After surveying the UEFA fixing habits bandwagon, and hopping off, then jumping back on, then hovering for a while, I think I am ready to commit.

G-"yo, so you getting me the trophy this year or what?" Big P-"Dont worry dawg, I got yo back"
Having overslept on the day of the CL draw, I ran out of my room and the first thing I hear is – my fears had come true – “Chelsea is drawn with Leverkusen” straight from my brother’s food filled mouth.
Bollocks.
When I hear who else was drawn in that group (Valenica and Genk), I think, Bollocks, once more. I have had my run ins with the lovely ladies of luck, coincidence, fate, and the rest of them intangible persons floating around in the universe, pulling the strings and tampering with our lives – but I can quite assure you (yes, take it from me, average human) that a draw like this is completely bollocks. Unless improbable coincidence is Michel Platini’s middle name.
For Chelsea, in pot 1: drawing Leverkusen because of Michael Ballack, drawing Valencia because of Juan Mata, and Genk for.. oh I dont know, chelsea’s recent purchase of Thibaut Courtois. Oh and perhaps because Leverkusen met Genk only a few months back. Whatever it is that is UEFA’s agenda, sure they want to give exciting matches with lots at stake – but come on. Manchester United tendencies of getting drawn into a sail-easy group is an even more credible paranoia than Fergie Time. Yes, believe it or not, its more credible than something proved scientifically*
How about.. setting up sides to meet each other in the knockout stages, another Barca-Arsenal? Another Inter-Bayern? Mayhaps setting up a manager with his previous club? Ooh drama, we like, yes, yes my pet.
Maybe I am reading too much into this. Perhaps some brilliant statistician can pull up a bunch of random numbers for me signifying that a draw like this is statistically possible and has a bla bla in a bla bla chance. Of course it is statistically possible, but I would never bet on those odds. But what do I know about betting.
Yes, I am still licking left-over wounds from a certain match against a certain bunch of catalans in stamford bridge.. where a certain bald referee was carrying out his marching orders.
And with that, I promptly remove my entangled body from the fence, and briskly walk towards the raving mad conspiracy theorists.

What? no..I dont want to share your living quarters..?!
get me out of here