Chelsea 6-3 Leeds United: Caught cold

Games like this are good for you, unfortunately, or so the old soothsayers say: they put hairs on your chest and meat on your bones and nightmares in your subconscious. It's healthy, actually, to wake up now and then in the night, screaming about Jon Parkin. He scored a hat-trick!

Those of us of a certain vintage who don't like to think we're of a certain vintage because the Parkin game was only yesterday, wasn't it?, in September 2010, can shrug off a 6-3 defeat to Chelsea in the Carabao Cup as if it's nothing. We've been through it and had it worse, thank you very much. Jon Parkin was no Cole Palmer but he scored three at Elland Road, in a proper league game at that, to turn the Peacocks' 4-1 lead into a 6-4 defeat to the peaceful lambs of Preston. 

The difference back then was that Leeds were never secure in that match, even after scoring four, whereas at Stamford Bridge this week they had the game sewn up with two. A much-changed Leeds team dominated the first half, growing in confidence after putting Chelsea's reserve goalie, Mike Penders, through many emotions in quick succession.

Just after the 20th minute he was flooded with adrenalin when Ethan Ampadu's long throw created a scramble and a six-yard shot from Brenden Aaronson, that Penders got down low to save, and a looping header from Tarik Muharemović, that Penders got up high to tip over. Then he confused himself by punching Harry Wilson's corner forwards and sending it flying backwards over his bar. Then he was nowhere to be seen as Wilson sent over another corner, further, dipping it at the back post for Muharemović to head into the goal, sideways. Penders was distraught, Muharemović was kneesliding into the corner.

United's confidence built from there, as Chelsea kept giving them the ball in their own half. That gave Leeds the freedom to, essentially, try some stuff, like Dan James whipping a volleyed cross through the penalty area that was too good for the occasion, and Lukas Nmecha. When Chelsea did get through at the other end it was from a series of comedy stepovers by forgotten winger Jamie Gittens, who lashed a shot at the near post which Michael Zetterer glanced away. United's debutant goalie was looking good, so far, brave enough to push up ahead of Jaka Bijol and play in midfield. The other debutant, Melvin Bard, was getting himself going at left-back against Estêvão.

It took until just after half-time for a second goal to come, and what a fun time we were all having then. Bijol and Ampadu robbed Bremner nevergonnabe Valentín Barco, a little redheaded pest wearing their no.4, and Ampadu took the ball out to the wing and around Morgan Rogers to the byline. He rolled his cutback to Nmecha at the front post, who pulled off one of his extraordinary moments of sporadic skill, flicking the ball behind him to unmarked Aaronson on the penalty spot. Aaronson loves scoring against Chelsea, although this was a bit further out than in 2022. All the Leeds players laughed, bigging up Ampadu for his flying winging, and Aaronson slapped the Leeds rose on his shirt in front of the away fans. 

Are all Aaronson's goals against Chelsea destined to be false dawns? As in less than twenty minutes the score was 4-2 to Chelsea and the Peacocks were indistinguishable from their Alex Bruce, Neill Collins, George McCartney edition of 2010. 

There were two turning points. One was a penalty that shouldn't have been, VARless ref Jarred Gillett pointing to the spot after Dan James did effectively nothing to Pep Chavarría. The two players were out wide away from the goal, Chavarría had popped off a wasteful pass without hindrance — James had actually helped him, by missing a header that let him in — and the contact was fractional, a toe on a toe as they collided. For all that, Gillett decreed Cole Palmer should have the chance to shoot unhindered at goal from twelve yards. If this was the fates' way of evening up the penalty Brentford should have had the other week, when Jayden Bogle tripped Kevin Schade, it was wonky again within half-an-hour: afterward, Gillett apologised for not giving a penalty for a foul on Noah Okafor. Thanks for nothing, Jarred.

The other turning point was half-time, when Chelsea boss Xabi Alonso made four substitutions and brought on Palmer, Rogers, Pedro Neto and Reece James. This is the very simple and very accurate explanation for why Chelsea were so much better in the second half: they replaced a sixteen-year-old debutant in midfield with the experienced excellence of Reece James. Replacing a child with an England international will make your team much better.

The sixteen-year-old was Reggie Watson, son of former Wigan midfielder Ben, and while there wasn't much in his performance to worry me — he gave the ball away a lot and got booked for letting aggravation become a late foul on Harry Wilson — his presence does, a bit. Like Reading & Leeds Festival replacing their BBC Introducing stage with an 'upcoming artists' tent hosting the children of Liam Gallagher, David Beckham, Dave Grohl and Chris Martin and Gwyneth Paltrow, Watson's presence — and Erling Haaland's, and the Cresswells', and the Grays', and more — makes it feel like football is becoming what music is becoming, a hobby for nepo babies who can afford not to work. Leeds have just signed Robert Earnshaw's teenage son to the Academy, and it feels like footie's pipelines could get clogged up with kids whose advantageous births block the way in for others.

The crucial player on this night, though, was Cole Palmer, who grew up ordinary in Wythenshawe but plays football now with all the swagger of someone truly liberated from caring. Football really is just a kickabout to Palmer and I can't hate him for it. 

From a Leeds perspective there's a lot to dislike about the equaliser he scored, starting with how it came two minutes after his penalty, including the way Sean Longstaff let him wander off to get a knock down from a throw-in, to Zetterer not diving to stop his shot, just falling to his knees as it slid by. But this was a brassy dazzle from Palmer, to make your jaw drop if you let it: he's so clever, how he lets Bijol move in front of him as a screen, the way he rolls the ball into the far corner like practising on a putting green. It's not just football, it's deception and conjuring, like doing a magic trick to wow kids.

It's awful from Leeds, too, but not as bad as the third, which came five minutes later. With neither team keeping the ball as they crowded around it in midfield, Wilson cut through the scramble by playing a clear pass square to Palmer in the centre circle. Muharemović had to go to him while Rogers had no problem getting away from Bijol, and Bard was the last line with half a pitch and a decision to make: he had to try stopping Rogers, which meant leaving Neto alone behind him. Obviously that's who Rogers gave the ball to, and his first time finish was another Zetterer didn't dive for. Note to our new goalie: even if you don't think you'll save it, please just dive anyway. It'll make us feel better.

Or was the fourth worse? With subs lining up to come on for Leeds, Muharemović was beaten to a throw-in by Rogers, then beaten in a sprint to the byline by Rogers, and then the cutback was watched by a clutch of defenders onto Danny Welbeck's boot, allowing him to turn and touch and feint and finish, deflecting past Zetterer in off James Justin's diving block. 

We can do the post-mortem at this point, if you like, because none of this was particularly complicated. Zetterer and Bard, this time last week, were at different clubs in different countries. They didn't know each other, let alone the Leeds players they lined up at Stamford Bridge with, who were themselves newly configured: Bijol and Muharemović are newly met, barely together yet; James Justin is not a centre-back but he was their third in the back line; Dan James is not a wing-back but there he was giving a pen away. If Leeds looked like a bunch of players who'd never met, it wasn't far from the truth.

Perhaps Daniel Farke could have acted sooner to save them from themselves, and his subs when they did come did make a difference: Dominic Calvert-Lewin started and finished a counter-attack that made it 4-3 as United calmed down and got involved; Okafor should have had his penalty. But football games are played by the players, and their manager was entitled to expect the leaders on the pitch — Ampadu, Longstaff, Justin, Wilson — to get a grip of things on their own. Instead they barely gave Farke a chance to make changes anyway, letting two in while the subs were preparing to come on. Two of the goals started with mistakes by senior players who should be more trustworthy, Longstaff and Wilson, a third from our new top class defender Muharemović being sleepy at a throw-in. It all started with Dan James, little but now quite old, letting a ball go over his head. Farke was entitled to expect better from the players he had out there.

But it looked like the many changes and chucking in the new boys had put Leeds off-kilter, with hardly time since the transfer deadline and the trip to Brighton and back to get ready together for this. Preparation, or lack of it, was key to Chelsea making it six. Farke was going to bring Jean-Mattéo Bahoya on to test Chelsea's defence with his pace, but cramping Bard meant Gabriel Gudmundsson, just back from an injury that ruined his pre-season, had to replace him instead. No sooner was Gudmundsson on the pitch than he was caught the wrong side of Rogers, who pulled the ball back through Zetterer's dive for Barco to bury. In stoppage time, Neto waltzed by Gudmundsson and pushed the ball into the box where it popped to Barco again, whose mishit shot went in off Welbeck's head. 

That was the sure sign that it was not Leeds United's night, and that Jon Parkin was watching somewhere, waiting for full-time so he could stick the old 6-4 DVD on and show the kids. Nobody scored three, but Morgan Rogers got four assists (if you give him the one Zetterer tipped to Barco) and Cole Palmer set up Barco's shot for the sixth and scored two of his own and might think his night was DVDworthy, just for the lols.

Palmer is set apart by the way he can play like he doesn't care. He's not worried by Champions League football this season, and was left out of England's World Cup squad, and it's giving him the maverick freedom enjoyed by flair players of the 1970s that Don Revie and Ron Greenwood didn't want in their England teams: Duncan McKenzie, Tony Currie, Frank Worthington. His second goal here was pure fun for him, and I suspect was born of malice: last season, Stamford Bridge, same end, stoppage time, open goal, 2-2, Palmer sent the ball flying over. If there was one thought in his mind when he came on the pitch this time, it was the memory of that. Like a modern day Jon Parkin, Palmer's in this for the tales he can tell when it's all over, and like a modern day Jon Parkin, I fear how many of them won't be stories from World Cups but recitations of, 'This other time, against Leeds again...' ⭑彡

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