Chelsea FC Produce Joy, Frustration In Paris…At Least My Beer Was Cheap

Chelsea FC find themselves in remarkably encouraging position after their first-leg clash with PSG. The 90 minutes drew both joy and frustration.

Early-morning sunlight beat down on my eyes and I slowly drifted into consciousness. My eyelids creaked open like a pair of garage doors built in the 1970s. Gazing at my surroundings I took note I was in my bedroom and not at work, thankfully. I lurched out of bed as though I was twice my 29 years in age, and standing up with the taste of the previous night’s beer still lingering on my lips, I resolved for the 1,523,874th time to buy some curtains to put over my blinds to keep the bloody sunlight out.

I was not at work because I had taken the day off. With Chelsea set to take on Paris Saint-Germain in the Champions League round of 16 at around 1:45 PM in my local time zone, the trivialities of my job were not distractions I could handle.

(If for some reason my boss is reading this: hi! This is all a joke. Nothing is more important to me than my job. I just took the day off to volunteer at an animal shelter!)

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I arrived at my local footy-centric pub just in time to see American soccer analyst/doofus Alexi Lalas select Chelsea to advance pass PSG into the quarterfinals. The butterflies intensified their wing-flapping in my stomach. There are some analysts that calm your nerves when they select your team to win a big match. Alexi Lalas is not one of those analysts.

The only positive I can recall from the first 10 minutes of the match was the bartender informing me that there was a sale, and a pint was only going to cost me three dollars. PSG’s attack was making it look like I was going to be spending a great many three dollars on the afternoon.

As the first half went on, however, Chelsea started to settle in and the camera operators had to actually begin filming events taking place around PSG’s goal. One such event was a glorious cross from Baba Rahman, which found the masked-forehead of Diego Costa, who directed the ball into the absurdly outstretched reach of PSG goalkeeper Kevin Trapp.

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I had leaped from my bar stool in anticipation of celebration, only to slouch back down dejectedly a few seconds later. The save was annoyingly reminiscent of the acrobatics Manchester United’s David de Gea generally performs to prevent Chelsea from scoring a goal.

It is worth noting how much more potent Chelsea look attacking down the wings with Rahman playing left back and Cesar Azpilicueta playing in his natural right back position. Positive is hardly the adjective I would choose to describe Chelsea’s current center back situation, but the injury-induced necessity to shift Branislav Ivanovic into the role, and thus allow Azpilicueta to return to right back and Rahman to emerge from substitute bench purgatory to blaze down the left-hand side of the field has proven beneficial to the team’s attack. The novel concept of playing fullbacks on their natural flanks is paying off.

Just as I was allowing myself to believe a positive result in Paris was a real possibility, John Obi Mikel conspired to produce a very John Obi Mikel-like sequence of events. After committing a silly foul on the edge of Chelsea’s penalty area, Mikel re-directed the ensuing free kick from Zlatan Ibrahimovic into the lower left side of Thibaut Courtois’ goal. Chelsea were down 1-nil and my newfound hope for a happy afternoon was looking foolish. One of my Chelsea supporting companions philosophized that it’s the hope that kills you in these situations. So true my friend, so true.

Despite his inconsistencies, I can only stay mad at Mikel for a select number of minutes at a time, and he redeemed his indiscretions with an equalizing goal just before the halftime whistle. Mikel scores goals just slightly more frequently than Halley’s Comet is sighted, and even though the finish required from Willian’s corner was of the rudimentary variety, the pub erupted with a celebration befitting the scarcity of the event.

With hope restored and another three dollar pint procured, I sat nervously fidgeting as the second half played out. There are few ways to make time move more slowly than to watch your favorite football team attempt to hold onto a positive result as they are retaining what seems like roughly 1% possession.

The inevitability of PSG’s go-ahead goal made it no less demoralizing when it occurred. In the first half the Blues had played well and had enjoyed some surprisingly decent periods of attacking play, and the second half was being defined by great last-ditch Chelsea defending and a sprinkle of Courtois heroics.

A draw would not have been a totally unjust result. Edinson Cavani and his irritatingly statuesque chin had other plans. A perfectly timed run and an excellent tight-angle finish from the Uruguayan meant a one goal defeat; a valuable away goal would have to do.

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I paid my pleasantly less than usual bar tab and made my way towards the exit door.  The sun was still up, and Chelsea were still in a decent position to advance to the next round of the Champions League. The afternoon produced both joy and frustration, but was certainly more enjoyable than the afternoon I would have had at work (just joking again, boss!)