An extraordinary day for the special one

I AM writing this with a desperate hangover, so bear with me. Days before the match against United, I was so nervous, convinced we were going to lose and face the terrifying prospect of doing a ‘Newcastle’.

But the minute we kicked off, you could smell victory and I became calm and revelled in the game.

It seemed that the referee, Mike Dean, was not in a forgiving mood; Chelsea losing the semi-final meant that he was unable to be the Cup Final ref this year as he is from the Liverpool area. This is the only reason I can think of for his spiteful and one-sided refereeing.

If I may continue being spiky for a moment — you know what they say about living by the sword? Well Rooney may wish to reflect on that particular expression. If he had been sent off, as he deserved, he wouldn’t be looking at the prospect of missing the World Cup.

His “tackle” on Terry which left him needing 10 stitches and fretting over his own World Cup was worthy of a yellow itself, never mind going through on Ferreira seconds later. He later finally got a deserved yellow for going through the back of Drogba. If he had been booked earlier he’d have been safely out of harm’s way in the dressing room. He is a devastatingly good player, probably the best in the country, but that nasty side of him is a worry and it’s something that will continue if it goes on unchecked.

John Terry was in agony, you could see that, but as long as his foot was still attached you knew that he wasn’t going to come off. He has been a colossus this season, as he was last year. This man should be leading England. This is obvious to anyone; anyone except Sven it seems.

I’m not sure if it was because it was at home, or if it was because it was harder this season, but winning the title was a far more emotional day than last season. I loved the celebrations up in Bolton last April, but this weekend, being in familiar surroundings, the full enormity of what we have achieved finally hit me.

My Chelsea, once the music hall joke, had won back-to-back titles. Looks like I wasn’t the only one that got all emotional. Hernan Crespo was literally sobbing as the fans chanted his name. It is often overlooked that this great player has never won the league in Europe where he has played for 10 years, and this obviously meant the world to him. The match day programme, too, insinuated that the once want-away popular striker is staying. Fantastic news.

Didier Drogba, who went through a difficult period with the supporters, has undergone somewhat of a renaissance and stood speechless and obviously overcome with emotion as the crowd debuted the chant that his adoring Marseilles fans used to sing for him.

Peter Osgood’s song “Born is the King of Stamford Bridge” also reverberated around the ground, which I thought was a great moment and also contributed to the emotional roar as JT held that trophy aloft.

A lot has been made of José lobbing not one but two Premiership medals into the crowd. These sorts of gestures are always perceived as a farewell act. He stated it was because the crowd deserved them — that it was for all of us. What did it really mean? Who knows? José is his own man and an extremely complex person. One thing is for definite; he doesn’t need tangible objects to prove his worth. That said, I think the lack of recognition for what has been some extraordinary achievements has been nothing short of criminal.

He has led a team which has left records shattered in its wake. The best performers ever. He has won four consecutive league titles, not losing at home in the league in his tenure at Stamford Bridge — nor did he lose a home game in the two years prior to that at Porto; that is special in anyone’s book. Yet in those two amazing years he has only won manager of the month on two occasions! What is all that about?

The press vilification has had a lot to do with it of course, and I did smile at the end of the game when the press were invited on the pitch, and the stadium rang out with boos. Just as it did last season. Richly deserved.

I don’t know what time I got home, but it was late. Nonetheless, the first thing I did was put the game on again and revel in all the full emotion of it, all over again. I am watching it yet again as I am writing this. I think it will take a few more league wins to become used to this feeling.

We have two games left: one was last night at Blackburn and then last game is up at Newcastle. We will probably see a much-changed team from Saturday, but they have all played their part and contributed to this amazing season.

One of the (many) letters I had last week, asked me “honestly” if I wouldn’t swap Mourinho for Benitez. I can only think that the guy who asked must be a bit soft in the head. Benitez is a good manager. José is a great manager! He has the odd slip-up, but the league table doesn’t lie, and his record doesn’t mislead. We chant his name because we adore this mad, moody, emotional genius and we wouldn’t swap him for any manager in the world. After all, he is The Special One and the leader of a Special Team.

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