Dave’s Ramblings – Bournemouth

October 10, 2026 Admin

Ordinarily, I’m not a fan of international breaks. In fact, I’d rather spend a weekend having my toenails removed with a rusty pair of pliers than endure another round of UEFA’s latest Mickey Mouse competition, presumably dreamt up by a committee of accountants who realised there was still a few quid left in football that they hadn’t got their grubby little hands on.

Apparently, though, ruining one weekend wasn’t enough this time. Oh no. The powers that be decided we needed THREE BLOODY WEEKS without proper football. Three weeks! You can get married, go on honeymoon, get divorced and start arguing over who keeps the dog in less time than that.

And the timing couldn’t have been worse. Our last outing was that absolute horror show at Brentford, a performance so dreadful it should have come with a government health warning and the Samaritans’ telephone number printed on the back of the ticket. Normally, after a result like that, you want the next game to come around quickly so you can put things right. Instead, we’ve had 21 days to sit around, stew over it and contemplate whether taking up competitive knitting might be less stressful.

Still, every cloud and all that. The one possible upside is that some of our walking wounded might finally have been patched up, wheeled out of the treatment room and declared fit for human consumption.

In particular, Moisés Caicedo. Christ almighty, how much have we missed him this season?! We’ve been crying out for someone in midfield who can tackle, intercept, break up attacks and generally stop the opposition strolling through us like pensioners wandering around a garden centre on a Sunday afternoon.

Today he was back, fit and firing. It almost felt like Christmas had come early.

This match eventually turned into an absolute romp, although the gulf between the two sides wasn’t quite as enormous as the scoreline suggested. Bournemouth weren’t necessarily that bad; they just appeared to have turned up with a defensive strategy devised by a committee of drunken traffic cones.

It took us all of two minutes to open the scoring. Henderson, clearly unimpressed by the idea of easing himself into the game, curled our first effort in off the inside of the post. One shot, one goal. Lovely.

Just 84 seconds later, we doubled our lead. Henderson played in Rogers, whose cross-shot was helpfully flicked over Petrovic by one of Bournemouth’s own defenders. A lovely finish, although I’m not entirely sure the poor bloke will be claiming the assist. At this rate, Bournemouth were contributing more to our attack than some of our own players.

To their credit, Bournemouth eventually remembered they were supposed to be playing football rather than auditioning for a Christmas bloopers DVD. They actually created several decent chances and could easily have scored before half-time.

Unfortunately for them, they couldn’t finish their dinner if you handed them a knife, fork and a waiter. And, as they were about to discover, missed chances have a nasty habit of coming back to bite you on the backside.

The second half started at a disappointingly pedestrian pace. We had to endure a whole thirty seconds before Pedro decided enough was enough and smashed the ball into the top corner. This, after Neto had reacted brilliantly to, yet another Bournemouth defensive cock-up. By this stage, their back four were making the Chuckle Brothers look like a well-drilled military operation. To me, to you, to Pedro. Goal.

Bournemouth did eventually pull one back, although it wasn’t exactly a classic. Caicedo attempted a perfectly innocent clearance, only for the ball to smack into Evanilson and ricochet into the net. The poor bloke probably knew less about it than someone sitting in the upper tier. Still, they all count at the end of the day.

Now, I don’t want to sound like Victor Meldrew after discovering someone’s parked across his driveway, nicked his wheelie bin and cancelled his television licence, but WOULD IT REALLY BE TOO MUCH TO ASK FOR A BLOODY CLEAN SHEET?! Just one. A single, solitary ninety minutes without us gifting the opposition a goal. I’m not asking for world peace, a winning lottery ticket or Tottenham to win a trophy. Actually, scrub that last one. Some things really are impossible.

Anyway, back to the football.

Pedro added a fourth, tapping home a beautiful cross from Chavarria. Then, just minutes later, Henderson stepped up to take a free-kick from twenty-five yards. At thirty-six years of age, you’d have thought he’d be contemplating a nice cup of Horlicks, a comfortable pair of slippers and whether his pension contributions were up to date. Instead, he casually curled the ball into the net to complete the scoring.

Five goals. Job done. Thank you very much.

Here’s a statistic to make you choke on your post match pie. At thirty-six, Henderson has already scored more Premier League goals for Chelsea than a certain Liam Delap. One of them is approaching forty. The other is approaching a strongly worded letter from Trading Standards.

My takeaways…

As I said earlier, the international break couldn’t have come at a worse time following that absolute horror show at Brentford. Three weeks to sit around contemplating what went wrong. Three weeks of international football, meaningless friendlies and UEFA inventing competitions that nobody asked for. It was enough to make you consider taking up gardening. Or worse, watching Tottenham.

Thankfully, any pre-match nerves were put to bed quicker than a pensioner after Songs of Praise when Henderson opened the scoring. From that moment onwards, it was mostly party time. Our ability to attack and score goals is there for everyone to see. Well, apart from Brentford, where we left our shooting boots on the team coach, along with our dignity.

In fact, we currently have two of the Premier League’s top three goalscorers. TWO! Not bad for a club that occasionally looks as though it couldn’t defend a one-goal lead against a team of blindfolded pensioners. The clean sheets will come, of that I’m absolutely convinced. Hopefully, before I need a stairlift. In the meantime, I’m absolutely loving this exciting, attacking brand of football. Goals, entertainment, drama and the occasional defensive catastrophe to keep the cardiologists in business. What’s not to love?

Having Jordan and Moisés together in the middle of the park demonstrated exactly what we’ve been missing. Suddenly, we had control, energy, creativity and players who appeared to know which team they were supposed to pass to. It was a revelation. I’m even beginning to wonder whether that three-week international break wasn’t such a bad thing after all. That’s the sort of dangerous thinking that leads to buying half-and-half scarves and applauding goal music!

There’s no doubt we’ve got some wonderfully talented individuals at Chelsea. They all bring something different to the party. Some bring the champagne, some bring the entertainment and occasionally, one or two bring a defensive howler that makes you wonder whether they’ve been drinking the champagne since breakfast.

For me, Moisés Caicedo is absolutely fundamental to this team. He’s the engine, the heartbeat, the bloke who tidies up everyone else’s mess. Without him, our midfield can resemble a supermarket trolley with three wheels, careering around the car park with absolutely nobody in control. With him, everything suddenly starts making sense. He’s the sort of player you don’t fully appreciate until he’s missing. A bit like the toilet roll when you’ve already sat down.

Finally, what wonderful news that Cole Palmer has signed a new contract. Even better, he’s back playing football with that cheeky smile on his face. When Cole’s smiling, opposition defenders should start worrying. When he’s enjoying himself, they’re generally having a thoroughly miserable afternoon. He’s like a mischievous schoolboy who knows exactly what he’s going to do, knows you can’t stop him and finds the whole thing absolutely hilarious. Long may it continue.

So, Everton next week. A chance to put right that absolute shocker from last season and hopefully continue this wonderful run of attacking football.

We’re scoring goals for fun, Moisés is back, Cole is smiling, Henderson is apparently ageing backwards and I’m beginning to feel dangerously optimistic. What could possibly go wrong?!

UTC 💙

Dave