Dave’s Ramblings – Nottingham Forest
Today we were up against the Forest of Nottingham’s reserves. Basically, the football equivalent of someone showing up in sliders because they’ve got a wedding in two days. Big game in 48 hours, so naturally, we expected to run them ragged.
However… this is Chelsea.
I thought Brighton was rock bottom. Like, “delete the group chat and start a new life” levels of bad. Turns out, that was just a warm-up act. Today’s performance? Not only did we match it, we looked at Brighton, nodded respectfully, and said, “Yeah, we can absolutely make this worse.”
Forest needed about two minutes to score. Roughly the time it takes to sit down, get comfortable, and realise you’ve made a terrible decision by going to the game.
Awoniyi was left so unmarked he could’ve checked his emails, made a cup of tea, and still had time to head it in. Robin Hood turned Cucurella inside out like he was looking for loose change, before casually floating in a cross that basically came with a handwritten invitation: “Dear Taiwo, whenever you’re ready.”
The same Forest duo linked up again in the 15th minute. At this point less of a partnership, more of a fully operational business. “Awoniyi & Co: Goals while you wait.”
This time, Awoniyi was hauled down in the box by Gusto, who defended like someone trying to hug a mate goodbye at a train station. Unnecessary, emotional, and absolutely mistimed. Up steps Jesus for the penalty… straight down the middle. No fuss, no drama, just Sánchez politely diving out of the way.
For a team that hasn’t scored in the league for what feels like several geological eras, this wasn’t exactly encouraging. One goal? That ship had sailed, docked, and been turned into a museum. We now needed two just to scrape a draw. Basically asking a group that can’t find the net to suddenly start a goal-scoring podcast.
At that moment, I glanced up at the scoreboard… and honestly, it felt less like checking a match and more like checking your bank balance after a questionable night out. How have we managed to fall this far as a club?
We did hit the post, which briefly lifted everyone’s spirits. Mainly because it proved we still remembered where the goal was. That optimism lasted right up until we were given what can only be described as a, “you’ve seen them given” penalty.
Poor Jesse Derry, making his first start, then had a proper welcome to first-team football moment, with a heavy collision with Zach Abbott. A six-minute stoppage later, both had to come off. I really hope they’re both ok, especially Derry who actually looked like he might make something happen.
Apparently, Liam Delap replaced Jesse… although “replaced” might be generous. It was more like one player left the pitch and then… nothing happened. If you didn’t see the board being raised, you’d assume we’d just decided to play a man down for the craic of it.
Up stepped Cole Palmer to take the penalty. Usually ice-cold, this time it was more… lukewarm tea. Weak by his standards, and comfortably saved by the Forest keeper, who probably thanked him afterwards for the gentle warm-up.
It was good to see Levi Colwill make his return from injury at the start of the second half. A nice little boost, a bit of optimism, spirits lifted… lovely stuff. Seven minutes later, it was 3–0. Awoniyi tapped in a low cross from Gibbs-White like it was a casual training drill, and just like that, the good vibes packed their bags and left, followed by a lot of fans. I can’t blame them really. They’d seen enough… arguably too much.
Morgan Gibbs-White wasn’t done causing chaos. He clattered into Robert Sánchez in another heavy collision, leaving both of them looking like extras from a low-budget boxing film, heads bandaged and probably wondering what sport they’d signed up for.
Then, just to really twist the knife, João Pedro had a goal ruled out for offside. But in stoppage time, he decided that subtlety was overrated and produced an absolutely outrageous overhead kick. A goal so good it almost made you forget we hadn’t scored in the league for over 550 minutes… stretching all the way back to early March. Five. Hundred. And. Fifty. Plus. Minutes. At that point, even the ball looked surprised to end up in the net.
My takeaways…
It’s hard to comprehend that 10 months ago, we were taking PSG to the cleaners. Now, it looks like we have put ourselves through the wash instead. The fact is there is no connection between the players and the staff. And absolutely none between the players and us fans… Honestly, the only thing linking anyone right now is the WiFi password.
I have no idea what’s happened to these players. The price tags said luxury, but what we’ve got is more budget airline with no legroom and a delayed departure.
They might not be as good as advertised, that happens, but the real crime is the effort. Or complete lack of it. Everything about this performance can be summed up in one word: out. Outplayed, outfought, outrun… and, at this rate, hopefully on their way out the door too.
Because right now, some of them are playing like they’ve already mentally transferred themselves elsewhere. The only problem is… based on this, I’m not entirely sure where “elsewhere” is supposed to be.
The owners have all but destroyed this football club. Not in a dramatic, Hollywood explosion kind of way. More like slowly unplugging life support while insisting everything’s part of the long-term project.
I genuinely don’t know where we go from here. European football? At this rate, we’ll be lucky to qualify for a five-a-side tournament behind the local leisure centre.
You can see Spurs beating us to stay up, and then another inevitable Wembley thrashing lined up like it’s part of the season ticket package. It all sounds pessimistic and dramatic… but also, annoyingly, accurate.
I’d love someone to offer a different vision. Something inspiring, something hopeful, anything really. Because right now, the only clear plan seems to be: spend loads, play badly, and somehow get worse.
Onwards and possibly upwards? UTC 💙
Dave M
‘Chelsea Supporters Group’ can also be found on X and Facebook and Bluesky
