Chapter 401: Stamford Bridge, Ken Bates, and Chelsea
A year earlier, at a press conference, O’Neill had remarked that Ruud Gullit was at the end of his career, sneering at Fleet Street’s adulation of him. The fact that Richard openly backed Gullit only deepened the ire of Chelsea fans.
Yet, it was undeniable that Gullit had re-established Chelsea as a serious force in English football. Winning the FA Cup brought them back into Europe, earning a place in the 1997–98 Cup Winners’ Cup.
This was Chelsea’s first trophy in 26 years. Having beaten Manchester City in last season’s final, that triumph is often remembered as the rebirth of Chelsea.
Much of this resurgence was made possible because Ken Bates backed Gullit financially, giving him the freedom to sign top players from abroad — something unusual in the Premier League at the time. With stars like Zola, Di Matteo, Vialli, and Leboeuf, Chelsea were no longer just domestic hopefuls; they had become legitimate European contenders.
At Stamford Bridge, Manchester City fans made no effort to hide their disdain for Chelsea. They arrived with arrogance, doing everything they could to humiliate the home side, their chants echoing across the stands:
"Sacked in the morning,
You’re getting sacked in the morning,
Sacked in the moooorning,
You’re getting sacked in the morning!"
It was no surprise they chose this taunt—everyone knew about the tension between Chelsea’s manager, Ruud Gullit, and chairman Ken Bates.
Most of the media, eager for drama, had already painted the picture: what began as a season of optimism had soured as Bates and Gullit clashed over contracts and control.
Despite his success, Gullit demanded more—more money, more authority, and a stronger contract for himself. Bates, notoriously tough and uncompromising, refused to give in. He despised managers who tried to dictate finances or demand higher wages without demonstrating absolute loyalty.
The conclusion often drawn was simple: Bates believed Gullit had become arrogant, while Gullit felt underappreciated despite his achievements.
Whether or not this was the whole truth didn’t matter.
The media reported it that way, and City’s traveling fans seized on the story, mocking Chelsea’s turmoil with their chants. To them, "sacked in the morning" wasn’t just a song—it was a reminder that everyone could see the cracks forming inside Stamford Bridge.
"Where’s your winning streak gone?
Where’s your winning streak gone?
One-nil down, you bottled it,
Your slippery rope is gone!"
On the other hand, Chelsea’s hardcore fans weren’t about to stay silent. Refusing to accept the humiliation, they fired back with chants of their own, mocking City’s failure to match Ajax’s 1994–95 winning streak:
The back-and-forth made Stamford Bridge feel more like a battleground of voices than a football ground.
Richard had instructed O’Neill to reduce the frequency of verbal sparring this season, as his team was sitting at the top of the league.
Staying out of trouble and maintaining squad morale was the way forward—especially since no one had provoked him. With Manchester City entering a critical phase, he ensured the team kept a low profile in preparation, hoping to alleviate unnecessary pressure.
In this chaotic and eventful Premier League season, every team had their own worries, and no one wanted to provoke each other, especially among the top ten. Most lacked the strength to do so, while the few who did were too intimidated after previous encounters.
For example, Manchester United and Liverpool—surprisingly, their rivalry this season wasn’t very visible. Had their point gap been smaller, perhaps a psychological battle would already have begun. Unfortunately, both sides were too caught up in their own turmoil.
In the much-anticipated next fixture, Stamford Bridge was preparing for a high-stakes clash as Chelsea hosted Manchester City.
At the pre-match press conference, O’Neill refused to be drawn into any war of words. When asked for his assessment of Chelsea, he kept his answers short and deliberately understated.
Defense?
"Just okay."
Team style?
"Just okay."
Gullit?
"Just okay."
Di Matteo?
"Just okay."
Vialli?
"Just okay."
The room fell briefly silent after his replies. Journalists quickly noted the tone — not aggressive, not flattering, just dismissive enough to make headlines. For O’Neill, it was a way of keeping focus on his own side while avoiding unnecessary distractions.
For Chelsea fans, though, the remarks could be read as condescending. For the media, they were irresistible — a subtle dig that would fuel the narrative in the build-up to kick-off.
Chelsea were sitting mid-table, their goal tally and goals conceded reflecting a side that looked solid at times but ultimately average. From O’Neill’s perspective, his remarks had been fair — a neutral assessment at best. But once the headlines twisted his words, they came across as dismissive, even contemptuous.
Gullit’s reply was calm but pointed: "Manchester City’s coaching record is indeed outstanding, but he should show more respect toward Chelsea. How my players perform is not for him to judge."
The truth was, had the reporters not pressed him, O’Neill wouldn’t have bothered commenting at all. To him, he had already shown enough respect.
"We’re opponents," he later remarked privately. "And don’t forget — you beat us in the FA Cup final. Not stepping on you now is already a form of respect."
At Stamford Bridge, the weather was fine and bright — a crisp afternoon perfect for football.
Richard made his way to the visitors’ dugout, scanning the ground with a calm glance before lowering himself into his seat.
Just a few yards away, he spotted O’Neill in a neatly pressed shirt, engaged in quiet conversation with Mourinho, who, true to form, cut a sharp figure in his dark coat. On the opposite side, Gullit, in a Chelsea tracksuit, sat alongside his coaching staff, arms folded, his trademark braids swaying slightly as he leaned forward with focus.
The buzz around the stadium grew louder as the players emerged from the tunnel. One by one, the announcer called their names, each met with a mixture of roars and whistles depending on the allegiance.
The stands were a sea of blue, Stamford Bridge packed to its limits with Chelsea supporters, their chants rolling like thunder across the pitch. Yet in the corner of the ground, the away section pulsed defiantly.
Fewer than four thousand Manchester City fans had made the trip, but they sang with the conviction of a far greater number, determined to make their presence felt.
Carl Morran led the Blues’ fans, who began to sing loudly.
Richard glanced at the away section, where various cheering banners were gathered, before turning toward the City supporters, or to be exact Morran and his boys. However, the song they were singing now was different from the one earlier.
"What the... what kind of song is this?" Richard frowned slightly, hearing the vulgar lyrics in the song.
’This was just too lowbrow, wasn’t it?’
Normally, it was common to hear fans insulting each other from the stands, and putting it into song form was nothing unusual.
But there were still boundaries. Fans who crossed the line could damage their clubs’ reputations. For instance, Bolton fans once made plane crash gestures during a match against Manchester United after the Munich air disaster — an act that left them despised across the league. Premier League clubs treated them like pariahs, and even signing new players became difficult.
What Manchester City fans were singing today, however, was especially unpleasant to the ears. And what puzzled Richard was that, unlike the first chant, these lyrics had absolutely nothing to do with Chelsea or Manchester City.
’What the heck is Carl doing? Is he here at Stamford Bridge just to display their shamelessness?’
He hadn’t noticed that next to him, Gullit looked frighteningly grim, his mouth moving slightly as if grinding his teeth.
On the substitutes’ bench, Harry — Richard’s brother — and his wife, who had happened to join him in the VIP seats for the Chelsea vs. Manchester City match, were both trying to stifle their laughter.
Seeing the expressions on their faces, Richard asked, "What are you laughing at?"
Harry pointed toward the away fans, raising an eyebrow in that direction.
"What do you mean? What’s so funny about that?" Richard pressed.
To him, a vulgar song was not something to laugh about.
Harry finally burst out laughing. "Hey, that song was once sung by Chelsea’s head coach, Mr. Gullit!"
Of course, as the CEO of Maddox Entertainment, Harry knew about most songs. And who didn’t know this one? It had roots in the Caribbean, carried a reggae twist, and had once gained attention — for all the wrong reasons.
Richard’s expression froze for a moment. This crude song had been sung by the braids-strapped coach next door?
Harry noticed his brother’s puzzled look and chuckled knowingly."Don’t take the lyrics too literally," he said. "Those fans already twisted them for a laugh. What they’re really mocking is Gullit’s past. A few years back, he joined a second-rate reggae band, played bass, and even sang on some tracks. They weren’t exactly chart-toppers in England, but funny enough, one of their records actually cracked the Top 10 in the Netherlands."
Harry leaned closer, lowering his voice as though sharing a guilty secret."Imagine that — your head coach, now parading around in a tracksuit at Stamford Bridge, was once strumming away in some smoky bar, singing half-baked reggae tunes. And trust me, City fans won’t ever let him forget it."
’No wonder’ Richard thought to himself.
This explained it: Manchester City fans—especially Carl Morran and his blazing squad of supporters—were directly humiliating the opposing head coach today.
After the laughter died down, Richard shifted his focus back to the pitch, carefully scrutinizing Chelsea’s starting lineup.
Despite Gullit having both Vialli and Zola as two major forwards, the mainstay in Chelsea’s attack was an aging veteran from an earlier era—the Welsh king, Mark Hughes—who partnered with Vialli up front.
The midfield was anchored by Di Matteo, with Chelsea’s spiritual leader Wise alongside him. At the back, the addition of Leboeuf had bolstered their defensive strength.
Although Chelsea’s international squad-building approach lagged behind Manchester City’s, they still had a roster with some recognition—certainly not comparable to the mess that was West Ham United.
But how well those eleven players would actually perform still needed to be tested on the pitch.
As the match kicked off, both sides quickly settled into position, with the tempo of the game fast from the very first whistle.
Chelsea had strengthened their squad that year, and under a new coach, they carried fresh energy. The team was filled with tough, fierce players, including stars who weren’t afraid to challenge City’s nearly twenty-five-match winning streak.
They were ready for combat.