Stamford Bridge was a crisp, clear, boisterous place at kick-off in this last-16 first leg, the air crackling with a comforting midweek energy under those low white lights. And for the next 90 minutes two things happened.
First up there was that unavoidable sense of wider turmoil. What a strange, fraught occasion this was for the world’s most guilelessly weaponised sport, another turn as the hot dog seller in the background of history, a bumbling tourist on the front line of world events.
