The Belgian faces an uncertain future… as do his parent club.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three or more times, and I guess we have to seriously consider contacting a psychological professional to try and determine how and why it is that you continue to dupe me repeatedly and with such apparent ease.
Romelu Lukaku is standing at a fork in the road of his career. This is where, in the movies at least, one pathway is dappled in sunlight beneath the enchanting arc of a rainbow, with bluebirds warbling their innocent song from trees that sprout blossoms of candy floss. The other is a dark, foreboding lane, lashed at by the sideways needles of a torrential downpour, winding and beckoning towards a derelict mansion on a lonely hilltop, obscured by wrought iron gates, perhaps with a crooked weathervane on the roof. But this isn’t the movies. In real life, Lukaku faces two choices – both seem pretty grim.
The Belgian is currently out on loan at Inter Milan, where he made headlines recently after being subjected to an abhorrent slew of racist abuse from the stands. In front of goal, he has registered just seven strikes across all competitions. Far be it for anybody to assume, but you would imagine that the forward has had happier campaigns.
It is also understood, according to those that profess to know such things, that Inter are ‘unable and unwilling’ to make his stay in Italy a permanent one. Against all odds, Lukaku is said to be disappointed by this development, but maybe that’s less a reflection on any kind of professional contentment in Milan, and more an indictment of the looming alternative.
You see, there is a plot twist by which Romelu, somewhat unbelievably and wholly glum about it, could return to parent club Chelsea and just sort of… play for them. Wild, isn’t it? When the burly striker was shipped out to Serie A last summer, it felt as if that was probably that as far as his time in English football was concerned. An eye-watering swansong at Stamford Bridge had amounted to little more than the muted whimpers of an ugly duckling, and the Blues seemed intent on drawing a thick, bold line under another very expensive error in judgement and shuffling away as if it never happened in the first place.
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But things have changed substantially in West London. For one thing, Thomas Tuchel, the man who cast Lukaku aside, has been ousted, only to be replaced by a general demeanour of frantic chaos. And then that was replaced by Frank Lampard. Of course, said chaos is being masterminded by Todd Boehly, a full beam grin idealist with bottomless pockets and an approach to the transfer market that brings to mind an eight-year-old tasked with conducting the weekly shop. Chelsea have signed jelly beans and Jaffa Cakes aplenty in their half billion pound splurge under the American, but they are still lacking in the basics, like bread and milk. And goals.
Something will have to be done about that in the coming months, and this is where Lukaku could be forced, kicking and screaming, into the fray. There is, by conservative estimates, a 50/50 chance that Boehly doesn’t know the 29-year-old exists. When he inevitably rocks up at Cobham for preseason, the chairman might well come to regard him in the same way that most of us would welcome a forgotten fiver found in an old denim jacket. You mean to say that Chelsea need a striker, and that they had one hidden away in Italy this whole time?! Well, darn tootin’! Does he want to be there? Will he fit into a new manager’s overarching philosophy or tactical approach? Pfff, who cares?! Jam that square peg into a round hole and let’s use the £80 million allocated for a centre forward to sign another winger!
Source: 3addedminutes.com
