Peep peep! It’s the premature end of the Premier League season, in its 25th edition, much heralded as the ultimate competition with the influx of spangled coaches and global football talent, all propped up by a multi-billion TV deal. But with 14 match days left, the league is meandering, even inching, towards a nondescript end. Following a trademark win against London rivals Arsenal, Chelsea were crowned champions elect.
Chelsea coach Antonio Conte and his players can now recline into a cushioned sky-box seat at Stamford Bridge and enjoy their droll stroll to Premier League glory. They can take a glass of champagne, sip and feel the kick of the alcohol, soothing their mind as they contemplate their many fine achievements – the title, their tactical refinement and their early-bird ticket to the Champions League.
Indeed, who can stop the Chelsea juggernaut, a glory-bound perpetuum mobile of the 3-4-3 blueprint, punctuated by a frightening ruthlessness? Arsenal were the last vestige of resistance among a crumbling army of poor defiers. Pep Guardiola and Jose Mourinho have both endured difficult, if not transitional, first seasons in Manchester. Liverpool have been troubled by a Sadio-Mane-sized hole and Jurgen Klopp’s apparent lack of a plan B.
Predestined result
Arsenal had plenty of problems of their own, but a win could have reduced the gap with the league leaders to six points. Yet, in contemporary football, a Chelsea-Arsenal fixture almost has a predestined result. Marcos Alonso’s goal confirmed the inevitable after just 13 minutes. Not that Arsenal had been inferior. They had the initiative, the possession of the ball and a fine chance for Alex Iwobi, but the Nigerian’s attempt nearly kissed the post.
Alonso’s goal was a touch boorish. He bullied Hector Bellerin out of the way, showing determination, but also a six-yard box physicality that is only tolerated in England. Referee Martin Atkinson, however, didn’t object to Alonso’s colliding elbows. The goal stood, all but knocking out both Bellerin and Arsenal. The Spaniard looked groggy, seemingly having fought nine rounds against Mike Tyson. Gabriel Paulista had to substitute the left-back.
This was Chelsea fulfilling their role as Arsenal’s nemesis, and as antagonists with a hard-edged game. They bullied their opponents in search of silverware. Wenger’s purism fell short. His aesthetic football was obliterated yet again at Stamford Bridge.
From Alonso’s contentious goal onwards, Chelsea never looked like relinquishing their lead. There was an air of real control about the hosts. N’golo Kante and Nemanja Matic dominated the midfield. Chelsea were a monolithic bloc against Arsenal’s monochrome midfield. On the touchline, Conte was a noisy and animated coach in his technical area, demanding ever more from his players, striving ever more for the perfect tactical match.
He could have demanded for little more. Chelsea sat back and lurked on the counter, Conte’s preferred strategy, and, as Arsenal switched to their usual 4-2-3-1 formation at the break, with Ozil behind Sanchez and Iwobi on the left, to counter their opponent’s superiority, Chelsea struck, with a lethalness and majesty befitting the champions elect.
Goal for the ages
Eden Hazard, who had probed and poked in the first half, delivered the coup de grace. His strike was supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. The Belgian, who so often fails to convince with his lax attitude, collected the ball on the halfway line and ran, and ran, and ran, with the ball glued, like yoyo, to his right foot. He threw off the assailing Francis Coquelin. Laurent Koscielny retreated, so much so that Hazard entered the box, wrong-footed the Frenchman – a ballerina versus a tap dancer, and finished with a low bobbler into the net.
It was a goal for the ages and Conte thought as much. He sprinted down the touchline and dived into a section of delirious Chelsea fans – a box office celebration and a standing ovation from the Italian for his player. The remainder of the match was a mere formality: Arsenal’s numerous corners, the indifferent showing by both Mesut Ozil and Alexis Sanchez, Petr Cech’s howler and Fabregas’s goal, Thibaut Courtois’s fine save and Oliver Giroud’s late strike.
For Arsenal, it was a Groundhog Deja Vu. Nothing about the 3-1 defeat was surprising, the manner of capitulation was so familiar and borderline melodramatic that the London club were a caricature. The anti-Wenger club will grow, a legion of detractors marching on the Emirates Stadium to demand root-and-branch change, but these considerations were perhaps circumstantial on an afternoon when Chelsea all but won the Premier League with a performance worthy of champions.
