Cod Almighty | Match Stats

Wednesday 25 September 2019

League Cup (R3)

Chelsea 7 Barkley (3); Batshuayi (6, 86); Pedro (43, pen); Zouma (56); James (82); Hudson-Odoi (89)

Grimsby Town 1 Green (19)

Attendance: 39674 (5000 away fans)

Every outfield player collapsed in a heap of fatigue long before the end, unravelled by superior athletes, but our purple plunger halved the score on his own. James McKeown ran out of fingers to plunge into the dyke.

St Michael of the Jolley jumpers sensibly shifted his focus onto the army of travelling Townites:

"Even towards the end with Macca making saves and being defiant, they were in good voice. Hopefully they enjoyed the experience and let's hope we have more days like this"

We hope we think we know what he means, unless he's an epic troller hiding in plain sight.

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Frankie Lampie was happy they did what he told them to do…eventually:

"At half-time I was not very happy with the game. To concede the goal that made it 2-1 was a disaster because I showed them it was a huge threat…and conceding that made us a bit nervous"

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And as I left I met a fellow traveller from our ancient land who saw two vast and trunkless legs of stone stranded in the desert, but enough about our centre-backs.

A tactical error let the Jetskis play as they wished for ten minutes, but moving to 4-4-2 and big-balling did alleviate the pain for a while, like a final shot of morphine before the end of Jolley's elaborate plans.

Every single individual and collective imperfection was ruthlessly exposed in the light. Even by fourth division standards Town have a ropey defence. After all, at full strength they couldn't cope with Oldham's brand of pitty-pattyball. A full-pelt Premiership powerplay steamrollered our blokes in matching football kits.

Town couldn't run as fast as them, for as long as them, or kick the ball as hard as them. It's just a fact that our humans are inferior physically and mentally. It's what happens when Big Beasts of the Galactic Football Empire treat a game seriously.

That's what happens when money talks. This game had nothing to do with us once Chelsea took it seriously.

This high fidelity first class travelling set played the game at Premiership pace with Premiership power and sufficient imprecision to keep the score down to single figures. They have a lot of highly-skilled highly athletic young men and there is no doubt whatsoever that they are the best team in the fourth division. They'll kick themselves if they don't get in the play-offs.

Oh come on, what did we expect? They are former, present and future internationals, they gave us the greatest compliment in football: they didn't patronise Town by jumping on the passing showboats.

Never mind the quantity of goals, feel the depth of our love.

Mr K Stroud

The pastel peeper ruined the game by being totally competent. Shockingly unobtrusive, disgracefully unable to make egregious errors. As Town were not even able to get close enough to clobber passing boybands he had an easy game and wasn't a factor at all: 8.76543987602

Ride the King's Road baby for some weird scenes inside the goalmine.

In a word: irrelevant