Mourinho’s Chelsea chapter is a real page-turner

I AM writing this on the type of high that can only be achieved after watching a match such as Sunday’s quarter-final against Spurs.

To go from abject misery to dizzying elation within 45 minutes is perhaps adrenalin for the soul, but it sure as hell isn’t good for the old ticker. When Kalou scored that equaliser I cheered so hard that for a few seconds I honestly thought I was going to black out. In retrospect, it was probably a good thing that Shevchenko didn’t score that winner, as I’m not sure I’d be here to tell the tale.

Mourinho in the first half seemed to have learned nothing from our defeat at White Hart Lane and employed suicide tactics. Shevchenko — the game simply passed him by. Cole — his worst performance since he joined us. Terry — missed him desperately.

A shambolic, toe-curlingly awful, gutless performance.

Second half — no doubt a half-time bollocking (by the seething John Terry as much as Mourinho I’d wager), a few tactical changes and the comeback was on. We finished the game with a 2-3-5 formation and I swear if we had played for five more minutes we’d have won. Who needs defenders anyway? Essien played almost every position on the pitch (including opposition player!) and must have been physically exhausted, but I was totally and utterly emotionally exhausted.

One thing is certain — we must have a plan to deal with Berbatov for the return match. What a find he has been. He is pure quality and is wasted in a team like Spurs. His vision reminds me of a little genius that went by the name of Gianfranco Zola.

It was almost worth the misery of the half time score. Alan Hansen described it as “the best Cup tie I’ve seen in years” and it would be impossible to argue with him. Lampard led by example — he and Ballack engineered the comeback by their relentless hard work. Robben terrified Tottenham.

And so to the semi-final draw, which holds out the prospect of the showpiece Cup Final that the FA is yearning for . . . and the proposition that we may have to play United three times in three weeks: for the Premiership, for the FA Cup, and for the Champions League! But back to reality. It’s been a good week. Porto were tough, and we were made to work for our progression.

I wanted to go to Valencia, despite our appalling record in Spain. José, it seem, can’t wait to step onto Spanish soil, and hours after our epic FA Cup game was watching Valencia snatch a last minute draw from Osasuna.

Perhaps Roman put his private jet at José’s disposal despite their alleged differences. Maybe seeing Arsenal crash out of yet another competition this week, finally got it into Abramovich’s head that pretty football isn’t necessarily good football.

The pace at the moment is relentless; tonight we’ll be up in Manchester to a precariously placed City and an under-fire Stuart Pearce. If ever there was a manager that proves that passion is simply not enough it’s Psycho. We need to be wary here as a wounded animal is often at its most dangerous.

I know that Arsène Wenger has the monopoly on talking about young players, but I think it’s fair to say that our own are beginning to look the business. Mikel, after a shaky start looked imperious last week against Porto and Kalou took his equaliser against Spurs like a seasoned professional. Diarra is established in the first team and we can’t wait to have Scott Sinclair back from Plymouth.

Of course it’s a good thing that all these players are doing so well as according to the papers, when Jose goes at the end of the season he will be taking Lampard, Essien, Carvalho, Terry, Cech and Drogba with him.

Anyway, it’s March and we have a trophy in the bag and are still fighting (just) on another three fronts — we will have to face United, Valencia, possibly Liverpool, and Tottenham.

But the Ides of March hold no fear for me. I came upon a quote by Winston Churchill that could so quite have been written by the Special One — “History will be kind to me for I intend to write it”.

I hope Chelsea will be more than just a chapter.

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