Dave’s Ramblings – Qarabag

November 6, 2025 Admin

Qarabağ haven’t played in their actual hometown for over 30 years – thanks to that long-running neighbourhood disagreement known as the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict. It’s also, apparently, one of the 687 wars Donald Trump proudly claims to have ended – though he’s still a bit hazy on which countries were involved. (“Somewhere near Narnia, probably,” he might say.)

Their cozy home, the Azersun Arena, fits just 5,000 fans – which is adorable for a Champions League side. So, for the big nights under European lights, Qarabağ pack up and head to the far more glamorous-sounding Tofiq Bahramov Republican Stadium – because nothing says continental football prestige like a stadium named after a linesman.

Right, history lesson over. For reasons that even I can’t explain, I’ve just opened the Wetherspoons app to see where the nearest branch is. Apparently, it’s in Lowestoft. Which, according to my phone, is a mere 2,389 miles away.

Now, I’ve had some slow table service in my time, but I can’t imagine even Wetherspoons’ famously patient staff making that trip in under a week. By the time my sticky Korean chicken arrived, it would have been promoted to ancient Korean archaeology.

So, yes – probably best to give that one a miss this week. Though, if they start offering drone delivery, I might reconsider.

Chelsea and Qarabağ went into the game neck-and-neck on points – which, in football terms, means “one misplaced pass away from embarrassment.” On paper, it looked like a potential banana skin. On grass, it turned out to be an entire banana plantation.

In truth, we were lucky to escape with a point. If fortune really does favour the brave, then we must’ve been wearing invisibility cloaks.

The ground conveniently sits right next to Bacu Zoo, making it a truly immersive experience for visitors who enjoy the occasional roar during their walk. To reach it, we passed through – and then around – the zoo grounds. We took a wrong turn and found ourselves in the tiger enclosure. The tigers were thrilled; we were less so. A quick dousing of vinegar (don’t ask why we had it) seemed to discourage their enthusiasm. The hyenas, however, were beside themselves with laughter, and even the parrots spent time heckling us in three different languages. The flamingos merely looked offended, as usual.

Lavia pulled up injured again after just 4 minutes. While I sympathise with him, you have to question the medical team that said it was ok to buy him!

16 minutes in and the wonder that is Estêvão cut inside and finished well to put us one up.

Even at that early stage, and despite being one up, the defence looked about as stable as a deckchair in a hurricane. Hato, in particular, seemed determined to feature prominently – unfortunately for all the wrong reasons. First, on 29 minutes, he was outmuscled by an opponent who smacked a shot off the post, only for the rebound to be volleyed in with unnerving enthusiasm. Ten minutes later, Hato completed the double by handling the ball in the box, gifting them a penalty that was calmly dispatched. Suddenly, we were 2–1 down, and the Qarabağ fans were in full festival mode. You couldn’t blame them – they’d lost every previous match against Premier League opposition, including two against us with an aggregate scoreline of 10–0. For them, this was bordering on historical; for us, it was bordering on humiliation.

We somehow stumbled to half-time without further disaster – a small victory in itself. Then came a triple substitution to start the second half: Enzo, Delap, and Garnacho on for Santos, George, and Gittens. The effect was immediate; suddenly, passes were finding teammates rather than passing pigeons. On 52 minutes, Garnacho cut inside and drilled a shot across the keeper to level the score. For a brief, shimmering moment, hope returned.

Sadly, it was a false dawn – the kind of dawn where the sun comes up, takes one look at the defence, and promptly goes back to bed.

Both sides had chances to win it, right up until added time, when the match teetered delicately between triumph and tragedy. It genuinely could have gone either way — and if they’d nicked it, we could hardly have complained. In truth, I’m not entirely sure we deserved the point we somehow escaped with; it felt less earned and more like something we found lying unattended and decided not to hand back.

Full time finally arrived, and the Baku police decided to keep us penned in for a good twenty minutes. Quite why remains a mystery – we can only assume they were captivated by the irresistible scent of our aftershave. There was certainly no footballing reason to hold us back; we’d suffered enough already.

My takeaways from the game?

Well, for starters, we seem to be collecting player rotations like they’re loyalty points. Seven more changes from the Tottenham game — that’s 85 in just 16 matches. At this rate, even the kit man’s expecting a run-out next week.

Tactically, we looked about as coordinated as a conga line on ice. Slow, sluggish, and somehow both out-thought and out-fought – a real tactical double whammy.

It’s not over yet, of course, but our hopes of an automatic place in the next round look about as healthy as our defensive line after a corner. A play-off seems inevitable – just what we needed when we’re already playing more games than a kids’ birthday party!

It’s disappointing, to say the least, that after a 5,000-mile round trip the team couldn’t quite summon the same passion and enthusiasm shown by the 800 hardy souls in the Chelsea section. You’d think one of them might’ve borrowed a bit of energy from the away fans.

Still, onwards and (hopefully) upwards. Wolves next – new coach, bottom of the league. What could possibly go wrong? (Don’t answer that.)

Dave M