Four minutes before half-time, with Borussia Dortmund still 1-0 up from the first leg, with Chelsea still playing in a way that was both careful and frantic, a team always trying to leave the house and constantly forgetting their keys, there was a sense of something being settled, some elemental question filtering across the Stamford Bridge pitch.
That question was not simply: can Chelsea actually score a goal? Although it was also, and to a very large degree, can Chelsea actually score a goal. But on a more basic level, it was: which way is this thing going to fall? What does the universe intend to do with Graham Potter? Will it be kind to him?
