‘Oooh, smell the prawn sarnies’ was my first thought as I entered the Bridge. Everything I hate about this new Chelsea was evident on Saturday, and with the Icelandic takeover seemingly imminent, I hope and pray our beloved club retains what it is about. The foreign accents were rife, people on the tube were trying to sound intelligible about the beautiful game, and I got charged £3 for a Cornish pasty inside the ground. I won’t even mention the atmosphere. Welcome to Abramovich’s Chelsea.