Chapter 294: Someone Please Shut His Mouth Next Time!
Mourinho held his breath as he watched Leon beat Fazio and fire home that stunning goal at the end of the half.
Beside him, Holland looked genuinely worried, afraid that if Leon missed, the boss might collapse from frustration.
Luckily, Leon delivered—a solo run from end to end, finished with a rocket into the top corner.
As Mourinho stood on the touchline exhaling deeply and shaking out his hands, Holland and the other assistants erupted in celebration.
Back on Chelsea's bench, the atmosphere was just as electric.
Lukaku, never forgetting his role, whipped out his little notebook and started scribbling.
"Fourteenth league goal! Add in five from the Champions League… just one more and the boss hits twenty this season. Mamma mia!"
After doing a rough projection of Leon's scoring rate, Lukaku could only whistle in awe.
Sure, the math had some generous assumptions—Leon couldn't possibly keep this pace up all season, right?
But right now, there was no doubt: Leon was the Premier League's most lethal finisher.
Just over a third of the season gone, and he had already scored 19 goals.
Add 17 assists to that, and his numbers were borderline absurd.
At this rate, another 30+30 season wasn't out of the question.
He was even outpacing his numbers from last year—reaching 20 goals and 20 assists in the league alone looked inevitable.
Whether or not he could break Thierry Henry's record of 24 goals and 20 assists in a single Premier League season?
That depended on how long Leon could keep up this form.
But ability-wise? There was no question—Leon had what it took.
Even the Premier League's neutral fans had mentally prepared themselves to witness Leon rewrite the record books.
Just… not against their teams.
You could feel the helplessness from the Tottenham fans on the broadcast.
Their team had been on the verge of equalizing, only for Chelsea's star to deliver a soul-crushing, coast-to-coast goal.
That kind of emotional whiplash was unbearable.
From 0–1 disappointment to hopeful anticipation at 1–1, then straight back down to 0–2 despair.
It was no wonder the thousands of Spurs fans inside Stamford Bridge deflated completely—just like the players on the pitch.
Leon's solo effort wasn't just a goal—it was a morale-destroying blow.
One by one, Spurs' players watched as their teammates failed to stop him.
Doubt began to creep in.
Fortunately for them, the first half ended shortly after.
Shell-shocked, they could at least breathe and regroup at halftime.
Now the tactical headache fell squarely on Pochettino's shoulders.
In Chelsea's dressing room, the mood was the complete opposite.
The players burst into song, chanting anti-Spurs tunes usually heard from Arsenal fans.
And yes—Terry was leading the chorus.
Leon couldn't help but admire Arsenal fans' creativity.
Whether in London or over in China, Gooners always brought the banter.
After a few minutes of chaos, Mourinho clapped his hands to get everyone's attention.
The second-half game plan wasn't complicated.
This version of Spurs wasn't built for counter-attacking football.
Down 0–2, they wouldn't sit back—they'd keep pushing forward.
And that made them predictable.
Chelsea didn't even need to make substitutions.
Just switch Leon and Kroos's positions, and the midfield would instantly become better suited to absorb pressure and hit back on the break.
As the second half kicked off and Spurs saw Chelsea's midfield trio re-positioned,
Pochettino gave a resigned nod. Of course.
Since signing Kroos, Mourinho had been spoiled—he could reshuffle his midfield like a chessboard.
And Leon? A natural box-to-box.
He could play anywhere from holding midfielder to attacking midfielder.
Want to unlock his creativity? Push him forward and let Kroos sit deep.
Want to lock the game down? Swap them again. No problem.
With both players boasting elite football IQs and the stamina to match,
Mourinho didn't even have to give detailed instructions.
Add Matic behind them as the anchor, and Chelsea's midfield was the envy of every coach in Europe.
Pochettino's midfield wasn't bad.
With Dembélé and Dier available, his trio could match up to most top sides.
But looking at Leon and Kroos operating like clockwork, he couldn't help but feel a pang of envy.
And then, of course, came the reality check—Daniel Levy's stingy transfer policies.
If Spurs wanted better midfield depth, they'd have to sell first.
Poch had finally built a squad he liked.
He didn't want to risk blowing it all up again.
Fine. No big money? Then they'd play like a small team.
And if the full squad was healthy, Poch even believed they could aim for a top-four finish—maybe even make a run in the Europa League.
Because let's face it—Tottenham weren't title contenders yet.
Not with this squad. Not in this league.
For Pochettino, the top priority was to rebuild Tottenham and steadily secure Champions League qualification.
Maybe in another two or three seasons, after patching holes and steady progression, he could finally implement his full tactical vision and launch a real challenge against the Premier League elite.
But right now…
Seated on the bench, Pochettino shook his head unconsciously.
He had just finished rallying his players in the locker room, urging them not to give up the fight.
But deep down, he knew the truth: right now, in all of European football, the only teams who might feel confident coming to Stamford Bridge and beating Chelsea were Real Madrid and Bayern Munich.
And even that confidence was theoretical—on paper, before kickoff.
In reality, even they might suffer defeat under Stamford Bridge's lights.
So many great teams had already left Chelsea's home ground in defeat.
Pochettino didn't see any special quality in his current squad that could break Chelsea's home invincibility streak this season.
All he hoped for was that his players could show spirit and dignity, put up a proper fight against a formidable opponent.
Losing to Chelsea—especially away—wasn't shameful.
Even getting hammered wasn't unthinkable.
But how they lost mattered.
If his young players could battle to the end, that alone would be valuable experience—a forging of mental steel.
But the second half didn't feel like character-building.
It felt like slow, drawn-out torture.
Chelsea, with a comfortable two-goal lead, had no intention of pressing forward recklessly.
And unlike the baiting tactics they used late in the first half—luring Spurs in to trigger counters—
they now formed a strangling net of pressure right at midfield.
Spurs could barely enter Chelsea's final third, and doing so now cost far more energy and effort than in the first half.
Harry Kane had come into the match eager to prove himself on the big stage.
Now? He was having a miserable time with Maguire glued to him the entire match.
The few passes that made it toward the Chelsea box were useless.
Kane couldn't win a single duel against Maguire, who covered too much ground and snuffed out every opportunity.
He never even got a clean touch in the box.
And as the second half wore on, Leon began tightening his marking on Eriksen.
With Spurs' only two real threats locked down, the rest of their attack had no compass—no spark.
When the final whistle blew, Chelsea's defenders looked fresh, ready for more.
Tottenham's attackers, on the other hand, looked completely drained—mentally and physically.
Kane, poor guy, felt like he was one more Maguire challenge away from a concussion.
So no, when the match ended, Spurs' young players didn't feel regret.
They felt relief.
And their traveling fans?
They filed out of Stamford Bridge in silence, not willing to stay and be mocked.
Leon, who delivered both a goal and an assist, was named Man of the Match once again.
And with Chelsea now on a blistering 14-match Premier League winning streak,
they once again graced the front pages of every sports publication in England.
Last season, Chelsea's start had also been strong—but they'd drawn two of their first 14 league games.
Back then, they still had City and Arsenal nipping at their heels in the standings.
But now?
This season, after 14 straight league wins, Chelsea led Manchester City by 7 points, and Arsenal by a staggering 12.
And judging by form, there was no end to the streak in sight.
They had already played the other top-four teams—City, Arsenal, and Tottenham.
Only the match against City had any drama.
Chelsea had dominated the other two.
That's what dominance looks like—one win at a time.
Despite the brutal fixture schedule, Chelsea were flying, spirits high.
Three days later, they traveled to face Newcastle United.
And thanks to Mourinho's carefully managed rotation, most of the starters were still in great shape.
Unlike City, Arsenal, and Liverpool, who had to juggle their final Champions League group stage matches right after Matchweek 15,
Chelsea were done. They had already secured top spot.
Their last group stage match? A mere formality.
Mourinho could field a youth-heavy lineup.
His veterans would get a full week of rest.
Which meant at St. James' Park, Chelsea came in guns blazing.
For Newcastle—tenth in the table and a tier or two below Chelsea—it was a nightmare waiting to happen.
In the opening stages, they held firm with gritty midfield battles,
but the moment Chelsea triggered their signature high press and full-throttle running,
Newcastle's tough guys could only chase shadows.
And worse? Newcastle refused to bunker down at home.
Instead of parking the bus, they tried to play—and were punished.
Within 20 minutes, Chelsea had nearly scored three times.
They converted two.
By the 26th minute, it was already 2–0.
Lukaku should've made it three, but wasted a golden chance on the break.
Luckily, in the 39th minute, he made amends—
heading home a flick from Ibrahimović to make it 3–0.
If not, by the time halftime came around, the kid was bound to catch a blast from the veterans in the locker room.
Leon and Ibrahimović were both subbed off before the 70th minute.
Chelsea wrapped up a commanding 4–0 win at St. James' Park.
After the celebrations, most of Chelsea's first-team regulars were given a well-deserved two-day break.
Leon and Thiago Silva, however, only got one—both were expected to start four days later in the final match of the Champions League group stage.
And when Sporting CP's players heard the news, any joy they felt quickly disappeared.
On the night of December 10th, Chelsea hosted Sporting CP at Stamford Bridge for the last match of the group stage.
For Chelsea, there was no pressure—no need to win, no real stakes.
As long as they didn't lose at home, they'd keep their unbeaten record.
From the start, Chelsea played in pure counter-attacking mode.
Sporting certainly couldn't afford to pin their hopes on Maribor upsetting Schalke in the other match.
To secure qualification safely, they needed at least a point at Stamford Bridge.
Neither team was particularly hungry for the win.
Chelsea had nothing to prove.
Sporting had a slight points and goal difference advantage, and the psychological edge that came with it.
So the game started—lukewarm, quiet.
Halftime ended 0–0.
When news came through that Maribor were holding Schalke 1–1 at home,
Sporting fans at Stamford Bridge started doing the Mexican wave.
In the second half, with neither side pushing, Mourinho subbed off both Leon and Thiago Silva early.
It was clear: Chelsea were locking the gates.
They finished the group stage undefeated—4 wins, 2 draws.
Sporting secured a precious point, ending the group with 8 points and a second-place finish on goal difference.
Schalke, who had clawed back with a dramatic win over Maribor in the last round, also reached 8 points,
but their inferior goal difference pushed them down to third, eliminating them from the knockout rounds.
In truth, Schalke had no one to blame but themselves.
Back in Matchday 3, they had Sporting right where they wanted them—up 3–1 at home.
But they got complacent, conceded twice, and barely pulled off a last-gasp winner.
If they'd held that two-goal margin, they would've gone through.
In the Champions League, if two teams finish with the same points, the tiebreaker is head-to-head record.
Chelsea beat both teams.
Sporting and Schalke had traded wins.
Same goal difference. Same away goals.
So it came down to total goal difference.
As the saying goes: if you want to forge iron, you have to be iron yourself.
Schalke gifted Sporting a ticket to the knockout rounds.
And Sporting, delighted with their good fortune, even thanked Chelsea on their official Twitter account for "not finishing us off."
With that, the final sixteen teams of this season's Champions League were set.
Group winners: Atlético Madrid, Real Madrid, Monaco, Dortmund, Bayern Munich, Paris Saint-Germain, Chelsea, and Porto.
Runners-up: Juventus, Basel, Leverkusen, Arsenal, Manchester City, Barcelona, Sporting CP, and Shakhtar Donetsk.
Three Premier League clubs made it through.
Liverpool didn't. They crashed out of Group B with a dismal record: one win, two draws, three losses.
Five points. Behind Basel.
Meanwhile, City and Arsenal both scraped through as runners-up in their groups.
This underwhelming showing silenced the usual bluster from the English media.
No time to dwell, though.
Premier League Matchweek 16 kicked off as the Champions League dust settled.
Chelsea hosted Hull City.
Leon, for once, got a rest.
Even with a mostly rotated squad, Chelsea eased to a comfortable 2–0 win.
Drogba and Salah got on the scoresheet.
Despite skipping a match, Leon still led the Premier League with 15 goals.
Cavani trailed with 13, Suárez with 12.
Leon also topped the assist charts, with 10.
Cesc Fàbregas was second with 8.
Leon holding both the goals and assists top spots?
That headline lit up sports media across Europe.
Then came December 15th—the Champions League Round of 16 draw.
And just like that, Leon became the center of the football world again.
Because UEFA really did it—Chelsea drew Barcelona.
The moment that slip of paper was pulled, fans across the globe erupted:
"Good lord. They actually did it."
With that one draw, the biggest soap opera of the knockout rounds was born.
Barcelona fans' blood pressure skyrocketed.
They only had themselves to blame.
If they'd beaten PSG in the last group match—or even managed a draw in Paris—they wouldn't have finished second.
One point short. That's all it took.
And now? Chelsea.
UEFA had a reputation for chaotic draws. Arsenal had been punished by it for years.
Barça, who had been slipping down the European hierarchy for multiple seasons,
really should've seen this coming.
They did, in fact.
But now all they could say was:
"Next time, before the Champions League draw—somebody please shut Leon's damned mouth!"
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