The Roar
The Roar

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Big money buys trophies, and it sickens me

21st August, 2014
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I like Lamp.
Roar Guru
21st August, 2014
37
1028 Reads

For over ten years, Chelsea FC were my muse. My bedroom walls were hung with golden-framed images of champion squads from seasons past.

Blue scarves commemorating the Champion’s League win in Munich were strung from dusty bookshelf to bookshelf. Tacky vinyl banners took preference over family photos if I didn’t have space for both.

Not only was I a bachelor with appalling taste in interior design, I was in love. In love with a team that in all likelihood I might only get to see play once (if I was lucky) in my life.

I’ll be the first to admit it – I started following Chelsea around the time the cash started flowing in. I really started getting keen on the Blues when the paragons of sportsmanship (others might even say humanity), Frankie, JT and Didier started bringing the attitude, the panache, to Stamford Bridge. Even Mr. Mourinho was a figure I identified with; his win at all costs approach was respectable, if not inspiring.

When Mourinho moved on following a clash with the Russian Godfather, closely followed by a succession of able-but-underperforming managers, I kept the faith.

“Roman, you know what you’re doing. I trust you. You’ve bought brought me mountains of joy through beautiful football and a cabinet full of trophies,” I would say, brushing off the comments from bitter nay-sayers.

Cue the rise and inexplicable fall of Carlo Ancelotti.

“You must have your reasons, Roman. Far be it from me to question you,” I would whisper to my Abramovic portrait screen-printed pillow.

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The head-scratching decision to dump the manager that wrenched the Premier League from the red half of Manchester left a bad taste in my mouth, but still I persevered. I was, after all, a Chelsea fan, and they’re not known for their fickle, fair-weather support.

Di Matteo, Benitez and a string of noteworthy finishes followed, but then, Christmas morning. Every Christmas morning combined.

The return of the king.

Jose was coming home. Surely we would once again be the inspiring, loveable rascals from West London with a point to prove, nothing but a pocketful of loose change and a tactical approach like a Brazilian youth squad.

This time, he had the support of the club’s upper-management, and a brilliant, if not world-class, squad to carry out his game plans.

Some of the early exchanges between the midfield trio of Eden Hazard, Juan Mata and Oscar left me rubbing my eyes to make sure I wasn’t imagining things, and the form of defenders like Branislav Ivanovic was scintillating. Jose’s press conferences were entertaining, and his tactics were more often than not spot-on.

Why then, was I not enjoying watching the team I’d followed so closely for so long?

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Put simply, they’re just not a likeable club any more.

The club has no spirit, no soul, and the only personalities to be found anywhere near Stamford Bridge are not personalities I’d model mine after.

Jose is arrogant and an extremely poor loser. His tactics, while effective, bore me to the point of flicking the channel over to Fox Sports News.

Admittedly, the opening game of this season provided a few entertaining moments. Cesc Fabregas’ cheeky first-time through ball the Andre Schurrle was magic. I think they’ll score plenty of nice goals this season.

But so they bloody well should! They’ve spent over a billion – yes, billion – pounds on inward player transfers since ‘96/97.

In comparison, they’ve made a paltry £379,275,000 from selling players over the same period, if you’re happy to trust transferleague.co.uk as a source.

And if you watched Tuesday morning’s game, you’ll remember that in the second half, Chelsea parked the same bus they’d just rolled right through the Burnley clubhouse in the first.

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Classic Mourinho. Tactical genius? Yes. Effective tactician? Clearly.

He’s basically a more arrogant Tony Pulis, but with a much, much more expensive squad.

I just can’t bring myself to support a team with no supportable qualities in them besides a probability of winning a trophy each season.

So who to attach my allegiance to? For me that was a pretty easy one.

Southampton FC. The Saints. The underdogs with a youth development system (think Theo Walcott, Gareth Bale, Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain) to make the top six green with envy. The battlers from the south coast, who play with more character than Chelsea, Tottenham, and the Manchester clubs combined.

Their opening round effort against Liverpool was typically gutsy. After going down to a tidy Raheem Sterling finish (never thought I’d write those words), The Saints showed the grit that earned them so much respect from every neutral fan last season.

Yes, they’ve been ravaged by the bigger clubs. Adam Lallana, Dejan Lovren and Rickie Lambert going to Liverpool certainly hurt. Losing young defenders Luke Shaw to Manchester United and Callum Chambers to Arsenal is a kick-while-they’re-down type affair.

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On top of that, Mauricio Pochettino, the manager who brought expansive football to the solid team he inherited from Nigel Adkins, has been lured to big-spending, perennial underperformers Tottenham.

But I don’t mind that. The Saints are up against it once again. Their squad is a shadow of what it was last year, but it’s being filled out again with clever transfers. Dusan Tadic looks impressive, and Shane Long is always good for a couple of goals per season.

Most of all, I’m most pleased with the Saints holding on to Nathaniel Clyne and James Ward-Prowse. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they popped up in the England squad regularly over the next few seasons.

Southampton’s qualities are all of the Chelsea’s shortcomings. The fact that a soulless club, with effectively no care for football as a spectacle can win (read: buy) trophies, leaves a really bitter taste in my mouth, so I’ll spend my time watching the underdog fight for every point instead.

I hope Chelsea do really well this season – not because I harbour feelings for them still, but because I just really, really hate to see that much money wasted.

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