Big Phil misses another opportunity in this comedy of errors title race

DRIVING back to London from Goodison Park at midnight on Monday I had plenty of time to think about this season’s Premier League campaign.

Winning the title is fast becoming a comedy of errors. Whoever does end up second, third and even fourth won’t really be able to point to one game where they slipped up, as every club has been guilty of some terrible football and bad results. Some teams have had more than their fair share of luck, benevolent referees and calls made by the crowd rather than the officials — but we won’t name all the names, because the column is too short.

Rooney can swear and curse referees to their faces and not only get away with it — but be defended by pundits as being ‘young’ and ‘passionate.’ Yet, on Monday night Chelsea got a player booked for asking whether the wall was back the required 10 yards (it wasn’t); we had our captain sent off for a stupid challenge, but not a red card offence while we are kicked and tripped with no recompense

That said, Everton were there for the taking — ten men or not — and we failed again to make hay.

It has become one of the closest title races for years — so why hasn’t it been more exciting? Only Hull really have provided respite with some great performances and stunning upsets. Speaking of Hull, am I the only one that has noticed that Phil Brown is trying to morph into José Mourinho? He seems to have lost his relationship with a razor to develop one with a tanning salon. Brown’s hair resembles José’s more as the season goes by, and as for Mourinho’s iconic coat, Brown seems to have adopted that too, after a brief fashion faux pas of sporting a leather flying jacket.

They do say that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery but he is trying to emulate someone unique and somehow those laconic post-match interviews just don’t sound the same in a County Durham accent. All that aside, with a limited squad and limited resources he is doing really well and doing it while playing some decent football.

The Christmas period usually sorts out the men from the boys with games coming thick and fast. It’s usually the team that is playing the best — but this time, it just may be down to stamina. There is no team that has stood out by playing beautiful, free-flowing, attacking football. Even Arsenal seems to have joined us mere mortals.

It’s hardly surprising that Manchester United will not be appealing against Evra’s four match ban as they have been (publicly, for once) shown by the FA to be, at the very least, misleading and inconsistent, and at the worst, bare-faced liars. It’s all too easy these days to bandy about the claim of racism and although the “Battle of Stamford Bridge” was no more than handbags, I am glad that the FA chose to make their findings in this case public as often these accusations hang in the air and unjustly wend their way from being an accusation to becoming “fact”.

The Champions League draw sees us pitched against Claudio Ranieri, a popular manager amongst the Chelsea faithful, although allegedly not the players. For me, the raw emotion he showed when we beat Arsenal to make it to the semi-finals of the Champions League is something that will survive forever.

He probably was the antithesis of everything that followed him and it’s ironic that he and José should be going head to head for the Scudetto now. Claudio is a lovely man — but I only see one winner in that particular battle.

I’d have preferred almost anyone else, not because of any sentimentality facing our ex-manager, but because Turin is the closest thing that Italy has to Dagenham.

So in amongst the baubles, tinsel and presents, there is some serious football to be played and I would be willing to go without my i-pod touch and Jean Paul Gaultier smellies for the chance to see JT lift that trophy in May.

But for now, all that remains is for me to wish everyone a very merry Christmas and Happy New Year, everyone that is except Monday’s useless referee Phil Dowd. May his turkey be undercooked and his family buy him nothing more than nylon underpants for Christmas — the dicky stomach and the chaffing at least would give him something else to think about other than Chelsea’s downfall and his own ridiculous posturing.

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