And so to the Soviet Capitalist Republic of Stamford Bridge’s FC Chelsea 2003. Not only English football’s second newest club, having formed in 2003, but also its second richest. The richest of course is the Abu Dhabi Vulgarians, known by their nickname ‘Manchester City’. More of them anon.
You have to hand it to Chelsea. No, I don’t mean the polonium, or the sawn-off shotgun, or the hari-kiri sword, or the kool-aid, as much pleasure as a mass doing-themselves-in would bring. No, I mean the way they spent and spent someone else’s money, as if it had a sell-by date, acquiring access to playing and managerial talent which had been hitherto unavailable to them, owing to the fact that they were, to use technical terms, rubbish and broke.
And now, as we are led to believe, as much as one can believe a Frenchman, that Financial Fair Play is about to bite, they look like they are heading toward ‘balancing’ the books, because the money they have spent has been spent buying success. One glimmer of hope is that the last time Senhor Mourinho was forced to spend less money than usual, he bought Steven Sidwell and Tal Ben Haim and then hotfooted it over to Italy in very short order. We hope this happens again.
For I cannot bear to encounter the man’s visage, either in person or on the magic lantern. In Spain and Italy they tired of his self-regarding publicity seeking nonsense and largely ignored him. But here? His supremely idiotic, smug nonsense really, excuse me ladies, for I am about to use barrack-room language, boils my piss. I hope he receives a painful but hilarious non-threatening injury that forces him to retire. Maybe his genitals fill up, uncontrollably, and he has to have a drain attached to little Jose all the time, or he starts to reek, with no explanation, so pungently, that nobody can be near him without retching. Something like that. A paper cut on the bell-end would do. Yes, that’s it. “Jose, why are you retiring?” “I’m afraid I have a non-healing paper cut on little Jose, which makes it too painful to jump up and down like a disagreeable little prick in the dugout. Bye!”
How lovely that would be.
CHELSEA FC: A PARALLEL UNIVERSE
I wonder what the world would have been like if Mr. Abramovich, and his stolen petrochemical riches had not ridden to the rescue back in 2003? Let us fantasise.
2003. Chelsea defaulted on a £75m loan. They were plunged into the financial depths. Matthew Harding’s estate called in a number of loans made to the club, debt which had funded a relative period of extravagance, signing Desailly, Zola, and Arsenal retiree Emmanuel Petit. They defaulted on their Eurobond. The club went into administration. They could not pay their wage bill. They were forced to sell Stamford Bridge which was then turned into west London’s largest Lidl. They swallowed their pride and begged a groundshare with Fulham.
In the same way as poorer countries are more susceptible to fascism, Chelsea’s pathetic ‘Headhunters’ were resurgent and racist incidents abounded around the ground making it a no-go area for anyone who wasn’t a pot-bellied Nazi. They were relegated in 2005, and a low point in 2006 were the number of fundraising attempts organised by club and supporter groups to try and keep Chelsea afloat. ‘Choccies for Chelsea’, in which fans went door to door demanding money in exchange for poor quality chocolate bars was one ill-fated idea, as was ‘Fuel Chelsea!’, where the cub asked for pensioners to donate their winter fuel allowance to fund new player acquisition.
Chelsea have played in the second tier to this day, flirting with relegation in 2007 and 2008, only to be saved by their legend player-manager Kevin Lisbie. Managers included Harry Redknapp, who got them further into debt, Big Ron Atkinson, Dave Beasant, Paul Jewell, Dave Bassett, and of course Les Reed, who guided Chelsea to the play-offs in 2009 where they were crushed 4-0 by Burnley. Some of the players who went through Chelsea’s ranks since they went into administration include Robbie Savage, who was a big hit with the fans, Corrado Grabbi, Xisco, and of course Kevin Lisbie, now commemorated in statue form in the one room at The Cottage where Fulham let them keep things.
Wonderful.
SWANSNOTSOEASEA
A dreary draw with Swansea means we are unbeaten in one, but the arrival of the Vulgarians on Saturday may indeed precipitate a quick call to The Man Who Can, who so kindly supplied the hallucinogenics that made Saturday’s thrashing at the hands of Fu Mourchu’s Devils so much easier to take. We shall see. In a topsy-turvy season, who knows what awaits? Indeed who knows who awaits? The medical team are doing their damndest to keep as many hostages as possible. Indeed, hostage-taking can be the only explanation for the number of sick-notes currently being bandied around? In my day you played on until you fell over and died.
Alex James had his kneecaps replaced by a pair of ducks in 1931 and he never once complained. So man up, Arsenal. Get some deep heat on it and get bloody well back in there.
