Halftime at the Emirates

Halftime at the Emirates....

Enter Jose Mourinho: useless bile spills out of his sneering mouth cascading down his pretentious cashmere cardigan. John Terry, naked, rolls around in this excrement of speech rubbing those poisonous words over his nipples moaning conveying his obvious arousal. All the while Frank Lampard is in the bathroom applying various cosmetics to his face pulling back his cheeks and eyes, bemoaning the ravages of age, a half eaten pork pie lies discarded on the table. David Luiz is head-butting the locker, nobody in the Chelsea locker room thinks this is strange.

Jose, the mastermind, the engineer, the architect such is the greatness of the man he set up in the perfect formation, the optimum combination of players to make Jenkinson have a mental blackout and forget how to defend. Ah Jose you truly are the master tactician.

Forget football, forget breaking down the opposition due to superior attacking play, or heaven forbid actually engaging the opposition in an honest display of wits. No no no Chelsea cant, wont do that, it might actually involve some independent thought, some magic, some class. Instead, think the Chelsea management and players, lets just sit back soak up pressure by fouling, time-wasting (how ironic after Mourinho's tirade at Hull) and then celebrate a poor, one-off defensive error like it was a flying over-head kick into the top corner scored in a cup final. The zombie hoards of Chelsea Fc are massing, I'll get the spade.....

Arsenal were poor yesterday but they still played far better football than Chelsea. How, how can Chelsea fans enjoy the tedious drudgery Arsenal fans were exposed to last night, hours of sideways passing and feigning injury with five, ten minutes of exciting football just as we were about to pull the collective trigger and blow our brains out.

Mark my words, readers of the Lovely Reds, Mourinho will leave Chelsea in a far worse position than when he joined, he has systematically gone about ostracising their creative talent and placing shackles around the dancing feet of Oscar and Hazard, gradually reducing them to crippled bearded nut jobs the likes of which you'd find in a dungeon in a three musketeers film. When he leaves, probably once he's ravaged the league like the personification of a hoard of locusts, as he always does in his wake will be nothing but shattered dreams and a bunch of comatose Chelsea fans.

Last night was a valuable lesson in how to play Chelsea, play solidly at the back and they will not break you down in open play, there is just not enough intricacy or ingenuity. Mata's goal was a peach (why does he not start for them, oh thats right because he actually enjoys playing football and giving the fans something to emulate) one that note who I ask you who is going to buy an Eto'o, Willian, De Bruyne or Schurle shirt who?!

When your sunday league team scores a great goal, or when you were a youth frollicking about the football fields of your memory do you ever recall turning to your friends with a look of sheer ecstasy on your face and agreeing in a moment of shared recognition 'that was just like....chelsea' no. because they hardly ever proffer the fans those moments, moments which for the arsenal hard drive we are running out of gigabytes.

Good luck to Chelsea in the next round of the competetion, actaully f*** that good luck to the poor s.o.b's who have to fork out £20 to watch their team be suffocated by an obese python as it languidly slithers around the pitch, fat on the profits of its deranged handler.