For Chelsea fans, or indeed anyone with an interest in the high-rev methods of Antonio Conte, there was a slightly alarming moment as the first Premier League international break arrived at the start of October. Conte announced he would be going to Italy to rest. He was already exhausted. OK, then. Just the 31 league games, two domestic cups, one transfer window and 10-15 miles of febrile touchline sprints left to go this season. What could possibly go wrong from here?
It is understandable Conte should have arrived in west London less than refreshed given his summer at Euro 2016, the burdens of starting a major job and his own full-body absorption in the process: the hair-tearing grief at every setback, the tendency to celebrate each high with uncontained, eye-popping joy, haring about like a man who has just struck oil beneath his patio decking or made the first ever recorded discovery of chocolate ice cream.
Continue reading...Football | The Guardian http://ift.tt/2fkJ5qG