It was my first trip to Stamford Bridge since the almost unbeaten season of 1991.
I left surprised that you can no longer park you car behind the goal, but of little else.
We came, we played, had more of the ball, and were beat. It was too easy to predict beforehand.
Straight from the Arsenal kick off, Chelsea sat back and let us have the ball. Confidence and experience tells them our predictable attacks can be snuffed out the moment they hint at danger.
We almost punished this approach early on through Chamakh, and should have done so via Koscielny from the resulting corner. Our best chance of the game, wasted so early on.
The familiar sight of an Arsenal defender on their arse after failing to deal with Drogba returned, as our nemesis shrugged off Sagna's effort. The Ivorian was warming up for his most profitable fixture of the season.
A Chelsea pal commented after that lesser teams consistently deal with Drogba better than we do. A matter of mentality. 13 goals in 13 games. He loves playing against us just as much as we fear him.
It's a record Arsène said won't go on forever. Retirement will probably see to that in a few years, but even then he might still be wheeled out twice a year to play and score against The Arsenal.
Cole celebrated his assist in fine fashion. Repeated screams of "fuck off" alongside a corresponding gesture aimed at the away end were later followed by him pointing to the 'Champions' badge on his sleeve. It was the most he's reacted to years of abuse since he left. Cheryl, divorce and "she's getting f**ked by Eboue" tipping him over that edge.
At this point, with lighters flying on, you probably didn't need the stadium announcer to incite the away end further with "and the Chelsea goal, set up by number three....."
We again enjoyed more possession after the break, but without ever threatening. Chamakh might have done better with another header, and was almost put through after some neat work by Nasri.
It was no surprise to see the contest settled by a Chelsea second and Alex smashing it past Fabianski, with Song not fancying putting his head where it would've hurt.
Without the preferred, but rarely seen, spine of the side, and the pace of Walcott to get behind them rather than play in front of them, it would've been foolish to expect too much more than defeat.
Playing quite well wasn't good enough against a Chelsea side who were far from their best, but still won comfortably.
As we left the hotel complex beaten but not embarrassed, we were quickly cheered up by a homeless chap on the floor.
He looked up, pointed, laughed at my pal and his maroon, Arsenal-ish scarf, and called him 'a loser', briefly forgetting he was the one sitting on the floor begging for money.
I left surprised that you can no longer park you car behind the goal, but of little else.
We came, we played, had more of the ball, and were beat. It was too easy to predict beforehand.
Straight from the Arsenal kick off, Chelsea sat back and let us have the ball. Confidence and experience tells them our predictable attacks can be snuffed out the moment they hint at danger.
We almost punished this approach early on through Chamakh, and should have done so via Koscielny from the resulting corner. Our best chance of the game, wasted so early on.
The familiar sight of an Arsenal defender on their arse after failing to deal with Drogba returned, as our nemesis shrugged off Sagna's effort. The Ivorian was warming up for his most profitable fixture of the season.
A Chelsea pal commented after that lesser teams consistently deal with Drogba better than we do. A matter of mentality. 13 goals in 13 games. He loves playing against us just as much as we fear him.
It's a record Arsène said won't go on forever. Retirement will probably see to that in a few years, but even then he might still be wheeled out twice a year to play and score against The Arsenal.
Cole celebrated his assist in fine fashion. Repeated screams of "fuck off" alongside a corresponding gesture aimed at the away end were later followed by him pointing to the 'Champions' badge on his sleeve. It was the most he's reacted to years of abuse since he left. Cheryl, divorce and "she's getting f**ked by Eboue" tipping him over that edge.
At this point, with lighters flying on, you probably didn't need the stadium announcer to incite the away end further with "and the Chelsea goal, set up by number three....."
We again enjoyed more possession after the break, but without ever threatening. Chamakh might have done better with another header, and was almost put through after some neat work by Nasri.
It was no surprise to see the contest settled by a Chelsea second and Alex smashing it past Fabianski, with Song not fancying putting his head where it would've hurt.
Without the preferred, but rarely seen, spine of the side, and the pace of Walcott to get behind them rather than play in front of them, it would've been foolish to expect too much more than defeat.
Playing quite well wasn't good enough against a Chelsea side who were far from their best, but still won comfortably.
As we left the hotel complex beaten but not embarrassed, we were quickly cheered up by a homeless chap on the floor.
He looked up, pointed, laughed at my pal and his maroon, Arsenal-ish scarf, and called him 'a loser', briefly forgetting he was the one sitting on the floor begging for money.
"I'm the loser? I'd rather be a Sp*rs fan than a tramp sitting on the floor begging for money".
