Last season's top two served up a game of such miserable fare, I was reminded of my only experience of nouvelle cuisine. Bloody expensive and nothing to get your teeth into.
In the reigns of Vialli and Gullit, with Ken Bates clad in that coat of many animals, there was still something faintly glamorous about Chelsea. All right, they were never going to win more than the odd Cup, but they gave value for money.
Nowadays, it's like watching an army side from behind the old iron curtain.
It's this what Roman expected from his billions? A dour, drab, ditchwater side led by either the dire Drogba or the comatose Crespo?
If you own a season ticket, skip it when the Blue Russians come a-calling. You must have a fence that needs creosoting.
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