Chelsea Blog

Could He Get Any Verse?

Wed, 8 Jul 2009 23:07:00 +0100

Well, when it looked as though the country’s artistic elite would let us down with not a line, rhyme, portrait or sculpture to greet the arrival of our new manager, I had to take matters into my own hands.

As a man who is comfortable in the palaces of high culture, I took it upon myself to rectify the situation by commissioning Doggerell naGobshite, one of Ireland’s foremost Gaelic poets, to pen a few well-turned verses in honour of Carlo’s arrival.

Aside from negligible cost, Doggerell being one of Ireland’s most committed Chelsea fans only required the price of a pint or ten, there were many other reasons for choosing him. But the major drawback was his inability to write in the medium of English. Now this publishing lark isn’t cheap and in order to keep costs down I undertook the translation from the original Gaelic myself. It was hard work as naGobshite excels in a peculiar verse form found only in the 7th century bardic traditions of three villages in a remote area of Munster, but I believe I have rendered the beauty of the piece as it appeared in the original language.

Textual Notes (by the well known critic Limerick O’Loonihan)

Noting Carlo’s background in Calcio we see how, rather than engaging in free verse, the poet has chosen a disciplined and quite rigid form in which to give expression to his art. There is an ordered rhyme scheme coupled with a well-structured rhythm throughout the piece. This mirrors expectations of how the manager will approach the game.

Creativity, you ask? Well some would say that what sets the greats apart is their ability to practise within the rigour of a set format, the straitjacket of form if you like. Subtle changes of pace and rhythm, flashes of brilliance bursting out and momentarily changing the pattern, unsettling and inspiring by turns.

All this can be found within naGobshite’s fine writing.

(That’ll have to do O’Bayou. Being the Gombeen man you are you can’t be relied on to pay me for any more. Don’t go sending me any cheap mouthwash like you usually do. It’s a bottle of Powers or you’ll get it in the bracket next time we meet. And that translation’s an affront to poetry, a travesty. There’s no reason to be feeling so pleased with yerself.)

Editor's Note

O’Loonihan, while a respected literary critic, is not the full shilling as you can see. In the interests of artistic freedom I have printed his thoughts in full. Maybe next time I’ll spend a few more Euros and see what Seamus Heaney makes of it all.

The Ancelotti Salutation (by Gobshite naDoggerell, with an English translation by B. O’Bayou)

Hello Carlo,
Sit yourself down,
Welcome to our dizzying town.
West Ham’s East and Fulham’s West
But this is where the football’s best.

The Bridge awaits,
We watch, all quivery
Anticipating Pato, Ribery?
Will you prosper? Will you cope?
They’ll only give you so much rope.

The season’s long,
The prizes many,
What happens if we don’t win any?
Then friend, your fate is sealed for sure
You will be ushered through the door.

We trust this will
Not come to pass,
So stop a while and raise a glass,
Bid hail unto our latest chief,
Let’s hope your reign will not be brief.

Another book,
A bright new story,
We’re off again, bound for glory,
Thumb the page, turn o’er a leaf,
Read the chapter called “Belief”.

Your countrymen
Have done us proud,
We sang their praises, sang out loud,
The shaven headed, smoking Vialli
The Roman butcher’s son, Ranieri.

Guus, the Dutchman,
Son of the soil.
He made them sweat, he made them toil.
Once again we were a force,
On Wembley’s turf, we stayed the course

A pig man’s son
Now takes the reins,
A man with football in your veins.
You’ve shinned up the greasy pole,
To climb again must be your goal.

So take good care
Of our lovely boys.
To us they’re heroes, not mere toys.
Their skills, their hearts you must not scoff at,
We have enough of that with Moffat.

It just remains
To say good luck,
Remember you may have to duck,
The arrows that our press will fire,
To try and drop you in the mire.

The Bi-Polar Express End of Term Report: Class of 2008/09

Thu, 18 Jun 2009 01:43:32 +0100

The scene is the grand hall of St. Chelsea of Stamford Bridge School for Bi-Polar Excellence, somewhere in a leafy suburb in South West London Town. The uniformed students in varying degrees of piety and wretchedness stand in front of the main stage area, smirking and generally joshing as young men do. Some are mere scruffy haired urchins, others the model of senior pupil sartorial elegance. The Master of Ceremonies bangs the gavel three times onto the raised dais and in a slow but calm booming voice calls out the assembled throng.

“Please be standing for your Headmaster, the Right Reverend Dr. Anthony Jockstrap Blueheart-Glover.”

Silence descends upon the sniggering hordes and expressions change from boyish grins into respectful... nay fearful... frowns. Their moment is near. The Headmaster stands at the dais, peers over his funky designer vari-focal glasses, his authority visible through the glowering eyes and furrowed brow. The mortar board is tilted slightly as if just ever so slightly being positioned for a launching across the sea of faces at the first person to snigger, cough or twitch. No smile shows on his face. He merely exhibits a blank tableau of emotionless coldness. This is the moment of truth for the everyone in the school, from pupils to teachers and patrons alike.

“Gentlemen, you may sit... quietly.”

He gathers his thoughts through a moment’s pause, allowing the fear and trepidation to build just a little more...

“Today we are gathered here for annual public report covering the performance of all involved with St. Chelsea of Stamford Bridge School for Bi-Polar Excellence... gentlemen, this is a very important day for the school. Today you will find out just exactly where you stand on the things you did throughout this school year. For some this will be a chance to celebrate your achievements and to receive the deserved credit from your peers for your hard work. For others it will be an experience from which you should listen hard and learn from. For some, it will be painful, hard to hear and... as you know we believe the chance to be part of this esteemed establishment is one of life’s greatest honours. For those who have dishonoured our great establishment, there will be public scorn.”

The mood is sombre, for no member of the school can be sure of what to expect. Everyone has the nagging pain of doubt and fear.

“Gentlemen, we start of course with the pupils... the people upon who we trust to take us forward and through the delivery of great results, to take us to glories anew. To boldly go where no ‘Blue’ has gone before. Gentlemen, our defensive line first...”

“Mr. Petr Cech...” a pause and the tall slender figure looks up to the stage... “You’ve shown promise which still flickers on occasions, but you’ve let your fears overcome you and you have gone into your shell on too many occasions. You’re still a big hope for this school but I fear complacency has crept in because you don’t have to fight for your place. This will change and you must try harder if you’re to reach your earlier potential young man. 7/10 for results, 6/10 for effort.”

The young man looks downward to hide the merest hint of a smile. He knew he’d not been at his best but... he had another chance.

“Mr. John Terry...” the young man looks downwards... he is not sure what will follow... “Stand proud young man. You are the School Captain and of course, the captain for your country. You have been immense yet again. You sir, are a true leader and despite your shortcomings, you make up for all of this with effort, pride, passion and leadership. You have every right to be proud. 9/10 for results and 10/10 for effort.”

“Mr. Alex... what can I say? You fooled us into thinking you were a makeweight... a stand-in... a deputy... but this term you have been a revelation. When Senor Carvalho decided to get himself crocked you selflessly and tirelessly looked into the breach and then stepped into it. You’ve made one or two minor errors but young man, you can be proud of this term's achievements. Of course we will want more. 8/10 for results and 9/10 for effort.”

He looks down concealing the broad smile. Damn... he knew he was better than they said.

“Mr. Ashley Cole...” the fresh faced youngster looks bright eyed to the stage... “Despite your apparent problems keeping the old chap out of trouble, you have buckled down and produced your finest results since we rescued you from that North London School for Sleaze. You have ignored the hostility of the baying mobs from other schools to show your real capability. Well done young man. Just try to keep the trouser snake in its house... OK? 9/10 for results and 10/10 for effort.”

So far so good. The ensemble warms to the presence of the man they fear, loathe and love in equal measure.

“Sr. Jose Bosingwa... you show great promise but have a tendency to operate outside of the role we have planned for you. Occasionally you can’t decide which of your minds to operate... the great defender, or the marauding wing back. It has led us into some unnecessarily sticky situations, but you have great ball skill, score the odd goal and can cross the ball. In anyone’s books you’ve made a decent start. 7/10 for results and 7/10 for effort.”

“Sr. Carvalho... look at me boy! I don’t know what happened, but you’ve had so many injuries it’s affected your form. And now I am told you’re looking for pastures new with barbed comments about a lack of support from us. This school is a meritocracy young man, no-one has an automatic right to a starting place... well apart from Mr. Terry... and maybe young Francis Lampard. It’s a shame because you’ve been a good servant to us. Maybe it is time to part, but I’d rather hoped it was as friends rather than bitter former colleagues. 4/10 for results and 4/10 for effort. Good bye.”

“Mr. Ivanovic. I had my doubts. Under former Principle Grant I was even convinced that just like the badger, you were a made up entity. No-one ever saw you in the flesh. I am happy to say you’ve proved me wrong. You have a great future here, unless we get a silly offer. 8/10 for results and 9/10 for effort.”

“Master Mancienne. Keep it up lad, keep it up. You’re coming along nicely, just don’t rush things. 7/10 for results and 8/10 for effort.”

He pauses and with a lower, almost apologetic tone he says, “Paulo Ferreira and Joseph Cole, you are excused from any ratings on the basis of injuries sustained in the line of duty, however... young Joseph, you did display disturbing signs of a lack of awareness, focus and effort prior to your injury. One can only hope your absence has given you time to think and reflect on your early season folly.”

The back line breathes a sigh of relief. None can be too unhappy with their assessment. Sweaty palms are now dry, and pride swells as the Headmaster leads the congregation in a hearty round of applause.

Silence descends as the Head's patience suddenly seems to run out.

“Now we hear about the midfield, the linchpin between our brave defensive line and the front line boys of attack. Mr. Lampard... what can I say? You are a model of professionalism and consistency, an icon of this school and a man for whom the word professional could have been invented. You have big balls lad, and defended your honour well against that hideous radio oik who tried to besmirch your name. Your efforts alone in the FA Cup Final bought us that wonderful old trophy again. Gentlemen, I hereby announce that yet again, Francis Lampard is St. Chelsea’s Top Boy. 9/10 for results and 10/10 for effort.”

The crowd erupts into applause, including the Head. Only a small dejected figure refuses to join in. The Head spots this truculent boy and immediately stops clapping. He glowers at the quivering student... and the hush falls again. The reddened cheeks of the Head tell everyone in advance that this will not be pleasant. Then the roar starts...

“Sr. Deco! Yes, you boy, stand up will you! I had great hopes for you, but you’ve let me down badly. You’ve let the school down and you’ve let all these colleagues of yours down. You didn’t even try to adapt. You’re lazy... a quitter... you are NOT sufficiently bi-polar which makes you NOT the type of person we want at Chelsea. 2/10 for results and 1/10 for effort. Sir... you are dismissed... you are the weakest link... good bye.” At this point an embarrassed silence is rent asunder by the roar of laughter from the boys at a rare joke from Sir. And no, they’re not laughing with Deco, they are laughing at him.

“Herr Ballack... your arrogance serves you well. Sometimes I wonder what you do, but when you’re missing from the team, nothing seems to work quite so well. You are the archetypal midfield general. Unspectacular mostly, but mightily efficient. 7.5/10 for results, 8/10 for effort.”

“Essien... yes boy... you... wake up now. You also have what the Spanish call ‘cojones’. You battled back from injury to give everyone a lift in the latter part of term. Your success against Barcelona was indeed worthy of the biggest stage, it’s a shame your error led directly to that night of pain and anguish. However, you will have learnt that a Row Z punt is sometimes the right option and for your effort on returning we all forgive you that error. 7.5/10 for results and 9/10 for effort.”

“Obi. Obi... Obi... Obi. A big term for you which saw big improvements in your game. You are calm on the ball and reassuringly solid in midfield. You are very much part of the future. 8/10 for results, 7/10 for effort.”

“Mr. Salomon Kalou. Kalou-less as we like to call you. You have talent but seem to lack intelligence. You are our Scarecrow. For all this I believe you can still be a great player and this season has seen some improvement, especially when linking with Monsieur Anelka and Mr. Drogba. 7/10 for results and 7/10 for effort. Must try harder.”

All that could be heard was the shuffling of rich young backsides shuffling in their seats. A swarthy young Frenchman sat quietly with beads of sweat pouring down his face. He knew what was next.

“Monsieur Florent Malouda. Stand up boy. You had a disastrous year last term, and for much of this year you were equally as bad. But of course our relief teacher Mr. Hiddink came in and saw something in you. It is a credit to the man that whatever he did, it saw you transform into a model pupil finally achieving close to the potential we first saw in you. For that you are to be congratulated but it must continue. Another term of slacking will see you spending time with Sr. Deco. 8/10 for results eventually and 7.5/10 for effort... sit back down and think about what I’ve said. You have the ability, now just continue to show the desire.”

“Sr. Belletti, a sterling effort but I fear we must part. On good terms of course. 7/10 for results and 7/10 for effort.”

“Gentlemen, before we move on, honourable mentions here for Masters Stoch and Di Santo, especially for their efforts against Stoke City which helped us win a game that looked to have slipped from our grasp. Both have futures, maybe with us maybe not, but I do hope our new Principle does give them the chance to show their mettle...” he turns the page and smiles... “Now onto the attack dogs...” the boys laughed as this was a perennial school joke term for what was often viewed as the most thankless of roles, but often the most rewarding.

“Monsieur Anelka. The great misfit, the great wanderer and the moody one. Top scorer huh? We all knew you would score goals because it’s what you do, but to see the work rate and the effort, the selflessness and the sheer ability on the ball has been revelatory for many. A very good year indeed and we fully expect you to take a leaf from Top Boy's book and repeat this next year. It’s good to see you working so well with the team. 9/10 for results and 8/10 for effort.”

“Gentlemen, onto the last of the pupils...” a tall muscular boy stands up... the Head looks down. This boy is the puzzle inside the riddle wrapped in the enigma.

“Mr. Drogba. The most bi-polar of all. Dissenting one minute, unswervingly loyal the next. A complex boy, a thinking boy... a boy who maybe thinks too much. Comfortable in his skin one minute, fighting the world the next. But on your day there is no-one better and for that you may find yourself indulged a little longer. One last bit of advice. Even if something is a fucking disgrace, it’s best you don’t share that with a cameraman. 8/10 for results and 6/10 for effort... mainly due to the idiocy of your early season performances. Although I do understand the issues you had with our former Principle, this alone cannot excuse your performance at the Theatre of Nightmares that is Old Trafford.”

The boy smiles. He knows where he’s well off but it’s taken a long time to work it out. He also knows... he just knows he can make it up to the lads. He just needs to stop thinking so much...

The Head looks across the crowd. Not bad he thinks. The new Principle, Signor Carlo Ancelotti looks on from the side of the front row. He has been taking copious notes and his face gives no clue as to the future of this group.

“We give thanks to Mr. Abramovich for the support he has given us, and we continue to acknowledge his part in this school's progress towards bi-polar excellence. To Mr. Kenyon, the Chief Purser we throw a nod as acknowledgement for your part in building our new brand. Your Mancunian roots still serve as a point of distrust in your desire to see the team become successful though. To Sr. Scolari... all I can say is this: After a promising start it became all too obvious that we severely misjudged your ability to operate on a daily basis at this level with such talented athletes. Unfortunately for you our rivals also saw through your one and only game plan and therefore it was without much regret that you had to go. 6/10 for results and 6/10 for effort... mainly due to the fact that you really didn’t seem too bothered about whether you stayed or departed.”

“Finally, to Mr. Guus Hiddink, the school and its devoted followers and staff would like to doff an almighty mortar board in your direction. Despite my own personal misgivings you showed that game plans needed to change, you restored fitness, pride and most of all belief. You made us close to being a title winning side, you got us close to the Champions League Final again after Sr. Scolari had stumbled us through the group stages. And you brought us a first trophy for two years, whilst at the same time finally extinguishing the ghost of The Special One. Francis Lampard Jr. maybe Top Boy, but you get the award for Top Man. 9/10 for results and 10/10 for effort. You will always have a special place in our hearts and will be most welcome to come back in some capacity after your Russian adventure is over.”

Spontaneous applause erupts and no-one can hear the sobbing of the Brazilian Portuguese boy standing alone outside holding a suitcase. The Head casts a final eye across the crowd... and once again speaks...

“Good people, this has been an eventful year, a rollercoaster ride of highs and more lows than we care to experience. All of which makes us stronger. The highs came against Juventus and Liverpool in the Champions League, beating an old Principle from this school whilst remembering fondly his efforts to move us on during... less affluent times. The Liverpool games will live long in all our hearts... well... those that carried on beating afterwards!” A ripple of laughter washes around the hall. “The win over Arsenal in the FA Cup and the Premier League more than compensated for them being the second team to come to our revered home ground and beat us publicly. Our marvellous away record is another point to be proud of, and of course who can forget the FA Cup Final day and the joy that saw us bring the oldest trophy in football back to this special place. Of course the lows were out in force as well, notably our first home defeat in four years to our mortal sworn enemies from the red half of Merseyside. The Arsenal defeat stuck in the craw especially when the winning goal was so blatantly offside. The defeat... well the technical defeat against Barcelona hurt a lot as well, but no-one this year anywhere gave them such two hard games as we did. And for me, the real lows were pathetic displays at home against Newcastle and Hull. It was the Hull game that sealed Sr. Scolari’s fate. The owner patently having seen enough to know his investment was in danger of being set adrift, but not on memory bliss. We now look to Signor Ancelotti to guide us onto more and greater glories. We wish him luck. I now declare this school term officially over – enjoy your holidays boys. We’ll see some of you next year.”

The hats fly into the air, proud parents clap from the sides. Wives and girlfriends squeal with delight. The boys break into broad smiles and a spontaneous three cheers for the Head.

He once again peers over the rims of the glasses, a taut smile starting to form as the pride swells inside him. He is tired. He’s kicked every ball, tackled every player, and headed every cross. He’s laughed, he’s cried, and he’s shouted and screamed. He’s looked on in a silent mixture of dismay and disbelief. He’s jumped for joy and hugged more strangers than is probably appropriate. He has lived and breathed the St. Chelsea of Stamford Bridge School for Bi-Polar Excellence. These are his boys. Now he can rest and recharge, and like everyone else can watch the summer madness unravel in front of him.

The Right Reverend Dr. Anthony Jockstrap Blueheart-Glover slips away quietly, slowly closing the huge wooden door behind him. Time to think about next week’s edition of the Bi-Polar Express.

Keep the Blue Flag Flying High!

The Bi-Polar Express: FA Cup Souvenir Edition

Fri, 5 Jun 2009 12:49:58 +0100

This was a momentous week in the lives of all those who love Chelsea Football Club, which by any standards is an experience like few others in how to experience such extremes of despair and joy. After two years of a trophy room starting to smell a bit musty due to nobody having any reason to open it, two years of Champions League heartbreak, two years of missed Premier League opportunities, two years which saw us lose to the detestable Spurs in full public view at Wembley, the rot was finally stopped by a superb and well deserved win over fellow Blues Everton at Wembley.

Much has been said over the last few years about the tarnished image of the FA Cup, about its faded romance and its dimming light under the full on glare of allegedly greater competitions. When I say greater I actually mean richer and more financially lucrative. The All Conquering Sky Premier League and The Megabucks Behemoth that is The Champions League have certainly done their utmost to relegate the season’s showpiece finale to that of nothing more than an amusing folly. The influx of foreign coaches has further encouraged this view as well, steeped as they are in footballing cultures where the idea of a knockout competition is an anathema to a season’s toil of strategy and skill. For the likes of the triumvirate of evil, Tubby Benitez and Arsehole Wenger, and now surely to his eternal shame Sir Purplenose of Manchester Village, the other competitions were games of chess in comparison to the roulette table. Skill and planning for one, pure luck and guesswork for the other.

Mastermind versus Deal or No Deal.

These three fools all wax lyrical about the importance of the cup competitions before putting out second string sides but then purport to be aggrieved when lesser sides, desperate for success, capitalise on luck and reserves of inner spirit to overcome their own great leaps into the unknown that come from playing ‘reserve’ teams, full of pre-pubescent rosy cheeked cherubs barely able to comprehend the sudden necessity for copious amounts of Oxy-10. To our eternal credit we have not, as yet, succumbed to this selective attitude towards success. In fact from the top four we are honestly the only club that hasn’t gone down the ‘play our foetal range’ route, something for which barely no-one has given us credit for. Chelsea Football Club respects every competition it enters and tries to win it. Claims from Manchester Village, Liverscum and Airline FC along similar lines can be dismissed as empty, dishonest and meaningless platitudes.

To a degree it’s easy to understand this viewpoint, after all any success that comes down to hard work, planning, dedication, patience, belief and skill has to be more rewarding and satisfying personally. Doesn’t it? To most of us we’d agree that this is indeed worthy and virtuous, but of course what it does is remove the thrill of the unknown, the thrill of not knowing how the dice will fall, the thrill of the gambler. Work hard and earn your corn is an honourable way to live, but then why do so many of us do the lottery? Want to toil away for 40 odd years for a semi-decent pension and the proverbial gold watch, or would you rather scoop this Saturday’s lottery rollover of £8m? I know what would make me happier.

The FA Cup isn’t devoid of skill, it’s just harder to plan for unknown or unfamiliar opponents and every game is effectively a one-off. In that 90 minute period any great side having an off day can be unceremoniously dumped on its podgy Premier League posterior. Humiliation is a spectre that is never far away. Maybe the triumvirate of evil fear this spectre that hangs over knockout games, and maybe we, having faced down and been beaten by the ghost of humiliation many times before, know deep inside that it isn’t Freddie Kruger or Michael Myers. No, I think we realised some time ago that it’s the Slimer from Ghostbusters. It’s sticky, uncomfortable and tastes vile, but you can wash the slime of humiliation away and come back with some proton packs and beat it next time. We are the Ghostbusters! Ruud Gullitt was our Dr. Egon Spengler, Gianluca Vialli was the stressed Ray Stantz, and of course Jose Mourinho was our mischievous Peter Venkman. Guus Hiddink was merely a hybrid of all three rolled into one uber-Ghostbuster.

All true football fans of course aren’t wrapped up in the business of football, but are inextricably meshed into the romance of the game. That’s why local derbies count, that’s why relegation cuts so deep, that’s why a trophy is a trophy... it’s symbolic of achievement, of reward, of being valued and just for once, of being winners. The arrogance of the triumvirate of evil will never let them consider the feelings of their fans about a trip to Wembley for the Carling Cup, despite Manchester Village winning it this year. Does anyone really think Sir Purplenose really gave a stuff about winning that trophy? Deep inside does Wenger really care one jot what the Arsenal fans think about yet another trophy-less season when he displays such utter contempt for a competition that his first team stood a damn good chance of winning? Sadly, they appear to feel the same way about the FA Cup and that along with Manchester Village’s reviled decision to withdraw a few years back may have inflicted a serious wound on the old girl. But it didn’t, and their disregard for the world’s oldest competition hasn’t dimmed it in most people’s eyes, including their own fans.

My whole Chelsea life began with an FA Cup Final. The 1970 Final to be precise. Until that time I had merely been a football mad kid with a vacant footballing soul. I was a football club virgin. I’ve told the story many times, but in essence most of the school mates I had wanted Leeds to win. The reasons as far as I could make out were that Leeds had finished above us in the league in second place (Everton were first) and the name Leeds implied ‘leaders’... well we were only nine at the time. Even back in those days kids latched onto the more successful teams and my own area of West London had its unhealthy share of Leeds fans, Spurs fans and Manchester Village fans (sucked in by the Best/Charlton glory years). However, when I questioned my dad about who I should follow for the cup he was absolutely firm in his view that we would support Chelsea because they were the London team and the underdogs. At this point the explanation of the term underdogs was required to ensure that I wasn’t confused by seeing certain dogs underneath others in the park that I’d assumed were just playing an unsuccessful version of doggy leap frog. That sealed it. The romance of supporting the team no-one expected to win and that happened to be reasonably local as well excited me. Although London was a very big city to a small boy, and Stamford Bridge may well have been in... ahem... Yorkshire as far as I was concerned... imagine my shock when I found out many years later that the original was in bloody Yorkshire! The idea that I was gambling self esteem and credibility amongst my mates took its grip and Chelsea Football Club had taken moved all its baggage and belongings into the vacant echoing rooms of my footballing soul and put a sign outside saying ‘All Rooms Taken’. A blue flag was raised above the roof of that soul declaring permanent residency and will only come down on the day I shuffle my way off this mortal coil. And even then, in the afterlife, if one exists, I’ll be a true Blue. All because of the FA Cup.

Within days I knew everything there was to know, every player, every manager and the history of the club. Way prior to any posters from Look-In magazine of The Sweet, Slade and T-Rex adorned my room, pride of place belonged to Ron Harris, Ian Hutchinson, Peter Houseman, Peter Osgood, Bobby Tambling, Alan Hudson, Peter Bonnetti, Eddie Macreadie, Charlie Cooke, David Webb, John Hollins, John Dempsey, Tommy Baldwin and Marvin Hinton. They were the reason I am who I am now. They are why I love this club and they are the reason I fork out several hundred pounds each year for a season ticket and merchandising. I cried when we were losing the replay at Old Trafford. My heroes had let me down, the full brutal cruelty of football fandom was hitting home at the first hurdle. Within minutes of being despatched to the kitchen for the customary evening treat and comforter of two biscuits, as my small boyhood hand rummaged around the tin, and my brain feverishly tried to work out how to wolf down a few more before going back in I heard the howl of delight from my dear old dad as Osgood latched onto a dream ball from Cooke to equalise. The rest is history and the brutal cruelty had been transformed into the sheer joy of winning. There are fewer more addictive drugs and from that day I was as hooked as the person experiencing their first trip on acid.

That’s why it matters. It forms children’s (and adults) allegiances. It teaches them about the cruelty and majesty of life’s lows and highs. It is truly a character forming experience. It is the beginning of a love affair at the hands of the cruellest yet most beautiful of mistresses. That’s the romance of the cup.

There’s not much to add to Nick’s fine post match report. Not a single Chelsea player had a bad game, and exceptional performances were once again visible from Malouda (my Man of the Match again... who’d have thought?), the superb Anelka and the newly humble but persistent Drogba. Young Mikel Obi also had an outstanding game, proving to me it would be utter madness to even consider letting him go after such a consistent and progressive season for the lad. Everton were the stereotypical plucky challenger, stunning us with the early goal. Well, maybe not stunning us... it was more akin to being slapped on the wrist for dozing off at the start of the lesson. It’s a long time since I’ve been less worried about an opponent scoring against us first. After the early goal we simply took calm and cool control of the game and the equaliser was barely a surprise to anyone, including Everton. After that goal and despite the game petering out for a while at the start of the second half mainly due to 41 degrees of searing early summer heat, it was clear that only one team would go on to win. The more we held the ball, the more plucky Everton chased, and the more tired they became. Frank’s goal was utterly sublime, and of course had Stevie-Me scored it then as the Good Kaiser himself said to me, it would have surely been named The Gerrard Final. The newly revitalised Malouda had a superb strike ruled out as the referee and linesman couldn’t be sure it crossed the line. Hardly their fault when one watched the sheer speed and dip of the shot. But yet another example of how we seem to get less decisions rather than more. Just one minor downer was the utter bile spewed from Craig Burley on Setanta Sports (whose all day coverage was utterly superb... they do seem to get the romance of the cup), despite the rather excellent commentary from Jon Champion. I know as ex-Chelsea he won’t want to seem biased, but honestly he barely gave us credit for anything, and his dismissal of Frank’s goal as being more down to Howard’s poor goalkeeping than Frank’s thunderbolt was downright disrespectful.

What else can I say about the day?

As special as 1970? No, cynicism affects me as much as anyone these days and that win was experienced through the blue tinted eye glasses of childhood innocence and wonderment.

As special as 1997? No, because that ended 27 years of a success wilderness patch. That win was a glass of water to the dying man crawling through the desert of failure and underachievement.

As special as 2000? Yes, probably even though the old Wembley was weeks away from the wrecking ball.

As special as 2007? Even more so. As welcome as that win was it also came at a time when the acquisition of trophies seemed a regular occurrence and our expectation levels had been inflated to new and unreasonable levels.

The last two years have been as trauma filled as I can remember as we lurched from the success highway to the cobbled street of failure and heartbreak discarding managers like cabinet ministers discard their posts. The sun shone, Wembley looked great, we played in yellow, the Magners flowed, the champagne flowed, I went from coolness personified to gibbering wreck the minute Abide With Me, stunningly performed by the London Community Gospel Choir (surely a permanent fixture after that), started and the last 10 minutes saw me transformed into a Tourette’s afflicted lunatic, screaming into ChelseaBob’s plasma screen. The final whistle felt like someone had finally punctured me before I exploded. The rest of the evening is a blur due to the excitement, the heat and in no mean part the alcohol. I loved it. Every last nerve shredding minute of it. It's times like this that one remembers how great it is to be alive. I truly hope it’s the start of another period of success.

I’ll leave my thoughts on the season and the huge news that our new coach is Carlo Ancelotti until the next Bi-Polar Express. That may appear next week or the week after as I’m off to ‘le Sud de France’ for a long overdue bit of downtime. The season review will also follow with the full array of player ratings, fan ratings and lies, damned lies and statistics. Plus an early look into Madam Chelsea Tony’s crystal ball for some early predictions. Order your copy now!

And here we have the usual collection of facts, gossip and lies with my very own BS rating alongside where 0 is fact, 1 is possibly true and 5 is a heaving smelly dung pile of utterly rotten putrefying bullshit.

Carvalho ready to leave Chelsea – TG BS Rating 2 – Quite possibly true. As much as I love Riccy he hasn’t featured this season and it’s arguable whether we’ve even missed him. Both Alex and Ivanovic have proven to be worthy understudies and at nearly 32 and seemingly injury prone perhaps it’s time to cash in.

AC Milan midfielder Andrea Pirlo has ruled out a summer move to Chelsea to link up with his old manager Carlo Ancelotti – TG BS Rating 2 – Who needs Pirlo... what on earth can he add to our current squad? Good, stay where you are.

Chelsea placed a record bid for Kaka in order to gazump Real Madrid – TG BS Rating 4 – Highly unlikely – even we’re not daft - £75m was being spoken of in total – if Roman is releasing £100m then there are three or four others we could and should get. Ribery, Villa and Aguero spring immediately to mind as a collection to excite and rejuvenate the current squad.

Frank Ribery, David Villa, Ashley Young, Ross Turnbull, Sergio Aguero, Glen Johnson, Alexander Pato and even Samuel Eto’o are on their way, probably amongst many others – TG BS Rating 3 – Who knows, the silly season is well under way and maybe one or two will arrive with the exception of Eto’o as we don’t need another ageing Barcelona dud after the last one.

Jose Bosingwa is being courted for a possible move to Bayern Munich – TG BS Rating 2 – As part of a swap deal for Ribery perhaps? I like Bosingwa, but Johnson was ruined by Mourinho and looks a decent player at Pompey. With Ivanovic able to play anywhere across the back four then maybe this is not such a bad move.

Chelsea misfit Deco is on the verge of a move to Inter Milan - TG BS Rating 1 – Dear lord please let this be true. Anyone of the loyal readers of this blog would drive him to the airport just to make sure he’s gone. A waste of money, possibly our biggest, even bigger than Shevchenko who at least tried his best.

And finally, culture corner, lyrics dressed as poems; with a tangential relationship to Chelsea at best... these words are not far off how I felt on Sunday morning.

I'm a phallus in pigtails
And there's blood on my nose
And my tissue is rotting
Where the rats chew my bones
And my eye sockets empty
See nothing but pain
I keep having this brainstorm
About twelve times a day
So now, you could spend the morning walking with me, quite amazed
As I'm Unwashed
and Somewhat Slightly Dazed

Keep the Blue Flag Flying High!

Who Dairies Wins – Musing on the Human Kind of Milkiness

Tue, 2 Jun 2009 11:50:06 +0100

The Diary of a Dorset Dairy (well a holiday near a dairy farm actually)

The Rural Idyll

My soul enervated by the stresses and disappointments of our Champions League campaign, I was driven to seek solace and spiritual rejuvenation in the Deep South.

Yes, a week in the bucolic loveliness that is the county of Dorset. What better tonic for the flagging spirits than the mythical Wessex of Thomas Hardy (1840-1928), one of England’s great men of letters.

Hardy always considered himself a poet first and foremost. Indeed following the hostile reception from a conservative middle England to his last two great novels, Tess of the D’Urbervilles and Jude the Obscure, he concentrated on his poetry which, while considered decent enough and championed by some, never reached the heights of his best prose.

Surely, there is something instructive here for those who would react to the hostility that greeted two fine, compelling League titles, by hankering for recognition through the very different form of the Champions League?

How best to summarise the work of Thomas Hardy? The Oxford Companion to English Literature is a good place to start.

“The underlying theme of many of the novels, the short poems, and the epic drama The Dynasts is, in Binyon’s words, ‘the implanted crookedness of things’; the struggle of man against the indifferent force that rules the world and inflicts on him the sufferings and ironies of life and love.” [my italics]

Oh to be blessed with such fine a sense of the footballing condition, without first enduring the pain of watching Chelsea!

Hardy Country it was then. What better place to contemplate another season spent supporting Chelsea Football Club? A place to take pause before the Cup Final. Indeed, a place from where to observe the final weekend of the Premier League, the demise of the Geordie nation and, in mid-week, everybody’s “Dream Final” [sic].

Appropriate too that I should take to a rural setting just as Chelsea prepared to bid farewell to a Dutchman, who in his youth expected to become a “Stront Boer” (a farmer who makes a living from selling his livestock’s manure), and made ready to welcome an Italian who grew up on a pig farm.

Surely it is only a question of time before the team starts running out to the theme tune from the Archers (a long running BBC Radio 4 soap detailing the everyday lives of country folk). What with the media damning our approach as “agricultural” when compared to the suave, slick urbanity of Barcelona, we might as well plough on and go the whole hog.

A Dutchman Flying High

And what a great farewell to Guus it proved to be on Saturday. The day’s events were ably summarised by Nick in his match report and I have little to add. At one and the same time I sat choking back a tear while asking myself the age-old question of why we invest so much emotion (not to mention hard earned wedge) into 22 blokes chasing a ball around a pitch? Needless to say no immediate answer presented itself.

It was a good team performance and once more demonstrated the inner strength and cohesion that has become a trademark of Chelsea in recent years. Irrespective of tactics and injuries, it was his inability to foster this aspect of the group that damned Scolari’s regime in many fans' eyes, I believe.

Well done to Everton and their fans. That is not said in a patronising “pat on the head” tone but in recognition that losing hurts whether you are the underdog or not. I would certainly have been gutted to lose but can honestly say I would not have begrudged them a day in the sun. Would I have stayed to applaud them? I’d hope so, but am equally glad not to have my resolve tested.

See See Rider

A quick word on the ITV coverage. So as not to be reduced to a jellied wreck, I didn’t watch the build up and only tuned in some 25 minutes before kick-off. It was just in time to hear Steve Rider refer to “The all Blues Final”, or some such, before we were treated to a bit of film featuring Seasick Steve with his singular take on the Delta Blues tradition.

Back live, the cameras lighted on his somewhat bemused looking self, standing by a stairway. I couldn’t make out who he might be supporting.

Continuing the distinctly “Southern” tinge we were then treated to the traditional singing of Abide With Me led in Gospel stylee by the London Community Gospel Choir, before the spell was broken when the expected Bluegrass treatment of the National Anthem failed to materialise. Still, can’t blame ITV for that.

On the commentary front, I was thankful they partnered Tyldsley with Jim Beglin (ex-Liverpool and rumoured to be a Chelsea fan) so we were guaranteed some semblance of good sense and fair play.

The whole shebang signed off with Bruce Springsteen’s version of the old American folk song “Keep Your Eyes on The Prize”.

So for a fan of Americana like myself it wasn’t a bad day at all. Fair play to ITV. The play on the “Blues” may have been a little heavy handed but it made a change from the usual arias, rock anthems and Mariah Carey nonsense they usually choose for these occasions or, as was the case with the use of Elbow’s “Beautiful Day” over a montage of Manure winning the Prem a few weeks ago, wilful spoiling of a wonderful song for the rest of us (though I don’t begrudge the band the royalties - they’ve paid their dues).

Getting The Boot

Our last Premier League game was a curious affair. Thousands of Sunderland fans going mental, (a friend of mine says it was the loudest noise he had heard in a football ground) as their team lost but Newcastle disappeared through the trap door.

Anelka scored a beautiful goal that went largely unremarked as did his earning of the Golden Boot. Indeed we saw more of Phil “The Tan” Brown’s execrable rendition of “Sloop John B” at the end of Hull’s great escape. (Any watching Manc fans probably thought that was the worst thing they were likely to see on a football pitch that week. It wasn’t.)

Inflation v Deflation

There was no time for the media to reflect on Anelka’s “Goal of the Season” contender (except it wasn’t; Match of the Day didn’t consider any of Chelsea’s 68 goals worthy of inclusion) because by then the enormous bouncy castle of media driven Mancunian expectation was already being slowly inflated culminating on Wednesday with the likes of Henry Winter driving away like a piston at the footpump of overblown puffery.

Pity the Manc fans who saw this as an invitation for the swinging leg of fate to boot them firmly in the bracket.

I did not wish to disturb my regenerative commune with nature by torturing myself through the build up to the “Dream Final”. I was dreading but expecting a Manure victory. I restricted myself to a few minutes during the first half and a few Teletext updates (a service that was still showing the score 1-0 when the game had been over for five minutes). I passed the time reading about the exploits of the legendary Fausto Coppi (1919-1960), a great, if not the greatest, racing cyclist, who encapsulated both the light and dark which are intrinsic to that, and indeed any, sport. A man who seemed to carry with him a melancholia borne of the knowledge that to struggle against his fate was indeed futile and no longer seemed to have the will to quit when years of competition had destroyed his physical condition. Malaria made the decision for him in 1960. Sobering reading indeed.

But it didn’t take too long for my mood to lighten when I found out the result. I also then understood where the annoying hissing sound, like a slowly deflating balloon came from.

I Knock ‘Enry Down

It wasn’t until the following day that my sister passed me Henry Winter’s article from Wednesday’s Daily Telegraph. Take a moment to savour this. Be careful though, have a medical professional in attendance, as you will be in danger of dying with laughter. Yes Henry, by all means nail your colours to the mast but don’t hit your hand with the hammer.

The phrase that stood out, among many, was this:

“Yet Barcelona allow opponents to breathe, to express themselves”.

No Henry they don’t. If they have the ball you can’t get it back and if you do they try to dispossess you as close to your 18 yard line as they can.

With Iniesta and Xavi they play a possession game of real quality, but the other side of the coin is that they are equally as good at pressing to deny you space and time. You need to defend well, move the ball quickly and accurately past the midfield and get at their back four. It means they usually have more possession than you, but you might just beat them. Man United didn’t do this well enough, apparently.

From what I can tell Barcelona were impressive but United disappeared for large parts of the game. I get the feeling this game won't feature in the top 10 European Dream Finals of all time when the lists are compiled in years to come.

But He Gets Up Again

Having given our ‘Enry (Winter that is) a bit of a pasting, I must now warmly embrace his pummelled torso and kiss his bruised face. For he went on to write the following finely crafted piece of sports journalism.

Irrespective of talent, you win nothing unless you get a group of players who want to play for each other and the club. They don’t have to be friends, they don’t even have to particularly like each other. They do, however have to have that indefinable quality founded in mutual respect that means they will function as a group and sublimate the personal for the good of the team. Careful, skilled man management is central to building this. Another period in Chelsea’s recent history clearly highlights the importance of these elements, which I was reminded of by another book I read during my country convalescence.

We Got Knocked Down

Instead of burying myself in the works of Thomas Hardy, centred as they are in a pastoral England on the cusp of the Industrial Revolution, an England soon to change forever, I looked to the world of the vegetable and immersed myself in Celery – Representing Chelsea in the 1980s by Kelvin Barker. A book centred on a club on the eve of a financial revolution and soon to change, perhaps forever but certainly for the better, in terms of achievement.

Now I should declare an interest here. Kelvin used to work with my partner and I have spoken to him on the telephone on one or two occasions. Knowing I was a fan, he gave her a copy to pass on to me when it first came out a couple of years ago. I must confess that it has taken me some time to get around to reading it. As someone who didn’t get more than half way through Harry Harris’ turgid All the Way Jose, I have fought shy of football books.

So it was a pleasant surprise to read an entertaining account of the ongoing madhouse that is our beloved CFC, as we trampolined between divisions and regularly imploded just when things were going in the right direction. The whole tale is leavened with often humorous, at times thought provoking anecdotes of a dedicated fan following his team through a difficult period for British society (when isn’t) and League football, let alone Chelsea FC.

It is the authenticity of personal experience that makes the first part of the book distinctive. The second part frames the memories of some of the main characters in the drama. Figures such as Colin Pates, John Bumstead, Micky Thomas, Pat Nevin, David Speedie, Kerry Dixon and John Neal to name quite a few of them. Freed from the usual media interview speak, their thoughts seem imbued with a refreshing honesty while a love for the club and its fans shines through.

For those who were there, I’m sure there will be much that chimes with your own memories. I myself was too busy to have seen much live football in the 80s. Too busy battling back through the following cars in one last desperate bid to stay in touch with the peloton before the next big hill, on yet another windswept day somewhere in Essex (or Hertfordshire, Surrey, Bucks, Berks, it’s all one painful blur), only returning to the Bridge in time for the joys of the Porterfield years. So it was enjoyable to piece together my own disparate memories while filling in the gaps left by being a part time lightweight.

But We Got Up Again

For me, the theme that resonates through the book and through the memories of the players is both the success of John Neal’s team and the wasted potential once he was forced to retire (by whom or what seems a matter for debate). The key ingredients were his man management skills and Ian McNeill’s scouting ability combined with the players attributes of commitment and drive (and no little skill) that meant a willingness to go the extra mile: to train and play harder. There was an innate understanding amongst them, which, in combination with Neal’s ability to get the best out of those players, promised so much. Sadly it all leeched away under the stewardship of John Hollins and Ernie Walley.

To my mind that same heady mix has come together again. I think Ranieri went some way to concocting the brew, Mourinho of course ignited it, before the flame was very nearly doused by his successors. But Hiddink has primed the wick and the flame is strong again. Can Ancelotti keep it alive? We shall see.

I would certainly recommend the book as a worthwhile read. Don’t dismiss it as being some sort of geeky trainspotter type nonsense because it isn’t backed by a big publisher and written by a name. It was a labour of love and is well worth the time and effort in my opinion. I’d lend all of you my copy but hey, Kelvin deserves some financial reward and what’s a tenner to us blinged up chavs, for 400 hundred pages, an index and some photos, if it buys you a bit of history (as some of those so called “neutrals” might put it).

And I So Nearly Got Locked Up Again

Kelvin’s book doesn’t shy away from the more unsavoury aspects of following Chelsea in the 80s and he recounts many tales of the good and bad apples in some of Britain’s constabularies. I myself am in debt to the generosity of the Dorsetshire Constabulary, who dissuaded the local RSPCA representative from pressing charges of cruelty to a defenceless animal through the irresponsible use of a musical instrument.

Being football men themselves, they understood how a city dweller rarely gets the opportunity to find out just how easy it is to hit a cow’s arse with a banjo. (It’s actually not too difficult provided the animal is tethered, as they can move at a fair lick if you have to chase them round a field.)

We’d Herd It On the Grapevine

So it only remains to bid welcome to our latest managerial recruit. My father was raised on the subsistence farms round the hills and bogs above Kilgarvan in County Kerry and would often wish you well with the saying “May your hand kill a pig, and the pig be your own”.

Carlo will understand I’m sure, being a pig man himself and something of a personality, if those excerpts from his book are to be believed. He seems to have the respect and affection of his players at Milan and we’ve seen how important that can be.

[Safety notice: No animals were harmed in the composing of this bloggery]

FA Cup Final: Chelsea 2 - 1 Everton

Sun, 31 May 2009 01:21:49 +0100

Updated Monday, 1 June 09, 10:15 AM

Match reports

The Observer, Paul Wilson: "This is the first trophy Chelsea have won since Jose Mourinho signed off his silverware account with victory against Manchester United here two years ago, and as the outstanding Florent Malouda was unlucky to be denied a third goal with a shot that bounced down from the crossbar and over the line, there was no case for arguing that they were not worthy winners."

Independent on Sunday, Steve Tongue: "Yellow was the colour at a brilliantly sunny Wembley yesterday as Chelsea, in their second strip, deservedly won the FA Cup after the shock of conceding the fastest goal in the 137-year history of the final. Louis Saha's stunning effort after 25 seconds was the high point of the afternoon for Everton by a long way, one that they rarely threatened to approach. Chelsea were level within 20 minutes through Didier Drogba's header, and Frank Lampard, second only to Florent Malouda as their leading performer, won an enjoyable game that would almost certainly have touched headier heights were it not for the debilitating heat."

Sunday Telegraph, Duncan White: "Even in triumph he was modest, dignified. Having climbed the 107 steps, Guus Hiddink seemed almost reluctant to lift the trophy, but ushered on by Ray Wilkins he took the adulation of the Chelsea support, a flourish that brought to a glorious end a whirlwind affair between the Dutchman and this club. Once he got going though, amid the champagne spray, the emotions poured out and the wise man of world football celebrated with childish enthusiasm. “He's a great manager and a great man," said Frank Lampard, who scored the spectacular winning goal. "It's a great send-off for him and we're delighted to give him a trophy.”"

Sunday Times, Jonathan Northcroft: "[Hiddink's] parting gift ensured he will forever be cherished by the club of which he has been temporary manager since February. Not only is the FA Cup football’s most holy hunk of silverware, this was Chelsea’s first trophy since Jose Mourinho and perhaps now they can finally move on from the Portuguese demagogue whose shadow was such his 2007 dismissal was still being picked over on newspaper back pages yesterday."

Official Chelsea FC Website, Andy Jones: "Having fallen behind inside half a minute, it required goals in either half from Didier Drogba and Frank Lampard to seal the club's first silverware in two years. It was the perfect way to wave goodbye to Guus Hiddink, who has overseen such a fantastic turnaround since his arrival in February."

The goals

1' Saha 0-1
21' Drogba 1-1
72' Lampard 2-1

The preamble

I got myself into a tizzy again. These big matches play havoc with my emotions; by the time kick-off arrived I was a ball of nervous tension and feeling a bit sick. Normally, I would dose up on ice-cold lager to calm things down somewhat, particularly on a hot day like yesterday, but on this occasion I chose not to and watched the game stone cold sober.

My emotions were such that the London Community Gospel Choir's rendition of 'Abide With Me' brought tears to my eyes, and the singing of the national anthem made the hairs on my arms stand on end. Maybe pills are the answer. Kick-off was a blessed relief.

The relief lasted all of 24 seconds.

The good

The match and performance. Over half a billion people around the world watched the game live on television. They were served up quite a treat. In temperatures of over 100 degrees Fahrenheit, both teams played their part in a splendid game of football. It started with the fastest goal in FA Cup final history, which eclipsed Di Matteo's strike against Boro in 1997 by a full 17 seconds. Everton kicked off, the ball was pinged into our box, Mikel defended it reasonably well, but Alex was out-jumped by a giant with an afro wearing an Everton shirt. It fell nicely to Saha, who volleyed a fine left foot shot past a despairing Cech who could do little about it as the ball came from behind a couple of his own defenders and he didn't see it until it was too late. There were 25 seconds on the clock. Our worst nightmare had come true: Everton had scored early. You can imagine what this did to my delicate constitution. I consoled myself with the thought that at least we have 89 minutes and 35 seconds to score an equalizer. We went on to dominate the first half with every Chelsea player putting in a fine performance. Just after the 20 minute mark our French contingent made their mark. Anelka swept a lovely cross-field pass to the player formerly known as Malouda out on the left, who, along with Cole, had the beating of Everton's right throughout the opening 45 minutes. Malouda knocked in a pinpoint cross, four Everton defenders stood like statues as Drogba jogged into the box and powered a header past a helpless Howard. It was no more than we deserved. We continued to dominate but failed to make our dominance count. After the break, for around 20 minutes the match petered out somewhat, probably because of the heat. One player continued to impress though...
Ashley Cole. The players' Player of the Year bombed up and down the left wing for 94 minutes without seeming to tire. He spent as much time in Everton's 18 yard box as he did in his own. Quite how he managed it in such testing conditions, god only knows. It was literally a breathtaking performance. He picked up his fifth FA Cup winner's medal, his second with Chelsea, a record in the modern era, and was rightly given the E.ON Man of the Match award. My Man of the Match too, just ahead of...
Frank Lampard. What a player. As ever he was exceptional. Scored the winner from 22 yards with 20 minutes of the match to go, his 21st goal of the season. According to Soccerbase, it's the sixth season in a row that he's scored 20 or more goals. 2008/09: 21; 2007/08: 22; 2006/07: 22; 2005/06: 23; 2004/05: 22; 2003/04: 20. 130 goals in just six seasons. From midfield. What a player. Neville man-marked him for 94 minutes, but he hardly had an impact on Lampard's all action performance. As the Telegraph match report says, "he has played with metronomic excellence in a season when Chelsea have often lacked stability". His goal celebration mirrored that of his father's, Frank Lampard Sr., who scored the winning goal for West Ham against Everton in the 1980 FA Cup semi-final. Definitely my Player of the Season.
Florent Malouda. What else is there left to say about the resurgence of a player who was derided by fans just three months ago? Scored a goal which was not unlike Di Matteo's, only on this occasion it wasn't given because the ball spun out of the goal after hitting the underside of the bar. TV replays confirmed that it was clearly over the line. Fortunately, the fact that it wasn't given didn't have an impact on the outcome of the match so there's unlikely to be much said about goal line technology. But it is about time the windbags at FIFA and UEFA came up with a solution to a problem that's never going away. One day it will decide a major final and cost a team silverware. Malouda would probably have edged out Cole and Lampard and been my Man of the Match if the goal had been given.
Guus Hiddink. One of the best.

The bad

I can think of only one bad point: this was Guus Hiddink's final match in charge of Chelsea FC. He made quite an impression on me, so much so that I had tears in my eyes when he and Ray Wilkins lifted the Cup together. I'm not exaggerating when I say that I now hold him in the same esteem as Jose Mourinho. It's typical of Chelsea that we find another special manager only to let him depart the club after just three short months. But it says so much about Hiddink that he's unwilling to break his contract with the Russian national side. He's a rare breed. And will be a hard act to follow.

Player ratings

Petr Cech - 6.5/10 - Had very little to do. Spilled a couple of high balls, as is his wont these days, but also showed bravery to come and claim at the feet of Everton players on more than one occasion. Had an up and down season to say the least, but I wouldn't swap him for anyone. I'm with Tony when he says that Cech just needs a decent understudy to keep the pressure on him. We've been linked with a couple of promising up and coming keepers, but will they want to play second fiddle to Cech? One last word on keepers: you have to feel for Carlo Cudicini, who started the season as number two to Cech. He's gone from a club where he was adored to a nobody at some second-rate outfit in north London, no doubt on the promise of first team football. Poor Carlo.
Jose Bosingwa - 7/10 - Got forward well and put in several dangerous crosses. Plays with a nonchalance that gives me kittens - I can often be heard mumbling something derogatory after he's played himself or a team-mate into trouble with a sloppy pass or dilly-dallied once too often. That said, he's a fine attacking full-back (with the emphasis on attacking) and provides the width down the right. Had a pretty good season. Scored a couple of good goals too. The emergence of Ivanovic will ensure he won't have everything his own way next season. It'll be interesting to see what our new manager makes of him.
John Terry - 8/10 - Another rock solid performance at the heart of the back four. Dealt with Everton's long balls up to Fellaini and Cahill with relative ease. A pretty good campaign all said, and as Habs wrote in the Sunderland report, Terry played more games this season than any other since Mourinho’s first. I don't think it matters what Makelele says in his new autobiography about Terry's role in Mourinho's departure, Terry is Chelsea to the core and will always be held in the highest esteem by the fans.
Alex - 7/10 - Looked nervous in the tunnel before kick-off, at one point yawning on camera. Was out-jumped by Fellaini in the opening moments which led to Everton's goal. Other than that, pretty steady stuff. He's had a fine season and scored a couple of fine goals. You could see the affection Hiddink has for him during the on-field celebrations when he was embraced numerous times by the Dutchman. Could well be a first choice centre-back next season if Carvalho continues to suffer from injuries. Did anyone see Carvalho during the celebrations?
Ashley Cole - 9/10 - Awesome game, awesome season. The players recognised his contribution when they voted him their Player of the Season. Picked up his fifth FA Cup winner's medal. Cole and Malouda on current form are a formidable pairing.
John Obi Mikel - 8/10 - Got the nod ahead of Ballack and didn't disappoint. On his day he's one of the best in the holding midfield role. Ended the season as he started it. At one point he was being talked of as our Player of the Season, but the return of Essien from long-term injury and a brush with the law saw his form dip a bit and he was forced to sit out a few games. Came back strong though and has a bright future at the club. Some newspapers claim he's wanted by several of Europe's top clubs, while others have him close to signing a new contract. He's one for the future and should be kept at all costs.
Michael Essien - 6.5/10 - A tad disappointing by his high standards. Substituted after an hour. As for his season, he missed most of it with a serious knee injury but made an immediate impact on his return in March. Highlights must be his marking job on Steven Gerrard in the first leg of the Champions League quarter-final at Anfield, and the wonder goal he scored against Barcelona in the second leg of the semi-final at the Bridge. Destined to become a Chelsea legend.
Frank Lampard - 9/10 - Already a Chelsea legend. Made light of his man-marker and sprayed passes for fun. Tackled back, marshalled midfield, and scored a 20 yard screamer. Should have had a penalty but was instead booked for diving by Howard 'Best Referee in England' Webb (Webb isn't even the best referee in the Premier League). Scored 20 goals from midfield for the sixth season in a row. Player of the Season. Player of the Decade. Soon to be the Best Player of All Time. Sorry, Franco.
Florent Malouda - 8.5/10 - Continued in the rich vein of form he's been in since Hiddink's arrival. Gave Everton's right side a torrid time, particularly Hibbert who didn't emerge for the second half such was Malouda's dominance. Provided a pinpoint cross for Drogba to head the equalizer. Had a quiet opening to the second period but was soon back in the game. Scored with a blistering left foot shot from all of 30 yards but it wasn't given even though the ball landed over the line. Started the season poorly and it wasn't until the arrival of Hiddink in February that he began to show any sort of form. If he can maintain that form going into next season, he'll be one of the best left-sided midfielders in the country. I'm glad we nicked him from under Liverpool's noses now. We have Drogba to thank for that.
Nicolas Anelka - 8.5/10 - Should have equalled Ronaldo's tally of goals in all competitions this season. Had several opportunities to do so but didn't have his shooting boots on. Other than that, he was magnificent. Played out wide, cut inside, held the ball up, went on explosive runs - all that was missing was a goal. Has had a fine season and ended up winning the Golden Boot despite a recent dry spell. One of the best finishers in the league and deserves a chance to play the main striker for an extended period next season.
Didier Drogba - 7.5/10 - Great goal and fewer theatrics than usual. Let himself down in the first half when a nothing tackle saw him remain on the ground for an extended period, much to Hiddink's annoyance. Soon perked up when Hiddink hollered at him from the sidelines - didn't want to be substituted for a second time after feigning injury. His season has been typical Drogba: he didn't try under Scolari but has been immense since Hiddink's arrival. He's been a better all round footballer since his outburst after the loss to Barcelona in the Champions League semi-final, there have been fewer dives and his behaviour has been close to exemplary. If only he would do this all the time, he'd be one of the greats.

Man of the Match

It was quite a tough decision, a straight fight between Cole and Lampard with Malouda a close third. I would normally give it to Lampard, because of the impact a goal has on a game, especially one from 20 yards to win it. But on this occasion I'm giving it to Cole for what was an outstanding display of attacking full-back play, and for winning his fifth FA Cup winner's medal.

Final thoughts

That's it, another season over. It's flown by. It seems like only yesterday that a sun-drenched Stamford Bridge was treated to a display of samba football as Luiz Felipe Scolari got his stint as Chelsea manager off to a stylish and promising start. Portsmouth were the victims that day, but little did we know that by the time of the return fixture at Frattan Park in March Big Phil would be all but a distant memory. A lot happened in the intervening six months or so, but it can be summed up thus: gradual decline. February, and we looked a shadow of the team that had started the season so brightly. Scolari had revealed himself to be a one-dimensional manager with little or no Plan B, and there were stirrings of discontent from within the changing room. There were even stories that the players had been requesting a harder training regime, which gave an indication of just how bad things had got. But despite this most fans seemed willing to give him more time to build his own team. It wasn't to be: the club fired Scolari a few days into February. There was quite a lot of shock and disbelief amongst supporters on hearing the news, probably because of the timing. Many of us thought, myself included, that the lunatics had finally taken over the asylum. How wrong we were.

Just two days later the club appointed Guus Hiddink. Hiddink had an immediate impact and revitalised the club and the players, particularly Drogba and Malouda: both have been immense since his arrival, which says a lot for his man management skills. A little over three months and just one defeat later, Hiddink has delivered the club a trophy, its first since the departure of Mourinho two years ago. It could so easily have been two but for a certain Norwegian referee. In his brief spell at the club, he has guided us to 16 wins, five draws, and just the one defeat. We scored seven goals against Liverpool over two legs in the Champions League quarter-final, put four past Arsenal at the Emirates, held Barcelona to two draws home and away in the Champions League semi-final, knocked Juventus out of the Champions League, and pushed Liverpool and Manchester United all the way in the Premier League. But his most important achievement has been to guide the club out of the shadow of Jose Mourinho. Now that we have the FA Cup in the trophy cabinet we can finally move on.

Hiddink's already left the club. He's on his way back to Russia to watch the Russian Cup Final before taking charge of the national team for a World Cup Qualifier in 10 days' time. He'll be missed.

Thank you, Guus. It's been emotional.

Related links

Reaction: Nearly perfect, very emotional

Update Monday, 1 June 09, 10:15 AM: Ancelotti confirmed as manager

Carlo Ancelotti is the new Chelsea manager. He has signed a three-year contract and will start on July 1st.

The Bi-Polar Express nee The Chelsea Planet nee The Chelsea Times

Fri, 29 May 2009 01:36:07 +0100

Are we sitting comfortably folks, or are we crossed legged with the sheer excitement of Saturday’s Big Cup Final? Or is it because you’re all still pissing yourselves with laughter at Manchester Village FC’s humbling at the feet of Flamenco Footballing Kings, Barcelona in last night’s Irrelevant Cup Final? Anyway sit back and enjoy another edition of now re-named Bi-Polar Express. Many thanks to Clive, one of our regular readers living with a beautiful doctor called Mrs Clive somewhere in the wilds of the untamed West Country, who came up with that most apt of names for a sort of regular Chelsea FC rant/whinge/rumour/scandal sheet.

Why Bi-Polar Express. Well, for the uninitiated it came to light recently that the mighty Danny Baker, broadcasting through the ether on the British Broadcasting Corporation's generally excellent (except during Wimbledon fortnight) Radio 5 Live had drawn the conclusion that his most hated of teams, Chelsea, had the most bi-polar set of fans known to footballdom. We either proclaim our utter superiority and start predicting domination of England and Europe the like of which hasn’t been seen since some Italians decided to have a jolly boys outing a couple of millennia ago. Failing that we want everyone out at the club or else we’re doomed to be the real new Leeds, free-falling to a point so low they’d have to re-open the old 4th Division especially for us. I truly love Danny Baker, almost beyond the point of mere masculine admiration, but my first reaction was one of scathing bile spitting disagreement. But after a few moments of listening to his rationale, it dawned on me that it was in fact completely true. (At this point picture an image of Danny Baker wearing a barrister's cloak and horse hair wig, addressing the jury consisting of several thousand non-Chelsea supporting fans with the words “No further questions, I rest my case...”) And then I read some of the previous postings on this fine blog, with the relevant comments. There is nothing else that need be said.

First on the agenda has to be a hats off to Nicholas Anelka who today received his Golden Boot award, which makes him the fourth Chelsea winner since the Premiership started, with Jimmy Floyd winning twice (once shared with Michael Owen and Andy Cole I think) and Didier Drogba being the other. Now, far be it from me to stir the pot but there are a few on this blog who would not be sorry to see him go. This is utter madness and hence would be typical of us as a club. We are just about the only ones who’d do such a daft thing, whilst keeping a man who can only be described as the epitome of Chelsea bi-polarity, in the form of Didier Drogba. I’ve always been an advocate of Drogba, but such is his depth of bi-polarity I don’t think we can truly rely on the man anymore. At this point I am wondering if he’ll shovel in three against Everton and the friendly siren of the reversing Humble Pie lorry will be heard pulling up outside TG Mews. The fact is Anelka has been fantastic this season, proving at yet another club that if you want goals then he will always deliver them. Drogba has had some good moments this season but seriously people, there haven’t been enough of them, and interspersed with the dire moments it is in my opinion a gamble to keep him on, certainly as the number one striker. We need to wean ourselves off Drogba, and that means trying something new, and I don’t mean Di Santo, who may have promise but is years away from fulfilling it. Roman, splash the cash and get David Villa before those bastards at New Leeds, or Airline FC get him.

Moving on then, we had another fine away win against potentially tricky opposition in the form of struggling Sunderland. From what I saw, the rather paltry highlights on Match of the Day and Sky’s Goals on Sunday and back up by Hab’s first class report we turned in a thoroughly professional shift. Anelka’s goal would have yet again seen a mass y-front creaming session from the 4th estate had he been wearing something red, and Kalou scored a little cracker as well. Nice to see my player of the year, Ashley Cole, get on the scoresheet as well. Come on Ash, what about spoiling us at Stamford Bridge then? A nice way to finish the season from Guus and the boys and it really does feed the ‘what if...’ thoughts that crowd my mind on a daily basis. We could and should have won the Premiership this year the argument goes, but we’ve said that for three seasons now and lost out to Manchester Village each time, and New Leeds have finished above us this year as well and hence the only logical conclusion is in fact that we’re not good enough and despite the protestations of some who visit this blog, we need to ring the changes now. Just as Arsenal, Liverpool and Manchester United have done, because if we think they will stagnate then we’re kidding ourselves and that for me spells yet another ‘what if...’ season. We raised the bar and others took their time but jumped it. Our next best move is to raise the bar again. More on that in next week’s Bi-Polar End of Season Special which will include team and player reviews, with my own lists of ins and outs, wants and desires for you, dear readers, to bitch and fight about.

And so we address the Big Cup Final on Saturday against the rather more sensible Scouse fraternity that is Everton. Maybe I don’t feel that much antipathy toward them because they never seem to throw the stereotypical class insults at us that New Leeds do. Maybe it’s because they see a kindred spirit in us, a team in blue for years dominated by nearby neighbours in red, hoping that one day the tables will turn as they briefly did in the 80’s under Howard Kendall’s fine collection. I think the country will unite behind Everton for this one, and so we’re damned if we do, and damned if we don’t. If we win it’ll be the usual bully boy money driven mercenary victory that apparently only we conjure up and if we lose it’ll be indicative of mercenary bully boys being given a bloody nose by plucky underdogs. We’re used to it though by now, and if it continues next season that I’ll know that we are back to our reviled and regaled Mourinho years. On a personal note, had we lost to Arsenal in the Big Cup Semi-Final then I too would have nailed my colours to the good ship Everton’s mast.

Prior to David Moyes' arrival Everton had the most vile set of fans I’d seen at the Bridge, regularly abusing their own players and manager with far more disgust than was aimed at us. I also felt that they were the precursor to Leeds and Newcastle as a ‘club too big to go down, but who would anyway’ but year after year they made miracle escapes. I thought they should have been awarded relegation by the FA on the basis that they, more than most, had been trying hard enough but just failing to go down for years. Then Bill Kenwright, a former Coronation Street actor and current theatre impresario made the inspired choice to bring in a young and eager coach from Preston North End, one David Moyes. He’d had some limited success there but just failed in the play-offs, but Kenwright was smart enough to recognise a talent when he saw it. And it seems we’re missing that talent spotting capability again. It’s odd really because in true bi-polar manner we have sections of the blog in favour of the ‘experienced’ managers like Carlo Ancelotti and Guus Hiddink, with proven Champions League records, and success stamped across their careers, and yet, in recent times the some of the most successful coaches have been young, hungry and comparatively inexperienced. Our own Jose was one, and then last night we saw a man in Pep Guardiola who until last season had only coached at reserve level, win his third trophy of the season and become the first man to do the treble in his home country of Spain. An incredible achievement which no-one can undermine. Habs even spoke in a comment of him being the man for Chelsea at some point. When? After he’s got more ‘experience’? My point is why not go for Moyes? Why not give him the same chance with us that Guardiola got with Barca? He has the Premier League experience, and no-one can deny he’s done a bloody superb job making a silk purse from a sow's ear. Whatever you may think of Barcelona’s pyrrhic victory over us, the fact remains Guardiola in one season has done what successive coaches have failed to do for us. That’s why an understanding of the fans, the club, the history and the culture of a club and the domestic league in which you’re based, for me, counts more than a ‘proven track record’.

Our record in recent years against Everton has been good, but this season has seen both Phil Scolari and Hiddink stumped by a team that seem to do to us what we have done to Arsenal and Barcelona. Everton have stopped us playing both times and have frustrated us with a game plan that we’ve failed to counter. When we do it it’s because we have worked out our opponent’s strengths and planned to circumvent them, but when it’s done to us it’s because the opposition are limited or chose to park the bus. After our displays against Barcelona perhaps we should be deploying Blakey as our next coach such is the skill with which we park the bus when required. But of course this example and attitude merely underpins the bi-polar nature of us as supporters. Despite our frustrations this season though, and the undoubted planning skills of Moyes, aligned with the usual sympathy vote from the Great British Public for their underdog status, I think we will be desperate to turn an Everton side over and get our success groove going again. The bitter disappointment of missing out on the Irrelevant Cup Final to the eventual and deserved winners must have rankled with our players, some of whom will still be raw from our penalty shoot out disaster in Moscow, and I have a feeling that they will want to give Guus a big memento of his short but memorable tenure at Chelsea. They will want to give him something to remember us by which he will proudly look back on in his dotage. I also think the players will be less overawed than the big occasion virgins of Everton, our nerves will be steelier and steadier than Everton’s. I think we’ll go at them from the off and I have a feeling the game will be very similar to last night's, with us nicking a goal in the first 20 minutes, riding out a determined Everton comeback and then dominating to the end. It has 3-0 all over it for me, and I hate making predictions but I do feel very confident on this.

I was drinking at my local on Saturday when three Pompey yobbos turned up with the obligatory teenage slapper in tow. One was a Manchester Village fan, heavily... ahem... tired and emotional and spoiling for a fight. His two mates were New Leeds and Everton respectively, also rather... ahem... socially relaxed and sporting a shiner each apparently donated to them by their mate, the United fan. Spoiling they may have been, but with a few Magners oiling the TG wheels of social diplomacy I defused the United fan with congratulations on their success, coupled with a warning that we’ll be right back at them next year and a veiled message that surely he wouldn’t want it any other way. He loved it and left the pub as happy as a chap called Lawrence. The New Leeds fan could barely annunciate which made him sound remarkably sensible and coherent for a New Leeds type, but the Everton fan was a decent lad and his one abiding comment to me was that he, like a lot of Everton fans had groaned aloud when we lost to Barcelona. That was the moment they went from challenging a downhearted Chelsea who may have lost the final, or a distracted Chelsea overconfident and drunk on the success of victory in that final, to facing down a determined, angry and unswervingly committed Chelsea with a ruthless desire to regain their winning mojo.

And I think he was right.

The usual collection of facts, gossip and lies with my very own BS rating alongside where 0 is fact, 1 is possibly true and 5 is a heaving smelly dung pile of utterly rotten putrefying bullshit.

It’s the silly season now and the rumours and gossip is rife so in the interests of time and effort I’ll save them up for next week. The following sentence sums it up.

Franck Ribery in, Carlo Ancelotti in or not, Frank Rijkaard in or maybe out, Deco out (yay!) and Carvalho out or not, Xabi Alonso in (yep, just what we need), Mikel out (bad, bad move, the boy has been great this season and HE’S YOUNG!), David Villa in, or out etc. etc. etc.

And finally, culture corner, lyrics dressed as poems, with a tangential relationship to Chelsea at best...

Breathe, breathe in the air
Don't be afraid to care
Leave but don't leave me
Look around and choose your own ground

Long you live and high you fly
And smiles you'll give and tears you'll cry
And all you touch and all you see
Is all your life will ever be

Run, rabbit run
Dig that hole, forget the sun
And when at last the work is done
Don't sit down it's time to dig another one

Keep the Blue Flag Flying High!

Premier League: Sunderland 2 - 3 Chelsea

Mon, 25 May 2009 00:16:57 +0100

Match reports

The Guardian, Louise Taylor: "This was quite an afternoon by the sun-dappled Wear, containing a resignation, a celebration, a farewell and a world-class goal from England's newly anointed Golden Boot."

Daily Telegraph, Rob Stewart: "Frank Lampard may have been left at home to get some well earned rest but his absence did nothing to prevent Chelsea dominating their lowly opponents even though Guus Hiddink’s side may have the FA Cup on their minds."

The Times, George Caulkin: "Chelsea ... reached the end of an era. This was Guus Hiddink’s last league game in the dugout for Chelsea, although there is a small matter of next weekend’s FA Cup Final to come."

Official Chelsea FC Website, Andy Jones: "We didn't have it all our own way on a bright day in the north east, but never looked like being beaten against a Sunderland side still playing to secure their survival."

The goals

47' Anelka 0-1
53' Richardson 1-1
74' Kalou 1-2
86' A. Cole 1-3
90' Jones 2-3

The prelude

Sitting down to watch Chelsea today had a rather strange feeling about it. I had just enjoyed another glorious Jenson Button victory in F1, this time in Monaco and now it was time for the main event – another splendid Chelsea performance. Well that was the plan. Firstly, I had to endure the excruciating spectacle of listening to that monkey Richard Keys bleat on about how great Sky Sports are. Seeing Keys, Norwegian racist Mr. Redknapp and master of exaggeration, Mr. ‘Take a boo’ Gray in their darkened studio on ‘Survival Sunday’ was a hilarious experience. It started with some bollocks about the survival of the fittest, when the reality is that those who survive on the last day of the season are only marginally less awful than those who go down and then we heard some random heart monitor soundtrack to highlight the supposed tension of the afternoon and it was all topped off by Keys’ bragging about the Champions League final: “You’ll be watching the three best teams in Europe, United, Barcelona and Sky Sports!” Yep, it really was that embarrassing a line. But I got through all this, found my red button and sat down to the Sunderland – Chelsea game, a rather meaningless match as Sunderland were all but safe and we were thinking of Wembley. Of more interest was waiting for the updates as to who was going down - the spray-tan, vain, sit-down team-talk, “look at me” loser that is Phil Brown or the Geordie army following the ‘massive club’ of Newcastle - who would I be hoping would get demoted? Well I hoped both of them would go but Southgate’s mob is so pathetic only one could fall and in the end I was hoping the Newcastle myth would be shattered and ‘the best fans in the world’ would finally accept that they’re following the newest incarnation of the Leeds nightmare.

The team

Would Guus follow Fergie’s lead and rest our big hitters ahead of a final? Well not exactly. Anelka turned up to try and claim the Golden Boot, Terry was firmly in place as captain and all the other first teamers were in place apart from Frank, perhaps tired from spending £3m on buying his ex a new pad in Chelsea and Alex who was rested ahead of the Wembley showdown with Fellaini.

The game

A potentially rather meaningless match as I alluded to earlier and the first half turned out to be exactly that. I tried as hard as possible to stay devoted to my task of being the blog’s match reporter but at some points the temptation to play with my remote was just too much to withstand and I just had to flick over to Villa Park. But all of us would accept that the first half was shocking at the Stadium of Light. The game was played at such a slow tempo you wondered if we had suddenly been transported forward in time a few weeks and we were in the US playing a bunch of American nobodies in pre-season? (I’m sure that remark is bound to cause some uproar amongst our American readers judging by their response to Tony’s claim about visiting Hicksville in preseason.) But one of the first things I noticed was Chelsea’s rather strange kit policy. I presume that last week’s kit launch and unveiling against Blackburn was such a success that they’ve wrapped it in cotton wool, all ready for Wembley but today we had resorted to our ‘old’ 08/09 kit. Either someone had forgotten to pack the new kit or someone has binned it and we’ve all wasted £50 on a new shirt? But apart from that, the first half was a snoozefest. Everyone was walking about lazily and for those of you trying to spot the runner in a blue shirt, you could only look to Ashley as a source of any effort and pace. The rest of them were strolling around, keeping possession with ease and just waiting to see if a chance cropped up. On a couple of occasions Didier would threaten goal with optimistic chipped or volleyed efforts and the half ended with Malouda smashing a brilliant drive against the bar after some slick and incisive passing but that was about it in terms of chances.

The second half was a much brighter event. After laughing myself silly at half time watching Hull and Newcastle’s efforts to stay up, the second half began with some proper football. Guus obviously told them to start running and Anelka immediately responded. Receiving the ball on the halfway line, he turned and beat two men before unleashing an unstoppable, swerving drive into the top corner. Quite a way to claim the Golden Boot but after that goal we resorted to typical Chelsea mode, sat back, fell asleep and conceded a goal. A looping Sunderland cross evaded Cech and ended up at Richardson’s feet who swept the ball into an empty net. A silly goal to give away but no-one in blue really cared and for the next 20 minutes Guus made a few changes and tactical tweaks ahead of the cup final by taking off Essien for Kalou and Mikel for Mancienne and switching to a 4-4-2 formation. Kalou then brilliantly scored our second by striking, Lampard-esque from 20 yards into the top right corner. With the game drifting to an inevitable Chelsea win, another personal favourite Ashley Cole strode forward and volleyed the ball home with his right foot after a Sunderland mix-up at the back. There was still time for Jones to head home, unmarked from five yards but the game finished in a rather subdued manner on our side as our players applauded the travelling fans, handed over a few shirts and trudged down the tunnel, to get ready for yet another final.

The good

Anelka. A pathetic first half like the others but a wonder strike in the second gave him the Golden Boot. The rather surreal nature of supporting Chelsea means it would not be a huge surprise if we sold him in the summer. Selling the league’s top scorer? Well that’s Chelsea for you.
Ashley. Raided the left wing all game and was glad that he got his goal. Perfect way to end his best ever Chelsea season.
Ivanovic. A rock who just loves to head the ball. The perfect squad player.
Mancienne. Just nice to see him on the pitch. Ancelotti does like having some young, home grown players in his side despite the OAP loving stereotype and he looks our best prospect since Terry, although that’s not saying much when you look back on our academy record!

The bad

First half/general laziness. Not surprising but not exactly great viewing for those who travelled all the way up to Sunderland.

Player ratings

Petr Cech – 6/10 – Didn’t have much to do but did have a few nervy moments with the high ball and needs to be at his best to combat Cahill and Fellaini next week.
Season rating – 7.5/10 – Despite the media reports of his helmet acting as a security blanket and that he’s never been the same since smashing his skull, he’s had a great season for us and with only two dodgy performances, it’s been a good effort from Big Pete.
Jose Bosingwa – 5.5/10 – Harsh maybe but he kept giving the ball away and never seemed to beat his man. His final ball was also poor.
Season rating – 6/10 – Personally, the jury’s still out on him. In my book he’s just the new Glen Johnson i.e. a defender who can’t defend. He arrived in a blaze of glory with his attacking raids and goals thrilling us but just like Scolari he was found out and his lazy and casual defending infuriates me. Still expect him to be here next season but with Carlo basing his team around a tight defence I wouldn’t be shocked to see him sold to make way for Ivanovic and/or Mancienne at right-back.
Branislav Ivanovic – 7/10 – A rock who can “head the ball further than some can kick it” (Brendan Rodgers, 2008).
Season rating – 7.5/10 – Hasn’t been a regular but he’ll always be a fans’ favourite thanks to his Liverpool performance. Would keep him ahead of Ricky and his versatility will prove invaluable.
John Terry – 7/10 – Fell into the casual trap like many others but at least he was up for the battle with Jones. Another steady performance from our Captain Fantastic.
Season rating – 7.5/10 – Some say it hasn’t been his best season but he’s played more games for us this season than any other since Jose’s first and his comeback from the Moscow nightmare has been great. He will lift the Champions League one day but it just wasn’t to be this year.
Ashley Cole – 8/10 – Another great game and a goal to round it all off.
Season rating –9/10 – A brilliant season from the world’s best left-back and a new contract awaits in the summer. Who’s laughing now after the Gallas-Cole swap deal?
Juliano Belletti – 5/10 – Lasted 20 minutes and hardly touched the ball.
Season rating – 7/10 - A very useful squad player whose long range efforts have lit up the season. My bet is that this was his last league game for us and after a disastrous opening to his Chelsea career at right-back, his resurgence in midfield has been a revelation.
John Obi Mikel – 6/10 – Strolled around like many others but without Lampard he was given the opportunity to stride forward. Unfortunately he looked as lost and confused as always as he approached their box.
Season rating – 7.5/10 – Filled in brilliantly for Essien but the Bison’s return has exposed his inexperience and immaturity. A breakthrough season for sure but next season he has to show he has the nous of Makelele or the attacking ability of Essien and Lampard to get into the side.
Michael Essien – 6.5/10 – Didn’t do much but he did put in marginally more effort than those around him.
Season rating – 9/10 – A 9 for two months' work? Well his impact has been immense and his performances in Turin, at Anfield and goal against Barca sum up how great he is. A future Chelsea legend alongside Zola, Lampard and JT in my book.
Nicolas Anelka – 7/10 – A great goal gives him an extra two points which would have given him a 5 which is an accurate reflection of his impact apart from the goal.
Season rating – 7.5/10 – Golden Boot winner, 25 goals in all competitions but strangely none of us would rate him as world class. Still goes missing in big games if we had to keep one of Didier, Anelka and Di Santo in order to raise funds and make space for some new arrivals then I’d keep our pantomime villain every time.
Didier Drogba – 6.5/10 – Still finding his feet in this new age of no diving and he was rather anonymous today. Did like his shouting at Bosingwa in the first half though for pulling out of a challenge.
Season rating – 7/10 – Love him or hate him we'll always need him if we carry on with Jose's 4-3-3. Ancelotti may change that with a new system and a new strikeforce but this season was very Didier; goals, injuries and controversy.
Florent Malouda – 7/10 – A lovely first half strike and another neat and tidy performance. Not at his best but another encouraging showing.
Season rating – 8.5/10 – Can’t give a 9 thanks to his Scolari form but under Guus he’s looked world class. His left foot gives us width and balance and he now seems certain to stay.

Other season ratings

Alex – 8/10 - I’ll happily admit that I was wrong about him. His early days exposed him as a slow and cumbersome elephant but under Guus he’s lost some weight, given a run in the first-team and now looks great. Still worried about an Alex-Terry partnership against a pacy and tricky forward such as Villa or Aguero but if you believe the papers then they’ll both be leading the line at the Bridge next season, so Alex looks to have a bright future in the first team.
Michael Ballack – 6.5/10 – I’m a fan of his experience and class in the big games but with only two goals (I think) to his name I’m not sure if he’s worth a new £130k/wk contract.
Frank Lampard – 9.5/10 – Just imagine if we refused to give him his £140k/wk contract in the summer! Another brilliant season from the media’s Robin to Stevie G’s Batman and if we can get another midfielder to fill that troublesome Makelele role (Gareth Barry perhaps?) then Super Frank and Essien can lead us to glory in Europe.
Salomon Kalou – 6.5/10 – A problem season for him. Shows flashes of brilliance and when given a chance in the first team he can get into double figures, goal scoring wise, but I fear his erratic nature may cost him in this summer’s cull.
Guus Hiddink – 9.5/10 – Apart from Jose (will never stop supporting him), is there a better manager in world football? A brilliant tactician and man-manger who was robbed of a glorious double (potentially) by a Norwegian clown. Only negative is his loyalty (unfortunately for us it’s to Russia) and his inability to make late substitutions to waste time.

My Chelsea awards

Superhuman award for general amazingness: It could only be Frank Lampard.

Frank apart, my player of the year: For me it goes to Ashley. Hated by some but loved by me.

Biggest flop: Anyone surprised to see Deco’s name? Well that’s what you get for an over-the-hill, Barcelona reject who likes to party and just to add to this glowing recommendation, smokes (according to Jose anyway) a lot.

Worst signing of the season: Big Phil “Plan A is the only way” Scolari. Could not get a more inappropriate Chelsea manager.

Most improved player: Florent Malouda. A late renaissance has saved his Chelsea career. Was booed by some early in the season but should survive our revolving door this summer.

Breakthrough of the season: Branislav Ivanovic. Chelsea fans always had faith that he’d show his true class when given a chance and thanks (through gritted teeth) must go to Avram for getting us the best young defender in Europe as he was described at Lokomotiv.

Young player of the year: Michael Mancienne. A future Chelsea star who should be given a run next season.

Most typical Chelsea moment: The second leg against Barca. The Champions League is the Holy Grail for us and this match had everything which sums up what being a Chelsea fan is all about. Glorious goals (yep including Iniesta’s), feelings of pain and ecstasy in equal measure, power, passion and above all controversy. It was all typical Chelsea which made the outside world hate us even more and that’s just the way we like it.

Special recognition award: Must go to Guus Hiddink. Again it’s typical Chelsea that we’ve found another Special One but just at the wrong time. Hopefully he’ll win the World Cup with Russia but for what he’s done for us, he’s already become a Chelsea legend.

Conclusions and predictions

Looking into my crystal ball I have to say that Carlo Ancelotti should be our new manager and for all the criticism he’s faced from some on here, when he does arrive he should be embraced. It’s Roman’s turn to pick a manager as Kenyon picked Jose only for Roman to back Avram and then Kenyon chose Scolari but was reliant on Roman’s mate bailing him out. Roman obviously wants Carlo and is willing to back him. I fear for the likes of Ricky, Belletti, Kalou, Anelka and possibly Bosingwa and Didier but with the likes of Villa, Aguero, Young, Kaka, Barry and... Beckham being linked with us, this summer will definitely be an exciting one.

I’ll leave it to others to do a proper season review but looking back on another rollercoaster journey, one has to say that it’s again been typical Chelsea. We appointed a useless doughnut only to find the manager we’ve been searching for all along was residing in the snowy wastes of Russia. We looked a shoe-in for the title (for six weeks at least) until Liverpool burst our bubble and at the end of the campaign, controversy, anger and pain has engulfed us all. An FA Cup triumph will provide a great ending but looking back it must go down as a season of if-onlys. But what we must thank Guus for most is the fact that he’s brought back the real Chelsea. Next season it’ll be us against the world and that siege mentality should serve us brilliantly along with the return of Beckham!

So that’s me over for the season. Off to enjoy a couple of weeks away until the start of preseason and another crazy Chelsea summer.

Keep the Blue Flag Flying High!

Related links

Reaction: In control

The Chelsea Planet... nee Times

Fri, 22 May 2009 00:15:35 +0100

Well folks, here we are again for another edition of The Chelsea Times, which I’m rather inclined to rename The Chelsea Planet simply because it sounds... less stuffy. Thoughts anyone?

What a strange old week it’s been as well. A perfunctory win over Blackburn kept a tiny bit of pressure on New Leeds, who could trip up against Spurs this weekend, whilst we travel to the wilds of the North East to play relegation threatened Sunderland which should guarantee a feisty affair. Such a shame that West Brom have ruined a potential North East Relegation Grand Slam. Although we’ve relied on Spurs before it’s never worked out because we all know just how dodgy they are. If Spurs win then that might mean Europa League football for them and one can picture Harry Redknapp pulling his best ‘bulldog licking piss off a nettle’ face at the thought of that.

I’m sure for most of us it’s been one of those weeks where in part we’re sort of glad that the Premier League has drawn to a close, glad because Liverpool didn’t win it, yet unable to share in the bunting filled street parties apparently taking place the length and breadth of the country to celebrate Great Britain United winning their third title on the bounce prior to taking on the Flamenco Footballing Emperors of Barcelona in the Champions League/Tin Pot Egg Cup final (until of course we win it). I mean surely they’re going to try and win the Champions League for Britain? They wouldn’t dream of parading all of their trophies around the country gloating, taunting and flaunting their success in everyone’s faces would they?

Strange that, when you think back a couple of seasons to when we won the Premier League back to back. I don’t recall the country unifying in their admiration. What I do recall was more than a few cursing us for our domination on the back of allegedly shady Russian roubles. Adrian Chiles and Gary Lineker duly donned hooded gowns in May 2006 and declared the Premier League dead and buried for the next decade.

Blue was bad. Blue was undermining the very cultural fabric of football, with its ethos of mechanical efficiency and its unswerving drive towards its objectives. Blue had removed the thrill and the fun from football.

Mercenary, uncaring bastards, the lot of us.

I dare say even some of our exalted and deeply dedicated Blues fans fidgeted uncomfortably in their woven hair pants at the thought of such total dominance on our part. Not me I hasten to add. I wanted the dominance, the bragging rights, the success and the sense of invincibility.

I didn’t mind the hatred and bitterness. As a true socialist of the Champagne variety I know how the politics of envy works. I also know the futility of the battle for an egalitarian distribution of wealth across this fading green and seemingly less pleasant land. In society the bulk of wealth lies with the few, not the many, and as if mirroring life itself, the self same thing occurs in football. It always has, and it always will. Occasionally in life, the small guy can work his way into the top echelons of the wealth league, or they can get lucky through gambling on such things as the National Lottery, at heart another tax on the very people least suited to paying it. Or they can get there through crime. But how often do they stay there? Life is littered with tales of people who have come from humble backgrounds, climbed the social ladders of success and power only to find the ‘system’ has a pre-programmed machine ready to dissemble that wealth and discredit them. Countries have similar issues as well. Look at Iceland (the country!) and its risky financial policies that allowed it to assault the traditional big guns, only to fall spectacularly from grace, taking hard working investors' money with it. Even the ‘nouveau riche’ of Russia are watching investments and wealth crash through the floor. Latest reports indicate that our own benefactor has seen his value diminish from £20bn to £10.5bn. One wonders how they survive.

However, as we have seen, even the most affluent of organizations can completely louse things up through utter mismanagement. And at this point we bring in Chelsea FC. We’re not the worst, not by a long shot. One only has to look at Leeds and Newcastle to see how things can fall apart in a short space of time. Spurs have arguably blown more chances than anyone of joining the elite through the revolving door policy on their managers’ office. Former Premier League stalwarts Southampton are arguably the worst as they stagger painfully towards extinction. But we did have the chance to dominate and we dropped the ball. We lost a dynamic, volatile and hungry manager. Then we replaced him with Avram Grant, an example of the triumph of nepotism over knowledge. Then came The Scolari Experiment, an exercise in blind faith over capability. This was like the time the Russians developed the ‘Concordski’ TU-144 clone of Concorde. It all started so well, it looked the part and performed the same, but then it became apparent so much was wrong and then one day inevitably and very publicly it crashed. Luckily The Benevolent One (TBO?) foresaw the parallels to this event and killed our own equivalent experiment before irreparable damage could be done.

All through this time, but especially during The Scolari Experiment, we lost our belief, despite the owner’s wealth and support. We went from nigh on invincible, not pretty, but bloody fearsome into a good but beatable and occasionally fragile unit. Teams bred into the culture of winning who once groaned when they knew they were facing us, now saw the chinks in the armour and exploited them as ruthlessly as we would have done. The seven stone weakling of SW6 had become the equivalent of Arnie’s T-101 and for all the world it looked likely to evolve further into Robert Patrick's even deadlier and ruthless T-1000. Instead it turned into a Dalek, full of bluster and threats but bought down by those who knew that throwing a jumper over its head would send it into a frenzy of confusion and panic.

All of this was our own doing. Inexperience of operating at this top level took its toll across the club, from fans to staff to players. All we could do was watch as the powers that be struggled with the seemingly universal unpopularity from all areas of the media, other clubs, retired ‘darling’ players (Platini, Cruyff et al), the football authorities and, on occasions, even amoeba brained MP’s with all the footballing knowledge of the average horse. But when combined with what seems a continuing and concerted campaign from the media and the footballing authorities one starts to see the conspiracy theories of an establishment machine busily working away to restore the status quo.

Making things like they used to be. Restoring the natural order.

As Chelsea fans are we paranoid? Has our usual bi-polarity developed into something more sinister?

Am I paranoid, or are they all really watching me?

The usual collection of facts, gossip and lies with my very own BS rating alongside where 0 is fact, 1 is possibly true and 5 is a heaving smelly dung pile of utterly rotten putrefying bullshit.

Carlo Ancelotti’s position will be clarified by AC Milan on Monday. TGBS Rating 1/5 – Very possibly true as the Italian season ends on Sunday and Milan need to beat Roma to be sure of second place and Champions League football.

Chelsea are lining up Ross Turnbull from Middlesbrough to be backup for Petr Cech. TGBS rating 1/5 – Quite likely and not a bad move. A young English goalkeeper as backup to Cech and eventually maybe proper competition is no bad thing.

Ricardo Carvalho may be off to Benfica and Ashley Cole will be subject to a bid from Real Madrid. TGBS Rating 4/5 – I think Carvalho may well leave or at best see a one year extension, but his automatic choice days are over. I would have thought Inter might be more likely. Ashley Cole recently stated on TV, very publicly his desire to stay at Chelsea. Lest we forget his ugly departure from Arsenal, however I don’t see us selling him.

Hilario and Mineiro will be let go after the season closes. TGBS Rating 1/5 – Makes perfect sense to me.

Edin Dzeko has been targeted by Chelsea for £6m. TGBS Rating 2/5 – I don’t know much about this guy apart from some people here think he’s OK. He’s at Wolfsburg so maybe the good Kaiser can shed more light.

Yuri Zhirkov will make up his mind about a move to Chelsea after meeting Roman Abramovich. TGBS Rating 4/5 – Sounds iffy to me. Roman actually seeking the players out? Isn’t that Kenyon's job? He’d be a good prospect mind, but hardly a volume shirt shifter... that’s SHIFTER for those with poor eyes.

And finally, the culture spot, lyrics dressed as poems, with a tangential relationship to Chelsea at best.

Nothing ever rocks
And nothing ever rolls
And nothing's ever worth the cost

Keep the Blue Flag Flying High!

Premier League: Chelsea 2 - 0 Blackburn Rovers

Mon, 18 May 2009 12:10:44 +0100

Match reports

The Guardian, Dominic Fifield: "Guus Hiddink bade farewell to Stamford Bridge with a polite bow to the home support and an end of season stroll from his players though for Roman Abramovich, watching from his executive box on high, there is still plenty to ponder. This game had drifted beyond the hour-mark when the most vocal section of the Matthew Harding stand broke off from their chants of "We want you to stay" aimed at the interim manager to offer their opinion on his potential successor. "You can stick your Ancelotti up your arse" rang out. The message was loud and clear."

Daily Telegraph, Jason Burt: "Hiddink was afforded a guard of honour by the Chelsea players and proceeded to cha-cha down it with 85-year-old Roy Bentley in tow and also did a theatrical bow to the crowd after they chanted “we want you to stay” to him while they also urged Abramovich to “sign him up”."

The Times, Kaveh Solhekol: "“I didn’t expect it,” Hiddink said. “The reaction of the crowd was a big surprise for me. I have had many second thoughts, sometimes third thoughts about leaving. When I see this reaction I feel sad to leave but that’s the reality.”"

The Independent, Glenn Moore: "Throughout the afternoon a banner adorned the Matthew Harding Stand reading "Thanks Guus", sentiments that were echoed in the match programme by John Terry and Bruce Buck. The chairman also wrote that the club hoped to make an announcement about their latest new manager "sooner rather than later"."

Official Chelsea FC Website: "Florent Malouda's sixth league goal of the season and Nicolas Anelka's 18th made it a good afternoon on the pitch as Stamford Bridge said farewell to Guus Hiddink."

The goals

4' Malouda
59' Anelka

Have a Cigar (The Preamble)

Walking down the Fulham Road to the café had a strange air about it yesterday. Fans seemed to be suffering with a touch of the bi-polar syndrome we’re renowned for, in fact it may have even been tri-polar. For some it was the normal feisty confident display of bravado and blind faith so typical of football fans everywhere, for others the day had a beach feeling about it, with the result meaning little for either team. And for some the day had a slightly funereal feel about it, tinged with sadness at another season of missed chances and the inevitable farewell to Guus Hiddink and the nagging subconscious images of Manchester United picking up their third back to back Premiership trophy.

Still a stiff cup of tea and a large chicken kebab in the hubbub of Chelsea fan talk returned yours truly to the normal pre-match state of nervous excitement and warm glow gleaned from the sense of belonging. It’s always weird to feel the sense of commonality across such a broad spectrum of people, many of whom you probably wouldn’t like, or get on with were it not for the common bond of a love of Chelsea Football Club.

Welcome to the Machine (The Game)

First things first. I like Sam Allardyce. I think he’s much maligned in and out of the game as being some sort of footballing luddite, steeped in Charlie Hughes hoof the ball mentality that so ill served English football for so long. A bit of deeper study and analysis suggest a man prepared to try the latest fitness technologies and training methods, and a man who knows that different styles and the appropriate application of them are what create success. Bolton have become an established team because of Big Sam’s hard work, and Blackburn have survived the drop after the disastrous Paul Ince experiment and the parallels with our own Guus Hiddink stand out for me. Does anyone really think Newcastle would be in the mire if they had kept Big Sam and let him rebuild their Keystone Kops constructed basket case of a club?

Anyway I digress. The crowd tried to create a party atmosphere as the teams trudged onto the field, although the feeling that Blackburn may as well have been wearing Hawaiian shirts, flip flops and swimmers was hard to avoid, especially in light of the rather paltry travelling crowd... 200 maybe?

The team lists produced no surprises, bar the fact that our bench contained four of our kids, all under 21, in Mancienne, Stoch, Di Santo and returning wanderer Scott Sinclair. The fact that none got to actually come on is a tad weird as with 10 minutes remaining it was clear Blackburn were already making sandcastles, paddling hand in hand with partners and enjoying a celebratory drop of Champagne and puffing on the Montecristo cigar of survival.

After an early scare from which arguably Blackburn should have gone ahead, a lightning fast break from us on four minutes resulted in the superb Anelka playing a wonder cross into the box for our most recently (vastly) improved player Malouda to score with a header that was truly magnificent. If the mark of a good coach is getting players to believe in, and unlock their potential then Hiddink has a huge Malouda shaped key somewhere. The game settled a bit after the initial flurry, and by settled I mean Blackburn trying and failing to make any headway against our well marshalled midfield and defence whilst every now and then we would rip through them like the proverbial knife cutting through butter. To say we should have been five or six up by half time is not an understatement with chances going begging including a goal line clearance from Malouda, Lampard hitting the bar, Lampard unable to find his feet with just Robinson to beat and Ashley Cole also coming close. Blackburn also had a couple of attempts on goal, but it’s reasonably fair to say that Cech was rarely troubled. And it was good to see Cech actually favouring the quick throw out rather than the mindless hoof to Drogba. At 1-0 of course, and being a Chelsea fan, you’re always troubled and for me it just seemed to underline the season – apparently we have had more shots than any other team over the campaign. We’ve also converted the fewest in terms of percentages. And as the players went off at half time and Attillio, Tony and myself shared our thoughts over a beer, the sense was one of frustration that we weren’t winning by a country mile. Par for the course these days.

The second half started in much the same way as the first half but it was glaringly obvious that Blackburn were some way below us in terms of tactics and quality. Malouda, Anelka, Lampard and Drogba (now playing wide) seemed to be able to tear through Blackburn with consummate ease. The second goal, was a terrific strike from Anelka who had deserved at least a goal if not more. He was superb wherever he was on the pitch. We continued to have our chances with Blackburn at best mustering the odd half chance. Lampard was guilty of missing arguably the simplest of chances as yet again he seemed to be caught in two minds, on one occasion opting to pass to Anelka when he had a clear shot on goal, and then mystifyingly contriving to miss an open goal through a combination of baby giraffe feet and Chelsea bi-polar syndrome leaving him undecided whether to shoot or try and walk the ball in. All of this happened despite the referee Rob Styles doing a passable impression of a hirsute Tom Henning Ovrebo. On at least three occasions he played an advantage which didn’t come to fruition but didn’t return play to the foul. He booked Bosingwa for diving, which seemed reasonable considering the way he’d been bulldozed off the ball and of course flatly refused any penalty shouts from us.

As the game wore on, Blackburn tired and we knocked the car out of gear and gently cruised towards a routine victory, three points, another clean sheet. Blackburn off to pack their bags, whilst we turn our attention to a tricky or potential dead rubber game against a Sunderland team who may or may not be fighting for survival. Then of course before we can pack the buckets and spades, the hankie hats, roll up our trousers and recline in the deck chair, we have the matter of an FA Cup Final to keep our nerves slightly on edge for just that little longer.

Shine On You Crazy Diamond (Guus Tribute)

Midway through the second half and the Chelsea machine is firmly in cruise control, so the fans turn their attention to some traditional end of season chanting. We had the gallows humour of “We’re staying at home’, the cheeky chirpy Cockney chappy humour of ‘Let’s all laugh at Arsenal’, a few bursts of ‘You can stick Ancelotti up your arse’ but what stood out most of all was the standing chant of ‘We want you to stay, Guus Hiddink, we want you stay’ - Guus responded with a wave and a a bow all around the ground, which just made the singing even more forceful.

There is no doubt that Hiddink has transformed the side from a dispirited and de-motivated rabble under Luiz Felipe ‘Plan A only’ Scolari. We’ve seen Drogba almost back at his former marauding best, Cech has become more reliable (although still needs competition for his place – I hear Ross Turnbull is a target, which would be good) and Malouda has gone from zero to hero in three short months. We’ve looked more solid at the back, more controlled in midfield and more potent up front. All down to Guus. Without his intervention we would have struggled to be in the top four such was the decline in belief and fitness. I still believe we need to remove sentiment and drop some big players from the club, much as Alex Ferguson would do. But if Hiddink were to change his mind, then I would warmly welcome him on board full time. In honour of his Dutch origins, I’d even be prepared to say the word ‘also’ at the end of each sentence. Well done Guus and thanks for restoring the belief in the team and the fans. Whoever takes your place has a tough job living up to you, but you have finally laid the ghost of Mourinho and the new man will at least get the chance to start afresh without the baggage of Mourinho’s success hanging around his neck.

Player Ratings

Petr Cech – 7/10 – Little to do but looked more comfortable today and happily stopped hoofing.
Jose Bosingwa – 7/10 – Solid if a little lackadaisical at times.
Alex – 7.5/10 – Quiet, efficient and frankly worthy of his place. It’s hard to see Carvalho coming back in.
John Terry – 7.5/10 – Such was the dominance at times he found himself in the midst of our attack. Great, as usual.
Ashley Cole – 8/10 – A couple of misplaced passes early on were more than made up for by his invention and tigerish tackling. Linked superbly with Malouda.
John Obi Mikel – 8/10 – Imperious, calm and generally very good. Him and Essien have developed a great rapport.
Michael Essien – 7/10 – Steady and linked with Obi well.
Frank Lampard – 7/10 – Seems to have a combination of bi-polar syndrome and the yips at the moment. Missed three sitters and took a shocker of a free kick. Everything else was fine though.
Florent Malouda – 8.5/10 – The single most improved player in the squad. A superb header for the first goal and hard working everywhere else.
Nicolas Anelka – 9/10 – World class. Great touch and vision, superb assist for first goal and well deserved second. Marvellous.
Didier Drogba – 7/10 – Very quiet by his standards, maybe feeling a bit chastened by recent experiences. Seems happier to rotate between the central striker role and out wide with Anelka.
Overall team performance – 8.5/10 – Professional and occasionally ruthless.

Man of the Match

This was tight between Malouda (again) and Anelka, but in the end with a great goal, assist and general overall contribution I am awarding this to Nicolas Anelka. Hopefully Ferguson will rest The Petulant One next weekend against Hull in anticipation of the Euro-Toss Cup final, and maybe Nico can nip in front with a goal against lowly Sunderland to win The Golden Boot.

What Shall We Use to Fill the Empty Spaces?

And so my friends, that ends my last Premier League review for this season. When we play Sunderland I’ll be on the golf course trying to make up for the dismal display of hacking that saw me roundly beaten 6 & 5 this week. It’s also mine, and many others' last visit to Stamford Bridge for three months, although for me that will actually mean September as I’ll hopefully be sunning myself in the South of France for August in its entirety. I’ll do a post season review as a Chelsea Times Special in a few weeks.

Until then we have an FA Cup Final to occupy us and to close the season down properly. It’s a big chance for us to remember what winning feels like and to give us some hope for a more fruitful season next year. After the final we have weeks of speculation, media bollocks talk and of course the inauguration of a new manager. There’s plenty to keep us going with England World Cup qualifiers in June, plus the usual meaningless pre-season games against Hicksville, USA and whoever else might fancy a gentle run about. But it’s not the same is it? Whilst the Scolari days had some of us pleading for the season to end so we could move on, the post Cup Final weeks will still feel like an enormous void in life has opened up. How will the café survive without its matchday clientele? How will I occupy myself when losing at golf and not being able to check the scores on my phone to divert attention from my utter crapness? The season end might be a relief and a chance to draw breath and plan for the next campaign, but I can guarantee within two weeks I’ll be climbing walls of madness pining for the return of football. I’ve already re-bought the season ticket just to make sure I don’t miss out on the heady mixture of ecstasy and heartbreak that surely accompanies every Chelsea fan the world over.

Yesterday had the feel of a barbecue that had been booked on the rainiest day of the year and in true British style we have the damn thing anyway. It’s OK, but not quite the same as if it was sunny. The sun will shine on us again, we’re too good not be champions again one day. Manchester United say they want a fourth title on the bounce to steal a march on New Leeds, but surely we’ll be a sterner test next year, as will Liverpool and possibly even Arsenal. Next season will really be the time that we need to stand up and be counted again.

Keep the Blue Flag Flying High!

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Reaction: It's not over yet'

Platini, Drogba, the Fourth Estate – just who is the fucking disgrace?

Fri, 15 May 2009 00:11:11 +0100

I often wonder what you can actually see from up on the moral high ground. Asylum seekers eating swans, MP’s rolling around in piles of ill-gotten cash?

Whatever it is, you clearly can’t see a football pitch – that much is evident.

The nation’s hacks, long-time residents in such rarified air, have worked themselves into a frenzy in recent days at the myriad opportunities to lecture and moralise about the behaviour of everyone from The Less Than Honourable Member for Bumfucknowhere to Didier Drogba.

There has never been a better time to be a self-appointed guardian of the common good. Corralling a largely gullible public towards a sense of pre-determined moral outrage is their business, and business is booming.

It’s not that some of the brickbats aren’t justified; throwing a rock in the air and hitting someone dirty these days is easy. But hitting the right target for the right reason is another matter.

On reflection, I have concluded that I’m also pretty pissed off with Messrs Drogba and Ballack for their actions last week. Not because of the way their behaved towards Tom Henning Ovrebo, though.

Unimpressive their conduct may have been, it was understandable. If I’d had a lifelong dream to lift one of football’s biggest prizes, seeing it snatched away by a man whose inadequacies were obvious to all but himself and his masters would have given rise to blood-letting violence, let alone a few barked obscenities.

No, Drogba and Ballack’s biggest crime was to make themselves the centre of attention when the world should have been focused solely on the woefully poor officiating on display that night.

They gave the hacks a convenient escape route; yes lads, unlucky, bad referee and all that, but I have a tired narrative to lead me far away from that point, moralising and prevaricating about your unsporting awfulness, how justice was done because the beautiful game triumphed over anti-football.

The irresistible magnetic pull of sensationalism and self-righteousness certainly has a strange effect on the moral compass of the Fourth Estate. We might also suggest that a black man and a German have received less favourable treatment than others may have done in the circumstances.

Should England fall victim to similarly poor refereeing in South Africa next summer, I’m sure that our laptop wielding friends will be equally even-handed in their criticism of any player who chooses to point out the errors of the officials in no uncertain terms.

We all appreciate that referees have a difficult enough job. Difficult enough without having seen your boss warbling along to the anthem of one of the teams involved, or hearing him profess his lack of enthusiasm for a showpiece final involving two teams of the same nationality.

The gentle art of persuasion has come a long way since the days of George Graham and the brown envelope, but the dark arts of the power of suggestion are no match for human weakness and plain, old-fashioned incompetence.

Both sides created one meaningful chance each away from their home turf over the two legs. One made it count, the other didn’t. Were life that simple, we could all go away and be happy in the knowledge that the best team won, I suppose.

Consider this – it is now almost thirty years since John McEnroe burst onto Centre Court howling like a banshee at umpires for their poor line calls. Part psychological warfare, but part based on the belief that the human eye alone couldn’t cope with the pace of the game. Obnoxious he may have been, but he was also right.

Technology and the authorities took time to catch up, but similar disputes are now almost a thing of the past. The game hasn’t been weakened or devalued. The fallible (positively polite in the case of Tom H.O.) human being has been supplemented with cutting edge gadgetry which generally works well for all concerned. Much the same is true for many other sports.

The technicalities are for another blog, but surely the time has come for similar measures in football? Wouldn’t it be something if the complaints of some hard-done-by footballer actually gave rise to some positive action in this area, rather than just the usual moral brouhaha and ya-boo tribalism?

Which leads me to my final point; what the likes of Platini seem to have forgotten is that despite their own perceived importance, they are simply transient figures in a brilliant, complex game that has existed for more than a century and will continue long after they have departed.

Yes, punish Chelsea, Drogba and Ballack as you see fit – even-handedly, of course: the six month ban suggested by many quarters for Drogba’s finger-pointing outburst seems excessive against the seven month suspension for David Navarro’s violent physical assault on Inter Milan’s Nicolas Burdisso two seasons ago.

But they should remember this – it is their duty to do what is ultimately best for the game and nothing else. Choosing to ignore perfectly legitimate complaints because it suits their own personal narrative to do so, however badly such grievances may have been put across in the heat of the moment, and they do a huge disservice to the game – our game – that they purport to love and protect.

A fucking disgrace, as some might say.