There was a grim inevitability about this match. Yes, Everton were unbeaten in almost a dozen meetings between the two teams but almost every one of them had been a draw so it wasn’t as if we were reigning supreme. We actually started pretty well against Moneybags FC in the opening 15 minutes or so but once they began to control possession it was almost totally one-way traffic. Our resistance lasted until the 30 minute mark when Sturridge headed home a cross after a lapse in concentration from our defence.

Watching it at home with a hangover, I didn’t really react after they scored. I just tutted and carried on watching it hoping for a miracle. I do wonder what it’s like supporting a team like Chelsea. Never really a big team until the inception of the Premier League (which is becoming a bit like the BC-AD turnover) they hovered between the top two divisions for a while in the 80s and were more famous for having psychotically violent fans than being a successful football team. A moderately successful late 90s and early 00s when they usually qualified for the Champions League raised their profile but even then they were almost going out of business with spiralling debts when Roman ‘fuck me I love money’ Abramovich decided he wanted a new toy. Since then they have won a few trophies and have the most expensive tickets in the Premier League. It makes me wonder if the fans who stuck with them when they were struggling can actually afford to go to the games anymore. Dum-de-dum.

After their first goal, Everton couldn’t really react in an attacking sense and Chelsea started applying further pressure. All we had to do was see it through to half-time with a 1-0 deficit and then we could reg…and then John ‘I’ll show you the training ground for ten grand’ Terry nodded the ball home after Tim Howard failed to gather the ball. 2-0 down and not much hope for the second half. It certainly wasn’t helping my hangover recovery.

Within 17 seconds of the second half starting, Leon Osman struck a rasping drive which bounced off the outside of the post. Unfortunately we couldn’t capitalise on any momentum that might have given us and Chelsea again started completely controlling the play. They got their reward after 60 minutes when Ramires managed to squeeze between our two centre-backs and bundle the ball home, injuring himself in the process. If I had any hope of a comeback at this point, it was quickly shot down much like Ashley Cole’s unofficial shooting range lessons he gives at Chelsea’s training ground. I went off to make some toast.

After sitting back down, I was soon sending spittles of toast across the room in rage when Moyes decided to bring Phil Neville on for Tim Cahill. Were we shoring up our defence to protect our 3 goal deficit? Fuck knows. The game was pretty much over as a contest with Chelsea content to keep hold of the ball and Everton struggling to get out of their own half. Velios was introduced for the largely ineffectual (but to be fair, unsupported) Saha and within 18 seconds had managed to stick a foot out at a low cross and direct the ball beyond Petr ‘my head still hurts’ Cech.

Surely the comeback couldn’t be on? Would we have enough time to mount an assault on Chelsea’s stubborn defence? Could we scramble a couple of jammy goals home and rescue and unlikely point? Could we enact one of the greatest comebacks in Everton’s history?

No.