Mason Mount to Man Utd the unacceptable cherry on top of Todd Boehly’s sh*t Chelsea sundae

Will Ford
Mount Boehly Chelsea

Mason Mount is actually going to go to Manchester United and if I don’t laugh I’m going to cry. Todd Boehly is ripping the soul out of Chelsea Football Club.

I can accept sacking Thomas Tuchel and Graham Potter, hiring Frank Lampard, attempting to sign Anthony Gordon, actually signing Pierre-Emerick Aubameyang, taking kids into the dressing room, offering ludicrously long contracts and spending £600m on what currently looks like nothing. But I will not accept selling the club’s best player, a Chelsea boy through and through, to a direct Premier League rival.

‘He’s not the best player!’ the bizarre mass of Chelsea-supporting Mount denigrators cry. He won the club’s Player of the Year in 2021 and 2022, so frankly, yes he f***ing is. He’s also got the second most goals and assists per 90mins this season for Chelsea on 0.29, with only Raheem Sterling (0.46) ahead of him, pathetic though that is.

READ MORE: Ranking Todd Boehly mistakes at Chelsea

‘No-one Is Bigger Than The Club’ is another classic line bandied around Chelsea Twitter in what has become an echo chamber of contempt for a player who quite reasonably wants to be paid what he’s worth and not commit his future to the club for the next decade.

Telling a player to sign a contract or leave is not a negotiation. And although Todd Boehly has now stepped aside to allow Paul Winstanley and Laurence Stewart to deal with new contracts and extensions, we’ve got to assume the American owner had his grubby mitts all over the initial talks in his interim sporting director role, which left Mount feeling unloved by the club he’s given his life to.

He will have thought an extension was a formality, with a significant pay bump richly deserved. He’s earned around £90,000 a week since 2019 – a lot of money, sure, but a laughable amount compared to the vast majority of his Chelsea teammates. In that time, no-one has scored more goals (33) or claimed more assists (31).

Reece-James-Mason-Mount-Chelsea

Selling him is a travesty; selling him to a direct Premier League rival is beyond the pale. Trent Alexander-Arnold being sold to Arsenal or Bukayo Saka going to Chelsea would be unthinkable, and while Daniel Levy digs his heels in over Harry Kane, as he refuses to let their academy graduate poster boy leave for United with a year left on his contract, Chelsea – in almost exactly the same situation – are sending Mount on his merry way. The key difference is Kane has pushed to leave Spurs, while Mount is being pushed out of Chelsea.

If Manchester United agree a fee with Chelsea, which now feels like a formality with all three parties keen for the deal to go through, it could mean that in one year Boehly, Behdad Eghbali and whichever other Clearlake fools we can pin some blame on, will have sold Jorginho to Arsenal, Mount to United and Mateo Kovacic to Manchester City – because oh yeah, that’s also happening.

So that will be the players who have won Player of the Year in the three years before this, with Kovacic winning it in 2020, as well as the third best player on the planet in 2021, sold to three clubs Chelsea are supposed to be competing with. Are they f***ing stupid?

Yes, the Chelsea owners have to make money this summer, because of their ridiculous and so far fruitless outlay this season, but I refuse to believe that there are no takers for Kovacic outside the Premier League, and the mere fact that Pep Guardiola wants him at City should be sounding alarm bells. After a season in which he’s admittedly failed to meet his own high standards, why is Kovacic being shown the door when everyone else has also been entirely sh*t? He’s a 29-year-old proven Premier League player with vast European experience; Guardiola must be laughing.

And I feel like crying, with Kovacic to City troubling, but far less so than the thought of Mount scoring the winner for Manchester United at Stamford Bridge. Excuse me while I watch YouTube compilations of him dismantling Real Madrid at the Bernabeu while I rehearse what I would say to Boehly were I to meet the man who is ripping the soul out of my football club.

‘F*** you, Todd’. Something like that.