I hereby propose a change to the Rules of Football.
It came to my attention during the match against the destroyers of football, the worst club in the history of the world, the fifteen-year-old pox that is Chelsea Football Club, that those scurrilous blaggards continued to play on despite the very obvious fact that two of our players were having a gentlemanly chat in the centre circle. I mean, the very idea. Whilst not strictly against the letter of the law, and I’m well aware of the need to play to the whistle, but really, this was beyond the pale, and a rule change is needed.
If two chaps, in this instance Kumar and Masterson, are seen to be having a frank exchange of views, then play should be halted as in the children’s game Musical Statues. The referee should carry with him, in addition to his whistle, a crystal port glass and a silver fish knife. Upon seeing the conversation between two teammates begin, he should strike the glass three times with the fish knife and all players on the field should immediately freeze until the chat is over and done with. The referee will then strike the glass agin three times and play will resume. Peradventure this will go some way toward restoring the game’s reputation, which Chelsea have been working so hard to destroy since their formation in 2003.
Yet putting aside Chelsea’s well-earned reputation as the most hated club in the world, the match this week was highly entertaining. Between us there were 33 chances, and only the exemplary glove-butlery of Harry the Helmet and ‘Schnozz’ Courtois ensured that a mere four goals were conceded.
It was most pleasing to see our French midfield dynamo, Monsieur Jacques Wilshére finally looking like la vraie affaire, and indeed he bagged the opener on 63 minutes, ending his 43 (FORTY THREE) game drought. According to our manager, Chelsea’s equaliser came from Chelsea’s 30 goal-per-season machine Anthony Taylor, who doubles up as a referee in his spare time. Taylor scored again whilst in Marcus Alonso ‘cosplay’; cue much rejoicing in the pot-bellied racist end, only for young Harry Bell to crush Chelsea’s souls with a delightful injury time half-volley.
Although another annoying draw is slightly irksome, to lose at home to this despicable gaggle of reprobates, imagine how painful a draw was for them. Mr Conte and his splendid wig are proving to be nothing like as testing as the fearsome, all conquering masterful cheats of the Mourinho era. Conte has only beaten us once in six games since the start of last term. So thank you kindly, you delightful hairpiece.
To Nottingham then, and not by choice (never by choice) for the Football Association Challenge Cup, then the Blue Bastards again on Wednesday next. Let our youth shine, and pray that the referee does not wear blue.