By Digby | Red Corner
Right then. What the **** was that?
Chelsea 4, Liverpool 0. I’d love to tell you we gave it a go, that we were unlucky, or that there’s something to build on — but I’m not in the business of selling fairy tales to people who watched their team get slapped around like a Tory at a Scouse fundraiser.
This wasn’t a game. It was an execution. And Chelsea didn’t even have to get out of second gear. Johnny Jenkins, with the kind of smug, side-footed finish that makes you want to launch your remote through the telly, got things going on 43 minutes. From then on, it was a slow, surgical dissection of a team that looked like they’d rather be queuing at ASDA than defending a badge.
Fernando González made it two just after the break — a hit that skimmed past defenders like they were cones at Melwood — and then it all went to ****. Shon Mishpati added a third. José Francisco Landeira stuck in a fourth. Every Chelsea attack looked like it came with a free gift and a bow on top.
And what did we do in return? Surrendered. Limped. Folded like a cheese toastie. I’ve seen more fight in a salad cream bottle.
I don’t care if we were away. I don’t care if Chelsea are top of the league. I care that not one lad in red looked like they gave a toss once we went behind. If you’re gonna lose, lose on your feet, not curled up like a knackered sock on the halfway line.
Regan Slater — bless him — said after the match: “It was a poor performance and a poor result.” Cheers for that, Einstein. What next? Water is wet? Everton are ****?
The only bright spot was the full-time whistle. I wouldn’t wish that 90 minutes on my worst enemy — not even the fella who brought cheese to the pub last week. And that says something.
So where do we go from here? Anfield, hopefully. Back home. Somewhere where the crowd might actually shout back instead of just sighing into their pints. Because I swear if I have to watch another 90 minutes like that, I’m bringing a flask of salad cream just to survive it.
Up the Reds — eventually.
— Digby, still fuming.