Chelsea huddled once and, as if in an act of resistance, huddled again. They gathered on either side of the centre-circle before kick-off, apparently impervious to the kerfuffle that had followed their weekend antics, and it was the biggest fight they put up on a night that laid bare their distance from Europe’s elite.
The resounding Club World Cup win against Paris Saint-Germain was nothing more than a stateside summer fever dream: here, on the stage that really matters, they were humbled by opponents who belonged on a different pitch from the start.
