Not Your Father’s Yankees

Baseball is dead. I know because I saw it murdered in cold blood on Tuesday night at Yankee Stadium, ground zero for one of the most lackluster postseason exits in history.

As a Yankees fan, maybe that’s a little harsh. Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe it’s okay, because Derek Jeter isn’t on the roster anymore and I don’t have to care as much as I used to.

Maybe all of that is true. Tuesday night still sucked.

The Houston Astros, a team that many casual fans believe is still in the National League, rolled in to the Bronx for a one-game Wild Card playoff, and in just over three hours wringed the neck and strangled the final breath out of the New York Yankees, a team whose fans and organizations will be left scratching their heads wondering what the 2015 season was ever for—if they had been paying attention to the regular season, that is.

All of these losses are relative. On paper, the Yankees exceeded expectations this season. They weren’t supposed to sniff a third-place finish, let alone be leading the American League East by seven games back on July 28. They settled for a Wild Card berth—a miracle, in every way.

After serving a year-long suspension, Alex Rodriguez, the beleaguered pariah/relic of a third baseman, inexplicably managed to resurrect his dormant career by hitting more home runs (33) in any season since 2008 at the ripe age of 40. Mark Teixeira, 35, erupted in similar fashion (.255, 31, 79) before succumbing to a season-ending shin fracture in August. This, sprinkled in with All-Star-quality first-half performances by Brett Gardner and Dellin Betances, second half resurgences of Carlos Beltran and newcomer Didi Gregorius, and a handful of stellar outings by starting pitchers Michael Pineda, Masahiro Tanaka, and Nathan Eovaldi, not to mention rookie Luis Severino and closer Andrew Miller, was just enough to unlock a place in October (even Stephen Drew had a couple of big hits. Stephen DREW!). It was unexpected, but the Yanks were back in the postseason for the first time in three years. 

And, as a Yankees fan, once your team is in, expectations change.

Even when the Yankees backed in to the playoffs bruised and blindfolded having lost six of their last seven games (a simultaneous Astros loss on the final day of the regular season the only reason Tuesday night’s Wild Card game wasn’t being played in Houston—as if that mattered; in hindsight the Yankees probably wish the game had been at Minute Maid Park. At least they might have avoided the cacophony of boos), fans like me were still reminded of the 2000 club that lost 15 of its last 18, hobbled into the playoffs, and won the World Series in five games over the cross-town Mets. 

Clearly, however, these are not the same Yankees, nor the same fans.

Correct me if I’m wrong, but one-game playoff or not, Tuesday night was still a postseason showdown at Yankee Stadium. Yet the conspicuous swaths of empty seats scattered around the stadium and behind each team’s respective dugouts said otherwise. The blatant lack of enthusiasm within the ballpark throughout much of the game was palpable, even in front of a television screen. 

Tanaka, who was introduced over the PA system moments before he took the mound for the biggest start of his MLB career, looked visibly nervous, exhaling a deep, apprehensive breath of air when ESPN’s cameras found him warming in the bullpen. He confirmed this sentiment by dealing two straight balls to begin his outing, walking three on the night, and serving up a pair of titanic home runs on the first pitch of an inning to Colby Rasmus and Carlos Gomez, ESPN’s infuriating behind-the-batter camera angles (barely) capturing each bone-crushing bomb.

Nothing felt right about this game from the get-go, especially ESPN’s production. Not that the trio of Dan Shulman, John Kruk, and pioneer Jessica Mendoza do a crumby job. On the contrary, they do rather well; it’s just that we haven’t seen ESPN do playoff baseball in the Bronx for a while. I couldn’t help but think that Joe Buck’s voice might have had a reverse effect on the Yankees anemic offense that mustered a measly three base hits.

But Joe Buck wasn’t there. And neither were the Yankees.

Even the team’s $153 Million man, Jacoby Ellsbury—a career .301 postseason hitter and two-time World Series champion—was benched against the magnificent Dallas Keuchel in the most important game of the center fielder’s Yankee career to date (he eventually pinch hit for Chris Young in the 8th and popped out to shortstop). 

Keuchel, a Cy Young favorite who was working on three days rest for the first time in his career, flustered his opponents all night and closed out the 2015 season against the Yankees without allowing a single run in 22 innings of work. The 27-year-old left-hander became the first pitcher to notch a scoreless postseason start on three days rest since Josh Beckett did it in 2003, coincidentally the last year the Yankees were eliminated from the postseason in a shutout at home…courtesy of, you guessed it, Beckett.

Tuesday night felt a lot like 2003, a full 12 years ago. The ignominious result and the deafening silence that accompanied it were the same: the Yankees lost an elimination game at home, and they didn’t score any runs. It was just the fifth time in franchise history that they were eliminated via a shutout.

But these Yankees are different. Who are these guys? Justin Wilson? Greg Bird? Rob Refsnyder? The diehards know, of course, but the vast majority does not. It’s a confounding time, to say the very least, when A-Rod is the lone player to which Yankee fans have any strong emotional attachment, and, this season notwithstanding, an enormous percentage of that emotion can best be described as some combination of resentment and vitriol. Rodriguez finished Tuesday’s game 0-for-4 with two strikeouts.

But it wasn’t Rodriguez’ fault the Yankees lost. Nor should the blame be put on Tanaka, who pitched well enough to keep New York in it. It was simply the Yankees as a whole: they didn’t belong in Tuesday night’s game. They were frauds, but accidental, or rather unintentional frauds to be sure. They overachieved all season long, and then ran out of gas a couple of miles from the finish line. They didn’t have the strength, depth, or willpower to push their depleted vehicle the rest of the way; they would have very likely been run over by other oncoming cars had they even tried.

It should be noted that the Yankees’ 87-75 record this season wouldn’t have been enough to get them into last year’s playoffs. Their untimely late-season plummet also did little to inspire their fan base, despite a season whose expectations were abnormally low. Had it not been for the Twins and Angels sputtering in similar fashions, New York may not have made the playoffs at all.

Perhaps that explains the pervasive pessimism surrounding Joe Girardi’s squad leading up to Tuesday night. The most optimistic I found myself all night was a tossup between a leadoff single by Gregorius in the sixth, or when Beltran led off the ninth and I thanked my lucky stars the outfielder couldn’t end the Yankees’ season staring at an Adam Wainwright curveball. He struck out anyway, this time swinging.

So now Jets and Giants fans (well, half of them anyway—don’t forget about the Mets!) can breathe a collective resounding sigh of relief knowing that a Yankees playoff run won’t somehow interfere with their sacred Sundays. CC Sabathia can do the same—at least he won’t be tempted to pop celebratory bottles of champagne had these Yankees somehow gone on to win an extremely improbable championship.

When interviewed about Sabathia’s checking into an alcohol rehabilitation center on Monday, Rodriguez told a reporter: “We play for CC now.” It sure didn’t look like it.

But then again, it wasn’t their fault. They played over their heads all season long and clearly weren’t cut out to compete in these playoffs. Hell, my eight best friends and I could have showed up to Yankees Stadium on Tuesday night and scored zero runs in nine innings. 

Maybe it would have been different had the one-game playoff been a best of three series. And let’s be honest: Major League Baseball will probably one day make that a reality when you consider the ridiculousness of a grueling 162-game season coming down to nine innings for all the marbles, or the even more ludicrous notion of two teams playing a one-game playoff…to get into…the one-game playoff, which is precisely what the Tampa Bay Rays and Texas Rangers did in 2013.

But this Yankees team didn’t look up for it. They looked effaced and deflated. And because of that, a team that was dressed like what you imagine the UTEP college baseball team might look like is moving on to meet the Royals in the ALDS. The Astros earned the win, just like the Yankees earned the loss. New York has now tied a franchise record with five straight postseason defeats.

Following Tuesday night’s game, a friend of mine and fellow Yankee fan admitted to me via text that they were in mourning the moment Rasmus launched the game’s first home run that made it 1-0 in the 2nd inning, and rightly so. These were not the Yankees of old. They were overachievers, yes, but they were also charlatans, who had about as much business being in this game as the Marlins (hey, they have Ichiro! A familiar face! Yay!). But unfortunately for them and the sport of baseball, nobody noticed until Tuesday night—163 games too late it seems.

Astana’s Own (Goals)

It certainly wasn’t the most delicious fixture—at least on the surface of things—in Wednesday’s slate of Champions League affairs, but Galatasaray vs. FC Astana proved to be one of, if not the most entertaining clash of Match Day Two. Even Borat would have been proud.

Astana, the Kazakh side whose location on a world map is every traveler/hipster/geography nerd’s wet dream (the capital city is closer to Mongolia than it is to Ukraine; or better yet, closer to Beijing than it is to Rome), became the first side from the central Asian country to not only host a UEFA Champions League group stage match, but to also win a point, after an exciting 2-2 draw at the Astana Arena on Wednesday night.

The 30,000-seater stadium that first opened in 2009 was rocking the millisecond both clubs first emerged from the dressing room, and would only grow louder as the evening progressed. It should be noted that because of the significant time difference between Kazakhstan and the vast majority of Europe (London, for example, is five hours behind Astana), the match commenced a full two hours and 45 minutes earlier than the rest of Wednesday’s games, which translated to a local start time of 10:00 PM—well past the bedtime of young Kazakhs wishing to root on their hometown heroes. Surely exceptions were made for the children on this historic night though.

Galatasaray, who were in search of their first road Champions League victory since March 2013—a nine-game stretch—might have been forgiven for a lackluster performance under unfamiliar circumstances, especially when you consider the near five-hour flight (or 61-hour drive for any Cim-Bom faithful daring enough to attempt the arduous haul) the club had to take to get there.

But it was Hamza Hamzaoğlu’s men who struck first, when the most unassuming of players in Bilal Kisa uncorked a shot from about 30 yards out that twisted and dipped before finally finding its way into the back of the net past Astana keeper Nenad Eric in the 31^st minute; a unforgettable moment for the 32-year-old midfielder, who was making his Champions League debut.

The Turkish giants took that 1-0 lead into the half, and looked satisfied with playing behind the ball for the remainder of the match, with Astana continuing to push men forward in the hopes of finding an equalizer in the second half. It wasn’t long after a wasted opportunity by Foxi Kéthévoama in the 66^th minute when the home side finally found the back of the next thanks to a fortuitous bounce off the leg of an unlucky Hakan Balta whose own goal sent the Astana Arena into a frenzy.

It wouldn’t last long, however, as Eric allowed an own goal nine minutes later after failing to fully save Sinan Gumus’ shot four minutes from time; that put the visitors up one again. The home crowd didn’t despair though, and almost as if from a fairytale, Astana, with the ceaseless, pulsating energy of the crowd behind them, fought back and found yet another equalizer in the 89^th minute courtesy of a quite remarkable header by the Colombian Roger Cañas (which was officially scored as a third-consecutive own goal—this one by the Frenchman Lionel Carole, who barely helped the ball into the net) to unleash the second Kazakh eruption of the night.

Minutes later, the final whistle sounded. Astana has secured their precious point.

The reigning Kazakh Premier League champions still sit in last place in their group, but are even with Galatasaray with four matches to play. Two of those matches will come at home with back-to-back November fixtures against Atlético Madrid, and current group leaders Benfica. In what will surely be vastly chillier conditions—Astana being the world’s second-coldest capital after Ulaanbaatar—the Blue and Yellows, whose cosmopolitan makeup blends 17 Kazakhs with a Bosnian, a Serbian, a Ghanian, a Ukrainian, a Slovenian, a Russian, a Colombian, a Central African Republican, and a Congolese striker, should take full advantage from their stronghold in the East. Respective 10-hour flights lay ahead of both Atlético and Benfica.

Astana, of course, will still have to make one of those trips themselves when they travel to Madrid in mid-October—though it may take a bit longer going against the jet-stream—but played well in a 2-0 defeat to Benfica in the group’s opening game, and will close things out with now familiar Galatasaray on December 8 in Istanbul.

The Round of 16 is still a ways away for FC Astana, but they have already made a giant step forward for the minnows that they are. And rest assured, when Atlético comes to town on November 3, the Kazakh champs can take their boost of confidence from this night and be assured that they have what it takes to compete in this league, and that their rollicking fans will support them until the death. They celebrated this evening as if the draw were a victory. That’s because in many ways, it was.

Champions League Roundup (9/29/15)

Another day, another disappointing Chelsea performance. This one came against Porto, and it must have been a bittersweet homecoming for Blues boss Jose Mourinho (by the way, what was more surprising: seeing Iker Casillas in a Porto shirt, or the fact that the Porto shirts were sponsored by New Balance? I mean, New Balance? Really? Do we think Werther’s may sponsor a kit in the near future as well?), who saw his side underwhelm for the umpteenth time this season in a 2-1 defeat. 

Chelsea’s backline was horrific in conceding both Porto goals—one of those to everyone’s new favorite Portuguese midfielder André André (Rochelle, Rochelle, anyone?)—and probably should have conceded more. Branislav Ivanovic, Gary Cahill, and Ramires looked shadows of their old selves, while Kurt Zouma failed to assert his physical presence for a second-straight match. Thank goodness for Will.I.An, whose late first-half curler tied the match at one (just imagine where the Blues would be without the Brazilian winger’s set piece magic thus far—bottom of the EPL, most likely) and proved to be the only sniff of creativity exhibited by a side that has woken up on the wrong side of the bed all season. Chelsea currently sits 14^th in the Premier League table nestled between West Brom and Watford, and third in their UCL group, and the irony is that it will be on Mourinho to fix it. In seasons past, Chelsea owner Roman Abramovich would have been salivating at the prospect of axing another Andre Villas-Boas, Luiz Felipe Scolari, or Roberto Di Matteo-type after such a dismal start to the year, but we know that the Russian and The Special One have since repaired their relationship, and that the oil magnate fully entrusts (*cough* demands, or else *cough*) Mou to dig the hapless Blues out of their unexpected hole…

Speaking of holes, how about Arsenal! Another loss for the Gunners tonight at the Emirates to Olympiacos, 3-2, could very well portent the demise of the club’s 2015-16 Champions League aspirations. Petr Cech’s night off allowed David “Butterfingers” Ospina to spill the ball into his own net before Icelandic striker Alfreð Finnbogason sealed the victory for the visitors. The loss was the Gunners second in two group stage games, with the next two matches coming against Bayern Munich. Arsenal will need to secure at least a point from those matches—and then beat Olympiacos in Greece, and Dinamo Zagreb at home—if they want a prayer of progressing to the knockout rounds, as only one club under the current UCL format has ever advanced to the Round of 16 on six points (Zenit 2013-14). English clubs have now lost five of their first six group stage games this season, with a chance at a Mancunian double whammy tomorrow at the hands of upstart German opposition. We’ll see what happens when United and City battle Wolfsburg and Monchengladbach, respectively, but it may not stop that volatile English UEFA coefficient from plummeting at its current neck-breaking rate…Elsewhere Bayern’s Robert Lewandowski continued to punish inferior defenders putting another hat-trick past Dinamo Zagreb in a 5-0 beat-down, giving the Polish forward 10 goals in a week; not bad for a guy not named Ronaldo…Bayer Leverkusen did all they could to break down a Messi-less Barcelona, but fell short thanks to 23-year-old Sergio Roberto’s late equalizer and Luiz Suarez’ magnificent go-ahead strike from the top of the box to guarantee the 2-1 victory…

Everyone’s favorite Belarusian club BATE Borisov stunned visiting Roma 3-2, while Dynamo Kyiv put Maccabi Tel Aviv to the sword 2-0…and in the matchups that no one outside of Eastern Spain, Central France, Saint Petersburg, or Flanders cares about (!), Valencia beat Lyon 1-0, while AVB’s boys stuck it to Gent 2-1. And by the way, if the Washington Redskins do end up changing their team name/logo, I can guarantee you that Gent’s crest will be the next to go.

The Wednesday Blues

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

And then it was just the worst of times.

Such was Chelsea's astounding exit from the Champions League Wednesday night at Stamford Bridge courtesy of Atletico Madrid. Though the visitors threatened early, the nerves of Chelsea supporters must have been assuaged when former Atleti striker Fernando Torres found the back of the net with the type of finish that has been few and far between since the Spaniard made his £50 Million move from Liverpool three years ago. Torres celebrated with dignity, which is to say he didn't celebrate at all against the club that launched his career back in 2001. But it was a goal; it was a lead. And the blueprint for victory etched by Chelsea manager Jose Mourinho was going according to plan.

But then something happened. Something that was so uniquely un-Chelsea that will leave Blues fans scratching their heads even harder than they were following the loss to Sunderland a near fortnight ago.

The defending Europa League and 2012 Champions League winners (a handful of whom were on the pitch Wednesday night), backed by 6—yes, SIX—world class defenders and one of the most iconic managers in history, simply lost focus.

Just eight minutes after Torres' opening goal, it was the opportunistic Adrian who swooped in and pounced on a series of defensive gaffes from three of Chelsea's most reliable defenders in John Terry, Gary Cahill, and Ashley Cole, and bounced the ball past Mark Schwarzer, the Aussie keeper as bewildered at the elementary chance as anyone watching the match. Atletico had the advantage.

They never looked back after that.

Substitute Samuel Eto'o's stomp on Diego Costa was as untimely as the Cameroonian's arrival at Stamford Bridge. There will be few tears shed by Chelsea supporters should Eto'o move on to pastures new this summer, the forward's legacy on English soil solidified by a rather unimpressive hat-trick against David Moyes' Manchester United, and the detrimental foul on Costa, which made way for the coup de grâce when the Spanish International converted from the spot.

Eto'o will always be revered for his European exploits. He was the first player to ever win the treble in back-to-back years with two different clubs (Barcelona and Inter) in 2010, and has scored in two separate Champions League Finals, both of which he tallied for the winning team. In that light, Chelsea must have felt that Eto'o was some kind of good luck charm. But the only club for whom he proved to be such a talisman was the one that hails from the city where he began his career in 1997.

Though Chelsea needed to score twice following Costa’s penalty, there was still plenty of time left at the 60-minute mark. It soon became obvious, however, after several unsuccessful forays into Atletico’s half of the pitch that on this night there was no plan B. Managers can concoct a formula for triumph and implement the tactics necessary to take and then preserve a lead. Mourinho did as much, but his players let him down; he never could have believed Chelsea would capitulate quite like this. The Special One has now lost two consecutive games at Stamford Bridge for the first time ever, and will have to wait yet another season to secure that elusive Champions League title with a third different club—the same one that he still hasn't led to a Final appearance.

The third and final goal in the 72^nd minute by Turkish sensation and fan favorite Arda Turan added insult to injury for the Stamford Bridge faithful, and guaranteed an all-Madrid Final in Lisbon on May 24. The loss is sure to go down as one of the most embarrassing and unexpected in recent memory for Chelsea, not to mention one of the club’s worst collapses in Europe (there haven’t been many of those). Now out of Europe, every domestic competition, and needing an unlikely slip-up from both Manchester City and Liverpool to win the Premier League, it appears that for the first time since 2011 Chelsea will finish the season without silverware. It would be the first time in Mourinho's managerial career that he hasn’t won the league at least once in consecutive seasons. Wednesday’s loss also marked the fourth straight year a Mourinho side has been eliminated at this stage of the tournament.

Though his players failed to protect a narrow lead, one can't help but think that Mourinho was finally bitten by the unapologetic fangs of karma. This was, after all, his team. The one that he wanted, and the one that he put together. It was Mourinho who believed that the triumvirate of Torres, Eto'o, and Demba Ba would excel far more at the position than a robust 19-year-old Belgian named Romelu Lukaku, so much so that he let the 6'3" behemoth of a striker go on loan to Everton for the year.

It was also Mourinho who deemed Chelsea's two-time Player of the Year surplus to requirements back in January, selling Juan Mata—the very man who crossed to Didier Drogba at the death to tie the 2012 Champions League Final, which Chelsea eventually won—to rivals Manchester United. Lukaku has nearly outscored all three Chelsea forwards combined this season, and Oscar's inconsistency, Hazard's proneness to injury, and Willian's often reckless attacking have hardly been suitable replacements for Mata's ingenuity and cleverness.

It’s a stretch, but Thibaut Courtois, who was brilliant in net for Atletico, would have been an enormous upgrade over Schwarzer had the Belgian not stayed on loan in Madrid—that, too, was Mourinho's call.

But it was not Mourinho’s fault when his defenders failed to clear the wayward ball that led to the first Atletico goal, or that his backline breached thrice at home in a Champions League semifinal. Nor was it his fault when PFA Young Player of the Year Hazard was a disappearing act in what was the biggest match of the season, his sole contribution being the assist to Turan’s late goal. Nor was it the manager’s fault that veteran stalwart Frank Lampard acquired too many yellow cards to play on Wednesday night. The lack of leadership in the midfield was especially noticeable against Atletico, as it has been at times all season.

But when you hire Mourinho, you hand over your trust to him as well. You put your faith and all personnel decisions in the man who needs no introduction. His credentials speak for themselves—you have to be a true ignoramus if you think Mou hasn't gotten a clue what he is doing.

If history is any indicator of what the future holds, then Mourinho's 2014-15 squad might be the most impregnable Chelsea side yet (if not it's most impervious). The Special One has shone especially bright in his second seasons with his various clubs winning the Champions League in such circumstances with Porto and Inter, and winning the league with Chelsea and Real Madrid. But he’ll now have to wait a full year to see whether or not he can make his much anticipated return to the Final.

Despite Chelsea’s woes, full credit must be given to Atletico, who proved they have the mettle and the manager to win Europe's ultimate prize. Perhaps no team since Inter four years ago—coincidentally coached by Mourinho—looked as fearless away from home at Stamford Bridge as Diego Simeone’s side. The Torres goal was the lone blip on what was quite simply a sublime performance in what has been a remarkable season that may see Madrid’s “other” club capture a historic double yet.

As for Chelsea, this was a night to forget, but one that probably won't be for a very long time. It was as uncharacteristic a performance as you like, as if the club had forgotten its identity. This wasn't the Chelsea we knew, not the same Blues who pulled off that stunning comeback over PSG only a month ago.

Mourinho joked in his press conference Tuesday that he would definitely be going to Lisbon this summer regardless of whether Chelsea advanced to the Final, but wondered aloud if he and his squad might be able to go together. It was not meant to be, and while there is no telling which Madrid side will win the Final even it Real are the favorites, one thing is for sure: that trip to Lisbon for the Chelsea boss will be one without his enigmatic squad—a solo mission, and perhaps a rather lonely one at that, one filled with second guesses and plenty of ruminating on what might have been.

The Bittersweet Legacy of Didier Drogba

I think Martin Tyler said it best when Didier Drogba converted the spot kick that won Chelsea the Champions League last May against Bayern Munich.

“Drogba may never play for Chelsea again,” the renowned broadcaster cried, “but he will never be forgotten! He’s immortal at this football club!”

And it was true.

But then, in the blink of an eye, Drogba was suddenly gone after signing a lucrative deal with Shanghai Shenua, as if the whole thing had never happened (and for what Chelsea supporters have endured this season, it may actually feel like it didn’t). The move to China effectively ended a magnificent eight years in West London for the veteran striker, who took his leave having just completed a remarkable denouement in European football.

Or so we thought.

Flash forward nine months, an on-going contract dispute, and a convoluted transfer later, and Drogba now finds himself back on the continent that has made him so famous, only this time, with Turkish giants Galatasaray.

According to Google Maps, Turk Telekom Arena—Drogba’s new home—is 1,868 miles from Stamford Bridge; that’s almost a four-hour flight, a 30-hour drive, or nearly an entire continent, apart. But no matter the great distance, the Ivory Coast international’s presence—or rather, lack thereof—is still seriously being felt at Chelsea.

When Drogba first announced that he would be substituting Fulham Road for the Far East, Chelsea fans must have been saddened, but empathetic. The club had just won its first-ever European Cup to cap off one of the most miraculous Champions League runs in history due in large part to the exploits of its now departing star, whose final touch of the ball in a Chelsea shirt won the club its most coveted prize. But Drogba was 34 years old, out of a contract, and wanted a change of scenery—he lots more money, too.

“Fair enough,” Chelsea fans said to themselves, still distracted and jubilant over the capturing of their elusive holy grail. “We’ll miss you, Didier, but we’ll probably be fine with Fernando Torres.”

Famous last words.

It is no secret—in fact, it is an immutable truth—that Chelsea have struggled mightily this season without Drogba up front. After dipping into Roman Abramovich’s endless coffers this summer and revamping their attack with exuberant youngsters like Oscar, Eden Hazard, and Victor Moses, the Blues were expected to play like European victors once again, especially with Champions League winners such as Ramires, Juan Mata, and Frank Lampard returning. The creativity of the renovated midfield combined with the savvy knowhow of the veterans was supposed to dovetail beautifully with Chelsea’s new starting number nine, Euro 2012’s Golden Boot Winner, Fernando Torres.

But it isn’t, hasn’t, and likely never will, go according to plan.

Last year’s crucial goal against Barcelona notwithstanding, the Spaniard (formerly) known as El Niño has failed to leave much of any kind of mark at Chelsea during his 27-month career. Torres has scored just 14 league goals in his first three seasons with the club, compared to Drogba’s 42 from 2004-07, when he joined Chelsea from Marseille at the same age as his former teammate (26).

Demba Ba has shone glimpses of greatness, but an injury and a lack of opportunity with Torres and his £50 million price tag still atop the pecking order, has stunted his potential growth.

The precocious Romelu Lukaku is enjoying a tremendous year of first-team football, but unfortunately for another club in West Brom where he will remain on loan until the end of the season, and perhaps even longer than that.

Drogba can do little to harm to Chelsea right now while plying his trade in Turkey, but his absence this season, which in hindsight was always going to be a rough one of transition, could perhaps best be described as conspicuously detrimental, as the club has yet to find a suitable replacement for him.

As a life-long Chelsea supporter, I was initially excited when I heard that Galatasaray had decided to sign Drogba during the January transfer window and pair him with Dutch maestro of the midfield Wesley Sneijder, giving the Turks a genuine chance in the final 16 of the Champions League. But when I learned of the length of Drogba’s contract (18 months), I couldn’t help but feel a vague pang of resentment toward the Ivorian, who still clearly has so much to offer (despite his noticeable late-game huffing and puffing during the 2^nd leg against Schalke over a fortnight ago). Why hadn’t he simply re-signed for that long with Chelsea?

Drogba couldn’t have possibly foreseen the power struggle that erupted at Shanghai Shenua so soon after his arrival, which eventually led to his transfer to Galatasaray. Had he had that particular clairvoyance, he might have re-signed with Chelsea even on reduced terms following his famous PK. The Blues reportedly offered Drogba another contract in January to rescue him away from the tumult in China, but were promptly rejected because they couldn’t provide the striker with what Galatasaray could: Champions League football.

To be sure, Chelsea still find themselves playing in Europe at this particular juncture of the season, despite it being Europa League football. But one wonders if Chelsea might still be playing in the more prestigious of the two annual continental tournaments had Drogba opted to stay at Stamford Bridge for another season.

Drogba wasn’t always Mr. Consistency for the Blues. In fact, he was a bit of a loose cannon at times. There was the notorious slapping of Nemanja Vidic and his subsequent sending off during extra time of the 2008 Champions League Final against Manchester United, a dismissal that ensured that John Terry would suffer the most ignominious moment of his career (and that’s really saying something) when the defender slipped and missed the winning penalty—that would have been Drogba’s—in the shootout. Chelsea fans will remember Drogba’s post-match polemic launched at Tom Henning Ovrebo the following season when Chelsea crashed out of the semifinals of the same tournament to Barcelona after the infamous Norwegian referee denied Chelsea a handful of penalties. The striker sustained his fair share of injuries during his career at Stamford Bridge as well.

Yes, Drogba might have been a loose cannon at times. But he was our loose cannon. 100 league goals in 226 appearances, not to mention 157 goals in all competitions with nine of those coming in nine cup finals, including the game-tying header against Bayern, and of course, the penalty kick, have all cemented his legacy as one of Chelsea’s greatest-ever players (or the club’s greatest-ever player according to a November 2012 poll of 20,000 fans conducted by Chelsea Magazine). But the fluorescent orange banner hanging in the corner of the West Stand and the Shed End of Stamford Bridge that reads: “DROGBA LEGEND” in big black letters with an accompanying headshot of the Ivorian striker—as well as the massive void that’s been missing at the spearhead of Chelsea’s formation in almost every match this season—serves as a constant reminder of just how unforgettable the two-time African Footballer of the Year really is to the West London faithful.

And while part of me would like to see Drogba on that big stage in consecutive seasons and watch as he shocks the world and leads Galatasaray to a stunning Porto-esque Champions League victory, another part of me would like to see his Turkish side vanquished swiftly by mentor Jose Mourinho and Real Madrid, and then to have Chelsea go on to celebrate a Europa League title, which would surely get Drogba’s attention. Maybe then, as the Blues hoist the UEFA Cup, cavorting and spraying champagne on one another, will it finally dawn on Drogba that he should have stayed, and that, had he done so, the Blues might have won the big one for a second straight year.

Either way, I think I speak for every Chelsea fan when I say to Didier: You are missed dearly and daily, and your shoes are nearly impossible to fill. Good luck, old friend.

It's Tebow Time (Again)!

How can it not be Tebow Time? I’m being serious when I ask that question, too. The New York Jets, who slipped to below .500 after their gut-wrenching 23-17 loss to the now undefeated Houston Texans, and whose two best players on either side of the ball have been knocked out with season-ending injuries (allegedly by ghosts), and whose number one receiving weapon is CHAZ SCHILENS, are in dire need of some magic. I ask you again: how can it not be Tebow Time?

Tonight Tebow successfully got a first down on a fake punt, had a momentous 13-yard carry in the red zone, and threw a perfectly-placed deep ball to receiver Jason Hill who dropped the pass out of no fault but his own. Now that may not sound like a performance worthy of a starting nod, but perhaps what is most important is that Jets fans at MetLife Stadium tonight were at their most boisterous when Tebow was in the game. Whenever he came in, the crowd was ignited; it was inspired; they believed. There is no denying it: love him or hate him, there is something special about Tim Tebow.

Jets head coach Rex Ryan has belabored time and time again that the team’s starting quarterback is Mark Sanchez. Yes, Sanchez has been to two AFC Championships, and yes, he is capable of making big plays, but really, is there anything special about Mark Sanchez? What is the difference, for instance, between Sanchez and Matt Cassell? Or Sanchez and Browns rookie Brandon Weeden (who ironically is three years older than Sanchez)? In other words, do any of those three inspire football fans? Cassell was booed by his own fans Sunday after an injury forced him to come out of the game, and Weeden is on pace to throw more interceptions than any rookie in history. And Sanchez? Well let’s just say his time may have already come and gone.

Let me be frank: it is probably not any kind of fun to be in Mark Sanchez’s position on the field with the Jets (I imagine that it would be much more fun to be in Sanchez’s position off the field, anyway) in having Tim Tebow as your backup and having to deflect a myriad of questions asked by the relentless New York media addressing your sense of job security. I get that. But is there really anything that is inspiring about the way Sanchez plays quarterback? He will occasionally make some nice throws, but will then inevitably offset those throws with a horrible interception or two.

Just before halftime in the Jets Texans game tonight, I found myself rooting on Sanchez like I hadn’t before in years. He had made a couple of those nice throws and was marching the Jets toward the end zone to tie the game at 14.

I thought to myself, “Hey! Maybe this is when Sanchez can turn the whole season around! He’s gotten us to two AFC Championships before, and he’s still a great quarterback! And you know what? I feel bad that Tebow is his backup and he has to feel all this pressure! Look at how he’s handling himself on this drive! Making throws to no-namers like Jeremy Kerley and Jeff Cumberland! And we’re about to tie the game against the undefeated Houston Texans! It’d be so typical if he threw an interception here, but I don’t think he’s going to! Yes! It’s going to be different this time! I really think he won’t throw an interception here! I’m ready to believe in Mark Sanchez again!”

And then Sanchez threw one of those horrible interceptions right to Texans cornerback Brice McCain, who nearly ran it back for a touchdown. The Texans sank a field goal and were up 17-7 at halftime. It was as crushing as it was predictable. That little voice of optimism that stood up for Mr. Sanchez tonight doesn’t live here anymore.

I don’t care if you think that Tim Tebow is bad or that you think he can’t cut it as a starting quarterback in the NFL or that he’s too self-righteous for you, which makes you uncomfortable about your own religion or lack thereof. Tim Tebow is capable of inspiring a team and a fan base in a way that Mark Sanchez can only dream of. At this point last season, the Jets had the same 2-3 record with a healthy Darrelle Revis, Santonio Holmes, and even Dustin Keller, and they finished 8-8 and missed the playoffs with Sanchez at quarterback. Now the Jets have the same 2-3 without any of those players and a much less confident Sanchez (if that is even possible), not to mention a wide receiving core that is beyond depleted (considering that most of these receivers were never thrown to by their previous team’s quarterbacks, I’m sure they’ll be just fine with Tebow in there). Yes, it’s high-time Rex Ryan let a new man take the reigns at quarterback. Scratch that. It’s not high-time; it’s Tebow Time.

The Future of the Champions League

For Real Madrid supporters, there was plenty to cheer about following the conclusion of the Champions League draw almost four weeks ago in Monaco. It’s true that Los Blancos had been dealt a tricky hand, finding themselves in the Group of Death with Manchester City, Borussia Dortmund and Ajax, all of whom won their respective domestic leagues last season.

It will be a challenging group for the reigning Spanish champions, as evidenced by the club’s 3-2 victory against Roberto Mancini’s men last week, but if that match was any indication of what’s to come, it may be just one of several meaningful group stage matches that will be played at the Bernabéu for the first time in years.

Since the inception of the current group stage format in 2003, Real Madrid have yet to fail in sealing progression to the knockout round. It has become an annual foregone conclusion that the club will still be playing Champions League football come February. This year, however, is different, and for the first time in its history, advancement to the final 16 looks far from guaranteed.

Group D of the 2012-13 UEFA Champions League represents the quintessential group of a knockout football tournament. It is daunting, it is perilous and, above all, it is unpredictable. It is all that we fans could hope for in group stage matches that collectively have become a boring, humdrum rite of passage for the top clubs in Europe.

With the exception of last year’s Manchester United and a deteriorating Liverpool in 2009, the clubs that were expected to advance to the knockout round from the start of the group stages have done so. Perhaps even more predictable are the club(s) that have no shot of advancing to the knockout stages, such as Nordsjælland in this year’s Group E, Dinamo Zagreb in Group A and BATE Borisov in Group F (their win over Lille notwithstanding), to name a few. It would surely require some divine miracle for Ajax to finish in the top two of the Group of Death.

This yearly group stage triteness as well as the justification of the away goals rule are two of the more prominent issues surrounding the current Champions League format. The away goals rule was introduced by UEFA in 1965 as a way to encourage the visiting club to play more aggressively.

But now, almost a half-century later, the rule has lost relevance, as nearly all of Europe’s top clubs have played at the home stadiums of their most menacing foes. In other words, the intimidation factor of playing on the road has vanished. Bayern Munich and Chelsea proved as much in their respective triumphs at the Bernabéu and Nou Camp in last year’s semifinals.

Travel can also take its toll on players, especially when flying to distant cities like Moscow or Donetsk, but even a flight from London to the Russian capital is only four hours. It would be a genuine shocker if Chelsea, for example, wasn’t able to pull out at least a draw against Spartak should the Blues meet Krasno-Belye in this season’s knockout stage.

However, we are now living in a more globalized world. This fact, compounded with the ever-increasing ubiquity of wealthy investors injecting their millions (and sometimes billions) into clubs around the globe, as well as the ongoing improvements being made in the efficiency of travel are gradually starting to shift the landscape of Champions League football.

Take Anzhi Makhachkala, for example, the Dagestan-based club bankrolled by Russian billionaire Suleyman Kerimov. Since the affluent owner purchased the club back in January of 2011, Anzhi has made several headlines with the signings of Roberto Carlos, Samuel Eto'o, Christopher Samba and Lassana Diarra, among others. The squad—now managed by Dutch legend Guus Hiddink—is already slated to compete in this year’s Europa League and has further aspirations to qualify for next season’s Champions League and to eventually become one of the more formidable sides in Europe.

Anzhi will play its Europa League matches this season at Lokomotiv Stadium in Moscow—deemed a safer environment than the club’s home stadium in volatile Dagestan—but plans are already in the works for a new 40,000-seat stadium on the banks of the Caspian Sea, which will meet all UEFA requirements. Should Anzhi qualify for the Champions League in subsequent years, which seems likely, a flight for a club from London to Makhachkala would be just under five-and-a-half-hours.

Projects similar to that of Anzhi are currently being undertaken in Malaga, St.Petersburg (Zenit) and Shanghai (Shenhua), to name a few, and the prodigious finances of Middle Eastern clubs such as the UAE’s Al Ain and Saudi Arabia’s Al-Hilal will be difficult to ignore in the coming years.

The same goes for much of the Far East, which has proven to be a football-supporting hotbed. We mustn’t forget the aspirations of MLS clubs either, nor the immense pool of talent in both Africa and Latin America whose current wunderkinds are typically exported to Europe. All regions, countries and cities of the world will play a part in this forthcoming global Champions League.

Not only would this new global Champions League be far more cosmopolitan than the present UEFA Champions League, but it would be more competitive too. Imagine for a moment if Group E minnows Nordsjælland were replaced by Corinthians—the winners of the 2012 Copa Libertadores. Or if Group F’s weakest link, BATE Borisov, were supplanted by 2011-12 CONCACAF Champions League winners Monterrey. You’d then be looking at groups consisting of Chelsea, Juventus, Shakhtar Donetsk and Corinthians, and Bayern Munich, Valencia, Lille and Monterrey, respectively.

The addition of clubs like Argentina’s Boca Juniors, Qatar’s Al-Sadd, Japan’s Gamba Osaka and the DRC’s TP Mazembe would give fans the most comprehensive and competitive football tournament to date. The FIFA Club World Cup is the closest thing we have to this kind of tournament today, but the prestige of winning it pales significantly when compared to winning the UEFA Champions League.

The formation of a new global Champions League is as ambitious an endeavor as it is lofty, and obviously, much would need to happen before this kind of tournament could feasibly exist, perhaps most crucially the expediting of travel.

A plane ride from London to Kuala Lumpur, for instance, lasts about 13 hours—far too long a flight for a club to make midweek for a group stage game in September. But remember that the Football Federation of Kazakhstan based in Almaty—almost a seven-and-a-half hour flight from London—still falls under UEFA’s jurisdiction. If a team such as last year’s Kazakhstan Premier League champions Shakhter Karagandy had managed to reached the group stage, each team in their group would have had to make the long haul to the city in Kazakhstan that is further east than Tashkent—the capital of Uzbekistan—whose governing football body falls under the Asian Football Confederation.

So how many years will it be until this new global Champions League begins in earnest? 20? 30? 50 years? It is almost impossible to tell. But if you look carefully at how the world of football has been and is continuing to unfold in different corners of the world, it is clear that the first few infantile steps have already been taken. And it may only be a matter of time before we see Real Madrid squaring off against LA Galaxy live from a foreign neutral site such as Rajamangala National Stadium in Bangkok in the first-ever Global Champions League Final.

As always, only time will tell.