Dave’s Ramblings – Cardiff City

One thing’s for sure: Cardiff fans don’t check the league table to see how many points they’ve got. They check it to find out who they’re arguing with this week, the ref, the opposition, the EFL or just fate itself. 

 

In fairness to them, Cardiff have actually been having a good season. They currently sit top of League One, which, depending on who you ask, is roughly the same standard as the Scottish Premier League.  🤪

 

Before we had even crossed the border, we already know there would be a stack of changes to the team. Not just a light shuffle either, more like a full IKEA flat-pack rebuild. How well they’ll gel, what formation we’re actually playing, and whether anyone on the pitch understands it are questions best answered sometime around the 70th minute… if at all.

 

Cup football. Rotation. Confusion. Absolutely nailed on.

 

What we do know is that a win would take us through to the semi-finals. That’s not to be sneezed at, even if you’re battling a heavy cold, hay fever, or a very unfortunate allergy to sheep. Big prize. Big night. 

 

As I just said, we knew there’d be changes, change is the one constant at Chelsea. But 11? The entire team? Maresca wasn’t picking a lineup, he was rebooting the club. Apparently he was in tears before kick-off because there was literally no one left to rotate… not even the mascot was safe.

 

The game? Cardiff actually attempted to play football, which immediately set them apart from most of League One. It’s less shocking when you remember their manager comes from the Pep Guardiola school, although this is more Pep after a budget cut.

 

The first half was an absolute non-event, the footballing equivalent of waiting for a bus that never comes. Maresca, still furious that the laws of the game restricted him to just 11 changes, made two more at halftime and, astonishingly, the team showed signs of life shortly afterwards.

 

Garnacho, one of the subs, pounced on a Cardiff mistake to put us 1–0 up. Cue celebrations and immediate visions of a semi-final against slightly better opposition. Or even Arsenal 😂 But this is Chelsea. Naturally, we then allowed an equaliser via a completely unchallenged header and, as if by magic, Cardiff discovered a level of passion that had been missing for the previous 75 minutes. Even their fans woke up and started to get behind them.

 

I won’t pretend otherwise, the next five or six minutes were uncomfortable. Had they scored, we’d have been heading home in a mood usually reserved for delayed trains and international breaks. Thankfully, Pedro Neto restored our lead with a shot that took a deflection on the way in, proving once again that accuracy is optional if fate is on your side. Garnacho then wrapped things up in added time, allowing us to finally relax and pretend the whole evening had been under control all along.

 

We were through, and now have a two legged semi to look forward to in the new year.  Maresca, who changed the team bus three times on the way back, went to bed happy and loving the squad.

 

My takeaways…

 

Like the rest of the known world, and several dogs, I’ve absolutely no idea what Maresca was complaining about after the Everton match, or what he thought he was going to achieve by speaking out as he did. Maybe it’s the owners. Maybe the sporting directors. Maybe the fans. Or maybe it’s something more personal. The paperboy. The milkman. A barista who spelled his name wrong once.

 

Personally, I’ve got no real issue with him. He seems a decent enough bloke and, to be fair, clearly knows his way around a one-off occasion, PSG, Arsenal and Barca spring to mind. If he could just stop the constant urge to reinvent the defence like it’s a school science project, I’m convinced most of his critics would fall head over heels for him.

 

Unless, of course, the problem really is the milkman, and Maresca simply cannot forgive a man who insists on semi-skimmed.

 

For everyone screaming for his head on a spike… quick question: and then what?

 

Our entire business model is basically Buy player → polish player → sell player → repeat. It’s a conveyor belt. A very expensive one, but a conveyor belt all the same.

 

So who would exactly be lining up to take over? Knowing they’ll have zero input on who’s next to be coming down the belt? Sometimes it’s better the devil you know.

 

Will we make the final? Who knows. What does matter is that we go into the new year still in all competitions. That’s not something to be complained about.

 

Dave M

 

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