Chapter 129: What The Hell Is This?

Candler had once been the best left-back in the league, so a strong showing from him was no surprise. Colley was a different matter. He had only been seen briefly at this level before, and nothing then had marked him out, but at this moment Colley was reminding everybody exactly who he was.

Pace was Candler’s main weapon, but Colley was no slouch either, and in physical terms the Villa man clearly had the upper hand.

At six foot one he was never going to be at a disadvantage against Candler, and he used every inch of it.

But Candler’s quality was there for all to see. Although Colley was making the most of his opponent’s slight unfamiliarity with him, winning the ball off the Chelsea man was not going to be easy.

In the end Candler laid the ball inside to Okafor, who was coming forward from midfield. The Chelsea man’s ability to arrive late in the box was top class, and his long shots were rather special too.

To be called one of the best midfielders in the game wasn’t just talk. Okafor’s forward runs had begun to cause some confusion in Villa’s defence, though Saint had considered that before the game.

"Okafor! The Chelsea midfielder’s late run is giving Villa some trouble. This is a chance for Chelsea!"

"A through ball for Gaunt, no, Barzley! Barzley gets across and sweeps the ball off Gaunt’s toes!" It had been a very dangerous slide tackle, from behind.

"Remarkable! This twenty-two-year-old is playing in the Premier League for the first time this season, and look at the confidence of that challenge." The tackle showed everyone Barzley’s decisiveness.

Reckless? Perhaps that was just what decisiveness looked like.

If you looked at Barzley’s face at that moment, you would have seen a trace of calm in his eyes and his expression, and that calm explained everything.

"Were the scouts blind in England? Why wasn’t a great centre-back like this discovered earlier?" Barzley was telling the world, with a single tackle.

Of course, the stream of praise couldn’t touch him on the pitch, since he couldn’t hear any of it, and he had no time to enjoy the ovation the Villa fans were giving him either.

Play restarted, but Villa did not rush into the Chelsea half. Instead, with Reyes in control, they passed the ball calmly around their own half.

"A smart choice," Pemberton said. In his view Villa were not wrong to play it that way.

On the touchline, Hallam naturally saw what Villa’s plan was. Whatever contempt he had held for Saint, he could not help but wonder, as he looked at the young man on the other touchline, whether that fellow really was only in his early thirties.

Of course, Hallam did not dwell on it for long. The Chelsea manager stepped to the edge of his area and made a downward motion with his hand.

Hallam was undoubtedly one of the most composed managers in the country, and his teams were never short of patience, even now, when this Chelsea side had a reputation for attacking.

Saint had wanted Chelsea to lose patience. Everyone watching had wanted it. But Hallam’s gesture was not an instruction to calm down. After he made it, the Chelsea players suddenly surged forward.

It caught Villa completely off guard. Saint, on the touchline, stared at the scene with a look of disbelief.

"The ball’s been won! Villa have lost it! Brisley! While Rocher’s attention was drawn to Cartwright, Brisley came in from the side and kicked it away from Rocher’s feet."

It was inexperience. The young Frenchman was still learning, and if Reyes had been holding the ball at that moment, it would never have been so simple for Chelsea to take it.

"A counter, a rapid counter-attack from Chelsea!"

The ball spilled out and landed at Cartwright’s feet. He did not hesitate and played it straight to Strickland. Up front, Gaunt and Rennick started to move at the same time, one forward, one dropping back.

When Gaunt appeared in the penalty area he was a threat to any defender, so his run into the box was exactly the right choice. Rennick, on the other hand, had excellent technique and could carry the ball past a man, a typical number nine and a half.

So Rennick dropping deep to link with Strickland was the right call, and the way the two Chelsea forwards combined proved it. Gaunt and Rennick sliced through Villa’s defence, taking them utterly by surprise.

"Two against one! Two against one! Teale has no way out, he can only watch both men go past him!" That was the scene around the veteran.

"They’re in! Chelsea are into Villa’s penalty area, Rennick, the genius has burst into the box. A pass? No, Rennick doesn’t pass, he chooses to shoot himself, while Strickland is raising a hand to ask for it!"

"Too hasty! Rennick has rushed it!" The ball flew past Vacek, but it did not go into the net.

"Bang!" That was the sound of the ball striking the post. It was not a loud noise, but it broke the hearts of every Villa supporter who could hear it.

"But it’s not over! Rennick’s shot has hit the post, and the rebound has bounced straight to Gaunt’s feet!"

"GOAL! It’s in! Chelsea have scored!"

"Gaunt! The Chelsea striker follows up, and in front of the ball that bounced back to him he reacts brilliantly, and fires it into the roof of the net!"

"Gaunt has saved Rennick, saved Chelsea, one all! The score is level, and Villa have been in front for only five minutes!"

"Ohh!" At that moment a roar like a tidal wave rolled around Stamford Bridge.

The broadcast footage immediately cut to the touchline, and to the two managers.

On the pitch the players were celebrating wildly and the fans in the stands had lost their minds, but Hallam, at the edge of his area, looked deadly serious, as if it were Villa who had just made it two nil, not Chelsea who had equalised.

On the other side, although Chelsea had equalised, Saint’s face did not seem to show much concern. He was even talking to Cadman with a smile.

"What the hell is going on here?" At that moment, almost everybody watching was bewildered.

Down on the pitch, Villa’s players trudged back to the centre circle with their heads low. Rocher stood with his hands on his hips, staring at the grass where he had lost the ball. Teale walked up and put an arm round his shoulders without a word.

"It was my fault," Rocher said quietly.

"It was everyone’s fault," Teale said. "And it’s one all, not five nil. Get your head up, lad."

Jurek jogged over and said something in rapid French that made Rocher laugh in spite of himself. The Frenchman wiped his face with his sleeve and nodded.

On the touchline, Cadman leaned towards Saint and asked, as quietly as he could, whether the gaffer wasn’t even a little worried.

"Worried?" Saint said. "They’ve just shown us how they want to play. Now we know."

"And that’s good?"

"It’s better than good. Hallam thinks he’s found our weakness. Let him think it."

Cadman looked at him for a long moment, then back at the pitch. Whatever Saint had in mind, he clearly had no intention of sharing it yet.

In the directors’ box, Kessler allowed himself a thin smile. Beside him, an adviser leaned over and whispered something, and the chairman nodded slowly.