CHELSEA 0-1 Newcastle
Well, wasn’t that a performance for the ages!
At long last, Newcastle managed to break their 14-year losing streak at
Stamford Bridge in the Premier League, and all it took was Chelsea turning in a
masterclass of how not to bother playing football. If there were medals for
creative inactivity, we’d have swept the podium.
Rosenior assures us it’s “a new way of
pressing”. Apparently, we’re pioneering a system where every error is a
guaranteed goal – revolutionary! But wait, there’s more – after lamenting
Newcastle’s defending, Rosenior directs his energy to the referee, whose crime
was invading the ridiculous American-style huddle. Clearly, priorities are in
order: if you can’t defend, at least critique the choreography.
My prediction? Newcastle would stroll in with
the red carpet rolled out, and sure enough, our defenders guided them to goal
like a luxury cruise docking at Southampton. Fofana seemed more like he was wading
through treacle than actually defending and the only thing slower than our back
line is VAR looking for reasons to give decisions in Arsenal’s favour this
season. The lethargy was palpable. Like nobody on the pitch knew what they were
doing and those off it had even less of a clue.
Rosenior is a shining example: one day Reece James is the world’s finest right-back, and the next he’s played in midfield while Gusto (who isn’t the world’s finest right back) takes his position and Santos keeps the bench warm. It’s like we let a competition winner have a crack at management. He bought a ticket for a grand day out, and now he’s accidentally managing a Premier League side. The honeymoon period? Long gone. Stamford Bridge is now a charity event for visiting teams – they leave with more than they arrived with.
The “project” seems glaringly “f*cking obvious”
only to those collecting a wage for reciting the PR script. Four years on, the
rest of us are still squinting, still waiting. We used to win trophies – now we
couldn’t win a debate at a family dinner, and our players love a row so much
they collect red cards like souvenirs.
Like him or not, Pedro
Neto would have given us more to play with yesterday but he seems to have
received special treatment from the FA with an additional ban to the one he’d
already served. And wrestling with a ball boy wasn’t his finest hour either,
but it’s the sort of energy we were woefully lacking yesterday.
No solid centre-back partnership, no keeper
who’d make the cut above League One, and our number 9 is better suited to
Sunday league on Hackney Marshes. The Sporting Directors? Still trying to spot
what a footballer actually looks like. What we really need is less pre-match
circus, more actual football, and a moment of clarity for our decision-makers:
playing out from the back only works if you’ve got the players for it – which
we most certainly do not.
As for the post-match press conference, Rosenior deserves a gag order. All this talk about ‘respecting the ball’ is laughable when it’s clear there’s no respect for the club, the fans, or the game. The owners’ arrogance is remarkable – so out of their depth, they’re in danger of finding Nemo. Whatever they think they’re doing, it’s never been “f*cking obvious”, isn’t “f*cking obvious” now, and won’t be “f*cking obvious” any time soon. In fact, the only thing that is “f*cking obvious” is that Blue co and their merry band of hangers-on are the last thing Chelsea needs, and the absolute last thing we want.
