Saturday, April 29
in pictures, in style.
gallas powers home the opener in the fifth minute
captain fantastic injures himself. he is to continue playing till the end.
a moment of magical brilliance from joe cole, as he leaves three defenders in his wake with nifty footwork.
and he wheels away in delight as he rifles his shot past an exposed van der sar.
carvalho (a centreback) runs the whole length of the pitch after dispossessing van nistelrooy before hammering a thunderous strike, one which would put strikers to shame, past van der sar.
it was the sweetest way to round the season off.
the special one hurls his blazer and premiership medal into the crowd, sparking wild scrambles to collect the prized momentos.
i'd hate to see gallas go.
pictures courtesy of
ChelseaFC.com
chelsea 3-0 man utd
there really couldn't be a more emphatic way to round off the season in style.
more to follow..
Friday, April 28
blank cheque
ahh, the power of leverage. life gets better. if only by that little teeny bit. now i may just have had a "blank cheque".
time is running out though.
i hope i don't screw up the interview.
followed by the 90 minutes which could seal chelsea's status as champions yet again.
i didn't feel like writing here. think it shows through. over and out.
Sunday, April 23
sick to the stomach
it's hard to stomach losing 2 out of 10 matches, when they are both semi-finals.
Saturday, April 22
letter of apology
no this is not a suicide note
but why has it got to be me?
i'm only entitled to a little bit of hope,
why can't they let me be?
i apologise, that i can't be perfect.
well i still don't want to die.
weak and useless, i guess at times,
but it's you who won't let the sleeping dogs lie.
a being, so tortured; the soul burns
as dry as desert sand.
yet i don't even ask for love
or someone to hold my hand.
in a place where free space and happiness
is all-so-rarified,
my tiny beacon of hope and joy
is crushed and crucified.
i'm sorry for a number of things,
including the way i am.
i'm sorry for being sorry,
on your pride i mar.
i'm sorry if i look like a quitter,
you would not in peace let me stay in this place.
how sorry that in this enclosure
there hardly lies a friendly face.
i'm sorry this is not a suicide note,
if you all want me dead but not gone.
'cause i'm entitled to the hope upon which i hang,
i wait, i hope, to be re-born.
eightnil
anger. disappointment. or a genuine desire to improve and pull up their socks.
i heard about the "consolation" of only losing 1-0.
dear peeps, it's all going south.
Sunday, April 16
krafty
there'd be 8 people vying for every one spot available in smu. now..
a life with less pain awaits. i'd find out in about two weeks time.
i don't know if i'd be blessed enough though. i think i not often am. i'd keep fighting. and fighting.
and maybe, just maybe, no more of those times of feeling useless and helpless.
Thursday, April 13
to the girls (class of 05):
i miss you all too. seriously. and i'm happy that i'm still pretty actively in touch with most of you guys.
i've heard things about how the team is collapsing. (or has it already collapsed?) the segregation between you all and the juniors, the enstrangement and the disillusionment with (partly) the game we're all supposed to play and love. mann, it hurts even to imagine how life would be like if i got sick of football.
all the more galling, is how things do not have to be how it is like. you all had grand plans, beginning with making the club official. where's everyone going from now? i shall steer clear of personal attacks but let's just put it simply, we could have done better with what we had.
and now it's all slipping away.
IF it's any consolation at all, we're gonna go down in history as the best ever team the school has had. the memories of this dream that once was dear and beautiful, if they're still there, let it remain. like a relationship gone bad, it's time to go.
concentrate on the exams. and we can always play when we're all free.
the blues
when the final score of Chelsea 4 West Ham 1 rang around tv screens and stadiums all over britain, it concluded what truly was a rollercoaster ride of emotions.
just imagine: your team plays well, dominates with slick passing, but goes on to concede a goal under pressure from the opponents' very first attack. then your team goes on to attack, hits the post, and then one of them gets a red card for what is, while not innocuous, definitely not something that warrants a sending-off.
non-footy fans will go "so?". never mind. but in a must-win game like this, i swear i was close to tears.
and then to see your beloved team stand up and be counted, entertaining fans, silencing critics and dishing out a hammering despite what at first seemed like an insurmountable situation, was just breathtaking. what contrasting emotions.
okay pardon the indulgence. i rarely feel anything in camp.
hmm.
i'm often wondering. but anyway, i don't wish to profess what i "think" is THE definitive theory on the mechanics of human interaction and relations here.
just that, i've read somewhere which says that the most important contacts to have, business-wise, are the weak links. the ones you say hi and bye and not a lot else to. i got no idea why. it even sounds illogical.
instinctively though, i'm inclined to agree.
Sunday, April 9
french kiss.
so ze party wasn't too good. 'cause ze place and ze crowd was badd. but freak, i think i would never ever have so much fun in a club again, especially without dancing. still felt rather lonely tho, i think i was the only one having fun 'cause there can only be one deejay.
don't worry peeps. we'll do this again.
and so waddya think of ze name 'eduard' rather than 'edward'?
private eduard reporting: "there's been good progress on the frontline. hoping to kiss the place goodbye. over."
i miss bmt.
Sunday, April 2
rebel with a cause
ALL RISE. i'm a one man army, fighting for a cause some would not understand. it's going to be a long war.
and i thought they slapped me in the face.
it is the 'blip' that everyone has hoped for. Chelsea now wobble to the finish line. by recent years' standards, current form is extremely patchy to say the least.
well it is still more enjoyable than challenging for 6th place, like it has been not so long ago.
i dreamt, like i thought i would never again, that she was here again. how beautiful actually.
that booking in sucks would probably qualify as the single biggest understatement. the war resumes.
