Dave’s Ramblings – Manchester City
My guess is that this game, more than any other, is going to split opinions harder than a family WhatsApp group at Christmas. So here are my completely unbiased, definitely rational two pence worth.
We set up to frustrate City and, to be fair, it actually worked. For long stretches, they looked about as comfortable as someone trying to parallel park a Lamborghini outside Aldi. Apart from the moment when Semenyo (a man born in Chelsea, because apparently fate has a sense of humour) decided to turn into prime Messi for a few seconds and produced a bit of magic.
The problem with setting up not to concede is that eventually you also have to remember the “football” part of football. One shot on target all game, suggests our attacking plan was roughly: “vibes, prayers, and see what João Pedro can do.”
And fair play to João Pedro, the poor bloke was basically fighting City’s entire defence like the last survivor in a zombie film. He caused them genuine problems, carried the attack on his back, and probably covered enough ground to qualify for a London Marathon medal. Sadly, goals were not included in the package.
As for the penalties, I don’t think there were any absolute stonewall shouts. There were definitely a couple of those “seen ’em given” moments. The kind VAR usually spends six minutes zooming into from fourteen different angles while the ref stares dramatically at a monitor like he’s defusing a bomb.
What I will say with confidence, is that the referee treated every 50/50 decision like he’d accidentally left his City shirt underneath the official’s kit.
In truth, this supposedly showpiece event turned out to be about as entertaining as watching someone assemble IKEA furniture in silence. Wembley was full, the cameras were rolling, the nation was watching… and both teams responded by producing 72 minutes of football terrorism before Semenyo finally broke the deadlock.
For a brief spell in the second half though, we actually unsettled City. There was a genuine sense that we might once again, perform our traditional act of rescuing an absolute car-crash season by somehow stumbling into a trophy. It’s basically become our version of finding £20 in an old coat pocket. Confusing, unexpected, but strangely comforting.
Sadly, it was not to be. Our tactics were excellent at stopping City, but slightly less effective at the radical concept of scoring a goal ourselves. We defended like our lives depended on it, then attacked like a group of strangers who’d met in the car park ten minutes before kick-off.
That ultimately left us vulnerable to exactly the sort of moment Semenyo produced.
My Takeaways…
Realistically, and to be painfully honest, winning the FA Cup was probably our only route into Europe next season. Which means that, barring a miracle, this will be only the third time in almost 30 years we haven’t qualified for some form of European competition. UEFA are probably filing a missing persons report as we speak.
And truthfully, that just further highlights the astonishing ineptitude of some of the recruitment and decision-making from the owners. Because, it takes a special level of talent to spend that much money, and somehow build a squad that can simultaneously look capable of beating anyone and also incapable of completing a five-yard pass under no pressure.
This season has shown that, in a one-off game, we can still compete with anyone. Which is lovely and all… but it also raises the terrifying possibility that we’re becoming a cup team again. The footballing equivalent of that mate who’s brilliant at karaoke once every six months, and completely useless the rest of the year.
Because the reality is, we are absolutely miles off the likes of Arsenal and City. Right now, comparing us to them feels a bit like entering a Ford Fiesta into Formula 1 and hoping for good vibes.
So our only real hope is that the appointment of Xabi Alonso delivers something special. And to be fair, I’m more optimistic about this appointment than I’ve been about anything at the club for quite a while. Which admittedly is a low bar, considering recent decisions have often felt like they were made by spinning a wheel at a corporate retreat.
Whether Alonso actually succeeds is another matter entirely. Chelsea has become the managerial equivalent of a haunted house: every new arrival walks in smiling confidently and a few months later looks like they’ve aged twelve years and started talking to themselves.
Maybe I’m overthinking it, but I did notice Chelsea have apparently given Alonso the title of manager rather than coach. And honestly, that might be the biggest sign yet that the club has finally realised the flaw in “the process.” The flaw being that the process was absolute rubbish.
Turns out treating a football club like a hedge fund run by Football Manager addicts wasn’t the tactical masterstroke they thought it was. Who could possibly have predicted that buying 47 left wingers under the age of 22 and handing them all eight-year contracts might cause such issues?
Two games left, two wins, and who knows? Maybe next season we won’t be spending our Thursday evenings staring blankly into the void wondering where our lives went wrong. European football is still technically alive. Hanging on like a drunk bloke clinging to a kebab at 2am, but alive nonetheless.
And perhaps most beautifully of all, we still have a chance to send the Hotspurts of Tottingham crashing down to the Championship. Which, frankly, would be one of the funniest things English football has ever produced.
Imagine it. Spurs away on a cold and wet Tuesday night in Lincoln. Maddison trying roulettes in midfield while a bloke named Gary from Scunthorpe two-foots him into next week. Solanki wondering why the away dressing room smells faintly of damp carpet and regret. Whilst their owners sit there calculating how many cheese boards they have to sell to balance the books.
Honestly, Tottenham in the Championship would be absolute cinema.
They’d spend the whole season insisting they’re “too big for this league” while drawing 1-1 away at Lincoln City after conceding from a long throw launched directly from the M25.
Onwards and upwards. UTC 💙
Dave M
‘Chelsea Supporters Group’ can also be found on X and Facebook and Bluesky
