I’m sick of it. You’re sick of it. Everyone outside Stamford Bridge is sick of it. Chelsea go marching on, another 2–0 win at QPR, another tick in the unbeaten column, another grim reminder that the Premier League has been bent out of shape by a juggernaut that refuses to stop. It’s not football anymore, it’s a bloody metronome set to blue, ticking off the rest of us week after week.
Logan Granger slotted his penalty with all the emotion of a man ordering a pint of milk. Kieran O’Sullivan buried the second like he was bored of the exercise. QPR fans howled, waved fists, tried to rattle them – nothing. You might as well try shouting at the tide. Dimario just stood there on the touchline, smug grin plastered on his face, knowing the script was written long before kick-off.
This isn’t competition, it’s theatre of inevitability. Eight straight league wins, one hundred and ten games unbeaten, and all of us trudging along in the wake of this machine. Remember when football was chaos? When title races twisted and turned, when the unexpected could happen on a rainy Tuesday? Chelsea have strangled that spirit. They’ve turned the league into an assembly line, grinding out results without breaking sweat. Efficiency over excitement, calculation over chaos.
QPR tried, bless them. They hacked, they pressed, they even dared to string a few passes together. And yet not once did Joby Holwell’s gloves get dirty. Chelsea’s defence is granite, their midfield robotic, their attack merciless. It’s not artistry, it’s engineering. And while you’ve got to respect the brilliance of the design, you also have to admit it’s bloody boring to watch.
The league table tells its story in cold numbers – twenty wins out of twenty-four, no defeats, barely a sniff of vulnerability. Man Utd, City, Arsenal, Spurs, all left flailing in their slipstream. And what does it leave us with? A title race that isn’t a race at all, but a parade.
I hate it. Not because Chelsea are bad – they’re too good – but because they’ve drained the fun out of the fight. The drama’s gone. The jeopardy’s gone. The story’s been written in advance, and the rest of us are just condemned to watch it play out. Football thrives on uncertainty, but Chelsea have given us certainty instead, and it’s suffocating the game.
So yes, they won again. Yes, they’ll probably win again next week, and the week after, and the week after that. But don’t ask me to clap. Don’t ask me to celebrate this relentless march. Because if this is what domination looks like, then maybe domination is the death of the sport we love.
— Digby