Dave’s Ramblings – Paris Saint-Germain
PSG… the only thing I wanted it to mean tonight was…
Please. Score. Goals.
Not asking for much. Just a tiny, modest request. Three goals. Minimum.
First one? Just to settle the nerves. Second one? To build momentum. Third one? To emotionally reset the entire evening back to 0–0 like Paris never ever happened.
Simple maths really. No big deal. Happens all the time.
So to summarise… All we needed was:
• A miracle
• Another miracle
• And then just one more miracle for good measure
Easy peasy. What could possibly go wrong?
In fairness, we were not helped with an injury list that never seems to get any better. The latest example is having two international right backs, both of whom are unavailable.
Our hopes and dreams lasted a solid 6 minutes… which, coincidentally, is about how long it takes to make a cup of tea and honestly, the tea would’ve put up more resistance.
Sarr generously decided to put up minimal resistance to allow their player a free hit like it was a charity event. Unsurprisingly, he accepted the gift with both hands, probably shouted thank you, and buried it.
15 minutes and they add a second. Now they weren’t just beating us, they were actively assembling the coffin, measuring it, and arguing over what colour lining to use.
To be fair, we didn’t even need to help them with this goal. PSG just casually demonstrated the small detail that they’re a world-class team… and we’re, supposedly, a work in progress.
Just before the hour mark, Rosenior waved the white flag. Off came Enzo, Palmer and Pedro, which felt less like tactical changes and more like thinking of Everton. That’s how far we have fallen.
Two minutes later… 3-0.
Timing so perfect it almost felt scripted. Like we made the subs and PSG took it personally.
That was the cue for a mass Chelsea exodus, Stamford Bridge turning into a fire drill, except everyone knew exactly where the exits were.
Meanwhile, the PSG fans, who’d already been loud all night, cranked it up even more. waving, singing, probably offering directions to Fulham Broadway as our lot disappeared into the night.
Trevoh Chalobah was stretchered off, which meant we had to see the game out with ten men… a situation we’re so familiar with at this point we probably practice it in training.
All jokes aside though, I really hope he’s okay and it’s nothing serious. He’s actually been one of our more consistent defenders this season.
Get well soon, Trevoh. We could really do with at least one defender who remembers what defending is.
78.5% of people know that stats mean absolutely nothing, and are frequently made up.
Yes, we had more shots. Yes, we had more on target. In reality? PSG took one look at the goal and treated it like a buffet. Clinical, ruthless, no messing about.
Meanwhile, we approached finishing like it was a complicated IKEA instruction manual. Lots of effort, plenty of confusion, and somehow we’re left with three screws missing and no end product.
I’m not entirely sure what the correct footballing term is to describe us… but “rubbish” feels like a strong opening bid.
Four years. That’s all it’s taken for these “successful businessmen” to completely dismantle our football club. Impressive, really. Most people need decades to do this much damage. I wouldn’t invest a pound with them… unless I was trying to get rid of it.
My takeaways…
So, our Champions League journey has come to a less than graceful and undignified end… by which I mean we’ve been firmly escorted out of the building.
Unless we suddenly remember how to play football with both competence and consistency (bold strategy, I know), we’ll be waiting at least one more season to qualify for this competition again. Without wishing to sound too negative, the way things are going, next season might not even include European football at any level. Just us and a lot of free time.
For Chelsea, Champions of the World, that’s basically footballing heresy. No Europe means no money, and no money means some very uncomfortable conversations upstairs… probably involving spreadsheets, panic, and someone Googling how to rebuild a squad quickly with bugger all money.
One of our favourite excuses this season, you know the one, “the players are tired.” The poor little dears, absolutely exhausted from all that… light jogging and misplaced passes.
Well, bad news lads that would be an excuse we won’t be able to call upon.
Imagine, no European games, fewer matches, plenty of rest… so when we’re still playing like we’ve just run a marathon in flip-flops, we’ll have to come up with something new.
We shouldn’t be too down about tonight, after all, we lost this tie in Paris last week. This was basically just the extended director’s cut… with extra suffering.
That said, conceding three goals without reply probably isn’t the ideal confidence booster heading into Saturday. There’s clearly a lot of work for Liam to do between now and then.
Let’s be honest, 8-2 on aggregate is less a scoreline and more a cry for help. This against a team that nearly didn’t even make it into this round. We’ve basically done the footballing equivalent of tripping over our own feet… repeatedly… in slow motion… on live TV.
And no doubt this will be labelled another lesson to be learned. At this point, we’ve learnt so many lessons we should be handing out degrees. Honestly, if learning translated into results, we’d be invincible.
Anyway… onwards and upwards. (Said, staring directly at the floor.) UTC 💙
Dave M
