Premier League: Chelsea 1 (Palmer 16) Fulham 2 (Wilson 82, Muniz 90+5)
Perhaps there will be some debate over Fulham’s equalising goal after 81 minutes of this 2-1 west London derby victory for Marco Silva’s team at Stamford Bridge. Certainly Pedro Neto spent a long time prostrate on the turf being tended to by the medical team after being caught by Alex Iwobi’s shoulder as he skated past him far too easily on the Fulham left. Perhaps Neto might be better served trying to tackle with his feet in future.
But there was no debate about the winner, which arrived five minutes into added time, tucked in calmly by the sub Rodrigo Muniz, reward for a relentless second-half display, and a moment that left the Fulham bench leaping and writhing in a full bobbing huddle on the touchline.
Fulham deserved the win here, just as Chelsea did not ever really seem to have the deeper gears or the second wind required to hold on to the lead granted by Cole Palmer’s sensational first-half goal.
Defeat leaves Chelsea four points off the top of the table, having played two games more than Liverpool. This has never really been a title challenge or a title charge, more a title-curious stroll. Enzo Maresca keeps saying his team is not ready. On the evidence here he has a fair point.
From the start this was basically two games of football in one. On the one hand the main feature, an energetic Premier League derby, the standard fight for space and small margins. Running alongside this, at least for the opening hour, was a game of Palmer versus the rest of the world, those intermittent leaps into hyperspace when Chelsea’s number 10 took the ball and the day suddenly opened up into something else entirely.
There is still something Christmassy about this model of Chelsea, or at least quite St Stephen’s Day, surrounded by shiny new plastic stuff, a little dazed, a little over-gorged, still working out what to do with four brand new boxed Lego death stars, legacy of Todd Boehly’s drunken Santa Claus turn as director of football.
Here they kicked off with a straight, non-inverting back four with Roméo Lavia absent from midfield. Fulham kept at least one of their wing-backs deep early on, the defensive line loitering cautiously near halfway. Adama Traoré started high up on the right in super short sleeves, biceps rippling like ripe Ibérico hams, always looking to zip infield away from Marc Cucurella. And they were bright early on, Traoré and Alex Iwobi busy in the spaces left by Chelsea’s spells of advanced possession.
Which was all fine until Palmer decided to pull himself up to his full height with 15 minutes gone. The goal captured exactly why Palmer is both so effective and also so unusual in modern football. There really was not much on, no obvious, pre-scripted path to goal as he picked the ball up 30 yards out, taking a short pass from Levi Colwill and spinning on the half turn. Except, yeah, maybe I’ll just do this.
In the space of three seconds Palmer erased three Fulham players and put the ball in the net. First he veered away from Andreas Pereira. Then he switched feet mid-stride to chop past Sasa Lukic. Finally Palmer didn’t just shoot through Issa’ Diop’s legs, he placed a beautifully crafted side foot finish through Diop’s ‘s legs, in a way that was so careful, so lovingly precise it was almost sensual, like a fond little squeeze of the thigh.
Palmer took a few moments to amuse himself after that, spinning and punting a show pass from the touchline that hit a Fulham player, producing an outrageous little cage-football sideways nudge when he might have shot himself. Steady there. This is not done yet.
And Fulham had chances to equalise in the first half, or rather semi-chances, moments of one-on-one defending in extremis. They had more possession and just as many shots. Chelsea did not have a great deal of slack in the team here, no sense of resting on the ball, deeper gears, periods of chill. At times in the second half the home crowd would applaud whenever a Chelsea player stopped, put a foot on the ball, passed backwards for a bit, that 1-0 lead always a little angsty and precarious.
Fulham were neat, energetic and well-grooved. Chelsea played on the break for a bit, pushed back by Fulham’s vigour in midfield, where Fernandes was slick on the ball, but often overrun. With 58 minutes gone Traoré ran past him on the left like a man absent-mindedly vaulting a traffic cone, leaving Neto to finally drag him down.
It was a precursor to Neto’s failure to get close enough to Iwobi ahead of the equaliser with 82 minutes gone. The ball was crossed deep, headed back by Timothy Castagne and then flicked in by Harry Wilson, unmarked close to goal. From there the winner came very late; but it never really felt like a surprise. – Guardian
