In the News: Apparently thus far we’ve fined Diego 150k a week for not turning up. By my reckoning that means that Pogba owes United 7.8m for the last year. Seriously though, I spent the first part of the week raging about that nonsense drivel in the Mail. Oh and Conte is the bookies favourite to get sacked first. F*cking behave. Then I saw Conte’s reaction. He pissed himself laughing. I could have done my blood pressure so many favours if I’d have just done the same. Costa is a loon, and the press Plebs are a race of thunderc*nt virgins whose lives are so sad that they go home and spend their time living the life they wish they had through World of Warcraft. Neither of these revelations are new. Just know this – if you were the worst journalist in the world the first question you STILL would have asked Costa would have been “Show us this text then?”

But in addition to Costa and his bleating, the Daily Express claim that after precisely a month at Chelsea Morata is miserable and hates us and wishes he was back in Madrid. I wished I was in Madrid when I looked out at the torrential downpour from the window of the Round Tower at Windsor too. Bellends. Later in the week they also claimed that we were going to sign Messi. So potentially their Sports Editor is just on crack. Jamie Carragher says we need to give up with the “tidal wave of negativity” at Chelsea about our club. Given that he’s got the intelligence of something my Kitten buries in his litter tray it seems almost superfluous to point out the hilarity – that he said this in the Daily Fail within days of them publishing their accidental-yet-perfectly-timed-coincidental world exclusive interview with Diego. I pointed out to him on Twitter that the tidal wave of diarrhoea is coming from his chums, not us, but he didn’t answer. I’m guessing because he can’t read.

The Others: Well done Zouma, said I, before I scampered off to watch Arsenal TV. Stoke won that with 22% of the possession. The Scouse are planning a title charge with James Milner at left back. But it really is their year. Good luck with that. They looked only half convincing at home to PalaceChequebook Pulis is implying that the league is too easy. (When he’s not claiming that United will not win the league) Come back when they’ve played a rival. He is like a filthy ex. The whole time you are going out with him everyone you know tells you they are a complete c***, but you just won’t have it, because you are besotted. Then when you dump them you realise that all your friends were right the whole time. The Press Plebs are the one skank in your circle who, despite the fact that they have slagged him off something rotten ever since you hooked up with him, ends up sleeping with him like a desperate slag. Southampton won. I was too busy screen-capping pictures of Charlie Austin to read anything about this game. Burnley received a reality check at the hands of Real Pulis. How did Craig Pawson get a f*cking Premier League game after last week? Not only that, but the w*nker waved his cards around like there were glued to his hands last Saturday and yet let people get away with kicking each other in the head at Huddersfield today. Elsewhere Bournemouth lost again, while Leicester beat Brighton, who looked out of their depth.

Our Game: If you were of a dramatic nature you could have flung yourself on the tracks at Baker Street today rather that face the match. Eleven days to save Conte, says one rag; doom, more doom. It was like a Thomas Hardy novel, or watching an episode of Eastenders. I wanted a point. If I’m honest, I was already sick of the sight of Wembley this year, even before Janice (muppet alias) and I emerged from the depths of the Metropolitan line and found that literally the whole estate had been plastered with cartoons of a chicken balancing on a beach ball. I felt dirty. There is nothing subtle about the Sp*rsification of the national stadium. Every remotely flat space has been commandeered for chicken propaganda. And despite the fact they had lost six of their last eight games at the place, there were more than 60,000 of them strutting along Wembley Way, pontificating about how many goals they would score today and just how much they were going to bend us over.

Us: When I saw the team lineup I thought that Conte might be going with a back four, but Rudi, Dave and Andreas Christensen made up the back three. Luiz protected them, Morata was right up the top and then other than that, the system was so fluid and interchangeable that it was difficult to define it. F*ck it, as long as they knew what they were doing. It worked.

Them: A varying number of whiny underachievers who like leaving a foot in and have delusions of grandeur. They say “England international” like it’s still 1990, and exciting; instead of something that in 2017 you would want to hide from your neighbours on account of the shame.

It took the Diving Little Sh*tbag (I refuse to use his name) all of 30 seconds to try take someone out. Having boasted about being in that number, all 65,000 of their mugs sat down when the match started and went to sleep, apart from one battered (both in appearance and in terms of blood-alcohol levels) middle aged woman waving a flag who was in a world of her own. Yes, a flag. For all the crap we have taken from them about them over the past few years, they were waddling away from the stadium today clutching handfuls of them, they were that excited. They could have gone ahead in the first quarter of an hour, when everyone in blue neglected to mark the DLS coming in on goal. Thankfully, his aim was sh*t. So fifteen minutes gone and we have eleven players still on the pitch and we are not losing. Huzzah! And I clung to the fact that in every game, Lloris has at least one epic brain fart that presents an opportunity to beat the gits. By far the most entertaining thing of the opening quarter of the game was the Sp*rs attempts to incite some noise from their fans by piping a drum through the speakers. They were a combination of oblivious and as disgusted as we were, and still didn’t get up, but we had much fun mocking them every time the tannoy drum w*nker came back. He shuffled home at half time and gave up. Probably in tears.

We hadn’t done badly, but we hadn’t fashioned much in the way of attempts, other than a Luiz effort which ended up in the middle tier. Then in the 23rd minute a stupid foul by the DLS left George Michael with a perfectly positioned free kick. He placed with with absolute precision and
so here we are. The first team to score against them at “home” at Wembley. Five minutes later Harry F*cking Kane (not possible to say it without swearing) slipped over his own drool and tried to con a penalty out of the referee. As usual the first yellow went to us. Dier only got a yellow for trying to murder Luiz, but then, he doesn’t play for us. Is there anything more joyous than those w*nkers running on goal, all their dopey fans getting excited and then witnessing them hitting the post like bellends? Today, I think not. Then it got less funny when Thibaut was forced to parry another shot away and it became all about trying to get to half time without conceding. Happily, they couldn’t have hit a barn door before the break and Wembley was awash with confused Sp*dling faces who couldn’t quite figure out what was going on.

We looked a bit punch drunk as the second half began. They carried on where they left off and almost scored in the opening minute. About a dozen corners followed before finally the ball came down our end. Yet another shocking tackle, yet another yellow card when it isn’t a Chelsea player.
Which brings me to Refwatch. Anthony Taylor. I can’t stand him, but let’s face it, based on the first game of the season the bar wasn’t exactly set high, was it? As long as he didn’t sh*t his pants out there on the pitch he couldn’t do any worse than Pawson last week. That said, in the first twenty minutes he stamped out nigh on every bit of playacting or sly b*stardry they tried, which was hilarious. By the 53rd minute, when he failed to send off Vertonghen, I wanted to fill a football sock with pennies and bludgeon his stupid bald head. As per usual he was massively inconsistent. They are the worst in the league for crying for a penalty every time someone touches them in the box and  for sitting on the floor and hopefully looking at the referee, and as the game went on he fell for this like a bellend of monumental proportions. Conversely I watched Willian get fouled half a dozen times and then get told to shut up.

All the play was with them now. My God I’ve missed Victor Meldrew (SItcom Alias) I’ve done fourteen weeks without his random, hybrid obscenities being screeched in my ear at away games and I have been bereft. God help him, he was not going to survive another half of this. Without really terrifying us in the box they were coming forward a lot, and a few of our players were starting to look tired. When we did recover the ball, we couldn’t quite make it happen. But they started to leave themselves open at the back. Willian broke on 70 minutes and Morata just pondered over the shot a bit too long. Willian hit the post himself too and we started questioning whether the tossers in white had shot their load prematurely. Could we nick another one?

We had defended really well, and rode our luck. Every time they got a shot off it invariably hit the anatomy of a Chelsea player as they charged on to the ball. I lost count of the amount of blocks we made. So it was a shame when we went and scored for them. Was that even a free kick? I wrote in my notes. It looked from my excellent vantage point a hundred yards away behind a lanky man jumping up and down like he was falling over. On the replay its on the DLS, so we should be exempt on the grounds that he is a cheating c*nt. I think it might actually have been harder for Michy to score than it would have been to put the damn ball out of play. Arrrggggghhh. Taylor continued to give out dubious free kicks which made Victor work his way through a litany of insults, most of which he made up on the spot and every single one of which was deserved.

Remember that moment I mentioned? Lloris’s epic brain fart? Just when we were praying we’d cling on for a point, George Michael came running in on a tight angle, no reason for any drama and somehow he manages to do Lloris at the near post by playing it under his body. Awesome. Never, EVER cut your hair! The bouffant do is now our lucky charm.

I’ll be honest I was so busy gloating I don’t have a clue what happened after this. Victor got so excited he nearly fell into the row in front, some random man without any front teeth insisted on cuddling us, and then everybody turned around to give the Sp*ds above us as much sh*t as possible before the final whistle. “T*ttenham Hotsp*r” It’s happening again,” was one chant, “Welcome to Wembley” another. Poor Pochettino thinks they were hard done by. I think as his belly gets rounder and rounder he looks more like the little porky German kid in The Simpsons.

So: Every time we see those horrible b*stards they sound more like Gooners. No doubt there will be a DVD released next week entitled “We Had Six Shots on Target and Made it Really Difficult for Them.” Insufferable, but hilarious that they have become what they despised. As Geoff Shreeves pointed out to everyone who would listen after the game, we only had two shots on target. And? Here’s some stats for you, Geoff. We scored two today. We even scored a third for them. They didn’t score any. We have won four on the trot against the gits at Wembley. Also, I hadn’t noticed this, but we have also never lost a league game that we have been winning at half time under Antonio. And three points today despite enforced changes, half fit players and inexperienced personnel starting against “statistically the best team in the league for the last two years although they haven’t won anything.”

Luiz was outstanding today, I doubt we’ll be hearing any of the George Michael nay-sayers moaning (for a week at least) now he has humiliated the Sp*ds at Wembley. I love that in all the photos from the game he looks as surprised as we were. Thibaut needs some credit, for the amount of times he came for the ball today but STILL he needs to be bossier in the box. Willian was booed off by them. What a proud moment. As for the new guys Morata took one for the team today. He cut an isolated figure waiting for a counter-attack. He got a brutal introduction to the Premiership on his full debut. He was buffeted from pillar to post and looked a bit shell-shocked, and will know now that he’s got to toughen up. I love the way he runs onto the ball. It’s like Torres, but without the demeanour of someone who’s permanently contemplating suicide. For someone who hasn’t had a preseason, Bakayoko was immense. He’s going to feel it tomorrow, but he is like Matic, except that the can run. Christensen was called on last week to come on after Cahill’s red, and wouldn’t have expected to be playing in this game, but in both he has been assured.

I said go there and just don’t lose, but Conte went one better. Good man. This should make the spin on tomorrow’s papers interesting. I’m going back to my gin now. Bring your change to the Bridge next Sunday, not to throw at people like the Sp*ds. I shall be outside with a bucket on behalf of Veterans in Action collecting for my desert trek.

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