| Modern football and loyalty are estranged. Item one: Chelsea’s shilling just about everything that’s not stuck down so that “pure profit” keeps away the spectre of profit and sustainability. Hence Conor Gallagher loading up Duolingo as he’s shown round Madrid. Item two: Trevor Chalobah being barred from the US tour and first-team facilities, Romelu Lukaku another among a group of exiles large enough for a separate Premier League squad. Item three: Raheem Sterling’s personal PR’s statement on Sunday complaining about the state of things within the Cobham training complex. Meanwhile, the club’s PR specialists have hit back against those yearning for the return of Roman Abramovich by reminding Thomas Tuchel was once willing to drive the team bus to Lille, such were the logistical problems of Russia-related sanctions. It’s not just Chelsea. They merely heighten professional football’s cut-throat nature, footballers traded like “pieces of meat”, as Roy Keane once had it. If the cuts are these days more expensively cured, the trading is much more pitiless. Only a chosen few get to be João Félix, traded between superclubs despite being mostly bobbins. That he’s joining Chelsea’s misfiring forward line (again!) only adds to the sense of Stamford Bridge bafflement. Still, Monday night supplied an antidote. Back in the summer of 2016, just after Leicester’s glorious title win, Jamie Vardy was set for Arsenal, who triggered his release clause. This time last year, he was a candidate for the Saudi gold rush Ivan Toney is now considering. Both times, Jamie stayed, and Leicester fans couldn’t be more glad. Vardy is not to everyone’s tastes. There are a couple of unseemly incidents within his past. His “chat sh1t, get banged” catchphrase fed into an aggressive public image. But he is also highly relatable, someone who clambered over football’s scrapheap of broken dreams to become one of the Premier League’s finest forwards. Vardy’s snarling and chasing across that Foxes frontline caught everyone cold; pressing before it became football’s buzzword, paired with witheringly brilliant finishes. He’s 37 now, a little less mobile, but after last season in the Championship, has reached a record 103 Premier League goals since passing 30. After a half-time slug of Energy Drink – having declaring himself fit amid an injury crisis – the poacher supreme lost Cristian Romero to head home. He enjoys playing Spurs, and he doesn’t forget. Six years ago, a pre-Wagatha Mrs Vardy was mocked by travelling Tottenham fans for being in ITV’s Celebrity jungle, and he rattled in a beauty. This time, it was more simple. Romero was given a fond farewell as Jamie was subbed off, as were away fans with a mimed reminder of just who won that 2015-16 title race by a street. Today: “off-feet, get the massages, cryotherapy, in the pool, stretching. Then more cryotherapy at home, sauna, an hour in the oxygen tent.” Total dedication to being the loyal, market-square hero Leicester fans adore when so much else with their club is awry. He is the type of figure Chelsea need, if only they could sign him. | 