Chelsea toffs have lost touch with roots

Trenton Oldfield had a different type of elitism in mind when he risked a clatter across his own boat race from a flying oar on the Thames last Saturday, but we’ll heed his protests all the same.

So instead of sympathising with Chelsea’s stressful schedule that begins with tomorrow’s FA Cup semi-final, let’s remember that for millions of footballers, these are among the most enjoyable weeks of the year. The evenings have stretched to fit midweek matches.

Great days, with evenings that sustain you through a slog at the desk or a shift at the machine or maybe, if things aren’t going so well, give you a reason to roll off the couch at all.

You’ll cut it fine, togged-on under the suit perhaps. All the better that there’s no time for a meandering warm-up when you land. A slap of deep heat at traffic lights might do.

Sunday-Tuesday-Thursday. Weeks punctuated with purpose. If you’ve troubled the cups, you might have half your league games to play in a month.

Human drama. Two-nil down, your best man arrives 20 minutes in and some poor chump is sacrificed. It’s never forgotten.

Great, great days. But dangers too. With numbers tight; an auld lad could get drawn back into it all again. Would the knee hold up, I wonder? Mind the blisters, lads. And quit whining, Chelsea.