Barnsley grit almost gets the better of Chelsea silk.

 Barnsley grit almost gets the better of Chelsea silk. 

Deep in the heart of the once-thriving Yorkshire coalfields and collieries, Barnsley, middle of the Championship, went toe to toe with Premier League swaggerers Chelsea. In theory there could only have been one result but when the FA Cup sends out all of its romantic greetings to one and all, the candle lights will burn brightly and the red roses of the imminent St Valentines Day may seem like a very good idea. Sadly, Barnsley will not be receiving any of those sweetly innocent cards that adorn a vast majority of female mantelpieces. 

Last night Barnsley were in no mood for a dalliance with anybody but were still intent on crushing the hearts of a Chelsea side who now take their place in the FA Cup quarter-finals for what seems an astonishing number of times. Here in the heart of Yorkshire where grit and graft, labour and toil, quite often take precedence over frills, fripperies, bows and ribbons, Barnsley held Chelsea at arms length for long periods of time. 

At Oakwell of course, there is always room for fun and frivolity as and when the occasion warrants it but realistically this was simply a night designed for far-fetched fantasies, wishful thinking perhaps and a good, old fashioned night of dreaming. Barnsley though went out of this year's FA Cup with defiance and heroism much in evidence but were still ever so slightly delusional. Besides Chelsea have now won the FA Cup on a number of occasions recently so their supremacy last night was clearly underlined. 

After the departure of Frank Lampard Chelsea have allowed themselves the indulgence of a stirring FA Cup run and although Barnsley were far from overawed by the size of the challenge in front of them, Chelsea, slowly but surely, made attacking inroads into the Barnsley half. But quite often the Londoners would find themselves trapped at the end of cul de sacs, clumsily if patiently moving the ball out of their defence and making extremely heavy weather of this FA Cup tie. 

However, FA Cup ties such as this one invariably go according to form and Barnsley never really looked as if they were about to cause a memorable upset. Occasionally their football was both uplifting and a pleasure to behold but there were times when it all seemed to come unstuck in vital areas of the pitch. The likes of Cauley Woodrow, Callum Britain and the outstanding Callum Styles were decorators rather than destroyers but Barnsley's end product in front of goal didn't really suggest anything other than a victory for the visitors. 

You can imagine two of Barnsley's favourite sons former cricket umpire Dicky Bird and legendary chat show host Michael Parkinson watching from home and perhaps hoping for the unexpected. Instead Barnsley pressed back Chelsea, pinning back the Premier League side incessantly, huffing and puffing at times and were admittedly supremely well organised. But Chelsea had the silkier touches, a side of pretty embellishments and classical passing. At times Barnsley looked almost consumed with envy.

For much of the game Chelsea's passing reminded you of a pinball machine arcade where the silver ball whizzes around and bounces around quite happily before accumulating a huge score. Chelsea's richly textured football was somehow symbolic of the club, all flair and flamboyance, a side with a permanently arty and bohemian tradition, once again here to make sure that it all went right on the night.

The 1970s memories came flooding back to some of us. There was the 1970 FA Cup Final on a disgraceful bog of an old Wembley pitch. There were the honourable likes of Charlie Cooke, visionary and perceptive, Peter Osgood, a stick of dynamite for Chelsea, Dave Webb, hard as the proverbial nails, Ian Hutchinson with that superhuman throw, the evergreen Peter Bonetti and manager Dave Sexton who became very thoughtful and philosophical at Manchester United in later years. 

Roll forward 51 years later and Chelsea are still at the top table of football's sometimes patronising elite. Occasionally the noses are turned up both rudely and disdainfully while others choose to look down on the likes of Barnsley with a very snobbish snarl. But for those who were wearing the high- class dinner jackets and stiff tuxedos this was a night for level playing fields rather than champagne or caviar. 

For much of this rather lack-lustre FA Cup tie Chelsea just kept possession of the ball for as long as they could without any of the cutting edge that neutral observers had taken for granted. The ball would be spun and woven around the blue shirts with mesmerising accuracy and sometimes arrogant presumption. Maybe Chelsea thought Barnsley were just beneath them, some inanimate object to be trodden into the ground.  And yet Chelsea were not quite in the mood to just witness any kind of giant-killing. 

This was a night though for rubbing hands together for warmth, imagining the Barnsley hordes waving their scarves and being beautifully boisterous. Oakwell though was deserted with nothing but patriotic flags on the terraces and often hilarious shouting from managers and players alike. New Chelsea manager  ThomasTuchel sat warmly wrapped up in fashionable hoodie and tracksuit top every so often pulling up the said garment over his now frost-bitten face.

Still, Tuchel's new charges zipped the ball around quite fetchingly and becomingly, his team rather than the one Lampard left behind. With stunning achievements at Borussia Dortmund behind him, Tuchel looked very concerned about his team's well-meaning display. Chelsea were good, sometimes very good and often in a class of their own. But you know what the FA Cup is like. There can be no room for sentiment and every so often it kindly gives us a Hereford United moment to savour. 

And so it was that Kurt Zouma, brilliantly poised and in control, combined knowledgeably with Andreas Christensen and Emerson Palmieri who were completely unflustered and unyielding at the back for Chelsea. Once again N'Golo Kante was at his most exceptional, a commanding presence, a delightful fusion of feathery touches on the ball and an uncanny awareness of players running into space. Kante must have been terrific at geography when he was at school. 

Then there was the still young and wet behind the ears Billy Gilmour who only seemingly turns up for Chelsea in Cup ties. Gilmour is a natural talent, a player of sublime artistry and an idealistic playmaker in the great tradition of the now much-missed Ray Wilkins. Gilmour glides and floats over the ground, not too laid back and relaxed but ever so sophisticated. Maybe an England call up may not be too far away. 

There was Callum Hudson Odoi as bright -eyed and bushy-tailed as ever, prompting and leading the way for the visitors, a player with educated feet and often a polished air about him, Chelsea were impressive and instinctive in their use of the ball, never afraid to show off or flaunt their peacock finery. Marcus Alonso and Hakim Ziyech were also here, there and everywhere, lively and enterprising on either flank. And Tammy Abraham could be anything he wants to be, tracking back by heading the ball off the line from a Barnsley corner and darting at defenders with daring and aplomb. 

When it looked as if Chelsea would never score suddenly the goal they knew they'd find at the bottom of the draw burst into life. Not for the first time in the match Chelsea produced one of those familiar Pass the Parcel movements. A brief exchange of intricate passes in the centre circle found Rees James who powered away towards goal and then ultimately slipped the ball across to Tammy Abraham who literally tapped the ball into the net from on the goal line. 

So Chelsea move promptly if somewhat laboriously into the last eight of the FA Cup. You find yourselves thinking of Chelsea's halcyon years under Jose Mourinho when trophies arrived on their doorstep by the lorryload. But their favourite son has now left and Thomas Tuchel is the man entrusted with the responsibility of singing the Blues. Blue may be the colour for the time being.