Chapter 214: Letting the Youngsters Play? That's Not "Throwing the Game"—It's Called Smart Rotation!
Li Ang was buzzing with excitement—and understandably so.
As a midfielder, scoring the first hat-trick of his career was already something worth celebrating. But to do it against a top-tier opponent like Manchester City? That made it unforgettable.
His three goals had shattered City's composure and helped Chelsea dominate the match.
A performance full of weight, impact, and meaning—he had every reason to be over the moon.
Eden Hazard wasn't far behind him in joy, grinning from ear to ear with an arm slung around Li Ang's shoulder in celebration.
After all, Hazard had just recorded two assists in the game.
His second assist had only been a simple lay-off to Li Ang, but it had turned into another thundering finish.
Before the match, if you had asked Hazard whether he'd rather be the one dazzling and assisting teammates or be like Sergio Busquets back in the day, feeding the ball to Messi and watching the magic unfold—he'd have picked the first option, no hesitation.
But now?
"Damn, this kind of assist is sweet as hell."
Adding those two to his tally, Hazard was now tied with De Bruyne and Li Ang at six assists each.
That only boosted his motivation further.
It wasn't about petty competition—it was about pride.
Hazard had been Chelsea's assist king the previous season, and he wasn't about to give up that crown without a fight.
Even if he didn't win in the end, he wanted to go toe-to-toe with his teammates and show he was just as capable.
This kind of healthy internal rivalry could only help the team.
De Bruyne knew that too.
After celebrating the goal, he caught Hazard's eye and the two shared a quick, knowing nod.
De Bruyne had always taken pride in his passing. He wasn't about to be left behind.
Li Ang, by contrast, didn't seem all that concerned with keeping pace in the assist race.
Not because he didn't care—but because his sights were set higher.
He wasn't comparing himself to his current teammates.
He was chasing the legends.
He'd set his eyes on two of the greatest Premier League statistical monsters:
Frank Lampard's 22 goals and 14 assists in the 2009–10 season, and Thierry Henry's mind-blowing 24 goals and 20 assists in the 2002–03 campaign.
Those numbers were from the league alone.
Hitting 20+ goals and 20+ assists in a single league season was a mark of dominance few players in football history had reached.
When Li Ang arrived in the Premier League, his goal had simply been a combined 20+20 across all competitions.
But now?
He was realizing he had more room to grow than he'd ever imagined.
That he had untapped potential he hadn't even discovered yet.
After the hat-trick against City in Matchweek 9, his stats now read:
7 goals and 6 assists in the Premier League, 9 goals and 6 assists across all competitions.
Sure, he knew he wasn't some unstoppable scoring machine.
A goal drought of 3–5 games could still come at any moment.
Hat-tricks weren't something you could expect regularly.
But even so, Li Ang saw hope—real, burning hope—of matching or even surpassing the numbers posted by Lampard and Henry.
That challenge, that impossibility, was exactly what made it worthwhile.
So as he finished celebrating his third goal of the match with his teammates, Li Ang's chest burned with fire.
He wasn't satisfied.
He wanted more.
He wanted to stand where those two legends once stood, to gaze from the peak they had climbed.
And after the restart, his hunger didn't fade one bit.
He kept moving between City's confused and demoralized back line, hunting for more.
In the 77th minute, he slipped in a brilliant low pass that gave Lukaku a half-breakaway.
But Kompany stayed tight and denied Lukaku the space to shift to his preferred foot.
Watching his teammate sky the ball from just outside the box, Li Ang grimaced.
"Goddammit… I'm putting him on an extra right-foot finishing program after this!"
Lukaku winced and gave Li Ang a sheepish thumbs-up.
But no one was too upset.
The score was 3–0. Lukaku had been in good form. Let the guy enjoy himself.
That would be Chelsea's final real chance of the game.
Mourinho subbed off Li Ang and Hazard in the final 10 minutes, giving them a well-earned standing ovation from the Stamford Bridge faithful.
On the bench, the mood was relaxed, lighthearted. Everyone smiled and laughed as they waited for the final whistle.
Guardiola, meanwhile, maintained his grim poker face until the very end.
Only after the whistle blew did he allow himself to exhale and offer Mourinho a handshake and brief hug.
He then walked over to his players.
This wasn't a tactical collapse.
They conceded early, and Li Ang's explosion wasn't something anyone could have planned for.
Rather than obsess over strategy, Guardiola knew what his team needed now was perspective.
They had still won six of their first eight league matches.
One loss didn't define them.
Mourinho didn't need any such pep talks.
His discipline was strict, but when it came time to celebrate, he led from the front.
To the veterans—Terry, Lampard—he was the wise mentor.
To the younger guys—Essien, Bertrand—he was practically a fun-loving father figure.
Chelsea's entire squad surrounded him post-match, teasing and joking and basking in the glow of a hard-fought, statement victory.
Photos of their locker room celebrations made the front page of every English sports outlet the next morning.
"Nine Unbeaten, Eight Wins! Mourinho's Perfect Start!"
"Real Madrid Undervalued Him—Li Ang Is Worth £120 Million!"
"Abramovich All Smiles—£80M? What a Bargain!"
"One Goal, Four Assists—Li Ang Hits Double Digits!"
Sports pages across England were unanimous in their praise for Mourinho, Li Ang, and Chelsea's blazing start.
The hype was so over-the-top, you'd think Chelsea had already won the title by Week 9.
But while fans and journalists lost their minds, the players were already back at Cobham the next afternoon.
Because while the press was still singing their praises…
The League Cup kicked off the next evening.
Yes, barely 36 hours after dismantling City, Chelsea had to get ready for another war.
This wasn't "grueling." This was madness.
And they couldn't even complain.
All the top teams—United, Arsenal, City, Spurs—were in the same boat.
Chelsea's draw, at least, was favorable.
They'd pulled Sunderland in the Round of 16.
Compared to United facing Arsenal or City going up against Newcastle, Chelsea got off light.
Sunderland sat 19th in the league, with just one win and one draw from nine games.
A Championship-level side at best.
Still, Mourinho didn't take risks. He used partial rotation, keeping half his regular starters.
And after 90 tough minutes, goals from Li Ang, Lukaku, and Lampard sealed a 3–1 away win.
Chelsea were through to the final eight.
But not without cost.
Cahill left the match injured. Another headache for Mourinho.
Sunderland's grit had worn Chelsea's starters down even more.
Even Li Ang, who hadn't had time for full recovery treatments, received a stern warning from the medical team.
Mourinho had no choice now—he had to rotate properly.
So three days later, on November 2nd, the Premier League resumed with Chelsea away at Newcastle.
Mourinho sent out a lineup made up almost entirely of rotation players and academy kids.
Li Ang, Hazard, Lampard—all listed in the 18-man squad, but purely for misdirection.
None of them played.
And the result?
Chelsea suffered their first loss of the season—1–3 at St. James' Park.
Van Ginkel and Kalas gave it everything. Ivanović even scored a header.
But it wasn't enough.
Now sitting at 8 wins, 1 draw, 1 loss, Chelsea's record was tied with Arsenal's.
Only superior goal difference kept them on top.
At the post-match press conference, Mourinho was in rare form.
"Throwing the match? What match did I throw? That's a serious accusation."
"Everyone knows I believe in giving young players opportunities."
"No coach can guarantee consistent results while giving their youth chances to develop."
"But even if it costs us a little, it's worth it. These kids are the future of Chelsea. We believe in them."
"So please—don't call this throwing the game. It's unfair to them."
"This is just smart squad rotation. Nothing more, nothing less."
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