Chapter 134: Strickland

"A shot, high over the bar! That’s Strickland, and it’s the Chelsea captain’s third effort of the second half." As captain, Strickland had practically unlimited licence to shoot.

Ten minutes into the second half and Chelsea had put together three attacks, and each had ended with a Strickland shot. That was a story in itself, though in the eyes of the home supporters their captain had done nothing wrong.

Gaunt had had a good chance in the first half and could still get close to goal, and he was not playing badly, but as far as the crowd were concerned, their captain was the best they had.

As for Rennick, apart from one pass in the first half, the genius had been a disappointment. No, it would be more accurate to say that Teale had successfully frozen him out.

Rennick’s quality had long been recognised in England, so Teale’s success in the first half had done him credit. If the veteran could keep it up through the second half, the press would have to praise him even if they didn’t want to, and it would draw attention well beyond London.

At least one of the league’s big spenders had started the season unbeaten and had even won by a barrage of goals, but had conceded in every one of their first four games.

That told its own story. The winning run might have hidden it for now, but anyone looking closely could see the truth. The back line was a huge hidden danger for that club.

Saint remembered clearly how that season would end for them, and the noise that followed after it. But what happened to another club’s board and manager had nothing to do with him. He had no intention of leaving Villa before he had delivered something here.

On the pitch, Villa answered straight away, with a shot of their own. Compared with Chelsea’s reliance on Strickland, Villa’s attack was a more scattered, flowing affair.

Villa’s first shot of the second half came from Pryce. He worked a one-two with Jurek and shot low inside the penalty area, only for Pickford to stop it.

The second shot belonged to Jurek. It was the same combination, with the roles reversed, and the result was similar. Pickford did not touch the ball this time, but Jurek’s effort did not hit the frame of the goal either.

The third was Rocher’s. Reyes played the ball out to the left, and Rocher faced Cartwright once again. After the first-half exchanges, he no longer feared the wing-back.

Compared with the opening day, Rocher’s progress had been fast, almost frightening.

His technique, for one thing. There were not many players in the whole league better than him on the ball, and on top of that he had pace and explosive power, and with Iron Constitution backing him up, he was quicker and stronger than he had ever been.

He pushed the ball with the right foot to the left, dragged it back, shifted it onto the left foot, tapped it again and changed direction, and Cartwright was almost being played with.

"A foul! Cartwright has to bring him down here!" Pemberton was flushed with excitement.

Cartwright had been fooled by Rocher, but the experienced defender chose to pull him back, preferring to give away a foul than let the Frenchman go past.

Objectively, the foul was the right decision, and the yellow card he received was fair. If Rocher had got past, it would have been a disaster for Chelsea.

The referee was inclined to favour the home side, so it was not as serious as it might have been, but the card satisfied Saint on the touchline.

Though Villa had lost a good chance to extend the lead, the benefit that came with the yellow card was significant. It had put a shackle on Cartwright’s defending without anyone noticing.

Villa did finally complete the move, with Reyes taking the set piece. Tomlin got up first and headed it on to Barzley, who struck it, though it flew slightly over, with Verhagen’s challenge putting him off.

Chelsea’s fourth effort did not come from Strickland. Perhaps the captain had finally worked out that in Hallam’s tactics he was a link man rather than the finisher, although he did plenty of work for the others.

This time it was Rennick’s long-range shot. The frustrated genius let one fly in anger, and, regardless of everything else, it was a very good strike.

Rennick and Strickland had a close bond, and in this period Strickland had practically adopted the younger man as a protégé.

Seeing his friend so frustrated, Strickland, as the elder brother of the group, naturally wanted to help, and that was where this combination came from.

It was a simple one-two, but against a defence it is often the most effective weapon.

It was even said that the two were close off the pitch, and in their third season together the understanding was perfect.

For Villa, it was a little unexpected, because Teale had played so well that Villa’s players had begun to feel Rennick was no longer a threat.

"He’s through! He’s through! Rennick has got past the biggest obstacle of the match and runs into Villa’s penalty area!"

Barzley had been pinned down by Gaunt, and by the time he reacted it was too late. Faraday and Colley were guarding the flanks, so when Rennick burst into the box, only Vacek stood in front of him.

"A chance! This is a chance for Chelsea, a chance for Rennick!" At that moment the whole ground was focused on him.

"Vacek! Villa can only put their hopes in this goalkeeper who has produced so many magical performances." In just the same way, every eye was fixed on Vacek.

"One step, two steps, the two are getting closer and closer!" Vacek came off his line, and Rennick ran at the goal.

"He shoots! No, Vacek, a fraction slower! The goalkeeper who has made so many magical saves has failed to repeat the magic this time!"

"Oh no! Rennick! Rennick hasn’t scored! His shot has hit the post, beaten the keeper’s ten fingers, and still failed to find the net!"

"Heavens above! This is Stamford Bridge, the home of Chelsea, and it is the Villa post that has come to the rescue! Chelsea cannot believe it, and the whole ground is holding its head in its hands!"

Vacek lay on his back for a second, staring at the sky, then rolled over and kissed the base of the post. Teale jogged over and hauled him to his feet, shouting something in his ear that made the keeper laugh in spite of the adrenaline.

On the touchline Saint had both hands on top of his head. Cadman beside him was breathing like a man who had just run a mile.

"That," Cadman said, "was nearly one all."

"Nearly," Saint agreed. "Which is exactly why I don’t believe in luck."

Rennick was still on his knees, fists pressed into the turf, and Strickland was already beside him, a hand on his shoulder. Neither of them looked at the Villa bench.

Hallam, in the Chelsea technical area, let out a breath through his nose, turned to his assistant, and said something short. Within seconds a second substitution board was being prepared.