The Rebound: This is how the Premier League can finally fix VAR after Liverpool vs Tottenham shambles

I think I might have cracked the problem; VAR has a mole. Not a double agent or a malicious saboteur intent on engendering a level of indignation incalculable to even the most stringent of scientific instruments, but a blind, velvety subterranean mammal in a headset, squinting at a wall of worthless monitors, entirely oblivious to the mountains that his silly little hills are causing.

What other sorry excuse could there possibly be for the ludicrous failings that we have seen in recent days? By now, you will be entirely aware of what happened - although if anybody has any clues as to how or why it took place, I’d be grateful for the illumination.

Luis Diaz was so far onside that the prospect of him being offside was unimaginable, to the extent that the video assistant could not fathom that his onfield counterpart might have even begun to dream of saying he was anything other than onside and so, in his hasty affirmation of the original ruling, inadvertantly disallowed the goal for offside. If you followed that you are, in all likelihood, more lucid than half of the officials employed by the PGMOL. Genuinely, there are self-declared autonomous microstates in suburban basements that are more deserving of a flag than the Liverpool winger was against Tottenham on Saturday evening.

And please don’t get me wrong, nobody should ever advocate for the bashing of referees, who, lord knows, wrestle with a hard enough job as it is without having to worry that every passing car headlamp in their living room window is in fact the torchlight glow of an angry mob (or Jurgen Klopp’s super trouper grimace), but something has got to give. The whole thing brings to mind the immortal words of Papa Roach’s ‘Last Resort’: ‘Losing my sight, losing my mind. Wish somebody would tell me I’m fine. Nothing’s alright, nothing is fine. I’m running and I’m crying. I’m crying, I’m crying. I’m crying, I’m crying. I can’t go on living this way.’

Indeed, we are crying and we cannot go on living this way. Video technology has the potential to be a beneficial tool in the pursuit of decent, consistent refereeing, but in its current guise it is ruining the game. Reform, therefore, is needed.

For one thing, it would be nice if Premier League officials weren’t, I dunno, freelancing in the Middle East 48 hours before the biggest fixture of the weekend. If they spent more time focusing on checks rather than cheques, maybe we wouldn’t be in such a despondent palaver.

Then again, perhaps that is reductive - the kind of knee jerk discontent that lashes out at the nearest absurdity without drilling down to the tender root of the problem. You see, the fundemental implementation of VAR is broken, so why not take it out of the hands of those who have rendered it useless? Instead of relying on officials to flag (or in some cases, not flag) their own errors, give each team appeals, like in tennis or cricket. Say, two per half?

If a side is not happy with a call, at the next suitable break in play, get the referee to review it; if it is overturned, you keep your challenge and the match resumes from a relevant set-piece taken at the point at which the offence was committed; if it is not, you lose a plea and life goes on. Surely it can’t be any worse than the calamity we are currently dealing with.

But the fact of the matter is, nothing will change, and the reason nothing will change is because time and time again the people running VAR have proven that they are physically incapable of reneging on patently poor decision-making processes. Rant complete.

Elsewhere, Chelsea won a match. Turns out all they needed was a front of shirt sponsor. And a considerable dollop of neighbourly generosity from dear old Fulham. The Cottagers were so selfless on Monday evening that they made Ned Flanders look like Cosmo Kramer. Both of their visitors’ goals were absolute gifts, but Tim Ream in particular is likely to have spent the early hours of Tuesday morning lying rigid in bed, staring at the ceiling wondering if he’s unknowingly set in motion a chain reaction of increasingly perverse occurences that ultimately culminate in mankind’s protracted and indiscriminate apocalypse, as foretold by the prophecies. The end is nigh...

Or perhaps it is just the beginning. Mauricio Pochettino will certainly hope so. For the longest while now, Chelsea have resembled a fifth generation Habsburg monarch, their opulence only eclipsed by their self-imposed frailties. They have stumbled through the Premier League - skin transluscent, jaw swinging in the wind - spiralling ever closer to the day that their short-sighted recruitment leaves them wholly impotent and ineffective.

But Monday proved that there is still hope. This was a grittier performance than we have come to expect from the Blues, and it is worth remembering that they are beset by the kind of injury crisis usually reserved for season finales of House. Of course, one win does not a successful team make, but maybe, just maybe, Chelsea have turned a corner.

What’s that you say? Six of their next eight Premier League matches are against Arsenal, Manchester City, Newcastle, Tottenham, Brighton, and Manchester United? Never mind, then.