Dave’s Ramblings – Arsenal

December 1, 2025 Admin

Our glorious tumble from regular title contenders (and winners obviously) to occasionally remembering how to kick a football, can probably be traced back to the Covid era.

Not because the virus itself tackled our midfield, but because that’s when government genius-level meddling led to Roman being dramatically booted out of the club he basically built brick by brick.

The one silver lining in that whole circus? Arsenal still couldn’t win the league to save their lives. Whether it was City or Liverpool, there was always someone ready to swoop in and snatch their joy like a seagull stealing chips on Brighton pier. And honestly? Watching their often arrogant and self entitled supporters dissolve into puddles of salty tears… well I’ve smiled. A lot.

But now? Suddenly there’s no superhero elsewhere to swoop in and save the day. If we want to see Arsenal fans sheepishly renewing their bulk-buy tissue subscription at Tesco, then it’s up to us to march in, slap the counter, and deliver a firm, echoing “NO”—the kind of ‘no’ that rattles the tins of baked beans three aisles over.

This game was our big chance to prove we were actually ready, and vaguely capable, of stepping up to that massive challenge, instead of tripping over it like a toddler chasing a balloon. And we did exactly that!

I’m not a conspiracy theorist, but when I heard Anthony Taylor was the referee, I got a little nervous. I’m not saying he’s short, but let’s put it this way, Noddy keeps him on his dashboard as a good-luck charm whenever he’s not busy sending off Chelsea players!

Today he tried to overcome his little-man syndrome by booking three players in the first 15 minutes, I’ve seen toddlers with sticker books show more restraint. In his desperate attempt to look like the alpha male, he managed to make the match harder for himself than doing a sudoku puzzle printed on a trampoline.

And for what? It wasn’t even a dirty game! There was time-wasting on both sides and enough diving to make you wonder if someone had swapped the match ball for a gold medal.

The Arsenal players in particular were going down so often you’d think they’d turned up wearing roller skates, banana peel, or possibly both. Some of them were collapsing just because a Chelsea player thought about getting near them. I tell you I’ve seen fainting goats hold their ground better!

We started Estêvão, good move, and left Palmer on the bench. Also a good move as I think Estêvão is probably a bit lightweight for Leeds on Wednesday. That’s much more Cole’s cup of tea.

The game started off pretty even, though Chelsea definitely had the edge and the longer it went on, the more it looked like Arsenal were hanging on with the enthusiasm of someone clinging to the last phone charger in an airport lounge.

Then came the big moment. In the 38th minute, Moisés got sent off after a VAR review for a tackle that connected with Merino’s shin. Though judging by the reaction, you’d think he’d taken a chainsaw to it. Suddenly we’re down to ten men again. That’s our seventh red card of the season, which at this point feels less like a statistic and more like a lifestyle choice.

Well, that was it then. There was no chance we were surviving an entire hour with ten men, absolutely none. Miracles happen, yes, but usually not to us.

And yet… we somehow staggered into half-time still alive. I was fully expecting Maresca to stroll out after the break and make some wonderfully daft substitutions. You know, the kind that make you wonder if he’s doing a secret internship in chaos theory. But he didn’t. And, against all known laws of Chelsea-related physics… it wasn’t a disaster.

Then, with only ten men and roughly half a functioning pulse, we actually took the lead. Trevoh Chalobah rose like a man who’d just remembered he left the oven on, flicked a header from the corner, and sent it looping over Raya who watched it float in with the excitement of someone watching their bus pull away without them. Cue mad celebrations.

Naturally, because the universe hates us, Arsenal equalised 11 minutes later. Merino popped up at the back post to nod in Saka’s cross. About the only time he got away from Cucu all night. And just like that, parity was restored. I wrote down one word in my notebook. “Bugger”.

Despite being a man down, we created the best chances to win the game. Neto, Delap and Wesley Fofana all took turns to threaten Arsenal’s goal like they were auditioning for a highlight reel no one warned the gooners about.

It really did make you wonder: what on earth would’ve happened if we’d actually kept eleven players on the pitch? As it was Arsenal were filing a missing persons report for their midfield.

And the best part? Their fans celebrated at full-time like they’d just clinched the treble, cured world hunger and found Lord Lucan all in one afternoon. If that doesn’t show how close we are to becoming a major force again, nothing will.

My takeaways from the game…

There were so many outstanding performances in this game it would genuinely be unfair to single anyone out. But I’m going to anyway, because it’s my write-up and fairness has left the stadium.

Robert Sánchez, yes, the same Robert Sánchez who usually has us aging in dog years, was excellent. Genuinely excellent. I can’t recall a single moment where he made me panic, which is totally unsettling. I’m used to at least one moment per match where I reconsider my life choices, but today? Nothing.

Then there’s Trevoh Chalobah. Last season the club decided it would be a great idea to sell him. Hilarious, crazy times. He’s spent every game since quietly proving that would’ve been as sensible as auctioning off the stadium roof. Another top performance, rounded off with a header so glorious it should be framed.

I could go through the entire squad, one by one, handing out compliments like a delirious postman… But no. Because we need to talk about the undisputed star of the show. Reece James.

We all remember how unbelievable Reece used to be before injury after injury, one setback after another, seemingly took him from us. Yet here he was, playing in a position that isn’t even his and delivering what might genuinely be the best performance of his Chelsea career. I don’t know what’s around the corner for him. More brilliance? A surprise plot twist? A sudden need to play goalkeeper next week? Who knows. But what I do know is this. Today, Reece James reminded us exactly who he is. And it was glorious.

And finally, Enzo Maresca.

I’ve given him more than a little stick since he first walked through the door. In fact, at times I’ve given him so much grief that if he’d billed me for emotional damages, I’d currently be hiding under a table. And let’s be honest, I’ll probably give him more in the future. I’m only human. And also a blues fan, which is basically the same thing.

But credit where it’s due, he is starting to get the big calls right. Not accidentally, not by fluke, not by spinning a tactical wheel and hoping it lands on vaguely sensible. No, he’s actually showing consistency. Real, visible, measurable consistency.

And even more shocking… there’s a plan. An actual plan! At Chelsea! I almost fainted just writing that!!.

Of course, this is Chelsea we’re talking about, so the wheels might fly off, bounce down the motorway, and roll into the North Sea by Wednesday when we head to dirty Leeds. Anything is possible.

But right here, right now, Maresca looks genuinely on track to bring the good times back to the club we all love (and regularly shout at).

For the moment at least, long may the madness continue. And for any gooner reading this… ten men! We only had ten men!

Dave M