Saturday 2nd September
It was a dejected mood that lay around Stamford Bridge as the final whistle went. And for good reason, another poor display had consigned Chelsea to a second successive loss and Mourinho to his first home defeat in the league as Chelsea manager.
Things had started badly and proceeded to get worse. Mikel Arteta had slipped through the Chelsea back four and put Everton ahead after just eight minutes, and it was only Petr Cech who prevented the visitors from increasing their lead before half time.
Chelsea did create chances in the second half, and Tim Howard had to be alert to keep out shots from Drogba and Lampard. But then, in the last ten minutes, came the killer blow.
As Chelsea won a corner, the referee blew for an Everton free kick. Fontana had used his elbow whilst jumping with Everton defender Joseph Yobo, and was shown a red card. Then, with six minutes to go, Andy Johnson scored to put the game to bed.
Sunday 3rd September
The telephone rang as the game between Liverpool and Manchester United got underway.
“Hello.”
“Are you Mr George Spencer?"
“Speaking,” I replied, noting that the voice on the other end had spoken rather quickly.
“Is this where my muffin now lives?” It took me a couple of seconds for ‘my muffin’ to register.
“Yes, it is. And you must be Ms Derpy Hooves? I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you,” I said.
“May I speak to her?”
I felt a pang of guilt at this. It was now three months since Foal Protection Services (who held a clear lead in the title race for “most irresponsible government organisation”) had left Dinky with me, and it had never occurred to me that it might have been a good idea to try and exchange contact details other than just addresses through the embassy.
“It's for you, Dinky,” I called. Dinky jumped down from the sofa and walked over.
I sighed as the two of them had an emotional conversation, and thought of the coming school year. As Dinky was too young to qualify as an exchange student (Year 10 or higher), a pony from the embassy had arrived two weeks ago to discuss the options, or rather, option. She'd hoped that Princess Celestia would be able to have a few words with the Football Association and enable her to use the nearby portal to attend her Primary School in Ponyville. Unfortunately, the FA hadn't budged (although from what I'd heard of Belladonna, it wouldn't have surprised me if she'd had a few words with them first), meaning that Dinky would have to continue to attend classes set up at the embassy for the children of embassy staff.
At any rate, I suspected that had Ponyville been an option, Dinky would have likely been escorted to and from the portal by a chaperone who would probably have had all the empathy of a ticket machine facing a hurrying commuter and the emotional capacity of the vidiprinter.
“So what did she want to speak to you about?” I asked as Dinky returned to the sofa.
“She really wanted to talk to me again, and she also wanted me to pass on her thanks for taking care of me.”
I thought back to the poem that had been sent to Dinky shortly after her arrival, and I pulled her into a hug.
“Well, as bad as things might seem right now, and I can’t believe that I’m quoting Liverpool fans here, ‘at the end of the storm, there’s a golden sky’. So who knows? We might not have started the season as expected, but there’s still a long way to go and...oh, what are they doing!”
While the two of us had been talking, Manchester United had gone on the attack and won a corner. Wayne Rooney had met with Ronaldo’s cross and volleyed goalwards, but Liverpool keeper Pepe Reina had parried the shot. John O’Shea, however, had followed up and scored on the rebound, giving United the lead. United went on to win 2-0.
Thursday 7th September
"Champions League tickets arrived today," I said, as Dinky got out of the embassy car.
Chelsea had been drawn in a group with Bayern Munich, Benfica and Celtic, which I believed could be navigated without much difficulty. As I'd told Dinky when the draw had been made two weeks previously, we could have ended up with Real Madrid, Barcelona or Milan.
Saturday 9th September
It was a concerned Rainbow Dash who arrived at the Traveller’s Rest Inn to watch the game. Portsmouth had made a good start to the season and sat 6th in the table, while Chelsea’s two defeats had seen them slip, briefly, into the bottom half. Big Match Live was just beginning as she paid for her cider and sat down next to Derpy at a nearby table.
“Welcome to Fratton Park for our live game this evening.” Big Match said. “The Blues might not have made the best start to their season, but history is on their side tonight. They have not lost to Portsmouth since 1960, and…”
“...and the referee has awarded Portsmouth a penalty!” exclaimed Kick Off.
It might well be grim up north, I thought, but things weren’t much better in the south either. This was Chelsea’s final game before the start of their Champions League campaign, and three points were imperative.
However, once again, things had gone wrong early. In the 12th minute, a good ball from Portsmouth midfielder Pedro Mendes (who had recovered from his encounter with Ben Thatcher) found fellow midfielder Niko Kranjcar, who beat Kovac before firing a shot past Cech.
Chelsea had huffed and puffed in abysmal weather, to the point that the floodlights had been on since the beginning, but had nothing to show for it. As if that wasn’t enough, the constant sound of a handbell from the stand at the other end of the ground seemed to echo throughout my brain. Not everyone in the home crowd was enjoying it either, as a yellow earth pony with a purple mane and a Tudor rose on her flank kept giving its owner very dirty looks.
And now, to top it all off, Portsmouth had a penalty with twenty minutes remaining. Nwankwo Kanu, their striker who had once scored a 15-minute hat trick for Arsenal at Stamford Bridge, placed the ball on the spot and waited for the whistle. Dinky shut her eyes and looked away, whilst in Ponyville, Derpy covered her eyes with her wings.
Neither of them saw Petr Cech dive low to his right to keep the ball out.
Chelsea, invigorated by having gotten out of jail, then went on the attack. A long ball from Boulahrouz found Shaun Wright-Phillips, and the winger unleashed a fierce shot which was tipped over by veteran Portsmouth keeper David James.
Chelsea continued to press for an equaliser, and with five minutes left Arjen Robben was sent away down the left. Robben crossed the ball into the area, where Didier Drogba volleyed the ball into the roof of the net to rescue a point.
Portsmouth 1-1 Chelsea (Kranjcar 12, Kanu m/pen 71; Drogba 85)
Despite rescuing a point, the table still made for grim reading; Chelsea were 9th in the table, whilst Man Utd were still on maximum points and held a five-point lead at the top, and a ten-point lead over Chelsea, at this early stage of the season.