Apparently, Chelsea woke up about the same time I did today. On most days, that would be a good thing, IF we shared the same time zone or postal code, that is. But I live in the 53572 and they live in the SW6. So when I woke up this morning at 6:53AM CST, it was 12:53PM in the SW6 and Chelsea were ambling up the tunnel in their comfy blue pajamas and slippers to start the second half their FA Cup 4th Round Replay with the mighty Brentford Bees.
Maybe the front desk didn’t ring their rooms with a snappy little wakeup call. Or perhaps they’d simply knocked the plastic horned devil off the ‘hook in the middle of the night. Surely they couldn’t have rolled into the rack the same moment I did, could they? I know 5:49 AM is sometimes considered an early night…but here in the 53572 that would be 11:49PM for those you keeping score at home.
So when I ambled into my office here in Mt. Horeb WI USA 53572 at 6:53AM CST in MY comfy pajamas and slippers, hot coffee in hand to fire up my laptop and tune in to the 2nd half, I was rather appalled the scoreline, and thought to myself, “No,.,.,.not AGAIN!” There is hell, after all, and then there is bloody hell.
All the usual problems and issues were still there. Abject finishing, sloppy passing, defensive lapses. The lack of mental toughness needed to cut lesser opponents to the quick. All the inexcusable things we’ve been ranting and raving about. Tactics. Management. My mind wandered off on tangents.
The fiery and all-consuming sex-deaths of Michael Emanelo and Rafa Benitez.
What it might have been like to sit in The Shed End in 1977 listening to “White Riot” by The Clash through an I-Pod that hadn’t even been invented yet. No scratch that. On a cassette player. No…scratch that. On an 8-trak player. Ker-CHUNK!!
“What if,”I wondered, “Andy Warhol was in charge of Chelsea. What would be so different other than the lads would have better and more artisic excuses for not playing well. Lampard or Terry or Torres or Oscar would be riding the bench for artistic reasons, and not footballing reasons.” And then I wondered, “how is THAT any different from what we have now? Considering current gang of nitwits on the Board that are running things, maybe having Andy Warhol and his Warhol Superstars at the helm….. ” And then Mata scored the opening goal at the 55 minute mark. And to be honest, I was so caught in Chelsea’s various problems and dilemmas that I didn’t even, couldn’t even cheer.
Maybe it’s just the nature of club these days that when we win 4-0 I still find reason to complain. But quite frankly when I got up this morning, I was stunned by the 1st half result. And while the final scoreline of 4-0 was nice and I’ll take that any day, Chelsea pursuit of that achievement was less than convincing. With everything at stake for Chelsea for the rest of the season, 4-0 should have been the scoreline at half-time. Chelsea should have hit the Bridge 53 minute before I arose from the slumber with their focking hair on fire. They should have run Brentford out of the gym by halftime and chased all their 6000 fans backup the road to Brentford. They should have made the little girl in the front row at the Shed End who had her face painted in red and white stripes cry. No one likes to make a little girl cry, but they should have made her cry.
I know we got it somewhat together and eked out a 4-0 win. But just by the skin of our teeth. I we play this way next Saturday, Citeh will skin us alive.
It seems that all we can do is hold our breath and wait for Jose Mourinho to save the day. That’s the expectation, the wish,the driving dream, especially among the Rafa Out Brigade® All we need is for Jose Mourinho to take over and all with be right with the world.
But quite honestly, if I were Jose, I would tell Chelsea to sod off.
As I’ve elaborated on, there is no way I would take the job with the management of Chelsea in it’s present state. Emanelo needs to be gone. Buck, Gourlay and the Board need to stick to making prawn sandwiches instead making fuckwit decisions like recommending paying $79 million in cash considerations for Fernandina Torres (sorry, did I misspell that?) which was $40 million cash money too much . Then, and only then, if I were Jose, would I even consider taking the position.
And now there’s a report that Chelsea are set to snub El Special One entirely go after his predecessor at Real Madrid, Manuel Pelligrini (which I always thought was Italian sparkling water, but no, it’s Pelligrino…my bad), or convicted match-fixer Antonio Conté. And this just in, Conte is now being pegged to take over at Real when Mourihno leaves.
So who are we left with, exactly, when no one in their right mind would want to step into this maelstrom at the moment? Rafa would, of course, but I said someone in their right mind.
Who are we left with? Without dredging up the ghosts of the past.
Roberto Freakin’ Mancini….wait, WHAT?? (“This is Roberto Mancini from Chelsea. This is the District line. [sic] The next stop will be Fulham Broadway”)
Bob Bradley? Yes THAT Bob Bradley.
Who in their right mind are we left with??
I don’t know,. You tell me.
As for what do know, I know this. It is almost 12:00 Noon here in the cold and sunny 53572. And it’s time for MY sporting event of the day. Qualifying for pole position and front row for next Sunday’s Daytona 500. I’m going to be walking up my local pub, THE FIREHOUSE very shortly. And by the time I get there, I will be more enthused over Chelsea’s win today than I am at the moment. And if Danica Patrick takes the pole, that would make it a perfect day.