Lukaku - First Impressions

As the ill-fated second year of Carlo Ancelotti's reign at Chelsea came to a stuttering halt, everybody in and around West London or even those watching thousands of miles away could point out exactly just what had gone wrong with the previous campaign's champions.

The mass exodus of experienced old heads and the failure to replace them adequately, a spate of injuries to key men at key times during the season, a team devoid of creativity, pace and tenacity and a manager who looked and talked like he had run out of ideas to revitalize his charges. The fallout was no more swift than expected. Ancelotti was sent packing and after much dilly-dallying, in walked Andres Villas-Boas. The young Portuguese was expected to make all the right moves that would set off, in his own words - 'an evolution, not a revolution'. To many observers it signaled the end of a London stay for some of the highly paid leading lights of previous years - Drogba, Anelka, Ferreira, Malouda, even Essien; and a shift from Chelsea's renowned physically combative, industrious and efficient style of play to a more technical, pace and width dependent continental system.

Yet, nearly 2 months after the youngest manager in the Premiership walked in through the Stamford Bridge revolving doors, several of those predictions, assertions even, have come to naught. The leading lights still shine bright in a Chelsea Blue sky and the much sought-after wide players are nowhere to be seen, for the time being at least. Instead, the new manager has set about adding quality young players from the continent to his squad full of international football heavyweights. Thibaut Courtois and Oriol Romeu are now Chelsea players, but the name that is getting all the attention is that of a young Belgian who has made giant strides (literally) in his short career to date.

Indeed, his career might well be the only 'short' thing about him. Standing at an impressive 6'4'' and weighing well over what any ordinary boy his age would, Romelu Lukaku has finally achieved his dream of signing for his favourite club, bringing an end to the hotly contested pursuit of one of the world's leading teenage footballers. Lukaku ( who idolises Didier Drogba) himself has never hidden his love for the club,a video of him on a schooltrip to Stamford Bridge in 2010 (which has become an instant hit among Chelsea fans on the internet) shows this amply. His father himself had the following to say about his son's reaction to confirmation of the move - Lukaku's dad -

"For him, it's an absolute dream come true. He will play alongside his idol, Didier Drogba. When he heard the news, he went crazy. He jumped for joy. He has directly put on the jersey of Chelsea and he started dancing in the living room. At that moment, I remembered that my son was still only 18. This naivety is amazing. I think it will help him succeed. He will play in one of the biggest clubs in the world but it will never be undermined by pressure"

It is this enthusiasm and love for the club that has endeared him to Chelsea fans even before he makes his first bow in the shirt that he's dreamt of playing for. Suddenly supporters are excited by the arrival of a supremely promising footballer who seemingly shares the same passion for the club as them. Certainly, it would not be an exaggeration to claim that in some quarters he has already established himself as being above any accusations of an unwelcome attitude, accusations that football fans are rather prone to making once the going gets tough out on the pitch. To say that in Lukaku they see themselves - people who would run themselves into the ground for nothing more than the joy and honour of playing for their team, wouldn't be far off the mark either.

But putting aside the romance of what is indeed a remarkable story, questions have been raised about whether young Lukaku is actually needed in this team that suffers from so much other than the lack of a quality frontline. A valid question too. It is no secret that Chelsea's problems lie on the creative and pace side of things. A midfield that undoubtedly focuses more on feisty combativeness and physical strength isn't really well stocked in terms of fantasy and invention. Not since the days of Robben and Duff have Chelsea featured quick, exciting, barnstorming wide men in it's ranks. Instead, the width is provided by the fullbacks, with strikers turned makeshift 'wingers' linking up in central areas with the lone forward and midfield adventurist Frank Lampard.

Factor in the fact that most of the forward line (Malouda, Anelka, Drogba) and relatively attacking midfielders Lampard and Benayoun are on the wrong side of 30, and it all begins to look a little pear-shaped. With the presence of Fernando Torres and Daniel Sturridge upfront, a central striker in most fans' eyes cements itself as a low priority area. But is that really the case?

Villas-Boas' (AvB from here on) Porto side captured the collective imagination of the footballing world last year with it's delightful attacking intent and the fluid, pinpoint, fast-paced and wide nature of it's play. His 4-3-3 featured two quick, skilful wide men supporting a lone striker (usually Radamel Falcao).

If AvB decides to continue with a similar structure at SW6, he'd find himself short of reliable options in wide areas. Recognizing this problem, Sturridge has been shunted out to the right wing, a departure from his hugely fruitful loan spell at Bolton during the second half of last year, when he relished being played upfront, banging in 8 goals in the process. Anelka and the inconsistent Salomon Kalou are also options out wide on the right, with Malouda almost certain to nail down a place on the left wing. That leaves Torres and Drogba competing for the lone striker's role. This being 2011-12, the dreaded African Cup of Nations will make it a point to roll around post Christmas, taking in it's wake the effervescent Drogba and the bit-part Kalou. Injuries, of course, are as always, a threat, and as the evidence of last season suggests, a large squad is a desirable squad. In view of this, a third central striking option doesn't seem too bad an idea. At any rate, in a season that typically stretches towards 60 games, Lukaku can hope for enough chances to make an impact.

One must not forget that (the financial side of ) football is no different from any other business in that making a sensible investment at the appropriate time is often the key to unlocking said investment's true potential. It can make or break the immediate future of the business, especially if your rival understands this and grabs the opportunity before you do. The Lukaku deal isn't altogether different. At 18 years old, the boy can only develop further. His potential is there for all to see. It is sensible for the club to get him while he's available, at a price that isn't unreasonable for his level of talent and latent potential. The fact that Chelsea are the club of his heart is a potent trump card, especially when it is considered that a certain Mourinho-led Real Madrid were confirmed admirers.

All in all, full marks to the decision makers for getting him here. Granted he might not play an awful lot of games straight away, but working and training with players he has admired for a long time, especially Drogba, can only benefit him and develop his game. The pull of honing his skills under the guidance of arguably Europe's most talented young manager is special in it's own way. As stated before, some match time is inevitable, and the hunger and desire that epitomises Lukaku will shine through, if given adequate, appropriate opportunities.

In the worst case scenario that this move should prove to be a failure some years down the line, Lukaku's age and profile ensures Chelsea a sizeable resale value. All in all, a win-win situation for Chelsea Football Club.

Lukaku factfile :

Full name - Romelu Roger Lukaku
Age - 18 years
Preferred foot - Left
Position - Striker
Transfer fee - €13 million, rising to €20 million based on clauses (rumoured)
Squad number - TBC

Further reading - Meet Romelu Lukaku: The Chelsea-bound Belgian starlet who idolises Didier Drogba - Goal.com -

(First published on Blue Tinted (http://www.bluetinted.com/Site/General/))

Feeling of Loss pt. 10

The old woman made her way down the gentle slope of the winding alley. It was high afternoon but the boys at home were adamant that they wanted fresh peaches as a part of Christmas Eve supper. The merciless sun and the gravel encrusted path had combined to reduce her progress to something akin to a trickle. Nevertheless, she ambled along contentedly, pleased in the knowledge that a well deserved rest awaited just around the corner.

But she hadn't accounted for him.

His eyes had been following her ever since she came into view at the top of the hillock, her hands clutching a basket that held several fruity treats - pleasures he had long given up on. Peaches and pears, apples and plums. Radiant reds, greens and captivating honey coloured little dollops of sugary sweetness and wholesome goodness. He had been in town for over two weeks now. The days seemed to take forever to end. Violent hunger pressed hard against his temples and gorged continuously on the insides of his stomach. But he didn't flinch. His eyes burned a flaming red as they stared intently at his would-be victim, now just a short distance away.

Before the woman could take the final turn, it leapt at her from the shadows. The frail cretin was surprisingly fleet-footed for his size and build. She registered enough to let out a tiny scream before the robust piece of rock in his hand connected with the side of her head. She was dead long before her body thudded against the hot, gravelly road.

The urchin picked up the basket and calmly disappeared into the shadows yet again. Yuri never look back.

Feeling of Loss pt.9

The old Chevy screeched to a grinding halt a hundred yards away from what was till 2 hours ago the town's Police HQ. Out stepped the man who'd lost so much he could lose no more. Amidst the cacophony of howling women and blaring sirens, he looked every inch the beaten-down, world-weary 54 year old orphan that he was.

When the young female officer from the Fire Department saw from the corner of her eye just who was trudging along resignedly towards her, a tiny gasp escaped her otherwise stoic and somber demeanour. Clearly, she wasn't expecting CI Mark Collinsworth to have dodged 35 kilograms of explosive-filled metal. But Mark had a way of finding his way out of trouble, either through design or chance.

'Report, please.'

'No survivors, I'm sorry to say. Everything (and everyone, she wanted to say, but didn't) has been reduced to rubble and charcoal. Industry grade explosive packed into projectiles - the like of which are manufactured around Kremlin. The material itself wouldn't be difficult to find in the industrial area shanties down by the foothills. Prima facie it is unclear if local gangs are involved, but I understand the entire town knows who is actually behind this.'

'Thank you. Ensure that any mortal remains are handed over to the next-of-kin with the utmost sensitivity. I'd require a thorough appreciation of the incident on my desk in three days time.'

Without another word, Mark turned his back on what used to house decades of duty, friendship and loyalty. The eyes glowed with fierce and proud determination. A few moments spent among the ashen remains of his second home had transformed him into the ruthless, cold blooded vandal he always wanted to be. Mark had some calls to make.

It was time to call in the cavalry.

Feeling of Loss pt 8

It was cold and he was hungry, a situation he'd found himself in often of late. Yet another trip to the menacing looking police people produced the by now familiar answer - Mama and Papa were away, but they'd be back soon. The latter part added almost as an afterthought.

'Yeah, right.'

They stopped in their tracks, not knowing a way past the kid's stony demeanour.

That was the moment that young Yuri realised his life wasn't going to pa out quite like how Mama said it would in those fairytales that meant nothing to him now.

They'd gone, disappeared. And they weren't coming back. They'd betrayed him. His 6 year old eyes bore no semblance of pain or hurt, however. They merely stared into space, like a yogi awoken from deep penance. None of the decorated policemen in the room could dare look into them.

Yuri didn't care much for awkward silences. He walked out, never to be seen in town again. His destination - a speck in the clear, moonless night sky above.

Chelsea's board = a disgrace

Seriously, wtf? How can you dishonour a manager like Carlo who despite and inspite of all that's gone on around him all year long, and who's been let down massively by everyone connected with the club, in this crude a manner? Forget football for a moment, this is basic human apathy at play here. In situations like these, the manager is always the fall guy. The scapegoat. Because fact is, it is just too simple to make him one. I've said all season long that it's incredibly convenient to sack one guy than sack many, regardless of how big a hand they've played in the situation gone wrong.

A year ago, he was the toast of the club and English football in some ways. The most successful season in 105 years of the club's existence. And 12 months on, you're telling me that he's crap because he came second? For perfectly legitimate reasons, they decided to let 5 high earners go, but thought it better to not sign replacements for the departed. Instead, a bunch of 17-19 year olds were expected to slot in straight away and help us keep winning stuff. We aren't Barcelona, ffs. I didn't hear any alarm bells ringing when we were conquering opposition by tennis scores in August and September. Then for some inexplicable reason, the board decides things are going too well for their liking, so let's spice it up a tad and show his right hand and club legend Ray the door. Still, he didn't complain, got on with the job that he was paid handsomely to do. A couple of months of tedious, disjointed performances combined with unsatisfactory results followed, which admittedly are not the standards Chelsea aspires to. And the blame has to be shared by the manager and the players. We lose and win as a team, and the team includes the coaching staff. Hence it's so baffling to find people crediting players for all successes and mob-lynching the gaffer for all failures.

Now the part that concerns me the most. We don't have a divine right to win trophies every year. You have to fucking earn them. The sooner Roman gets this into his head, the better. By sacking a manager for coming second, the message we've just sent out to the rest of the football world is that we're of the belief that we have a right to win the league every year. That we should somehow be entitled to a shiny cup regardless of how we perform and indeed, regardless of how other teams perform. And if that doesn't happen, Roman will throw his toys out of the pram. Ambition is very normal and even healthy, but what this event shows is not ambition, it is mere ill-informed and a covering-up operation. Papering over the cracks is the right term, I believe.

For years player power in Chelsea's dressing room is a well known secret. This sacking has only ensured that this will continue no matter what happens, no matter who is the manager. Because as soon as results don't go our way, the wise men on the board will sack the manager and not bother looking into the real underperformers - the players. This means the players can be safe in the knowledge that their insipid displays will affect the manager's future, and not their own. It is often said that this squad is Mourinho's and that a lot of the players from that era continue to be regulars even today. Hence, the obvious question - seeing that we've won the league just once in the 4 years since Mourinho left, with much of the squad still the same, who are the real underpeformers? The plyers who played for 4 years and won 1 league, or the manager who was here for half that period and got us that league?

It should be noted that I'm in no way implying that Carlo is faultless and had no role to play in the remarkable decline this year. I've admitted his shortcomings in multiple threads earlier. In a way I expected this decision but didn't realise it would still hit me so hard when it actually happened.

All said and done, thank you and good bye Carlo, you're a Chelsea legend forever and nobody can take that away from you. I wish you'd been treated better and I hope you find success wherever life takes you next. I will love and respect you always.

King Carlo - more than special.

Feeling of Loss pt 7

In a battle, the element of surprise holds much importance. Mark derived tremendous satisfaction from the metaphor that involved deer and headlights. Self-eulogies fascinated him. When in a quiet, tranquil plane somewhere deep in his usually busy mind, he'd often dream about the words his friends would say of him once he ceased to be. When you've got nothing to look forward to in life, you look forward to life beyond the status-quo presented in the humdrum of the pitiable, ignorant existence all around you. 'There'll be a time,' he was fond of telling himself 'when I will be referred to as being imperious in manner and impervious in character.' These were two words he liked. Two words he was convinced, that would come to be known as him, somewhere down the line. Sooner, not later.

WHACK! The sickening blow across Joey's face rung out like a clap of thunder. All the mess stood gobsmacked. No shrieks of terrified fellow students, no gasps from the faint of heart. Just an astonished silence. To Mark it seemed nothing short of the applause afforded to a lion-slaying gladiator on the hallowed turf of the Roman Colosseum. His audience were too struck by his brilliance for their admiration to manifest itself in it's usual physical forms. No, his art was a thing meant to be savored by no ordinary mortal. The bystanders were mere common-folk staring rudely at a matter beyond their comprehension, like it was meant to be. He kept looking at the limp body of his fallen enemy. The coldness of those eyes could freeze the spark that ignites a revolution. And yet, it's fury could kickstart a revolution of it's own.

They dragged him away. Two uniforms. The likes of which he'd command in the none-too-distant future. But for the moment, he shall rot in their cage. His freedom - an entity under survival threat. Did he mind? No. Mark liked seeing on the outside what he felt on the inside.

Feeling of Loss pt 6

As it turned out, Mark had underestimated the Russians. He had been expecting Yuri to retaliate - send his hounds out to seek revenge for their fallen brethen. Instead, all he got was silence. Deafening silence. Not a soul roamed the streets after word of the shootings got out. They knew things were about to go haywire. Townsfolk could see in the eye of their mind streets overrun with blood. A fight to the finish. A death duel with neither side willing to spare an inch, nobody wanting to bat an eyelid. But they were in for a surprise.

Weeks went by. Nothing happened, but a lot changed. The much anticipated vendetta didn't materialise. 'Yuri is finished' they said. They'd disappeared as qucikly as they'd arrived. The outsiders were nowhere to be seen. People rejoiced. Not at the prospect of freedom from crime. But at the prospect of freedom from crime by the Russians. Anarchy in Mount Vitriol was par for the course. What they couldn't tolerate, was anarchy propagated by foreigners. Lull.

Storm. Mark had called in sick. It was the first such occassion in the past 2 decades. Sick he was, but not from any physical ailment. He was sick from memories. And thoughts. Memories of that day 50 years ago. And thoughts of what might have been. What could have been. What should have been. He'd passed out into dizzy emptiness while still lost in this maze of cranial activity. And hence he missed it. 2 rockets. The MVPD headquarters. 27 officers wiped out. Most of them - close friends and associates, people he had known for as long as he could care to remember.

Mark had underestimated the Russians. And he hadn't been the first. History books bear witness to the German empire which fell apart on Russian soil during the second war. Blitzkreig didn't work. Scorched Earth did. They operated under one simple condition - lure the enemy towards you. A fight isn't yours until you fight it on your own turf. But Yuri was different.

They were back. As suddenly as they had disappeared.

Feeling of Loss pt 5

Foster care didn’t add up to much. Not that Mark had expected it to. And thus, it lived up to his expectations. 8 days after the incident, he found himself being driven ‘home’ by Martha and Stewart – the Crossbys, his new ‘parents’. They were a childless couple who’d enlisted themselves with the local adoption agency years ago, once they’d found out biology wouldn’t allow them a child.

But somewhere along the intervening times, something had changed. A previously happy couple discovered their erstwhile promises of undying love were all but a false alarm. The strain of Stewart’s unemployment coupled with his wife’s drink problem threw a spanner in the works. By the time they welcomed a new member into their family, things were on the brink of turning nasty. The adoption itself proved to be the proverbial straw. Stu was growing increasingly weary of life itself and the idea of spending the rest of his wretched one with an unknown child wasn’t one that warmed the cockles of his heart. ‘Solitude is peace,’ he often told himself.

Within a week itself, 4 year old Mark turned up for his first day at elementary school. Covered in bruises. The teachers were understandably worried. But the boy wouldn’t cry. Or complain. Intrusive questions were met with a cold stare and poorly made up excuses about falling off stairs or ladders. Sympathetic pats and kind, reassuring words drew a blank expression. As the years passed by, little Mark began to change. The once stoic and painfully quiet yet obedient little man grew increasingly bashful and apathetic. By the time he was 15, Martha had passed away. Her and Stu had separated half a decade ago and the courts decided that consequent to the mother’s drinking issue, Stewart would retain sole custody. The abuse only grew graver from then on. But not once did he retaliate. The boy didn’t cry. Or complain.

Until one day. He had taken enough. He had tolerated enough. Someone had to pay. And it happened to be the classmate who poked fun at Stu’s ’65 Chevy. A baseball bat across the face later, he was being taken away to MV Juvenile Prison. But Mark wasn’t apologetic. He’d smelled blood. And he liked it. No more Mr Nice Guy.

Feeling of Loss pt 4

They staggered in, one after the other. Five of them. Hands bound with barbed wire and faces bearing scars of what the MVPD liked to call 'sweet chin music'. Some could barely manage a limp.

"Yuri's hounds, sir" - informed an escorting constable, not that Mark was unaware.

This was the moment he'd been waiting for. The Ruskie rampage had been going unchecked because of the strain put on the Police Dept by the fire rescue and salvage operations. Now that reinforcements had arrived from across the state, Mark and his men could focus on battles closer home. For weeks all he could do was twiddle his thumbs while another orphan lorded the town. It was his turn now.

"Sir?''

The constable had a quizzical look on his face. Mark realised he had drifted off into his thoughts, leaving the other eight men in the room bemused.

"It's getting late in the day, this scum should be in lockup. We'll deal with the paperwork tomorrow. Prep transport."

A convoy of two cruisers and the van holding the outlaws snaked it's way to the county jail on the other side of town. Mark ordered the van to stop by the side of the road at a particularly isolated, bushy stretch. Courts and papers were too much hassle. CI Collinsworth didn't like hassles. There was to be no tomorrow for the crooks. Their only consolation - justice was swift. Justice - delivered by cold metal bullets, but swift. In some parts, this would have been an unheard-of luxury. The only thing left to do now was to return the lifeless bodies to their one time master.

It was time for the orphans to meet for the very first time.

Why 'Tarak Mehta ka ...' is for the intellectually dead

There is little doubt that just a couple of years or so after it’s inception, TMKUC has established itself as a prominent, popular sitcom. It might even be the most watched television programme out there with the exception of certain reality shows. This however throws up a few worrying questions about our country’s television audiences and their propensity to settle for mediocrity as long as such mediocrity tickles the funny bone.

It is said that nothing shows a man’s character more than what he chooses to laugh at. Admittedly, TMKUC has it’s share of funny moments, but then it’s equally easy to laugh when some unsuspecting neighbor is paid homage to by a bunch of pigeons. The social and cultural stereotypes being propagated by the show are staggering – as if we as a society didn’t have enough reminders already as to why exactly it’s so important that efforts are made to assimilate the different peoples that live in this great country. As regular watchers will know, the show is about a fictional colony called ‘Gokuldham Housing Society’ set in Mumbai. The set of buildings is occupied by families from different parts of the country – and therein lies the lack of thought and perhaps inadvertent but rather disappointing choice of character backgrounds. The principal characters belong to different ethnic and communal backgrounds, but their lifestyles and professions are so predictable and stereotypical, you’d be inclined to believe me if I were to say that they were written up some auntyji in 1920s India.

So of course, you’ve got the businessman from Gujarat and his rustic but good-at-heart wife. Both have noticeable problems with English vocabulary and pronunciation – like all good ‘Gujjus’ are supposed to. In fact the wife’s weird tone of voice and their combined struggles with the English language are oft-used vehicles of humour within the show. Then there is the Punjabi household whose breadwinner is a strapping, robust guy – a mechanic by profession. Once again, playing up to the widely held notion that Sikhs have more brawn than brains and generally being less ‘intelligent’ than others, the character in question is often showed as behaving like a bumbling fool in the most mundane of situations. The reverse is also depicted, in that there’s a highly ‘intelligent’ but meek scientist from South India, who as a matter of fact, happens to be dark as charcoal. You don’t need me to tell you that being intelligent and dark-skinned are no prerequisites to hailing from the south. Another character is obscenely obese and is depicted as craving for large quantities of food at all times. Of course, it doesn’t matter that weight control has more to do with what and when you eat, rather than how much you eat. Then again, I guess it’s easier to play up to set stereotypes and derive cheap humour from it rather than giving some thought and respect to the idea that such characteristics exist across the board – and a mishmash of them can be found in an individual from any community.

Not all is bad with the show however. It remains the only programme out there that has tried to take up and address several social issues that nobody else bothers about. The harmony and friendliness between different characters is also admirable, especially considering the personal insults and obscenities that abound on the great Indian television scene dominated by the likes of Dolly Bindra, KRK and Rakhi Sawant.

That being said, any show that relies on humour from social stereotypes and physical characteristics like height, weight and skin colour doesn’t deserve my time or attention. It’s a shame most others cannot bother to think along the same lines.