6 min readUpdated: May 18, 2026 08:45 AM IST All Erling Haaland could see was a wave of dark blue shirts. In front of him on the right, just inside the box, bristling like a matador trying to tame the bull was the fizzy-crowned Marc Cucurella. Haaland paused and surveyed the goalmouth. Reece James and Moises Caicedo penned Bernardo Silva at the centre. Wesley Fofana and Malo Gusto screened Nico O’Reilly rushing down the flanks. Chelsea’s backline had blocked potential paths and receptors. Jorrel Hato was ambling in for reinforcement. Then there was Antoine Semenyo. He was the nearest man to Haaland, but Levi Colwill had confiscated him like an angry customs officer. He could not slide to the left because there was little space to run through on the ball; he could not swivel to his right, or half turn, because he would run straight into a blue wall. Haaland too seemed confused (or did he foresee Semenyo’s wizardry?). His cut-back seemed misdirected, as though he had scuffed it. The shot seemed passing benignly, …