There’s a book called ‘The Phantom Tolbooth` that many of us read in our childhood.
In one memorable sequence, our hero Milo eats a dish called ‘subtraction stew`: the more you eat, the hungrier you get.
I always think of subtraction stew when I see Fabregas on the field in front of Luiz and Cahill.
All three of these Chelsea stalwarts are in their thirties and it shows, big time.
As does the enormous value of N`Golo Kante – probably the only player in world football whose presence gives those two fading defensive talents any right to be playing at this level.
But with Cesc, aka the human turnstile in midfield, new boy Bakayoko is simply overwhelmed by his slew of duties.
And it`s not as if the veteran Spaniard playmaker has earned his right to play by laying on goal after goal.
Of course he plays a pretty-looking ball here and there, but nothing earth-shattering.
The only shattering sound we can hear every game is Chelsea’s defensive glass jaw getting smashed into smithereens each and every time Luiz/Cahill is called upon to do something challenging.
If Drinkwater is available tomorrow and The Don plays Fabregas – against Man United! – I`ll watch the game between my now customarily knitted-together fingers.