Dave’s Ramblings – Sunderland
Walking across the new bridge to the Stadium of Light, it was hard to believe that a draw might be enough to secure European football. Of course, we needed a few results to go our way and, most importantly, for Chelsea to turn up and actually perform like a professional football team for once.
What could possibly go wrong?
Well, as it happens, quite a lot.
The main difference between the two teams was effort. Sunderland players were like Duracell bunnies. Relentless, fully charged, and somehow still sprinting in the 100th minute. Ours looked like they were running on Aldi batteries bought in 2007, found at the back of a kitchen drawer next to an old takeaway menu and a dead remote control. By the second half, half our team had less energy than a smoke alarm chirping at 3am.
You’d be hard pressed to name half the players in the Sunderland team. Honestly, some of them sounded less like footballers and more like lads who’d turned up to fix your boiler between shifts at Screwfix. But, they proved that with decent coaching, organisation, and a bit of passion, anything is possible. Meanwhile, our lot played like they’d only just met each other in the queue for the pie stand five minutes before kick-off.
The goals? Oh, they were absolute works of art… if you enjoy watching defensive disasters.
A first-time volley from a defender caught Sánchez so off guard he reacted like someone had just thrown a toaster at him in the bath.
In the second half, Gusto kindly decided Sunderland deserved more joy this season and lovingly turned Brobbey’s wayward shot into his own net. It was less own goal and more community outreach programme.
Cole Palmer did pull one back with a long-range effort that their keeper will still be waking up sweating about at 3am. The ball moved so slowly you could practically hear it saying “excuse me mate, just squeezing past here.” Yet somehow it still ended up in the net. A goalkeeping moment so bad it should come with a free apology letter to the defence.
We made it even easier for the home side when Fofana decided subtlety was overrated and picked up two yellow cards in quick succession in the second half.
The first one was clumsy. The second looked like he simply remembered he’d left the oven on and needed an early shower.
That dismissal gave us our EIGHTH red card of the league season. That’s twice as many as anyone else. At times it feels we aren’t so much a football team, more a live-action anger management course. Referees see us coming out of the tunnel and start warming up their card wrists like darts players before a tournament.
It’s the club’s highest ever number of red cards in a single Premier League campaign, which is quite an achievement considering some of the absolute lunatics we have employed over the years. You almost have to admire the commitment to chaos.
We probably looked better with ten men, which is never the glowing compliment it sounds like. In fact, losing a player seemed to confuse the lads into accidentally showing some urgency. Suddenly, there was pressing, running, and actual effort. It was as if someone had finally told the players that the season ended today and not sometime in mid-July.
Still, Sunderland deservedly held on and qualified for Europe for only the second time in their history. Fair play to them. Their fans were bouncing, the players were collapsing in exhaustion. Somewhere in Wearside a bloke called Gaz has probably already booked flights to somewhere he can’t pronounce, for a Thursday night Conference League qualifier against FC Tractor Repairmen of Moldova.
My takeaways…
A shocking season ended exactly the way we’ve all sadly become accustomed to: outplayed, outfought, and outperformed by a team we should realistically be dominating, considering we’ve spent enough money to rebuild several small countries.
Xabi Alonso is either incredibly brave or in desperate need of professional help for wanting to take on this squad. There’s talent in there somewhere, but at the moment it’s buried deeper than the club’s transfer strategy.
It has to start with a massive clear-out. The worrying thing is, in many cases, I’m not sure who’d actually want these players, let alone pay actual money for them. We might have to start offering “buy one, get one free” deals and a complimentary parking voucher just to shift some contracts.
Top of the “bugger off immediately” list has to be Wesley Fofana. His off-field arrogance has now fully transferred onto the pitch, where he defends with all the composure of a man trying to fight a wasp in a phone box. Every week there’s either a mistake, a booking, a red card, or all three if he’s feeling ambitious.
The problem is, it’s not just one or two players. It’s a queue. A very long queue. At this rate, the club shop might need to start selling farewell cards in bulk.
I’m expecting the season ticket prices to be announced in the next day or two, and after the absolute psychological warfare we’ve all endured this season, the very least the club could do is freeze the prices. Ideally, they’d also include a free therapist, a stress ball, and complimentary blood pressure checks on entry.
Still, who knows what they’ll do. This is Chelsea after all, a club that currently treats sensible decision-making like it’s an optional side quest.
But there is one thing I can say with absolute certainty: come the 22nd of August, I’ll be there along with thousands of other idiots — sorry, loyal supporters — shouting for the Blues all over again. Because that’s football fandom in a nutshell: spending nine months being emotionally battered every weekend, only to convince yourself over the summer that “this time it’ll be different.”
And honestly… next season couldn’t possibly be as painful as this one.
Which, in classic Chelsea fashion, probably guarantees it somehow will be.
Onwards and upwards. UTC 💙
Dave M
Thanks Dave for keeping all amused during what has been a very dismal season. Your ‘Ramblings’ have brightened each good (not that many!) and bad (quite a lot!) results and performances. Already looking forward to more of the same next season – Ed
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