David Stubbs explains exactly how he feels about the west London club
As Chelsea thumped six goals first past West Brom and then, as disappointingly as life itself, did the same to Wigan, hideous memories danced in my mind as the overbearing boys in blue hugged each other wreathed in boorish smiles. Memories of Margaret Thatcher leaning triumphantly out of the window in 1987, of John Selwyn Gummer being congratulated by the Monster Raving Loony Party candidate in 1992, or of David Mellor gurning and grinning like the Squire’s fat son who has just won the garden fête raffle. Every Chelsea victory, I realised, feels like a Tory landslide. Two games in, six points, 12 goals, none conceded. Just rejoice at that news, just rejoice.