My affair with Chelsea began when I watched a little man who went by the name of Gianfranco Zola, a man famously described as a “clever little so-and-so”. It was either his intelligence on the pitch or his five foot five tall stature. I’m not quite sure. But I was infatuated at first sight.
But, what started out as an off and on thing, with me catching a couple of games now and then, heck I couldn’t name most clubs in the league in those days, turned into a more serious relationship, not with the arrival of Mourinho, but rather ironically, with the arrival of some very annoying United fans to my high school. If you’ve had the chance to read almost any football site that allows comments, you’ll know the type I’m talking about. Now, and no offence to United fans, I know a few good eggs myself, these were the type who turned up all, “Glory, Glory, Man United” after a victory, but could not name United’s starting eleven in the after math, and even worse, could not recognize a good footballing argument if it drove by in an open top Cadillac XLR and shot them in the head. So, Chelsea it was, and with quite a lot of fan fare at that. In hind sight, it seems silly to base almost my entire life as a football fan on something so petty, but everyone has a story, and this is mine. And I was in high school, so don’t judge me.