OTD: CHELSEA 1-2 SAFC
On this day in 2025, Sunderland beat Chelsea 2-1 at Stamford Bridge to move up to second in the Premier League table. We went a goal down within five minutes but an equaliser from Wilson Isidor and a last minute winner from Chemsdine Talbi gave us the three points. Here's Sobs' match report from that day:
The Lads took it to The Bridge and produced one of the best away wins of my life. Smash and grab? Maybe but it's part of being a damn good football team. Down early, level before half time, ahead in added time. Ain't football great?
Yes. Of course it is. Days like today make it so. Put it in the memory bank and savour it at a later date. Or tomorrow. Or whenever, doesn't really matter, just put it somewhere, because it's worth it, it really is. The big picture is that engineering works on the railway will mean better services in the future. The small picture meant crazy replacement buses that apparently travel at 35mph and thus no comfy 7:30am departure. Out of bed at half four, aka "nee such time", and away in the dicky dark with last night's good wishes from Mal the Mag still ringing in my ears. Apparently they (probably just "he") want us to turn Chelsey over to further next season's European jaunt. Hmm, there you go.
The joy of our players coming through the international break unscathed was spoiled by Omar Alderete's bang on the head against Wolverhampton Wanderers, invoking the mysterious concussion protocol and bringing Reinildo back into the squad, presumably with instructions to give over with the rugby and curb his temper, which we discussed between Stanmore and Holborn as Bob & co. broke the world record for can consumption.
After defaulting on what's left of our mortgages to pay for some refreshments, we tubed it to Earl's Court in time to catch up with mates and assess the team...
Roefs
Hume Ballard Mukiele Geertruida Reinildo
Xhaka (c) Sadiki
Traore Isidor Le Fee
... and a bench of Patterson, Neil, O'Nien, Brobbey, Mayenda, Talbi, Rigg, Jones and Masuaku.
The absence of Talbi was a shame, as his pace off the bench has been a problem for oppositions so far, but we've got a squad. A good squad and that's what it's all about.
Away it went, with us attacking the end away to our fans' right. We looked fairly lively in the opening exchanges but the home side's quality was scarily evident in their sharp and swift exchanges. None more so than in the case of Manchester United misfit Alejandro Garnacho, who shaped and shifted to make space that his parent club couldn't use. Down our right, clip across Robin Roefs, 0-1, only five gone.
Bugger, and various other swearings, but we could hardly argue that they didn't deserve the lead. However, we obviously took that as a metaphorical hoof up the arse and simply shored up at the back. Previous Sunderland teams might have crumbled at this point but not Granit Xhaka's boys. It might have been backs to the wall but we knew where our backs were and what the wall was made of. Dan Ballard and Nordi Mukiele, that's what, and enough to withstand owt the dancing feet and feigned injury of the Prem could throw at us.
Without panicking, we stuck to our patient plan with Xhaka unsurprisingly pulling the strings and Ballard and Mukiele doing their impersonations of Gibraltar and another big rock while setting Trai Hume away a few times. Isidor had one or two chances to run at the home defence, which they didn't like a bit (especially Marc Cucurella, hairy fella) and their cross field passing brought them nothing as Big Dan simply waited to see what was coming his way then nutted it, or carried, it away. As discussed with his marra Mukiele.
The first half might have been, ah I was going to say all Chelsea, but that's nonsense because part of being a damn good football team is to do what we did in the 48 minutes that were played. So it was after 20 minutes or so that Isidor found space from what is becoming a trademark Nordi long throw and he plonked it home to send the visiting fans tumbling down the rail standing. Girrruppp!
The rest of the half was a case of us defending whilst Chelsea passed sideways in honour of former captain Butch Wilkins. Then sideways again, and again, thankfully there's only so much you can do whilst not attacking the opposition. Therefore we just stood our ground, it's why we recruited really solid defenders. Hume would tackle a tanker and come out on top, whilst Big Dan and No-nonsense Nordi showed Marc Guiu what he's missing. By the time the break arrived, we in the stands were more than happy but wondered if we could keep Roefs' net empty.
Hell yes, even if the timepieces in the stadium seemed to have stopped. When we broke, we looked dangerous. When we defended, we looked impregnable. Enzo Le Fee ran himself into the ground, Isidor, who'd done his job, and Bertrand Traore (who'd put in a decent shift) were given a rest with about 15 minutes to go, giving Chris Rigg, Brian Brobbey (don't, just don't) and Talbi a run out as we sought to hang onto that precious point.
We soaked up whatever Chelsea and their SKA backing could throw at us, meaning that us fans were chowing our fingernails in the hope that we'd could hang on for a deserved point. Aye, well, Mr Brobbey had other ideas in the six added minutes. Out on the right, he collected a long clearance, held it up nicely as we screamed for him to do just that, then laid it into to path of the onrushing fellow sub Talbi, who clipped it in from the edge of the box without faffing about to control it. BOOOOOM!
Absolute mayhem in the away end, upstairs and downstairs alike and by the time we'd settled (sort of, the bus is still bouncing as I try to type) the referee had run out of reasons to add to the six extra and we celebrated as if we'd won a trophy. Which we sort of did. We are second in the league, said we are second in the league. What a simply fantastic win, and proof perfect that we're a bloody good Premier League side.
Man of the Match? So many to choose from but probably for his persistence and his goal, I'll give it to Issy. Please feel free to disagree, as I ain't gonna deny any of them the honour. GIRRRUPPP!
