London is Blue Dispatch #030

This was the last game where Chelsea should have expected a surprise. After Jurgen Klopp announced his decision to step down, everyone knew that Liverpool’s first big game to make a statement would be nothing short of an adrenaline-fueled, throat-screeching, spirit-transcending ode to their heavy metal frontman before the group disbanded. And yet, Chelsea began with the kind of disbelief that suggested that they’d walked into a moshpit wearing a tuxedo, expecting a soothing rendition of the moonlight sonata from a philharmonic orchestra.

The game was lost in the first 15 minutes. By around 12 minutes of the first half, Chelsea’s front 4 had managed to win 1 duel, combined. Liverpool had managed four times as many as the whole team. Darwin Nunez had cracked off five shots in 18 minutes. He finished with an astounding eleven – four of them crashing against the bar, including a missed penalty. He usually manages four and a half per 90. Four players picked up cautions in the first half, petulant remonstrating against poor officiating again inviting needless pressure.

Ben Chilwell, usually a reliable hand under duress, gifted two passes straight back to Liverpool under pressure. The second gave Liverpool a vital goal. Petrovic, the best in blue by some distance, kept going long under pressure. By the hour mark, of his 9 long balls, only 1 had found the target. The other 8 came back three times as quickly as he’d hit them. Little by little, momentum swung the other way – with every small error, with every lost duel, with every little physical concession. By half-time, it could have been four or five.

The second half began like the first should have. Chelsea inched possession for the first time in the game. The slight upturn in momentum peaked with Gusto driving up the right flank and crossing for Mudryk to tap in, but the Ukrainian blazed over what could and should have been, an early glimmer of hope. With that the fair wind calmed, and Szoboszlai rubbed salt in a gaping wound by proving why he was Hungary for a goal.

What followed was the faintest glimpse of the kind of quality that has seen the Blues go toe-to-toe with the heavyweights this season. Christopher Nkunku, on at half-time, conjured up a breath, a second inside the box with a pirouette, and dispatched his first chance against a world class custodian. It is the kind of clinical edge that has been missing throughout the season. A fourth goal poured cold water over any burgeoning signs of warmth.

The most debilitating aspect was the comprehensive nature of the defeat. Chelsea were outthought, outrun, outclassed on every square inch of the green. Thiago Silva was poor. Cole Palmer was poor. Pochettino’s decision to start with the XI he did was the right one, but the decision to push Enzo further away from the zone where Liverpool looked to exert pressure, instead of allowing a technically gifted pivot to manipulate Liverpool’s pressure was a poor decision. None of the starters bar Petrovic merited any praise.

What should have been a defiant roar from a challenger to a giant on the cusp of uncertainty, turned out to be a whimpering surrender. The psychological repercussions of this defeat will be felt even before the ball is kicked in the EFL Cup final. This is not 2012, where the 4-1 defeat to Liverpool at Anfield was sandwiched between a 2-1 FA Cup win against them and a glorious first Champions League triumph. Not many remember than 4-1 thrashing, because the glint of silverware dispels the darkness of defeat. There are three weeks to make amends, to erase this abject failure from living memory and prevent destiny from making Klopp’s last weeks a leisurely stroll to the easiest title of his life.