Chelsea drag out title race at weary Everton
By Tim Rich
Electronic Telegraph, 18th April 2008
The Winslow Hotel opposite Goodison Park is the kind of place that
specialises in beer and banter rather than spa treatments and Egyptian
cotton sheets but last night it was advertising a psychic evening.
Avram Grant might have been tempted to remain on Merseyside just to
ask what kind of future he has at Stamford Bridge. This morning it
is still unclear.
Chelsea, two points behind Manchester United with the champions still
to come to Stamford Bridge, remain contenders for the title. Sir Alex
Ferguson would not concede the championship under these circumstances
and nor would Jose Mourinho.
When the final whistle sounded, Chelsea's sense of grievance at having
this game moved to a Thursday because of television commitments would
have been considerably less acute. Three points can do a lot to cure
outrage.
This was a similar game to the one that had appeared to have undone
them on Monday night against Wigan. Chelsea scored first and spent
most of the second half attempting to nurse that lead through. But
here there was no sting in the tail. Manchester United, you felt,
would have tried to kill off an Everton side that aside from Manuel
Fernandes' free-kicks, looked chronically short of inspiration or ideas.
Everton may have cranked up the pressure considerably in the second
half with David Moyes throwing Joleon Lescott from left-back to
centre-forward and with John Terry forced into a bruising contest
with Yakubu. Even Michael Essien, whose goal separated the teams,
appeared to faint in the middle of the pitch, but there was seldom
any real prospect of a breakthrough.
While the title will be alive when United go to Stamford Bridge on
April 26, another contest has been settled. Five points ahead of
Everton and with a game in hand, Liverpool are destined for another
season of Champions League football.
When the teams ran out, it was past an honour guard formed by the
Harlem Globetrotters, a team that Roman Abramovich would admire as
they exist purely to entertain. Most of their matches are exhibition
games that run to a strict script, and they are also not required to
win - the kind of luxury that football never allows.
When Grant last took Chelsea to Goodison in January, it appeared that
a remarkable script was being forged; the one about how a shy, quietly
humorous Israeli took over from the most flamboyant manager the game
had seen since Brian Clough and won everything.
Then, a goal from Joe Cole took Chelsea to the Carling Cup final in the
middle of a sequence of games that saw 10 out of 11 games won. The one
that was not won was drawn 4-4 with Aston Villa on an afternoon of pure
adrenalin the Harlem Globetrotters would have recognised.
Last night returning to Goodison, Grant stood on the touchline, his
figure starkly framed by the floodlights, his future apparently measured
in weeks even though his season might end with the European Cup in Moscow.
He could have argued that he was without Frank Lampard, Didier Drogba
and Michael Ballack. The Chelsea supporters whom the club had bussed up
to Merseyside at its own expense did not, as they had done against Wigan,
chant that he did not know what he was doing. He could, if he had checked
the record books, have pointed out that it took Dave Mackay, the man who
succeeded Clough, 18 months to win the title with Derby.
At least he started with Joe Cole and Shaun Wright-Phillips, something
he had not done at home on Monday and with a fabulously timed pass, he
ought to have justified his selection with a goal four minutes before
the interval. The pass was from Salomon Kalou and sent Wright-Phillips
clear on goal.
Had Wright-Phillips shot first time, it might have been more difficult
to miss but in trying to shift the ball from his left to his right boot,
he allowed Phil Jagielka time to make an interception. And that ought
to have summed up the game - Chelsea had hitherto had plenty of possession
and done very little with it, while Jagielka's anticipation and
positioning had been outstanding.
It was the height of irony that a few minutes later Jagielka should
unintentionally have flicked on a ball from Wright-Phillips straight
into Essien's path who, unlike his team-mate, did not hesitate and
drove his shot emphatically past Tim Howard, who moments later tipped
over instinctively from Jon Obi Mikel. Within the space of five
minutes, Chelsea had emerged from a dull contest of attrition to take
complete charge.
And, frankly, this was no more than they had deserved. Everton had
not beaten them at Goodison in eight years and with Chelsea supposedly
demoralised and with their championship credentials apparently wrecked
by Emile Heskey's late goal, they would never have a better chance.
And yet all they produced in the first half was a single free-kick
from Fernandes that bounced awkwardly in front of Petr Cech, who
palmed the ball out for a corner. From a side supposedly still
competing for a place in the Champions League, it was all rather
flat, although you suspect that their manager, David Moyes, would
probably settle for fifth this morning.
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