Chelsea are facing a Lord Farquaad gamble over next managerial appointment

When will it be Todd Boehly’s turn to be happy? He’s not asking for much, at the end of the day. All he wants is for that special someone to waltz into Stamford Bridge, sweep him off his feet, and simultaneously deliver instant success by wrangling an impossibly large dressing room while also building a long term project with a pre-existing and non-negotiable set of overly-expensive acquisitions that are tied to contracts which won’t expire until the inevitable heat death of the universe. Ugh, some people just have, like, no luck.

Chelsea, of course, are on the hunt for a new manager. After paying Brighton an obscene amount of money for the privilege of introducing Graham Potter to cashmere turtlenecks, the Blues decided on Sunday that actually, maybe he wasn’t the right man for the job after all. It’s amazing what a 38.7% win rate can do to sour a working relationship. And now, with his pockets a whole wedge of compensation lighter, and his promises about not having a decidedly *ahem* Roman proclivity for decimation looking less than concrete, Boehly is putting himself back out there once more.

In my mind’s eye, his selection process is a lot like Lord Farquaad’s bachelorette vetting scene in Shrek. There Todd toddles about in the dungeons of Stamford Bridge, maybe torturing a sentient cookie or two, adorned in his most opulent velvet finery and his nattiest pair of pantaloons. Before him floats a magic mirror (I assume the hyper-rich can afford magic mirror technology these days) and from it booms a rolling montage of dashing, lusty candidates. All around him, his entourage of hooded goons bicker in excitement, and the faint strains of some inoffensive, copyright-free elevator muzak drift along in the background.

Managerial Candidate Number One is a recently-divorced German prince who has a keen interest in extreme sports and who loves nothing more than electronic longboards and impromptu skiing holidays in the Alps. Give it up for Julian Nagelsmannnnnnnnn. Managerial Candidate Number Two is a sizzling Spanish señor whose career has taken him here, there, and to plenty of silverware. Just watch out though, because he can get a little bit twitchy, if you know what I mean. It’s Luis Enriqueeeeeeeeee. And finally, Managerial Candidate Number Three is either a poe-faced Northern Irishman who just got mortally wounded in a relegation battle, or he’s the former flame of your bitter rivals who has won zero - count ‘em, zero - trophies in English football, or he’s quite literally just... John Terry. The choice, Lord FarTodd, is all yours.

Let’s address some of the less likely options, according to the bookmakers, first, starting with John Terry. One word: no.

More feasible would be Rodgers. Despite the ignominy with which his stint at Leicester City has come crashing down, there is no questioning the man’s coaching ability. Whether it be with Swansea City, Liverpool, Celtic, or even the Foxes - current campaign excluded - he has built a career on getting the best out of the players around. In fact, up until this season, the Brodge would probably have been amongst the first Premier League managers touted for a vacancy at Stamford Bridge if and when one became available. But whether Boehly, standing on the precipice of such a crucial decision at this early stage in his boardroom tenure, would be willing to appoint a manager who has just been ousted by a club second from bottom, I’m not so sure.

Another relative outsider is Mauricio Pochettino. In some respects, the Argentine is of a similar profile to Rodgers; at both Southampton and Tottenham he managed to elevate squads of varying degrees of potential to genuinely impressive heights. The more we bear witness to Spurs’ perpetual cycle of self-flagellation, the more that Champions League final seems like a minor miracle.

Where Poch differs from Rodgers is that he boasts the feel of an elite appointment. It’s been almost a year since he left PSG, and in that time he probably could have shimmied his way into any number of mediocre roles - but he hasn’t. He’s kept his powder dry and his jets cool, and you would imagine that it will take a special offer to coax him back from his voluntary exile. Chelsea might not want him, but even if they do, who is to say that Poch would reciprocate? Maybe he’s only drawn to employment opportunities that don’t come with a mounting sense of dread as one of their contractual perks. Revolutionary.

But what of the two favourites, Enrique and Nagelsmann? The fear from certain quarters will be that they just happen to be the two most illustrious names unattached to a club at the present moment in time. Marriages of convenience, if you will, rather than meaningful infatuations. On paper, though, both could have the potential to work out quite well.

Enrique, for instance, is a fan of a wide forward - the kind of player who can drive with pace and directness towards the goal, and who looks to get opposition full-backs spinning on their heels. Chelsea, for their part, have more wingers than they know what to do with. Likewise, his tactical flexibility and willingness to adapt and experiment could serve a squad who are still searching for some kind of identity very well.

But then again, the former Barcelona manager is known to be demanding of his players, and the resolve of this Chelsea dressing room seems so brittle, so stubbornly fragile, that it is anybody’s guess as to how it would respond to his methods.

Where Nagelsmann is concerned, the German represents an interesting proposition. His brand of football is attractive and efficient, and his allure is such that even the likes of Real Madrid are understood to be monitoring his situation in the aftermath of his recent sacking by Bayern Munich. Tactically, he prefers a 4-2-3-1, and much of what he does hinges on a high-pressing model and the composed creativity of an effective midfield duo. Again, Chelsea have the width to pull off the shape - even if another centre-forward might help that particular cause somewhat - and in Enzo Fernandez, N’Golo Kante, Mateo Kovacic et al., they should have engine room operators with enough quality to make it stick too. But is any of that enough?

The issue that Chelsea have right now is that they are wrestling with the intangible. Things that should work simply aren’t, and there is a chaotic stench that hangs heavy in the air. Whichever overgrown, tangled path Boehly chooses to hack away at with his machete of recruitment, those pesky vines will continue to grab and grasp at his ankles, tripping him at every step.

Perhaps he will opt for Nagelsmann. Perhaps it will be Enrique. Perhaps he will get neither and have to settle for a third option. Perhaps the sun will explode before an appointment is made and Chelsea will be consigned to the vast nothingness of eternity as a mid-table side with no discernable direction. But hey, at least those lengthy contracts would no longer be binding.

And that’s the problem here; it feels as if there is no obvious answer, no clear solution. Whatever Boehly does next, he is going to have to gamble. Or maybe Thelonious will hold up two fingers and tell him to pick number three, m’lord.