Mourinho’s the man for battle of bottle

I’M really, really trying not to get excited.I know the impossible will happen and United will lose more points and we’ll be within touching distance — and then we’ll go and lose to Everton or something.

I can’t help it. On Saturday while everyone was leaping around like lunatics as Pompey first went one up and then two up, I was sat in the corner — predicting doom and the end of the world. It wasn’t a double bluff, I really did think that United were going to win. Then when the final whistle went, I was still subdued as I didn’t want to rouse those mischievous football gods; although I am convinced they are behind all this anyway.

It is noteworthy that as it gets to the interesting part of the season, United slip up when they have to play after us winning rather than the other way round. The significance of this was not lost on Fergie, who was incredibly irked and had the temerity to suggest that we are always fortunate with the fixtures. Perhaps he would like to run his eye over this season, and stop his whining. Anyway, Mourinho swatted this comment aside with ease.

The Tottenham game was hard fought and the weary legs were evident on both sides, but the result was as much down to the strange decision to leave the talented Berbatov on the bench and Keane and Lennon out of the squad as anything else.

Mido is nowhere near the same calibre of player and there was a collective sigh of relief from Chelsea fans when we saw the fat Egyptian was starting. Cech still had a couple of outstanding saves to make and as the giant keeper tipped yet another ball athletically over the bar, it was difficult not to bemoan again the injury that denied us his services for such a long time.

Valencia proved more than a match for Chelsea last Wednesday and they seemed to have done their homework to a degree. However, the goal was a fluke, all be it a sensational one, and their other opportunities to score were very limited. That said, it leaves us all to do out there. Of course, by the time you read this we will either be in the semi-finals or out, so I will leave any comment until next week.

The Valencia manager, Quique Sanchez Flores, has been very recently mooted as the latest replacement to be lined up to take over from José Mourinho. Of all the individuals who have been linked with us this season, I think he is the most unlikely. Why? Because he is so similar to TSO. Young, opinionated, mean, moody and very much his own man. If Roman wants an obedient puppet Flores is certainly not it.

As for José, he seems almost de-mob happy; laughing and joking with journalists, horsing around at the training ground with the players, a permanent, almost manic, grin on his face. He is either doing it to wind someone (Abramovich) up, or he’s managed to confirm his exit strategy — or he has turned the whole thing round and now “they” (include who you like in this) want him to stay. It’s anyone’s guess.

Avram Grant, the septuagenarian Israeli is telling anyone who is willing to listen that he has accepted the “Director of Football” position at Stamford Bridge. I’ve never really understood what this role means. It’s one of those titles that’s given to a popular but ultimately unsuccessful manager (the equivalent of being “moved upstairs”). Or, as in this case, given to a snake in the grass bought in to disrupt the manager and make enough of a nuisance of himself to force aforementioned manager into resignation. Time will tell. In the Premiership it’s now a battle of bottle; I don’t think either Ferguson or Mourinho can be accused of lacking that quality, but they have different types of test to negotiate.

Fergie has a couple of stalwarts who know what is expected of them, but a lot of players who have yet to experience a proper title run-in. But José, it seems, is exercising a Svengali influence which gives everyone who pulls on a blue shirt a belief that is unquestionable. Eight wins on the bounce, still no goals conceded since that Liverpool game and our injury crisis easing — even Roman is back in the dressing room and all smiles.

The next ten days are possibly the most important of Mourinho’s Chelsea management career. We could be left with everything to play for, or nothing. It takes a special man to have led a club like Chelsea to this position, but it takes an exceptional manager to take us beyond this.

I don’t know one Chelsea fan who really believes we can win the quadruple, but if you had to choose a man to attempt it with, I don’t think many would look beyond Mourinho — Chelsea fan or not, love him or loathe him. Perhaps Abramovich is coming to his senses. We can but hope.

Anyway, there is seat in the sun, outside a Valencian bar with my name on it, so until next week . . . adios.

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