Chelsea, who won the European and Club World Cups two years ago, are not yet mathematically safe from relegation to the Championship
Stop me when this gets too ridiculous. Next Tuesday, atoning for the mess they made in Manchester, theoretical title-chasers Arsenal beat the team at the bottom of the Premier League form table.Then Bournemouth and Nottingham Forest, both "fighting for their lives", therefore "not to be taken lightly", despite not being terribly good at football, record narrow wins against less motivated opponents.
In the 12 days that follow, Manchesters City and United each win at home against the same opponents, who they beat (City) and drew with (United) away previously this season.
On the final day, Newcastle United need a win in London for Champions League qualification.
They secure it. A national day of celebration is declared in Saudi Arabia, where Eddie Howe is paraded through Riyadh on the shoulders of local well-wishers, Dan Burn gets 33 thoroughbred racehorses and a skyscraper is dedicated to Sean Longstaff. You were probably with me until the final sentence, which makes you a believer in Chelsea’s unlikely path to no more points. This would leave them on 39, an ominous number. Forty points = safety is one of the unshakeable beliefs in English football, impervious to time or pointing to the actual number required to stay up. Thirty nine would have been enough in all bar three of the seasons since the top flight was reduced to 20 teams for 1995-96. And yet in Chelsea’s present state, the unthinkable seems alarmingly possible.
This is a team who have forgotten how to score and draw, let alone win, and Frank Lampard is talking darkly about mass losses of confidence. The plan, if you can call it that, was seemingly to bring him in as a steady hand with the gravitas to motivate top-level players. Certainly he should have been an improvement on Bruno Saltor, perhaps the most reluctant Premier League manager ever. But as a motivational tool, Lampard has been about as successful as the old Craven Cottage statue of Michael Jackson. And about that steadiness: Lampard’s record at Chelsea so far is played five, lost five, conceded nine, scored one.
It was far from from the consistently happy Lampard of goal summaries and Stamford Bridge banners, a man who was inherently fortunate.
He looks so depressed right now, just weeks into his third stint at the nation's most demanding club, that it almost seems like he unwinds after a long day at Cobham with all of Lars von Trier's films. Lampard has now defied the sage advice to "never go back" twice, and both times while acting as a sort of human shield.
Never return? No sense, keep returning. If returning the first time doesn't work, try returning a second time. Even though Todd Boehly made it rain midfielders rather than cash, the situation at Chelsea is just as complicated as Lampard's first assessment.
But since the season started in August there has been such volatility that events that feel years old actually took place fewer than nine months ago. Cristiano Ronaldo playing for Manchester United, Scott Parker managing a top-flight team, Spurs supporters feeling positive human emotions. A shock Chelsea relegation would be the perfect finale for the oddest season for a generation.
They secure it. A national day of celebration is declared in Saudi Arabia, where Eddie Howe is paraded through Riyadh on the shoulders of local well-wishers, Dan Burn gets 33 thoroughbred racehorses and a skyscraper is dedicated to Sean Longstaff. You were probably with me until the final sentence, which makes you a believer in Chelsea’s unlikely path to no more points. This would leave them on 39, an ominous number. Forty points = safety is one of the unshakeable beliefs in English football, impervious to time or pointing to the actual number required to stay up. Thirty nine would have been enough in all bar three of the seasons since the top flight was reduced to 20 teams for 1995-96. And yet in Chelsea’s present state, the unthinkable seems alarmingly possible.
This is a team who have forgotten how to score and draw, let alone win, and Frank Lampard is talking darkly about mass losses of confidence. The plan, if you can call it that, was seemingly to bring him in as a steady hand with the gravitas to motivate top-level players. Certainly he should have been an improvement on Bruno Saltor, perhaps the most reluctant Premier League manager ever. But as a motivational tool, Lampard has been about as successful as the old Craven Cottage statue of Michael Jackson. And about that steadiness: Lampard’s record at Chelsea so far is played five, lost five, conceded nine, scored one.
It was far from from the consistently happy Lampard of goal summaries and Stamford Bridge banners, a man who was inherently fortunate.
He looks so depressed right now, just weeks into his third stint at the nation's most demanding club, that it almost seems like he unwinds after a long day at Cobham with all of Lars von Trier's films. Lampard has now defied the sage advice to "never go back" twice, and both times while acting as a sort of human shield.
Never return? No sense, keep returning. If returning the first time doesn't work, try returning a second time. Even though Todd Boehly made it rain midfielders rather than cash, the situation at Chelsea is just as complicated as Lampard's first assessment.
But since the season started in August there has been such volatility that events that feel years old actually took place fewer than nine months ago. Cristiano Ronaldo playing for Manchester United, Scott Parker managing a top-flight team, Spurs supporters feeling positive human emotions. A shock Chelsea relegation would be the perfect finale for the oddest season for a generation.
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