Five years ago this month Roman Abramovich changed the face of Chelsea (and some might even suggest the Premier League) as we knew it when he walked into Stamford Bridge, inheriting a sizeable debt and saving us from financial ruin in the process. With the media wanking themselves into a frenzy over how much we’d spend and on who, I remember thinking how great it would be if we could finally really compete with the likes of United and Arsenal. Little did I realise then that the arrival of Roman and his millions would see us transformed into the club everyone loves to hate.

To start with, for many we sum up everything that is wrong with football these days. Whilst there’s no denying our trophy haul, this has largely come since Roman’s arrival and therefore must’ve been bought – and with ‘dirty money’ too you’d have to assume. As far as the watching world is concerned, this recent success simply fell into our laps, requiring no more effort than the handing over of obscene amounts of money – and initial envy as the seemingly bottomless pit furnished Stamford Bridge with players previously seen wearing the shirt only in our dreams, soon turned to resentment.  I mean, how dare any club be brought by some rich sugar daddy prepared to save them from financial ruin and bankroll a title challenge or two? Not to mention the hoards of ‘glory hunters’ hailing him a saviour. Presumably these ‘glory hunters’ who’d suffered the pain of relegation battles should have been appalled at the mere idea of seeing us win a title in their lifetime? No wonder we’ve ended up public enemy number one when we dare to indulge ourselves in such outright happiness we haven’t even earned.

But as if our recent success isn’t enough reason to berate us, then there’s always our style of football, with us constantly slated for being dull and defensive. Our resilience and dogged determination has seen us bring in a hoard of silverware, but it’s not ‘entertaining’ enough these days to just win. Clearly if we played anything like as well as the much prettier Arsenal, then we too could be hailed as the saviours of football. Kidding obviously, but maybe Drogba could’ve thrown in the odd backflip here and there?

Which brings me nicely on to another reason to dislike us – our players. How dare the very same men who won back-to-back titles think they’re anything special? Strutting around like they’d actually done anything to deserve it? I mean, it’s not like they actually had to play or anything is it? And as for not being able to replicate that in exactly the same way with a completely different team around them, playing for a completely different manager in the odd international, they really must need shooting. How on earth the passionate hatred of an entire nation doesn’t inspire and motivate them I’ll never know. Then there’s expecting free-kicks or worst still, actually getting them – these prima donna’s must surely have the FA in their pockets. Why else would they have so many coffee mornings at Soho Square? Unless of course the boys go down there to support JT’s application for the ref’s job, or even to watch Drogba giving the FA his latest reverse somersault with pike to finish – because Rafa didn’t quite get the details right in the press last season? Nice of Rafa to have paid so much attention to our lovable Ivorian though, it’s not as if the press would’ve had much to say about him otherwise.

And whilst we’re talking about lack of class, what about Kenyon’s part in all this? Whilst I appreciate other people’s take on dear old Gollum, surely his reassuring words of self-sufficiency and world domination can bring us only comfort? Sure, some might say he’s arrogant but telling the world that coming runners-up in the Champions League to the ‘best ever’ United side isn’t good enough for a club who’d never made it that far before must endear him to us – mustn’t it? How could any of us doubt the man’s sincerity when he promises job security to so many, so often – right before he says goodbye?

And so to our next hate-inspiring fixture at Stamford Bridge – the managers – or even lack of, at times. We don’t do ourselves many favours here when it comes to making friends, for many reasons. To start with, Roman’s arrival signalled a pretty ugly end to Ranieri’s time at Chelsea. Having put together a really decent squad he wasn’t even given the time to utilise it before the rug was pulled firmly from underneath him and placed at the feet of The Special One, who enjoyed a very ‘special’ relationship with anyone regarded as opposition. On the way to back-to-back domestic titles, FA and Carling Cups, Mourinho loved a bit of fun and you could tell the opposition liked it from the loving responses he received. It must warm many-a-heart to remember such games as hide-and-seek the manager, and while Rijkaard played it in the ref’s dressing room, Jose had to go one better – after all, who would ever think of looking in the laundry basket? I think Roman got bored when no matter how hard he looked he couldn’t suss where Jose had hid the Champions League trophy, so another manager was brought in to toy with. Of course finding another manager with Jose’s sparkling charisma was going to be a hard task, so he didn’t try, instead he invited Uncle Fester Avram down from the attic. And here is where I can understand the opposition’s anti-Chelsea-ism. It must’ve been really irritating trying to concentrate on anything else in football once Grant was unveiled as our latest manager. I mean, all them resources, all that pull, and we’re treated to a press conference of jaw-dropping quality. Talk about spoilt rotten! Oh how we looked forward to the season then, the security we felt was equalled only by the utter jealousy around us – the titters and sneers of the opposition giving away their sheer panic as players and supporters sung his praises – at least I think that’s what they were singing. But alas the Champions League final, as we already know, just isn’t ‘good enough’ is it Mr Kenyon? And the manager’s desk has been cleared again.

So five years on, we’re empty handed at the end of the season, manager-less again and remain the most hated club in the Premier League. But where do we go from here? Well, some would suggest the answer to that – as soon as Roman gets bored – is down, although that’s a little naive for me. Unless he’s partial to the circus, which we’re reliably informed he most definitely is not, there’s no way Roman would’ve hung around for so long if his heart and his money weren’t heavily invested in Chelsea.

I guess the anti-Chelsea army are just going to have to prepare a fresh batch of ammunition for the coming season. But what about us, how should we prepare for battle? Personally, I’d propose the immediate disposal of Kenyon, who’s been to football what Shipman was to healthcare, but I can’t see that happening. Obviously a new manager is the best starting point but it’ll take football’s answer to Merlin the Magician to turn us around now. We need a disciplinarian, capable of delivering attractive, attacking football and winning (big), someone who’s diplomatic with officials, charismatic yet charming with the media and likeable enough to turn around the wave of hatred against us. I suspect the candidates are all the wrong gender to fulfil that lot for a start, but I digress. The fact is, whoever we bring in will need the skin of a rhino and a backbone to match and I can’t help thinking we’ve just lost him to Man City.

Filed under: Rants