Football Poets

Chelsea’s Russian revolution

¶ 1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Chelsea’s Russian revolution

¶ 2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 The Roman holiday is over
Abramovich hands the keys
Of Oligarchy and wealthy
Properties over to the warm
Charitable trusts, the
Trustworthy hands of
Loving benevolence where
Now hangs the dark cloak
Of dictatorship. Rules with
A rod of iron, Putin
Choking the life force
From Russia without love
But Chelsea now deserted
By the silent one, who hides
In the background we can still hear
The nasty orchestras of war
Discord in the air and menacing
Undercurrents of sharp divisions
Over Stamford Bridge
Where once Premier League
Back to back titles were displayed
When the echoes of arrogance
Of the Mourinho regime
Sneered and snarled over
The Bridge and then later
At the incomparable Real Madrid
So it is that Abramovich retreats
To his voiceless bunker
Not quite a sinister force
For he still believes in the Chelsea
Of old and new, trusting in his
Instincts as chairmen and owners do
But now the Russian bear will no longer
Be the growling, grizzly bear
Who sits on high at the Bridge
Pouring money and largesse
On this upwardly mobile, fashion
Conscious West London force
Chelsea bathing in their pool of their
Untouchable excellence but
Gone now are the days of
Bulldozers and bankruptcy
Scrimping and saving for all their worth
Now Chelsea boast millions at the court
Of Abramovich and yet he’s gone
But still there in spirit
Slapping backs from
The parallel universe of his world
Smiling with hirsute beard at his Chelsea
Blue is the colour
Mason Mount, Rudiger, Lukaku,
Hudson Odoi all on the crest of
A wave but carefully protected
From chaos and turbulence
Where Ray Wilkins once strutted
The fandango, a bossa nova or two
Chelsea now in grave danger
Of losing sight of where they were
Destabilised for a while but not
Quite because when Roman
Takes that holiday on stunning
Yachts that float immaculately
But yet they continue to cheer
From prosperous highs
The Shed in peerless accord
And yet yesterday was a punch
In the ribs, a harsh reawakening
Of the truth, oil reserves
Are not the answer for any of us
Waters dirtied, but tidal wave
Steady and clear. Ambition still there
Now. Who knows what the future
May hold for the good citizens of
West London toasting the past and
Present. Still pretty chipper but
No longer in Manchester City’s
Binoculars, just panting and puffing in their
Slipstream, a team left behind by
The leading lights of the day
For Chelsea, the Champions League
Could still be their salvation
Their medicinal antidote
The perfect pick me up,
A shot of something uplifting
While Ukraine fights for its life
On battlegrounds they never thought
They’d know. And Roman takes a
Holiday while Chelsea bask in the glow
They will, they hope, they will conquer
Those below
Blue is the colour
And Chelsea is definitely our name

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