Jogging to the Line

I doubt there was ever as many clenched buttocks collectively gathered in one place as there were at Stamford Bridge on Wednesday night at around 8pm. It was a big game involving arguably the two biggest teams in the Premiership, especially in light of Manure FC's apparent inability to turn their star performers into a cohesive unit. I believe this is a concept known as a "team", and one which we have embraced from day one of Jose Mourinho's reign.

Airline FC have had the same effect over us as we have had over Tottenham in that we haven't beaten them in a League game since 1995. Yes, there was a League Cup win a few years ago where we trounced their under-11 side 5-0, and of course the great victory in last year's Champions League, which became pretty pyrrhic in the end after the spectacular collapse against Monaco in the next round.

I had to watch Wednesday's game at my brother-in-law's after my corporate ticket deal fell through at the last minute, leaving insufficient time to buy one. I had hoped to use this game to erase the memory of the last time I attended an Airline FC game at Stamford Bridge, that sickening day of 23rd October, 1999, when with 15 minutes to go an imperious Chelsea led 2-0. I remember the comments that day in the Shed were along the lines of "Who's this lanky streak of p*ss?" as Wenger desperately threw his last dice and bought on Kanu to try and rescue a dire situation. The communal sense of 30,000 people feeling mutually sick to the stomach as Kanu then single-handedly went on to score 3 goals in those last 15 minutes to hand them a 3-2 win on our hallowed turf will take some erasing.

From that day onwards I became convinced that I would never again see us beat Arsenal in the League, in much the same way as I believed (and still to some extent do) that I would never see England win a major international football competition. My irrationality reached bizarre heights when I used to even stand in my local pub and make declarations along the lines of "Who cares about the League as long as we beat Arsenal, that's all that matters." Of course, reality and sanity of sorts returned this season and it was obvious that like most I would happily accept not beating Airline FC as long as we won the League. Over the years my irrationality has though led to a complete hatred of Airline FC and everything they stood for. Whenever people would say "You have to admire their football and their achievements..." I would steadfastly refuse to acknowledge their marvellous passing skills and deadly finishing. I would ignore their constant habit of winning Premiership titles and FA Cups, sometimes in the same year. They were not only Chelsea's nemesis, they were mine. Whenever Manure FC would play Airline FC I would be a "virtual Red Devil" for those 90 minutes, just to see that smug bloody grin collectively removed from the arrogant and gloating fans' faces. As far as I was concerned Arsenal had ruined my life, and had acted like the school bully towards Chelsea for years, constantly finding ways of putting us in our place.

Only now the victim has become the bully. Our 7-stone weakling has tired of having sand kicked in its face by the muscle men of North London. Suddenly a mentor came in and with the help of a rich benefactor removed our NHS issue glasses, built us into a muscle-bound Adonis, removed the ugly tablets from our bathroom cabinet, and undertook a programme of extensive cosmetic surgery. The result is as yet not completely finished, but now we are the powerhouse on the beach, the athletic, good looking and intelligent hunk attracting the women and the plaudits, whilst the former cover models whine and whinge about the unfairness of it all as their pulling power declines.

Back to the match. Just for once it would be nice to see us jump off the starting blocks from the first whistle, like we did against Barcelona. All too often this season we have waited until 10 minutes into the game before realising that we are actually in a match, such was the start on Wednesday. Three minutes in and Pires hits a cracking shot at our goal which shakes the cross bar. If further buttock clenching had seemed impossible at kick-off, here was proof that we could go further as 40 odd thousand pairs of buttocks tightened in rhythm as the ball hit the bar. Arsenal meant business, they weren't about to let this "made over" kid on the block walk over them. Seven further minutes passed with Chelsea allowing them to pose and posture with the ball in the middle of the park. Was this deliberate? Or were they so good that they could keep the ball even from our multi-talented players? From an Arsenal corner, again the lack of urgency at the back allowed Pires another shot on goal, thankfully skewed wide. Had that been "Terry Henry" then I think we can conclude it would have been on target. But then, as if this had served as a final warning, the new Adonis grabbed the former glory boy by the neck, and slowly but surely started to assert their authority. More and more we came into game, showing just how powerful we are from the back, through midfield to the front. Eidur Gudjohnson had them confused in his new found, and frankly superb role in midfield. I have been a critic of Eidur this season, but anything Mark Hughes could do, Eidur can do better. A tribute to Mourinho that he has found a new role for Eidur, and one in which he so obviously enjoys and excels.

All over the pitch our quality began to show, with Glen Johnson showing that he can play maturely at right-back, Joe Cole as always proving a handful, front and back, Lamps and Terry playing to their usual high standard. Good chances were spurned by Drogba, one which was superbly stopped by Lehman, who now has 8 clean sheets on the bounce. The other was an unselfish but ultimately incorrect cutback to Joe Cole, who patently wasn't expecting the ball. He should have shot because a chip there would have left Lehman for dead. But my own Man of the Match verdict went to Ricardo Carvalho, a man who gave away free kicks against Barcelona and who has seemed to be just short of Premiership pace. He was by far and away the most accomplished defender on the night, winning every tackle, harrying, jumping and fighting. Inspirational is the word that sums his performance up perfectly.

All in all the game was pulsating and above all highly skilful and fair. Both teams were happy to play football rather than trying to fight their way through the game. A great advert for the Premiership, and proof that not all 0-0 draws are dull, far from it in this case. The second half was as compelling as the first, and statistically Chelsea came out on top for possession, attempts on goal and attempts on target; honours even on the night, and probably a fair result.

Next season will be the one where I think we'll actually beat them. The downside is that this was the second home draw on the bounce, and just one victory in those games would probably have had this season done and dusted for us. Perhaps because we are so far ahead of the competition, and so close to the line, have we dropped from running to a leisurely jog across the line. I hope not. I hope we pick up the pace with a win over Fulham, because for the first time ever I will wish Spurs all the best and hope they can draw with Airline FC on Monday. If this happens, then it really is all over and our remaining Premiership games can be played as relaxed and certain Champions.

One last note though. I may be repeating myself, but if you get the chance then watch The Good, The Bad and the Ugly if you haven't already seen it. If ever Sky Sports want to do a trailer highlighting the story of this season then this is surely the basis for it. Remember the scene at the end, with the three men standing at the site of the grave of Arch Stanton, where the $200,000 treasure is allegedly located? The Ugly -- the sweaty, horrible grizzled face of Alex Ferguson replacing that of the original actor Eli Wallach, captured at the moment of one his renowned rages, would be perfect. The Bad -- the swathe, calm and refined features of Lee van Cleef, replaced by those of Arsene Wenger; and finally The Good -- the steely eyed young gunslinger portrayed so coolly by Clint Eastwood is so perfectly aligned to our very own Jose Mourinho -- and we all know who wins that three way battle in the end, don't we!

by Grocerjack

*Related links:*

* The real gent who beat Jose to Blues' first title