Karma bites back at the Bridge

AS the old adage goes, “these things even themselves out over the season” — or, in this case, over three days.

All our chuckles subsequent to Rooney’s miraculous escape at Wigan turned to ashes in our mouths as Martin Atkinson did his worst at The Bridge.

He has thus joined George Courtney right at the top of the Referees Of Uncertain Parentage rankings, and I innocently note in passing that of the 16 Chelsea matches he has officiated in the past, the Blues have won 15 and drawn the other. Ahem.

For perhaps the only time in my memory, I found myself agreeing wholeheartedly with Fergie’s post-match explosion, for which — at the time of writing — he seems likely to rapped on the knuckles.

Still, Tuesday night’s experience will have done wonders for our growing siege mentality, and if United conform to their usual MO, Liverpool could be made to suffer the consequences on Sunday. Vidic is a severe loss, admittedly, but Smalling’s stellar form — was he not our man of the match in Marseille? — gives us hope that Suarez and company will not over-run our suddenly makeshift defence.

Another unexpected bonus to emerge was John O’Shea’s remarkably capable display — by his standards, at least — whilst Rooney’s strike, taken in conjunction with his derby wonder goal, would appear to have settled the question as to whether he has ‘found his boots’ again.

Above all, there’s the indelible impression left by the collective first half performance, one of the very best in our post Ronaldo era for commitment and attacking attitude, and a real balm to the soul after the miserable display at the Velodrome.

As one colleague summed it up: “at least we finally saw a proper game of football,” one that kept us gripped from start to finish and that took place, unusually for The Bridge, in an atmosphere that only wintry midweek England can produce.

Infamously, we hadn’t won at Chelsea since 2002, and mention of that year is apt, given the situation we now find ourselves in — being pursued by a hungry young Arsenal, who now have the title in their own hands.

That game in hand, and the fact that we have to face going to the Emirates on May Day, could be said to have give them the initiative, and grim memories of them relentlessly pegging us back in 2002 from aseemingly impossible pre-Christmas position swirl around the mind.

If there’s one difference between then and now, it is that back then we Reds didn’t doubt Arsenal werecapable of doing it. But now? Somehow, after half a decade ofwatching them bottle every challenge, we still seem to believe they will fold at any moment.

Sunday’s League Cup final was hugely and hilariously reassuring in this regard: if all you need to do is place a trundling Birmingham plonker within six feet of the ball in the last minute to make their defence implode, what hope have they got against our supposed Cromwellian ruthlessness?

Perhaps we are living out the final days of a collective delusion, but it ain’t half comforting. So to Anfield, and this week’s second bunch of underachieving title-no- hopers who will nonetheless annoyingly bust every gut to beat us. The freshness in the memory of what they saw as an FA Cup robbery will presumably give them an even greater impetus.

As for off the pitch, the usual caveats apply in spades; those that enjoy this kind of thing didn’t feel they got much ‘action’ after the Old Trafford tie, so one might expect more of an effort from those concerned. In any event, there’s always the prospect of aggro between Fergie and Kenny to look forward to, as the ‘King’ welcomes his old foe back to his domain for the first time in 20 years.