Chapter 292: Time for Everyone's Favorite Event—Beating Spurs Again
Leon played the full ninety minutes against Sunderland, with Mourinho giving him every opportunity to bag a hat-trick.
But in the end, he couldn't get that third goal.
Not for lack of trying.
It's just that for the last thirty minutes of the match, Sunderland's defenders were more willing to leave glaring holes for Ibrahimović to exploit than let themselves become background props to Leon's hat-trick highlight.
Still, Leon wasn't disappointed.
Scoring twice had already exceeded his expectations.
After all, if hat-tricks came that easily, every elite striker would be netting one per season.
And they weren't.
With the 3–0 win wrapped up, Chelsea had no time to rest.
On December 4th, they'd be hosting their London rivals, Tottenham Hotspur, at Stamford Bridge.
Spurs had just pulled off a last-gasp 2–1 win over Everton in Matchweek 13,
and the week before that, they snatched a 90th-minute win over Hull City.
Back-to-back dramatic finishes.
But those hard-fought wins spoke more to their inconsistency than their strength.
Yes, they'd been clutch lately,
but Chelsea's players and coaching staff were confident that they wouldn't need to leave it until the dying minutes to seal the match.
Thanks to those wins, Spurs came into the game sitting fourth in the league with 22 points,
posting a record of six wins, four draws, and three losses—just ahead of Arsenal and West Ham.
Pochettino, in his first season at Spurs, had done quite well in the opening stretch of the Premier League.
Add to that their current top finish in their Europa League group,
and Tottenham fans were 100% behind him.
Mourinho already knew Pochettino well.
They had met on the sidelines in La Liga, and Mourinho had always rated the Argentine coach highly.
Back at Cobham, Chelsea spent three focused days preparing.
On the night of December 3rd, in front of 40,000 roaring fans at Stamford Bridge, Chelsea's squad took to the pitch for warmups.
Leon and Eriksen nodded at each other across the field—they were old friends by now.
But Leon's attention wasn't on Eriksen this time.
He was watching the tall, lanky figure warming up at the far end of Spurs' half—Harry Kane.
Kane had made a name for himself last season, and this year, he had continued to improve under Pochettino.
In 13 league matches, the 22-year-old had already scored 7 goals and provided 2 assists.
From a backup striker at Spurs to a rising star,
his breakout wasn't a fluke.
Leon knew the truth: Kane's sudden rise came from years of steady growth and experience.
All those loans to Championship sides had given him valuable match experience.
And being slowly integrated into Spurs' first team over the past two seasons had protected him from early burnout.
It's never easy for a young striker to break through in the Premier League—
unless you're a physical beast.
And Kane wasn't.
He was smart, technically solid, and his shot mechanics were sharp.
At 22, he was stepping into the main striker role at exactly the right time.
Not too early, not too late.
He wasn't just a reliable scorer—he was Spurs' future cornerstone.
"Harry, you're up against a guy with the same name. Think you can handle him?"
Leon patted Maguire's massive shoulder, eyes signaling toward Kane.
Maguire gave a sheepish grin, but his reply was confident.
"Don't worry, boss! He's not getting into the box—not without a fight."
He pounded his chest like, Leave him to me!
Leon, hearing this, couldn't help but picture Maguire yanking Kane down by the shirt.
Other defenders talked about "shutting down" a striker,
but with Maguire, you always had to consider the hands as much as the feet.
And the ref tonight? Mark Clattenburg—the infamous "blind monk."
If Clattenburg was in a good mood, he might lean Chelsea's way.
But if he was in one of his stubborn moods, even Maguire's first foul could earn him a yellow card.
Leon gave him a quick gesture: Watch my cues.
Back in the dressing room, Mourinho delivered his final tactical brief.
Terry, fired up as always, declared he wanted to "crush Spurs."
Crude? Maybe. But the team was used to it.
Almost every Premier League club in London had a bitter rival.
But Spurs? Spurs got hated by everyone in London.
Leon wasn't particularly worried about winning today.
First, Chelsea's record against Spurs was absurdly good—psychological dominance included.
Second, this "Poch-era" Tottenham was still a work in progress.
Dele Alli was still down in League One, yet to be poached by Spurs.
Kyle Walker had just undergone abdominal surgery and was still out injured.
And Son Heung-min wasn't even associated with the club yet.
This wasn't the final form of Pochettino's team.
Leon didn't know whether, after all the butterfly effects caused by his own presence, Son Heung-min would still choose to transfer to Tottenham in next summer's window.
But looking at the current Spurs side, there were really only two and a half players with real attacking threat.
Harry Kane. Christian Eriksen. And maybe half of Erik Lamela.
As for Aaron Lennon—the relic from the Gareth Bale era—his once-electric dribbling had all but vanished.
From the moment the match kicked off that evening, Leon focused on shutting down Eriksen's influence.
Not just to give an "old friend" a surprise, but also to test referee Mark Clattenburg's foul-calling threshold.
After twice forcing Eriksen off the ball in the half-spaces without drawing a whistle,
Leon gave Maguire a quick hand signal.
Chelsea collectively ramped up the physicality, disrupting Spurs' rhythm right at midfield.
With Mousa Dembélé still sidelined, Spurs lacked a reliable ball-winner and distributor in the middle.
The Bentaleb–Ryan Mason pairing was barely serviceable for a team with top-four ambitions.
Only when Dembélé returned and partnered with Eric Dier could Spurs hope to truly compete with elite midfields.
Right now? Tottenham's midfield simply didn't have the chops to go toe-to-toe with Chelsea's.
Leon repeatedly surged forward into Spurs' defensive third and found very little resistance.
That Bentaleb kid—tall and skinny—nearly got knocked over by Leon's drive on one interception attempt.
Leon even wondered if he had fouled him.
But Clattenburg's unwavering stare told Leon he hadn't.
The 40,000-strong crowd at Stamford Bridge roared in approval.
Of course, for Spurs fans, whether Clattenburg was a wise overseer or the "blind monk" depended on perspective.
Pochettino had brought technical reform to Tottenham.
If André Villas-Boas had laid the tactical foundations, Poch was now trying to refine and solidify that blueprint.
His vision was correct—and aligned with the broader tactical evolution in European football.
But Spurs' roster wasn't there yet.
The type of all-purpose midfielders modern top clubs relied on—tough, technical, and tireless—was still missing from Tottenham's engine room.
Chelsea, meanwhile, had a midfield four that ticked every box.
Leon and Matic could both pass and brawl.
Kroos and De Bruyne were a little less combative, but still well above average—and both had iron lungs.
So don't blame Mourinho for always adopting a "direct force" approach against Spurs.
When your squad's biggest advantage is physical superiority, why wouldn't you exploit it?
It was the same logic Mourinho used at Inter and Real Madrid to go toe-to-toe with prime Barcelona.
Everyone knew the strategy: pack the midfield, smother Messi, hit long balls on the break.
Expose the opponent's weaknesses. That's what tactical battles are all about.
Right now, at Stamford Bridge, Eriksen and Lamela were being outclassed in both technique and strength.
Even Manchester United had Fellaini to wrestle Chelsea physically, and Herrera and Rooney to mix it up technically.
Eriksen wasn't weak—he just lacked protection.
With the right midfield "bodyguard," he could still run the show.
But Pochettino didn't have one.
And Bentaleb? Poor kid was getting run over by Leon like a traffic cone.
Eriksen had to keep dropping deep to cover—when he was the one who should've been getting coverage.
Lamela was in worse shape.
His best position was clearly on the wing.
But with Dembélé injured and Dier rotating, Poch had no choice but to plug him into central midfield.
And against Chelsea's bruising midfield? With Matic marking him?
No chance.
Frustrated, Lamela started playing dirty—throwing little kicks and sneaky shoves.
But as soon as he got one in on Matic, Leon returned the favor with a solid elbow in the next challenge.
It nearly knocked the wind out of him.
As he lay on the ground gasping, Lamela suddenly remembered—
You don't mess with Chelsea. Especially not that guy.
Leon had a long history of clashing with hotheads all over the Premier League.
And the FA seemed to love him—rarely did he get punished for it.
Lamela was no fool.
After catching his breath and looking up to see Leon offering a hand,
he accepted the peace offering.
Then he saw Matic, Terry, and Ibra all glaring at him like apex predators.
Whatever resentment he still had? Gone.
With midfield control completely lost, Harry Kane saw little service.
He was forced to drop deeper and deeper just to get a touch.
Spurs weren't even equipped to park the bus properly.
Pochettino's midfield trio—Eriksen, Lamela, and Lennon—couldn't press Chelsea's midfield.
And their defensive midfielders? One had been humiliated by Leon, the other was too small to shield the back line.
They couldn't attack. They couldn't defend.
So it was only a matter of time.
Before the half-hour mark, Chelsea broke through.
Leon slipped a perfect pass through to De Bruyne,
who made a low run from the right and fired past Lloris into the far corner.
It was a lovely goal—
but his celebration, a half-hearted fist pump, made Leon cover his face and laugh.
The shot was beautiful. The celebration? Absolutely terrible.
Still, that didn't stop the 40,000 Chelsea fans from erupting.
And soon, their chants grew unified and deafening:
"Smash the Spurs! Smash the f*ing Spurs!"**
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