How Chelsea Blew it in Geordieland

There was one particular moment during Sky’s coverage of Newcastle United v Chelsea at St James’ Park when the television cameras focused on the away team’s bench and you simply couldn’t help thinking ‘Why, if this lot are as good as they keep telling us they are, do they all look so bloody miserable?’.

The answer, inevitably, was on the field. Right from the first whistle, it was the same old prescription from the Chelsea square dancing (sorry, square passing) formation team. Sideways and back. Sideways and back. Caution. Caution. Safety. Safety. Boring. Boring. Lots and lots of Lampard and absolutely no flair. The football equivalent of an overdose of beta-blockers.

Interestingly enough, recent reports indicate that having pumped hundreds of millions into the club and watched with considerable envy the work of Manchester United and Arsenal, Roman Abramovic has finally come to the conclusion that trophies aren’t enough – and who can blame him? He evidently wants, and feels he deserves, more for his money. A bit of excitement perhaps. A touch of panache. A spot of flair here and there. Or at the very least, the chance to stay awake.

Usually, of course, the reward for Chelsea fans who manage to keep their eyes open until the fag end of a game is the obligatory last gasp winner – carefully timed for the closing minutes or better still, time added on. Well, it has to be said that on this occasion the officials did all they could. During normal time that nice Mr Halsey gave them every assistance. Ferreira was permitted to make a hostile tackle from behind on Milner and escape with a friendly warning. Lampard slipped inelegantly in the process of executing a ponderous turn and was rewarded with a free kick as compensation for his loss of dignity, as was Joe Cole when he involuntarily sat down. And in a moment that was pure Chelsea, Ferreira hared down the right flank and threw himself to the ground, then looked up hopefully for confirmation that the decision had gone his way, even though it was clear to everyone but Mark Halsey that no Newcastle player had touched him.

And then suddenly it was extra time, also known as time added on and, for reasons practically everybody understands, ‘Chelsea time’. Four whole minutes of it, courtesy of that helpful fourth official Mike Dean (who may, for all we know, have fallen asleep earlier and been obliged to produce an estimated reading). Chelsea fans, players and management were braced for the customary late winner, but to everyone’s astonishment it did not come. It was the game when Mourinho’s Chelsea had at last been given the opportunity to put the destiny of the Premiership back into their own hands. A special moment if ever there was one. And they blew it.