There are some things in life that just make you think, is this for real? Such as you may ask? Well I am prepared to believe Kentucky Fried Rat (or whatever they really call it) can actually be classed as a foodstuff. I can accept that somehow, someway, George Dubya Bush got to be President of the United States of America. I can now and again accept that maybe, just maybe, all of the crap ‘reality’ TV shows actually add something to someone’s existence – although where the word reality comes in when you put a bunch of has beens and never have beens into the ‘jungle’ and cover them with treacle pudding and rats is beyond me – I will, at a push, accept that some people might truly find Tony Blair sincere about something (though I am not sure what), and yes darn it, I can even believe that pigs and DC-10’s can fly. I cannot, no matter how hard you push me though, believe that Neil ‘whoops where’s it going this time’ Sullivan really gets paid by Chelsea Football Club to act as a goalkeeper.

Of course he cannot be blamed for the result today, although I am writing this without the benefit of an action replay, but to say that he fills me with dread is not even getting close to the emotion he stirs in me. My Grandmother would perform better in goal than him, and she has been dead for 18 years. Go on Claudio, stick her urn in the goal, I bet she gets a higher rating than ‘Sully’ and she wont cost anywhere near as much.

Don’t you just hate that feeling of deja vu? It was obvious to a blind man (maybe even Neil Sullivan) that we were going to be drawn against Arsenal. It was even more obvious that despite them not having the luxury of the va-va-voom man we were certain to lose. My Mum used to tell me – on those days when I actually took any notice – that there are only two certainties in life. You are born, and you die. Well Mummy dearest, you can certainly add number 3 to the list, we are destined to draw Arsenal every year in the FA Cup and they are certain to beat us even if they put out a team of dustmen (blimey maybe even dustbins!) AND had Neil Sullivan in goal.

Having Arsenal twice in 6 days always meant the crap question would be asked. You know the one, “which game would you rather us win”, like we have any choice at all in the matter. Personally, if the choice really existed, I would always go for the League game. But that does not mean that I would want us to play virtually an entire 45 minutes with so little passion and interest that at times I thought about catching the early train home. Of course there would not have been much room as most of the players would already have been on it!

Oh, and then there was Paul ‘I am a short arsed twat but just love the feeling of power this yellow card gives me’ Durkin. Now maybe he had a good game in your view, but in my eyes he sucked – again – and just his presence on the pitch makes me know that bad things are going to happen. 7 yellow cards in the end wasn’t it? And we picked up the majority? Yes right Mr. Hob Nob. Best we pickle this bloke right now to show future generations of referees how not to officiate a game of football.

We probably just, and I do mean just, shaded the first half. There were chances at both ends and only another blind twat of a linesman who clearly fails to understand the offside law prevented us taking the lead earlier than we actually did. 10 minutes before the interval Jesper Gronkjaer headed Frank Lampard’s perfect cross past Lehmann only for the w**ker to wave his flag in the air.

It was only a brief reprieve for the sad and quiet gooners as we went ahead with a marvellous goal from Mutu after 39 minutes. Lehmann’s poor clearance went straight to Parker, and when he fed Mutu, the Romanian raced at Toure before flashing in a 20-yard finish with his left foot. If it were possible the Library got even quieter. Not only could you hear a pin drop, you could hear it bounce down the steps as well!

Of course, Chelsea being Chelsea we had to go and throw it all away. This time to some young twat who decided to score his first ever goals for the gooners against us. Is he Patrick Berger in disguise one wonders? The Spaniard picked up the ball 25 yards out, and fired an unstoppable drive into Carlo’s top corner. Give him credit, it was some shot. But deciding to let him run for 10 minutes without a challenge then have a free shot is not the defending of champions.

Then on the hour we lost Carlo who, despite having started the game, was very clearly not match fit. Sullivan’s first task as his replacement was to pick the ball out of the net. Vieira’s brilliant pass left Mario Melchiot flat-footed and Reyes stole in to beat Sullivan as JT tried desperately to clear.

That was it really, half an hour left yet game over. With few exceptions, most notably JT, we were second rate, slow to challenge and the better team on the day won with some ease. I can only hope that whatever team he puts out next week, and I don’t think the numbers have been drawn out of his hat yet, perform a darn sight better than this. Win, lose or draw, all I want is for us to go down fighting. The one thing more than anything else that Arsehole Whinge has instilled into his team is the one thing that we so desperately lack.

Now we only have the Champions League and the Premiership to go for. Bugger.

TEAM; Cudicini (Sullivan 60) – Melchiot, Terry, Gallas, Bridge – Parker, Makelele, Lampard, Gronkjaer (Cole 69) – Hasselbaink, Mutu (Gudjohnsen 64). Subs Not Used: Crespo, Huth.