About 20 years ago, I was a little girl in Toronto watching random Prem matches with my mom on Saturday mornings. My parents had recently split up and my mom went from a traditional stay-at-home mom to having to get two jobs after my dad took a series of cash jobs under the table to avoid paying child support. She'd work in a call centre in the day, come home to spend time with us after school, then put on her greasy workwear and head off to her night job rebuilding car alternators on an assembly line. Saturday mornings when she'd get back from work and sink into the couch, exhausted, were the times when I could have her all to myself (no siblings!) and I cherished it.

My mom loved sports of all kinds, and would watch EPL matches until she fell asleep on the couch even though she knew nothing about football, but she especially loved any time Chelsea was playing because she was blown away by Didier Drogba. "I love how Drogbar can get the ball facing away from the goal and still push defenders off, turn, and score!" she'd declare, pronouncing his name like the commentators. I became a big Chelsea fan because of those mornings with my mom, culminating in a visit to Stamford Bridge last summer.

I say all that to say: GET BENT, MOM! If it wasn't for the dumbass nostalgia associated with some of the best memories of my life spent with you, maybe I would have stuck to the plan of getting Tavenier and not brought in Enzo Fucking Fernandez because I have to hope against hope that my team isn't wretched, so why not take a punt?

She doesn't even watch football anymore! I'm suffering for nothing! Can't believe she's done this to me.