bundesliga the referee dragged the players back out of the dressing room for a penalty at half time. And got a ton of bog roll thrown at him for his trouble. And ladies and gentlemen I give you Russian football, our World Cup hosts. Where a muzzled bear was dragged out to deliver the match ball and clap for fans before a game last week.
The Others: Sp*rs have dropped five points out of the last six. Ha. But I’m not going to get excited until we’ve proved ourselves to be semi-competent. Which is asking a lot. L’Arse are the only side in the top four divisions not to have got a point away from home this year. #WengerIn. Oh no but WAIT. There might be an even BETTER eventually. Benitez to Arsenal? That would be the most exciting thing to happen in the transfer window if you’re a Chelsea fan since we signed Torres from the Red Scouse and they went into complete meltdown and started burning their own shirts and telling their kids he’d died. (I still maintain it was worth £50m just to see this epidemic of hilarious/disturbing nappy sh*tting)
Them: Aaron Lennon? Ahahahaha. I completely forgot that they beat us. That’s how long this season feels. If Sean Dyche could keep his interviews as short as possible. It unnerves me the way he sounds like he is massacring his throat with a cheese grater when he speaks.
Us: Six changes made, just as the door has been left slightly ajar on the top four. Against a team who have won five on the trot. Excellent. Hazard and Willian given a breather. Joy. But Rudi is off the naughty step. Emerson gets his first start has to deputise for Alonso. But hang on a minute. Two strikers. For the first time since 2011 apparently. But you’ll never please us lot. Cahill and Bakayoko both start, so that’ll give the nappy sh*tters plenty to moan about.
So 3-5-2, Interesting. Unlike the opening ten minutes of this match. First flashpoint came after seven when The Beard tried to make the most of going down in the box. Not a penalty. A good run by Morata followed, but his shot came via a very narrow angle. It might have been on the way in at the far post but he’d have been lucky to beat this goalkeeper I’ve never heard of, but who apparently is the best England have got, from there. At this point we’d had the best of the play, the possession and attempts. Which you will know if you have watched most of our games this season means absolutely nothing. I think I unwittingly took a nap because I closed my eyes and when I opened them again the clock had reached eighteen minutes. Don’t get me wrong. This is not the horror show that Southampton was in the first half, but it was about as interesting as watching Michael Owen commentating on watching paint dry. Until for once we profited from someone else’s f*ckwittery. Moses fights his way through, gets a cross (cue jokes about fainting) off and Kevin Long does the hospitable thing and puts the ball in the back of the net. 0-1.
Blues singing that awful We’ve Won it All
Them singing You F*cked it Up
Get what you deserve when you sing that
We had a free kick on 27 minutes on the outside of the box thanks to some bloke with jug ears who looks like a reject from a mid-90s boy band. Apparently he even plays for England. Who doesn’t, it seems? Pesto (f*ck you autospell) goes for the near post an misses. Two minutes later suddenly the game had turned. A long ball into the box for them and they started screaming for a penalty. p*ss off. A half chance shortly afterwards too, but thankfully the ball rolled comfortably into Thibaut’s arms. Suddenly they looked more likely to get forward. Anyone familiar with this tale of woe? But let it not be said that I am a pessimist. We had survived half an hour without conceding a goal at Burnley. Let’s just ignore the fact that they have scored less goals at home than any other side in the country. Jug Ears is trying to aggressively fondle Gary Cahill in the box, when he’s on a yellow. Nothing will happen.
Not much more to shout about in the first half. A great break from Pesto on 37. He was getting so much space thanks to the Giroud/Morata combination. Can you imagine if that was Eden in there? He surged forward and narrowly missed getting it on the end of a striker’s foot. Burnley were getting sulky now. They thought they were hard done by. I’d think I was hard done by if I lived in Burnley too. Refwatch: I think their behaviour was deplorable and that Bobby Madley is a fine referee. They may have scored our goal, but we deserved to be ahead. They hadn’t even fashioned a shot on or off target. They’d looked nearly as flaccid and sad than Trump if he woke up and found that someone had nicked his wig.
46 seconds into the second half and they had made more of an impact on our goal than at all in the first 45. Still no shot though. Beer had not cheered their moany fans up at half time. Burnley fans. BURNLEY, moaning every time you touch one of their players. Or calling for a handball. I’ve seen everything now. They had their first corner of the match on 52, but the high ball in was plucked (I hate that word, almost as much as I hate the word moist) by Thibaut from amidst a cluster of players. Oh dear Alvaro. Kante nicks the ball in them midfield on 54. The Beard busting a gut going with him, two against one, doesn’t want to pass, one on one with the keeper. Misses. Sigh. Watch that come back to bite us in the a*se.
On 57 Pesto was away but got pushed out wide, before Jug Ears clatters The Beard. Appears to just have a free pass to commit fouls tonight. Another break came via Pesto and Moses just after the hour but the shot was tame. And then, having squandered numerous chances to extend our lead, the home team go and score. 1-1. Same sh*t, different day. Who makes the flags? I want a blue flag, with a white silhouette of a subbuteo player shooting itself in the foot to commemorate this season.
Emerson forced a block with a long range shot on 67, nothing doing, but then with substitutes waiting to come on, in skitters Victor Moses. Cross misses the strikers and falls to him on the right of the box and England’s No.1, whoever he is, can’t get down to it in time. 1-2. Get in. But still Eden is going to come on. Willy sits back down. Morata not a happy bunny. Smashing things up on the bench whilst Fabregas tries to hug it out with him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him get mad before. I won’t lie. I was a bit turned on. I want to see him get mad. I want to see him fuming. Speaking of, Conte hadn’t shut up all night either. Good man. Burnley made a change too. I’d joke about not knowing who Sam Vokes is, but he’s the one that kicked our a*se at The Bridge.
75 gone and we don’t look like losing. Which is of course fatal as far as we are concerned. Pesto could have sealed it on 81 with a long shot that sent the keeper the wrong way, but Jug Ears got in the way. Zappacosta on for Emerson, who did really well tonight considering that was his first league start in a year. Hazard had kept the ball brilliantly since his introduction and was mocking the Burnley defenders as they fought to get it off him. At one point it was seven on one. They did get in our box on 87, but Barnes’s header couldn’t find Vokes.
Ball nicked by Kante on 88, three on three, but then we ended up dicking about on the touchline. As injury time ticked down, Sean Dyche was seemingly angry about something, but I was so mesmerised by how badly his ginger stubbled head clashed with his purple tie I couldn’t concentrate on anything else. No drama in extra time. Three points.
So: We’d never lost at Burnley before tonight and I saw nothing of the team that has made its way to seventh in the league and is trying to finish above L’Arse. Thankfully. But then they appeared to be relying on Aaron Lennon running about with his jazz hands to do something magical. So I’m not sure they deserved any better. What I did see was a professional Chelsea side getting the job done, which was a bit of a mind f*ck. First time we’ve won back to back games in the league since December. Check us out. Solid performances from a few of the nappy sh*tters’ whipping boys tonight too: Cahill, Bakayoko, Moses. And although Morata’s miss made me want to kick things, at least for once he showed some kind of emotion about being disappointed with his performance. Use it.
5 points behind Sp*rs. Deficit halved in a week. Obviously I’d like to mow them down from behind like a tank driven by an angry gorilla amped on special k, but at least we haven’t rolled over and died. We’ll see.
*Picture of Pesto/Moses bromance comes from Chelsea's official site
Chelsea 1 West Ham 1
Sunday 8th April 2018 16:30
I should be in Krakow right now. Where it is 24 degrees. Thanks for nothing SleazyJet . You orange b*stards. Also. A cluster of the Chelsea Chicago massive are in town. Jägerbombs were had on Friday. After having to spend the whole of yesterday typing about George VI and the Battle of Jutland whilst suppressing the urge to vomit on my keyboard, I remember why I don't touch the stuff.
For Ray Wilkins. Wherever you've gone, I hope that the sun is shining. I hope that you can feel the outpouring of love and affection for you from throughout the footballing world, because the truth is that nobody tells you what you mean to them until you are gone. And that's a shame. Because you mean so much to those you have left behind. Even my one Gooner friend shed a tear for you this week. And he has no soul. I hope that where you are, the clock has been turned back thirty years; that there are endless green football pitches and that you are running free at the height of your powers, with your luscious hair streaming behind you and the roar of the Stamford Bridge faithful in your ears. I hope that you have found cherished loved ones and lost friends to reunite with, that you have found peace from all your earthly worries, and a prime spot now and always from which you can support the Blues with us from above. A football club is just a club without devoted hearts like yours. People like you make us a family. You are our past, you are our present, and we will make damn sure you are our future too. You will not be forgotten. KTBFFH
In the News: To be honest I didn't want to look at a paper after Sunday, and I put myself under a total media blackout after Wednesday night lest I choke to death on my own gin-flavoured vomit reading the outpourings of those scambling, saucy weasels with a plentiful lack of wit in the press. (I'm going with Shakespearean insults today, just because I feel like it) For those still smarting from last week, just remember the bigger picture. In the time it's taken them to win at Stamford Bridge, buy a half and half scarf for £20 to commemorate it (suckers) and start editing the DVD of it, we have won the Champions League, the Europa League, the European Cup Winners Cup, five league titles, six FA Cups, and four league cups. And all of their team was born. Yes, verily they may enjoy their five seconds of glory, they will still be starveling elf-skins stinking of bull's pizzle at the end of them.
But just for you, I've had a quick shifty at what the Red Swarm have been up to. Huzzah! Real are hesitant about signing Eden. All those letters I'm sending them pretending I'm with the Russian mafia must be working. A Spanish newspaper has also likened Pip Squeakiola to Joseph Goebbels. Both poisonous, bunch-backed toads, undoubtedly. Wouldn't be overly concerned if anyone punched either in the face repeatedly but it's a probably a bit hysterical likening the Catalan ribbony thing to Nazism. Pogba was allegedly offered to City in January. Probably just to sit on one of their many empty seats and make the place look full. Having said that, if you said to your average United fan "you're going to spend a fortune on a pigeon liver’d, three inch-fool who spends more time dicking about with his hair than he ever does doing anything useful on a football pitch BUT he will deny City the title for a few days and ruin their party," they'd probably take the deal. If we bring Batshuayi back he needs to either have his fingers removed or just be gagged from speaking to the press or having any contact with social media. I had to google what "Futsal" is. Answer? "A waste of f*cking time."
The Others: Back down to earth with a bump for Klippity Klop and his band of barbermongering, cream-faced loons. Shame. Hilarity occurred in Manchester. City have shipped six goals in four days. And if three were scored by a combination of Smalling and Pogba you need to take a serious f*cking look at yourselves. I needed 4.5 goals to complete my winning accumulator so I couldn't have given a rat's a*se who scored them. Nothing that happened is likely to help us make the top four. Because we suck at winning.
Us: Christensen didn't train this week so we get Cahill - well at least all of the nappy sh*tters will have someone to blame for everything that goes wrong, I said.
Them: I honestly couldn't pick most of their whoreson mountain goats out of a line up if you gave me a lifetime supply of Boe Violet Gin.
We started off with a tribute to Butch. The applause went on so long it confused the f*ck out of the players. Wet Spam have literally no class, but nigh on every single one of their fans applauded with us. Thank you.
But you have to start as you mean to go on with this lot. Namely with
You're Not West Ham Anymore.
Our first half-chance came at range from Willian on two minutes but it was blocked easily. Eden almost sneaked it in the far corner a minute later but no joy. At the other end nothing from them. They might have got out of their own half once in the first five minutes. They were time-wasting already. Whichever moron ever thought this bog-eyed, fustilarian dullard could have managed Manchester United belongs in a padded f*cking cell. A boil, a plague sore, an embossed canker on the posterior of the Premier League. The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes.
We would have to be base villains on a monumental scale not to beat these foul, ass-headed lumps of deformity. And yet after a quarter of an hour we still weren't ahead. Please let this not be like threading the eye of a needle getting into the box for 90 minutes with all these fat b*stards in the way.
But then things improved. On 21 a corner from Willian didn't quite come in at the right height. Morata was a mile offside when scored on 23, or so it looked up in the Shed, but at least they were properly running at them now. He'd already annoyed myself and Alf Garnett (sitcom alias) by chatting happily with the defender marking him. I'd have given this game to Giroud, because he stands up better against pestilent, meathead defenders and at least if he got caught offside he'd still be fighting, and like a rabid Scotsman and trying to knee them in the coinpurse. These, for me, are the games we bought him for. There are times when I remember Costa running at keepers on the slimmest of opportunities with a look of beast-like lunacy and I miss it. Thin Costa. Not fat moany Costa. Because our selective memories have largely forgotten the latter.
Good move on 28, involving Morata, but the ball ended up skimming agonisingly across the face of goal and Willian was just too far away to poke it into an empty net. Shooooooooot we all yelled at him on the half hour and from twenty yards Little Willy did, but it was just wide. This might well have been the longest half hour of my life. Since last Sunday. We were in on 35 minutes only for their blasphemous knave of a Goalkeeper, who hadn't moved faster than a f*cking sloth dragging itself along the ground with two bleeding paws all afternoon, got his foot on it at the last.
It was ok though. Because moments later we finally scored. Alonso was basically playing up front with Morata, they were so sh*t going forward. But chances were few. So the Shed entertained itself with
If you wear a yellow jacket you're a ****
To one of our number that was presumably innocently going down into the stand for a p*ss or a pint. Mind you, with Singha, what's the difference? I think he saw the funny side.
A minute after the break we could have doubled our lead when Willian and Hazard emerged from some tippy tappy stuff in the box and the former stabbed the ball painfully close past the far post. We looked even more at it. They looked even more sh*t. Cahill. Yes CAHILL set us off in another run on 49, there were was a brief interlude when Moses lost the ball and had to win it back again, then the final effort went into the hands of the reborn whippet in their goal. Then yet again with the ball across the face of it, and who ran into it finally? Moses. The ball went over the roof and caused a half an hour delay on the District Line when it landed on the tracks. Apparently. They had been awful, but we were still only one goal ahead and right now I don't trust us as I could throw Charlie Adam in my netballing heyday. Thou art as fat as butter. A header from Morata went over the bar on 54. On 58 we saw a great ball in by Willian, Morata smacked it home. Again. And apparently he was offside. Again. To give him his credit, he had got more physical as the game went on. So he was running at about 60% of how mean and nasty I personally would like to see him on a football pitch.
They started the ball rolling with the substitutions. Patrice f*cking Evra. Has his pet lion cub not eaten him yet? 66: Oh Eden! Should have passed to Willy in the box! A couple of minutes later Moses almost scored a blinder from out on the right but it was just wide. Are you seeing a recurring theme here? 70 minutes and dare I say the wind had gone out of our sails slightly. This is why we have substitutions in football. Nobody has told Antonio Conte. In his world you wait until it's redundant. It's like realising you've got a load of shrapnel in your pocket ten minutes from closing in a bar and buying a random round of shots that nobody really wants that have no purpose other than to spend money for the sake of it.
Their goal was Gary Cahill's fault. I will let you have this one. Be gracious and espouse your torrent of effluence upwind from me, because I have too much respect for him to flog it to death. 16 attempts. One goal. That's the bigger problem for me. On 76 minutes Pesto (f*ck thee, autospell) and Giroud were ready to come on, the time wasting was criminal and West Ham looked like Brazil in 1970. A save by Thibaut on 77 kept us in it. No. You haven't read that wrong. Commence meltdown. On 78 there was another reaction save from the sloth from Giroud (He reverted back to negative warp speed after they equalised) When Marc Noble is robbing the ball off you, you know you're in the shit.
Refwatch: Raining. A death in the Chelsea Family. Not going to make top four. All the prozac in the world wouldn't fix our miserable manager and we get given Kevin Not My Friend. The inexplicable stupidity (His wit’s as thick as a Tewkesbury mustard) started with the mindless awarding of non-existent free kicks after twenty minutes. Blanking Moses being kicked to the floor, incapable of noticing obscene manhandling in the box, blind to time-wasting, or players faking injury rolling back onto the pitch to kill the game. Methink’st thou art a general offence and every man should beat thee. Once again, he's an incompetent who should rightly be working in Chicken Cottage. But not on food service though. Mopping floors. But we were worse than he was in the last 20 minutes today.
On 85 Cahill was beaten but Kante bailed him out. Another break for us, another shot straight at the keeper. Aaaaaaargh! Antonio has got his f*cking hands in his pockets again. He's being outwitted by David Moyes, who couldn't outwit my kitten, and he's got his hands in his pockets. 87 minutes saw another f*cking flying save from the sloth then more lying on the floor from them before we could take the corner. There better be a minimum of five minutes added on to this.
And there were. Another corner, another one of them lying on the floor. Not My Friend oblivious to cheating. But once again when we finally got to take it it was no not good. Cahill's header was on target but the sloth claimed it with ease. Etc. Etc. F*ck this.
I’ve just realised that the sloth/whippet was Joe Hart. Ha. I forgot he even existed.
So: Still not clinical enough, but West Ham are so sh*t it shouldn't have mattered. But we are our own worst enemy. We are not worthy of the Europa League at this point. Someone is going to have to explain the me why I hear so many people digging Hazard out as the main perpetrator on the pitch, because I just don't see it. He has a tendency to disappear late on if we're collectively sh*t, but don’t they all? He's not got one foot out of the door whoring himself out to Real Madrid. He's got a dream to play in Spain before he dies and the press won't leave it alone.
For me the manager is rubbing off on the players, who are not blameless by any means but sh*t rolls downhill and it's what you get for wanting to be the man in charge. Ugly, cold hearted responsibility. We are not the sum of our individual parts, and it can't be that every single player is suddenly dogsh*t. Most of them won the league last season, though a lot of them could do with a course in football b*stardry under the tutelage of Roy Keane this summer. Cahill and Azpilicueta were screaming at each other today. And not over the Pikey goal. These are two of the nicest, most professional men in football. Probably too nice. And then Thibaut gets involved. He never speaks to anyone. And there they are yelling at each other. This is what we have become.
This is a multifaceted clusterf*ck of a season. It is not all "The Board's" fault. My God, yes, the people up top have to take some of the responsibility. But. BUT. For some, "The Board" has become this bogeyman-like spectre that takes the flak for everything now that Emanalo has gone. Does our board need revamping? Yes. Does it need a proper football man in it? Absolutely. Didn’t Hiddink want in? Recruit someone of that stature and put a Lampard or a Ballack underneath him to learn the ropes and build for the future. But is "The Board" this rampant multi-headed beast cut from Greek mythology that independently runs amok without the knowledge of Roman Abramovich? Don't you think if you put nigh on a billion pounds into a project you'd make damn sure you know everything that's going on? Abramovich is "The Board."
I've said enough times that a lot of the club's hard work in the summer transfer window went unrewarded. This was hard work, something like £200m worth including January, that they still did in the face of a league-winning manager who suddenly started dropping bombshells about the prospect of moving on. They were willing to stick with this guy, they were, though perhaps wary of spending a fortune on a volatile personality who might do a runner. We wanted to stick with him too. The only person that wasn't happy with the prospect of a long term role at Chelsea was the manager himself, in a scenario that has played itself out remarkably like it did at his last club. Nobody has ever wanted Antonio Conte to leave Chelsea, except Antonio Conte. Nobody has put this pressure on Antonio, except Antonio. And the Red Swarm have jumped on it like the rabid dogs that they are and he's got nobody to blame but himself for the constant references to his future. I’m not angry. I’m disappointed. What a crying f*cking shame that he’s turned out to be a bit of a bunny boiler. There is no point in sacking him now. It would be akin to waiting till a manager had definitely got your team relegated and then getting rid of him with half a dozen games to go. You sack managers mid-season because your preempting a disaster and you believe a new man can come in and turn it around. That ship has sailed. Into a force ten gale. And sunk. I never advocated sacking Antonio Conte. I still don't. I think we are long past the point when they should have pulled the trigger if they were going to do it. And I don't want us to pay him off.
You can approach a job you hate one of two ways. You can turn into a batsh*t crazy nightmare for everyone else to be around and become a burden to the organisation, or you can at least hold your head up and earn your money till you find a way out. I’d expect the latter for circa £8m a year, but I think it's pretty clear which option Conte has been running with for the past few weeks. It's not all his fault, but the longer it goes on, in the harshest possible terms he's becoming like a cancer in the club. Because there is no way that this does not effect your staff. The players haven't lost the ability to kick a football. They're going ahead in these games. Madrid in the group stages, anyone? What has been lacking all season is a clinical ability to finish a game. And now as a group they fold in the face of adversity, like jellyfish. They don't rally, there's no strength. We are lacking a dominant personality. We were spoiled to have leaders like JT Lamps, Cech, Ivanovic and Ballack all in the same side. Conte was full of that passion last season. If he's not this season it's a conscious choice, unless he’s had a lobotomy. If all you hear is your boss telling everybody his men you aren't up to it, or he doesn't have enough money spent on him to win, or that he is doing the absolute best he can every time we fall flat on our faces then I'm sorry, but that gets inside your head. Because if anyone should be stupidly optimistic, at least in the press, then it is the manager. Tell people your employees aren't good enough, enough times, and they will start to believe it themselves. The problem today wasn't ultimately that Gary Cahill made a mistake, it was that we squander the majority of our chances in every single game we play and that we are more fickle than something really fickle that I’m just too bored now to think of. I’m sorry Antonio, once again I thank you for last season, you are a nice man, but “thine forward voice, now, is to speak well of thine friend; thine backward voice is to utter foul speeches and to detract.”
The club played "Every Little Thing's Gonna Be Alright" at the final whistle. Everyone's sense of humour is officially worn through for now. Went down like Dele f*cking Alli in football boots made of cement. Don't do it again.
This season has become like the third Lord of the Rings film. The battle ended and you lost interest and then every time it faded out and you thought you could leave the f*cking cinema it faded up again so someone could start yapping or singing Elven folk songs. In the words of The Prince of the El Salvador Chelsea contingent: "Exactly like that. But getting kicked in the balls with each fade." Just put us out of our misery. Please.
Chelsea: Sigh. Sp*rs: W*nkers.
Sunday 1st April 2018 16:00
The last two words my mum said to me before I left her flat this morning. I'm so glad I've got 3000 calories of chocolate eggs at home to stuff in my face.
I saw a West Ham fan on Twitter saying he'd rather slide downhill on a razor blade using his bollocks as breaks. Most Blues would join him.
In the News: Firstly. Iceland f*cking rocks. I'm going to start a travel blog and backdate it to cover the American road trip, Jordan, New York and Egypt too as soon as this bloody book is handed in.
The last two weeks have been a dirge of boredom and international sh*te. Apparently Vardy didn't touch the ball against Holland. I'm pretty sure that was the night we were out stood underneath epic Northern Lights so I gave even less of a sh*t than usual. So what have the Red Swarm been filling their pages up with? There's been a lot of crying Australians who've been caught playing with their balls for a start. There was the good. My personal favourite was the story that Ibrahimovic took out an ad in an LA paper saying "Dear Los Angeles, you're welcome." Could well be the biggest ego to set foot in the city, and that's saying something. The Bad: The Fail had time to run an entire article about Bellerin's fashion sense. He's a maverick apparently. If by maverick you mean "tasteless bellend" who goes out in his poo coloured silk pyjamas and a pair of slippers. Then there was the awful: an entire page about a miracle goldfish bowl that tipped over and landed upside down without spilling the water. Maltesers are going to be made flat. I'm f*cking outraged. Someone needs to start a petition to the Government. 100,000 signatures and it has to be discussed in the House of Commons. Oh, and Messi stayed in a premier inn and ate fish and eggs. I feel fulfilled knowing that. And finally the ridiculous: Floyd Mayweather considering buying Newcastle and convincing his "mate" Ronaldo to sign for them. That could only come from a man who has spent a lifetime getting smacked upside his head.
Consider this lull in football news the calm before the storm, because next week all we are going to get is a sh*t avalanche; a rousing chorus in A minor from Chequebook Pulis entitled "woe is me they've got home advantage." It's going to be louder than the last night at the Proms. He's apparently spent most of the break picking on Luke Shaw. I think it's Martin Samuel saying there is room for niceness in professional sport. This might be true, but it's probably a tad insensible to completely break a player so that he ends up crying every time someone kicks a football at him. Meanwhile United are considering handing out song sheets at the Theatre of Plastic Dreams to get something out of the crowd. The FA are ripping everyone off. That's not news. I'm pretty sure the most expensive ticket for the final in 2012 was £90. This year it will be £140 - that's an almost 60% hike which has no correlation on any wage increases for your average football fan.
Mertesacker is being accused of disrespecting L'Arse because he says he'd rather sit in the stands than play for them. You could argue it would be more insulting if he insisted on playing. Every press pleb's favourite scumbags are planning a "hostile reception" for City in the Champions League. Classy. The Three Wise Men are at it again. A cup could kick start a golden era for Sp*rs according to Redknapp. Podgettino on the other hand says winning the FA Cup doesn't make them good. Klippity Klopp is saying that a lack of winter break shortens your lifespan. Drama queen. And poor Butch Wilkins. No 61 year old should be clinging to life on a machine. God Speed.
The Others: The Red Scouse AKA the Patron Saints of Lucky B*stards steal it from Palace at the last. Extra security at West Ham for the Southampton game cost the tax payer £60,000. That was all I had time for while trying to finish this war book.
Us: No Thibaut for us, Big Willy deputises. Pretty much the team I think we all would have wanted other than that. (Personally after Barcelona I don't so much mind another week off for Courtois. We girls know how to hold a grudge.) Nowhere for any of them to hide today.
Them: A mixture of cheats and tedious f*ckbags. Minus some bloke who leaves a snail trail of saliva behind him wherever he goes and talks like he's got a dildo in his mouth. I believe I hate Vertonghen just about more than any of them. Usually by the end of 90 minutes of his gurning plastic Ken doll face I want to see how many obscenities I can carve permanently into it with a toothpick doused in Dettol.
If we don't win this, it is most probably Thursday night football tedium for us next season. If we draw this, we might still be stuck in the Europa league. And the knock on from that would be struggling to sign top bracket players this summer. Unless they are really dumb or unless we are really good bullsh*tters
It took 49 seconds for the Diving Little Sh*tbag to start moaning. It was a really scrappy start but you know Hazard and Willian are up for it when their tackles are flying in in the middle of the field. An early injury break gave us b opportunity for "Stand up if you hate T*ttenham" and "Champions of Europe, you'll never sing that". Our first real run in goal came on 9 minutes but there were no real attempts at either end in the first ten.
It's so quiet. They sang. I'm not talking that sh*t from a club that plays crowd noise over the loudspeaker at Wembley. On 15 Hazard did well to get it to a charging Alonso, but the final shot wasn't there. An outstanding break on 17 led to a prolonged attack on their goal. Alonso had it in the back of the net but Lloris knew he was offside and didn't even try to keep it out. Either that or he was having one of his narcoleptic fits that cause Sp*rs to beat themselves and give us much entertainment
Refwatch: Why?! Why!!! Marriner for a game this big. And I'm sure that's Dobby running the line again. We've just suffered him. So face-palming is allowed, as is flooring Chelsea players. Free kicks will be given liberally if you are wearing white. But if you are in Blue you get one foul in every three given. Welcome to the world of Andre f*cking Marriner, who can't referee a game of football without picking a favourite. Where we see footballers I think through his eyes he's just seeing all the dancing, psychedelic, acid-trip elephants from Dumbo.
We were the better side after 25 minutes. But we were not putting enough pressure on Lloris - who has several f*ckwit moments in every game and targeting Ben Davies could only lead to good things as there's a workable channel down the right.
Eden suckered Dire (intentional misspelling) into fouling him on 26 minutes to gain a promising free kick. To be fair to Hazard, it's not our fault that Dire has got the IQ of a potato. A great run a minute later from Moses, but he decided to take the shot himself and though Lloris (who looks like a sad French street mime who's run out of makeup) spilled it nobody could take advantage.
Then a great breakout from Rudiger and a perfect ball in from Moses for Morata. 1-0
We deserved that.
There was a little spell of intent from them as we approached 40 minutes. Please don't f*cking concede Chelsea. They've had more possession and done nothing with it. They've not even had a shot on target
Alonso very nearly got a second from a wide angle on 41. Marriner looked like he was about to keel over and Dobby doesn't know what constitutes a throw in, but we were doing ok. A complete f*ck up by them on 42 left Alonso running in unmolested on goal, but not from a good angle. Out it came and Kante hit an absolute pile-driver. It was blocked, but it nearly accomplished the next best thing by almost knocking one of them out. Then it was our turn to balls it up. Moses gave the ball away and who else does it fall to on the edge of the box but Erickson and his want-away hairline.
All that hard work and back to the drawing board. We nearly cancelled it out when Hazard laid the ball off to Alonso but his shot was always rising. Half time. That is the only real attempt they've had and it took one that good to get a goal. That they didn't deserve. Wankers.
Straight after the break there was a great ball by Hazard cross pitch to Moses who made a pigs ear of trying to have a shot. Dave ran it back in but no cigar. Still we pressed but Morata was flagged for offside. And that is where our afternoon peaked.
Doing anything about persistent fouling is not in Marriner's admittedly limited repertoire either, but we were more more incompetent than him today. All we needed to do was carry on as we were, because they looked like getting very little for most of the first half.
But the game opened up more and more. There was almost another fuck up from Moses on 52 but we managed to scramble it away. Still we weren't out of it. On 56 Morata went sideways across the face of goal but forgot to turn left. The end result was easily caught by Lloris. Two minutes later a high ball in from Cesc was almost spot on but nobody got their head on it in the box
Then it was back down our end for a fingertip save from Big Willy and our afternoon went to sh*t. Shocking defending by us for their second, followed by The DLS acting like a real f*cking grown up baiting the home fans. But then it's not like you expect anything better from the overindulged little cretin anyway. He can watch a recording of this game over and over again this summer when he doesn't get picked for the World Cup.
Willian had a long range shot on 62 but it was well wide. And in all honesty we looked very fragile. As proven ten seconds after I typed that when a bout of silly buggers and jazz hands in the box resulted in a truly pathetic tap in for the Diving Little Sh*tbag. Another day, another inexplicable collapse. At home.
We flailed about for a bit like a half squashed wasp that won't die. A wide shot from Cesc, a mis-hit from Alonso. Then one blocked from Morata. Little conviction in any of it. Harry F*cking Kane on at the 72 minute mark. Followed by two of every animal looking for the ark.
Giroud given a whole ten minutes. Then Emerson for Alonso. Inspired substitutions. Thank you, very much for last season, Antonio, and f*ck you, for shafting us on your way out. Because this has become a habit now, this disinterest if your initial plan isn't working, and is an insult.
F*ck finishing this. Instead I'm going to list my ten favourite gins in descending order before I go home and drink them all.
10 Bloom - Nothing out of the ordinary in terms of botanicals - its a standard tasting gin, but very subtle. Good for a gin newcomer. Don't make make the schoolgirl error everyone I know has and assume that it's weak because it tastes light. You end up pouring triples. And sh*tfaced. Most major supermarkets in the UK are carrying this now.
9 Gunpowder Irish Gin - So named presumably because it comes close to blowing your head off. A good, powerful tasting gin. Not to mention that it comes in a nifty little blue bottle that can be turned into an ornament or a one stem flower vase when you're done. Asda have this.
8 Curio Gin - A really interesting, savoury tasting gin. It's key botanical is samphire and it's really good with a plain tonic so you don't cover the flavour. Available online.
7 Rhubarb & Ginger Gins - There are a couple for this. It's a really good flavour combination. I like Whitney Neill's version because I've got a sweet tooth. They have it in both full sized and mini £3 bottles in Sainsbury's if you want to test it first. Alternatively, most supermarkets now carry Edinburgh's version, which is also great but has a sharper, more natural flavour.
6 Unicorn Tears - Who doesn't want a gin with f*cking unicorns in the title. Not to mention it has glitter in it too. They do a black version which tastes exactly the same. It's novelty but it's a good standard gin too.
5 Sir Robin of Locksley Gin - Another good quality standard Gin but on my list because I am a massive child. In the words of the late, great Alan Rickman, "I'm going to cut your heart out with a spoon!" Robin of Locksley was the title given to Brian Blessed/Kevin Costner in Robin Hood Prince of Thieves, one of the most enjoyable films ever. Who cares if Kevin locked the director out of the editing suite and it was nothing like it was supposed to be. Who cares if he just spoke with an American accent. I met Brian Blessed last year and he told me he was supposed to be Little John but that he was filming something else and had to settle for the cameo. That. Would. Have. Been. Awesome. The gin is available online. And in a pretty gift set as well that I would accept if anyone wanted to buy it for me.
4 Zymurgorium Turkish Delight Gin - I really hate some flavoured gins because they don't remotely taste of what they are supposed to. Like chocolate gin which just tastes rank. This Turkish Delight one might come out of Manchester but it's class. It genuinely tastes of proper, old fashioned Turkish Delight. Available online.
3 Silent Pool Gin - This is everywhere now. Huzzah. It's made in Surrey, at the beauty spot where they found Agatha Christie's car when she disappeared that time. It's got no fancy theme but has a really good, smooth flavour. It tastes great with Fever Tree Lemon Tonic, or just bitter lemon if you can't find that. Seems to come and go from some supermarkets but Waitrose always have it. As do Duty Free at Gatwick and Heathrow.
2 Tanquary Rangpur - Its an Indian themed version of a classic which is heavily flavoured with lime. If you have it with Fever Tree's elderflower tonic and a sh*tload of ice on a hot day, it is just about the most refreshing thing you will ever drink in your life. Morrisons and Waitrose have it, not Sainsbury's.
1 Boe Violet Gin - My absolute favourite at the moment. It's sweet, but awesome. And less of a ball ache than making Aviation cocktails. Pair it with ordinary/slimline tonic because you don't want to mess with the flavours at all. Available online.
And Avoid: Edinburgh's Plum and Vanilla. It tastes like vinegar. I don't like Ophir, which is an Indian themed one, because for me the cloves are overwhelming. And Williams. It has a staggering 40 odd botanicals and a Union Jack bow tie on the bottle but one of the ingredients is beer hops, so it tastes yeasty and sh*t.
So: Of course there will be another DVD, which if your Sp*rs is about as close as you ever get to a trophy. These tossers haven't cost us a spot at Europe's top table next season, losing to the likes of Palace, Bournemouth, Watford and West Ham has. I'm going to save my publisher a heart attack and go home to write about the carnage of the Great War. A less depressing subject than this.
*Picture of yet another foul on Hazard comes from Chelsea's official website. It's the least the club owes me after that.