A View from the Bridge

After seeing the majestic Mark Nicholls put two past a quality Coventry City side in the 97-98 season aged 7, I became smitten with Chelsea. As both Nicholls and myself moved onwards and upwards (a solitary appearance for Partick Thistle and Moulsford School Colts A midfield general respectively) we saw Chelsea consistently flirt with the top three and even lift a Cup Winners’ Cup and an FA Cup. They were exciting times at the Bridge, with the flair of Zola complemented by the ladder-esque qualities of Flo, built on French concrete in the gravelly form of Desailly and Leboeuf. Today, I sit here thinking not lovingly of Ramires’ athletic ability or Mata’s technical mastery as I would have Mario Melchiot’s, but instead pine for a Chelsea of a by-gone era.  

The casual fans flocked to see an unprecedented Chelsea side capture two successive Premier League titles. Admittedly, seeing my team play so well and finally topple Manchester United and Arsenal was gratifying. We were playing attractive football, getting results and we as fans were reaping the rewards. However, during this period bathed in glory I, like others I know, found the manner in which the club was growing disturbing. Abramovich continues to treat the training ground as a Colosseum for managers, even having his part in the exit of the ‘Special One’. My main issue today isn’t with our apparently racist, adulterous captain John Terry (captain, leader, legend) or our pea brained left back Ashley Cole (y-fronts,camera, action), but with the Roman Empire.

In 2012 a football club cannot win major competitions without healthy funding. I don’t bemoan Roman’s millions. I bemoan the way he usurps every manager in the club through transfer disputes and creates divisions that Chelsea don’t need. Why not just take training? Write the team sheet, fill it with your bargain superstars Shevchenko, Veron and Del Horno and watch them tiki-taka their way to a 5-0 winover Barca at the Nou Camp? Since such ridiculous spending/signings it is nearly impossible to get excited by what used to be my favourite part of football. Zenden in from Barcelona made my ten year old self glow with excitement. I even got a Mario Stanic shirt. When Torres arrived I felt like Dawkins at Christmas; unashamedly smug yet underwhelmed. My football chat armoury is now expensive and empty, with my team offering little more than ‘we’ll be good next season’ as the likes of Tottenham point and laugh. Supporting Arsenal must be a nightmare.

My dislike for Roman has pushed me into the professional league’s basement division. I am no purist or sentimentalist. Muamba’s collapse and following support, as unfortunate as it was, became unbearably misty-eyed. Yet League Two and Oxford Utd seemed to give me the excitement I now miss so dearly. Seeing Chelsea go into every game laden with the expectation of three points by all watching (including myself) has become mundane whatever the outcome. If we win, we should have and if we don’t then it hurts even more. It seems to be lose-lose scenario every Saturday. Yes, expectations are high thanks to my least favourite member of the Russian mafia. It seems to have made us just as impatient as him. However, many including myself crave stability, whatever the price. 

     
Before you start filling your boots at the sight of another spoilt Chelsea fan bemoaning one season outside the elite, this is no white flag. There are signs of revival in the camp with Sturridge (who must stay) and the ever-improving David Luiz taking over from the faithful old guard. I am prepared to drop out of Europe’ scream for a time of re-building and growth. As hard as it is to say, Tottenham’s rise is enviable. They have built a starting eleven only second to Manchester City’s on paper and play exciting football. They can turn over more or less any opponent but each win is as cherished as the last. God I hate them.

With the ridiculous ‘We can’t play because of Hillsborough’ argument hindering us further, the next 4 games are already agargantuan task. I think we’ll beat Spurs in a cagey affair by a goal, get beaten by Arsenal and go out to the Catalans, with the highlight being a Torres goal at the Camp Nou.

 

Admittedly, this blog hasn’t been wholly insightful or informative, but like Mark Nicholls up at North Greenford United, it isn’t easy looking back at what you used to have, despite the obvious successes that have come your way.