Oh, what could have been. It may seem brash to utter such words after a 1-1 draw at Real Madrid in the first leg of Chelsea’s first Champions League semifinal in seven years, and yet, what could have been. The Blues were so surprisingly supreme, so overwhelmingly succinct at the (temporarily downsized) home of Europe’s all-white Galacticos, that you’d be forgiven for mistaking them for Europe’s other apparent Lilywhite superpower from north London. This was particularly true in the opening half an hour. All over the pitch, but most devastatingly in the midfield, the Blues were outrunning, outmuscling and promptly outnumbering white shirts.
Countless times this led to four-on-three or three-on-two situations on the break, where the legs of Christian Pulisic, Timo Werner, Mason Mount and N’Golo Kante made Raphael Varane and Eder Militao look like Ryan Shawcross and Matthew Upson—the buckets of rain aiding the Stoke-esque aesthetic. Unfortunately, the downpour also allowed Los Blancos to regain a foothold in the game. Karim Benzema canceled out Pulisic’s cooly-taken opener with a crushing volley after some head tennis inside the area. It was Real Madrid’s first real chance of the game, the only other being a speculative pile-driver from the Frenchman ten minutes earlier that kissed the post on its way to a goal kick.
It was in those brief, brazen moments of Benzema magic that the true disparity between the opponents became clear. Chelsea is a better team with a better coach, and Real Madrid has a world class striker. Sure, Los Blancos have other world-beaters on the roster. But on Tuesday evening, the ostracized French international was the only one that turned up, like has on so many other nights deep into this vaunted competition. He turned up to remind Thomas Tuchel that, regardless of tactical dominance, you always need someone to finish the job. Yes, Pulisic showed composure when it mattered, but there were at least four other moments where Chelsea’s poise in front of goal was once again left wanting.
Once again, Werner was eager in his movement and meagre in his finishing, and this time the likes of Mount and Hakim Ziyech couldn’t make up for it. This became particularly apparent in the second half when Madrid deigned to notice the gigantic gaps in the middle of the pitch, and duly retreated. Quite frankly, this ruined the fun, and ensured the remaining moments would mostly be spent ruefully hypothesizing on what could have been.
Of course, regret shouldn’t be the only emotion. Chelsea went to the home of Europe’s greatest conquerors and came away with an advantage. A blueprint was laid, a gameplan clearly defined. Zinedine Zidane’s side is fallable, and its weakness plays into the hands of the hyper-pressing players of Stamford Bridge. Yet, the possibility of such structureless lethargy on the part of Real seems unlikely a second time. Inclement weather or not, lightning rarely strikes twice.
Whatever happens from here on out, Chelsea’s players and coaching staff can hang their heads high after transforming a season spiraling out of control into one of promised land proportions. The idea that Chelsea would be at home in such stratospheres was delusional in December. Now, we’re agonising over a 1-1 draw at the replacement Bernabeu. Nevertheless, should Istanbul not be reached, and Munich not replicated, it will not be from a lack of class, experience or tactical nous. It will be because, when it’s all said and done, the club retains the same problem its had since Diego Costa’s departure. Namely, no one’s replaced him.
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