An ode to Raheem Sterling’s gloriously cr*p Chelsea free-kick vs. Leicester | OneFootball

One of the most humbling experiences of my life came during a five-a-side match in the second year of university.

It was an era before Big Protein, the vice-like grip of My Fitness Pal and taping your mouth shut before bed to improve circulation and optimise sleep patterns.

An era where the pre-match warm-up was still (just about) lifting pint glass to mouth, as two Gucci Mane team-mates and I did eagerly before one Monday night game.

Suitably refreshed and invigorated, I played with the finesse of a hippopotamus in an apple-bobbing competition.

Always more of a Conor Gallagher than a Zinedine Zidane, a hazy forcefield had appeared between me and the ball.

Instead of trapping one simple pass, something that was within even my capabilities, it bobbled off my shin and looped forlornly over the fence. Even the ref laughed.

I eventually stopped playing years later with the realisation that my mates had moved on and every match had turned into 40-minutes of shuttle runs.

But that moment flashed in my mind when news that Raheem Sterling had left Chelsea by mutual consent broke on the timeline.

Sterling has been on the decline ever since leaving Manchester City in 2022. But nobody foresaw his spell at Chelsea being the footballing equivalent of kidney stones.

And his personal abyss came during an FA Cup quarter-final with Leicester in March 2024.

The scapegoat of Mauricio Pochettino’s underperforming team, Sterling firmly lived down to expectations in a display that suggested somebody had laced his Lucozade with absinthe.

Missing a penalty in the most apologetic fashion possible, passing the ball straight to Jakub Stolarczyk, set the tone for his afternoon.

Despite registering an assist, and Axel Disasi attempting to deflect attention away with a spectacular own goal, Sterling was peppering the skyline like an archer at Agincourt.

The arsenic-flavoured icing on the cake came with a late free-kick. Eschewing every piece of coaching advice he’d ever received, Sterling leaned back far enough to be horizontal before striking the ball.

To howls of derision from the Shed End, his effort flew erratically over the bar and out of the SW6 postcode. Rumour has it that planes had to be grounded at Heathrow as a result.

His team-mates, who’d ducked out of the stray missile’s path, must’ve wondered how Sterling’s doppelganger had acquired access to the Stamford Bridge dressing room.

Not content with one of the worst Panenkas ever, Sterling had produced a free-jazz reinterpretation of awfulness. At least he had the self-awareness to look sheepish.

The beleaguered forward was substituted minutes later as the Chelsea crowd came close to a level of mutiny rarely seen on dry land. Two late goals sealed a 4-2 win that satisfied nobody.

As Sterling licks his wounds and looks for a new club, the only right conclusion is that his Leicester disasterclass was football’s most relatable episode in years.

Our darkest moments offer a counterpoint of shade and shadow, giving life its definition and detail, especially when viewed with hindsight.

Nobody is immune to low points, as much as we try to insulate ourselves and society shoves the latest quick-fix distraction into our faces.

Sterling’s trophies and England caps were no protection against playing as if his feet had been replaced with cauliflowers in front of a feral Stamford Bridge.

For one afternoon, a man with 123 Premier League goals played with the coordination of a university student with a belly full of Carlsberg. There’s something wonderful about that.