In the year two thousand fourteen, on the eighth day of the fourth month, Demba Ba scored the biggest goal of his career. It came in the 87th minute and not a moment too soon. The stands at Stamford Bridge might still be shaking.
It wasn't the prettiest goal you'll ever see. It wasn't the craftiest. It was pure desire and emotion. Chelsea had all three of their third-choice strikers on the pitch at the same time. We didn't have Eden Hazard. We didn't have Oscar. We certainly didn't have Didier Drogba. It didn't matter.
Gary Cahill pumped a ball long into the area. Ex-Chelsea man Alex rose to head the ball clear as he had done roughly a million times since the 75th minute. But this time, Fernando Torres jumped as well, put a body on him, and the clearance went only as far as Samuel Eto'o. Father Time turned with the agility of a man quarter his age, but his shot was blocked by Christophe Jallet. The rebound fell to Cesar Azpilicueta - easily our most improved player of the season. Dave wasted no time and went for a first-time shot or a cross - a shross? Whichever it was, it took a deflection or two... and then Demba Ba happened.
A goal so nice, he hit it thrice.
Demba Ba - falling, of course - drags his foot on the ground in an effort to try to sidefoot the ball into the net (or, most likely, into the goalkeeper's spread out body and appendages). But the ball bounces just short and hits off the striker's shin instead. It then bounces down onto his standing leg and bounces back onto his left just as the falling action initiated with the original foot-drag naturally turns into a scooping motion that sends the ball over Salvatore Sirigu's helpless form and into the roof of the net.
You can't script football.