TERRACE TALK: Reaction from the weekend's top Premier League and FA Cup action
I was fortunate enough to go to an evening with Jose Mourinho last Thursday and he was asked how he would feel if he lost his extraordinary home record against Tottenham. He said that he would not feel sad or disappointed — that he would celebrate as it has been such an amazing run. I’m not sure I could ever celebrate a loss to Tottenham but we do forget sometimes how ridiculously phenomenal both his tenures have been. He was also asked whether we will win the league this season and he was quite adamant that we would not — claiming that the team had too many players at the very start of their careers and too many at the end.
Yet here we are — still at the top of the league and games running out. He claimed after the match Saturday that he would rather be in Man City’s position — with the games in hand with the possibility of going top should they be won. Both journalists and fans refused to believe this, saying he obviously wants the secured points but I’m not so sure — Mourinho is a supremely confident individual and probably has no doubts that he could win those games.
Another insight offered was when he was asked whether it was difficult decision to replace the popular Cudicini with the not-proven Cech. He was very definitive on this one — he said that when it came to his job no decisions were difficult because in every case he is always 100% sure that he is doing what is best for Chelsea Football Club.
That’s why players respect him and form such a bond with him — nothing is personal — it is always about doing what is best for the team. No emotion, no sentiment, no malice (as long as you do what he wants — to the letter)
So on to the main event. Tottenham at home — probably the game that most Chelsea fans look for when the fixtures are released. I know I should be graceful in victory but I really can’t. Spurs fans are naturally cocky — cocky well beyond their team’s capabilities and for some reason this year they seemed convinced that this was “the” year that they were going to beat us, qualify for Champions League. Some deluded souls even felt they could win the league. Of course, all of this makes their gradual decline as the season progresses even funnier.
I couldn’t help but have a peek on social media to see their reaction to yet another 4-0 tonking at the hands of the only team in London to win a European Cup — it was all pretty predictable. Apparently it was never a penalty, Et’o’s a cheat, the referee was bent and their support was magnificent. This is the “magnificent” support who streamed out in droves when the third went in — I imagine most of them didn’t even know we’d scored a fourth until reading the Sunday papers!
Of course they have plenty of previous for this — the 5-1 thrashing at Tottenham was the best evacuation of a ground I’ve ever seen — it was liking watching a huge herd of antelope turn on their hooves and scatter on the spotting of a hungry lion. The 1-6 at White Hart Lane was similar and the various 4-0s often saw the final whistle with just a handful of white shirts in the stands.
Our record against Tottenham is ridiculous. During the raucous celebrations in the pub after it struck me that those raising a drink to toast our win in their late teens or early 20s have never actually seen us lose to them at Stamford Bridge and their opposite numbers would never have seen their team win — mental!
Jose is keeping it real — talking about ensuring we finish in the top four and aiming for top three so that we avoid qualifying stage for the Champions League.
We should follow his lead and be pleased should we “only” finish third. That in itself would be some feat given the mayhem of last season.
Hopefully our points in the bag will create some pressure on our direct rivals but we can only really concentrate on continuing to win. But for this week, let’s just appreciate what we’ve done so far, and let’s all just laugh at Tottenham.
Reds won’t need reminding we had the weekend off last week, and were thus free to watch glumly as Manchester City lifted their first piece of 2014 silverware.
I say “first” because we’re assuming there’s a good chance there’ll be another slab to come: rest assured, we were all frantically lighting candles for Chelsea and Barcelona yesterday.
When United got KO’d by Sunderland in the League Cup semis, thus freeing up last weekend and forcing the postponement of the Manchester derby, one colleague cheerfully observed: “At least Moyes has just fulfilled another long-term Fergie goal — he’s got us a mid-season break.” Unfortunately, nature abhors a vacuum, and so the break has been filled with rampant rumour-mongering, bad vibes, and general inter-Red tetchyness.
I dread to think what the atmosphere this morning would have been like had West Brom not been fairly efficiently dismissed on Saturday. They are a club in crisis, with a manager halfway out the door, and a defence even worse than Bayer Leverkusen’s, if that’s possible: frankly, anything other than a solid win would’ve been cause for full-on pants conflagration.
To give you a sense of the murderous feelings that have abounded in some quarters, one very accomplished senior United-supporting journalist slithered up to me before the game and hungrily asked whether it wasn’t time for fans to “unveil a banner” at the Hawthorns, in a knowing nod to the 1989 ‘Ta Ra Fergie’ bedsheet.
I sent him off with a flea in the ear and a lecture about premature ejaculation but you get the point: there are swathes amidst the press and fans just itching to get the knives out. They make the Russian ‘self-defence forces’ in Crimea look like models of patience.
In the eyes of those blade-fondlers, Moyes’ open letter to season ticket holders last week was an open goal: a sign of desperation, and one that embarrasses both the club and the manager. It certainly prompted one fans’ group, Stretford End Flags, to issue an unimpressed statement, which naturally fed the media’s sense that relations between manager and fan base are beginning to stretch to breaking point. I don’t think we’re at a snaptastic moment just yet, but there’s no escaping the fact we could be there within the next three weeks.
Liverpool, Olympiacos, City: three Old Trafford encounters in 10 days that will surely play a huge part in shaping the destiny of Moyes, and therefore of the club.
Only one really counts for anything, in concrete terms — overcoming the Greeks means a European quarter-final, matching Fergie’s ‘norm’, and leaving the way theoretically open to silverware — but it’s the other two that loom largest to many.
It’s a masochistic parlour game we Reds have got used to recently: “Who would you rather win the league — Liverpool or City?”
Increasing numbers are now plumping for the Anyone But Liverpool option, because we’ve already been through The Thing That Happened back in May 2012, and realised that nothing could be worse than that when it comes to seeing City win a title. If LFC fail to win the league this season, it’ll be 24 years and counting, just two short of our own pre-1993 drought, which the Scousers so enjoyed celebrating.
Back in the spring of 1993, we went to Anfield and won 2-1, taking a decisive step towards the title but also towards confirming Liverpool’s emerging role as the new Premier League’s perennial also-rans.
There is something in the air this week that whiffs of that afternoon, and it’s horrific to realise that we could be on the verge of A Turning Point, as the papers love to dub these things, should Liverpool win and kick on to glory.
Of course, they also used that label a few years ago when Torres destroyed Vidic to helm Liverpool to a 4-1 victory at Old Trafford. Remind us how that turned out again, Mickey? They ‘turned the corner’ sure enough — slap into a brick wall. Cling to that one, kids, for if it goes pear-shaped this weekend, it’ll be your sole consolation amidst “the horror, the horror...”
Stepping back indoors to shed my winter overcoat before walking to the ground on Saturday seemed something of a symbolic gesture. After our Premier League campaign hit the skids in Stoke last weekend, with an outing to Munich and a date with the Dark Side to come in the week ahead, this delineation point between winter and summer was likely to prove a pivotal moment.
Lose to Everton and our season would likely implode. Triumph and no matter what transpires in Europe or the league, we would still have the promise of a Wembley outing and the possibility of a climactic conclusion to our silverware drought.
We’ve grown so accustomed to the dire consequences of meaningless international matches that Jack Wilshere’s unfortunate demise was almost to be expected. But with Wilshere joining Walcott and Ramsey in the ranks of our more influential walking wounded, I couldn’t help but fret about faltering momentum.
Considering Everton produced just about the most impressive performance we’ve witnessed from a visiting team at our place this season back in December, I was worried our guests might have even enjoy more joy on Saturday, in the absence of the injured Koscielny with his replacement, who is — farcically — our club captain, Vermaelen having played so little competitive football.
Mercifully the travails of the couple of months since ensured Everton were not in anything like the same ebullient form and more to the point, with the sun on their backs, the Ox, Cazorla and Ozil stepped up to the plate. Seemingly stung by all the recent criticism, our £42 million man appeared intent on proving he’s no passenger.
No matter how gratifying it was to see Mezut earning his substantial corn, tracking back and winning the ball by the corner flag, I’m not really sure I want him wasting his energy in this fashion when such mundane chores could be left to lesser mortals.
Ross Barkley still reminds me of Jack Wilshere on steroids and for all our tricky midfield talent, I would love to have the focal point of such a powerful presence in the middle of the park. Thankfully on Saturday, the energy of our more diminutive midfield tricksters won out. Yet even after Barry had brought down the Ox and Mikel Arteta admirably held his nerve to retake the penalty, the tension remained, with the threat of Everton pinching an equaliser and the prospect of having to cram another schlep to Merseyside for a replay, into our already crowded fixture schedule.
Thus it wasn’t until Giroud stabbed home the third that I was truly able to relax, soak up some rays and savour the sumptuous football. With the vitality of the Ox responsible for carrying much of the Gunner’s threat, it was ironic that it wasn’t until he was replaced by Rosicky that we truly began to cut a swathe through the Toffees rearguard.
Still, it was fitting that our big day out at Wembley was eventually secured by means of the sort of pleasing-on-the- eye, swift interplay that resulted in the third and fourth goals and the euphoric celebrations that greeted the final whistle, both on and off the pitch, were indicative of the significance of this result in keeping our season on the rails.
I suppose it was too much to hope for, to expect Spurs to be doing us any favours, by thwarting Chelsea and keeping the title race interesting. But the Premier League title has always been a bit of a pipe dream and after being deprived of success for so many years, I will gladly settle for the prospect of being a mere 180 minutes of football away from sailing out of the silverware-starved doldrums.
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