Yury Zhirkov and Florent Malouda Chelsea celebrate after netting against FC Spartak Moscow (Getty Images)

The Blues, who lost on penalties to Manchester United in the final two years ago, returned to kill off the challenge of Group F’s only other previously unbeaten side.

The win leaves Carlo Ancelotti ’s men three points clear at the top of the table and all but seals their place in the knockout stages of the competition.

Chelsea, without the injured Didier Drogba and Frank Lampard, overcame some early Spartak pressure before opening the scoring in spectacular style on 23 minutes.

John Obi Mikel’s long ball was partially cleared to Zhirkov, who fired a superb 25-yard volley into the roof of the net – his first goal for the club since his £18million move from CSKA.

Anelka doubled the lead after 43 minutes, turning the Spartak defence inside out and beating Andriy Dykan after good approach play from Michael Essien.

Spartak drove forward as they searched for a way back into the tie but could find little way through a well-organised Blues defence.

And the visitors held strong to maintain their perfect record in Europe this season.

Chelsea manager Carlo Ancelotti has already said that the Russian international is not for sale and intends to keep hold of the defender. Carlo Ancelotti has told Zenit St Petersburg and Spartak Moscow to forget about signing Yury Zhirkov.

“He had a very good season last year,” said the Italian. “He was fit to play our more important games towards the end of the season, when he didn’t have an injury he played important games.”

‘He played when Ashley Cole had an injury, and played very important games. For me Yury is a very important player, he didn’t start a lot of games but you can’t say he is not important.

‘He can play a lot of positions on the pitch, he played very well as a left-back and as a midfielder. He is a very important player for us and I never thought he could leave Chelsea.’

The Russian international is set to run out against Spartak Moscow in the UEFA Champions League at the Luzhniki Stadium on Tuesday evening as Group F’s two unbeaten teams go head-to-head.

“I’ve not lived up to my full potential because I haven’t played too many games in the first team,” said Zhirkov.

“But I’ll try to show more. I’m getting fitter game by game, and I’ll try to show more. My fitness is getting better and I’m feeling more confident.”

9:45 AM

Butch, I want to put this away today. Grab them by the neck, throw them down on the ground, stomp on them, and make the trip to Scotland a trial for the reserves.

Butch raises his eyebrow at me. Bad night, Danyil?

I can’t help but laugh. I’m serious, Butch. We have today, Hull, then the second leg. And we need to use that time to get ready. It gets harder.

He nods. After those games, we have United, Liverpool, and City all in a week.

So, full side today, then rest them?

I nod. Basically. I want Ballack today—I know, I know, but with Jon Obi, eh, Jon, out, I want to get each midfielder a rest. Here. I slide my notes across to him.

Yeah, that’s good. No Sturridge on the bench?

I shake my head. If we win, he’ll start in Scotland, and I want Yaya to come in once we’re three goals clear.

4:23 PM

Celtic is coming out attacking as far as I can tell, leaving only four at the back, with Willo Flood and Marc Crossas in the middle, then Carlos Esquival, Shaun Maloney, and Aiden McGeady all looking to get forward in support of Marc-Antoine Fortuné. It’s a good club, but we should be able to score against them. And they should struggle for width the way they line up. So we should be able to control the outside of the field. If we do—and if are able to do something with any of the crosses—Mowbray will get ripped apart in the press for not playing more defensively in the away leg. That, of course, is fine with me.

6:21 PM

I gather the defense together. Look, they are going to be flooding the top third of the pitch. That means you two—pointing at JT and Alex—need to be at the top of your game tonight. I’m expecting excellence from you tonight. Nothing less. Hold the middle, work with the two Michael’s to clear possession, and do it well enough that Yury and Bane can get up in support. Understood?

7:32 PM

Butch, his name’s Thorsten, yah? The center? Butch nods.

Thorsten! That’s not a card! We’re a minute in, what happened to a warning?

What is this? Some weird memo to referees to always card us with the first minute of a game? This time it’s Ballack. He was well beaten, and stuck out a leg, tripping McGeady in the process. It’s another sign—a decade ago, he wins the ball easily, a year ago, he doesn’t have to foul to play defense.

What’s happened to Salomon’s shot, Butch? I mean, he controls that thing better than anyone out there, but his shots are off by miles. Butch just shakes his head.

It’s only five minutes in, but we’re pressuring them something fierce. The ball is barely out of their half, and when it is, JT is there with a header to regain possession or Alex is sweeping the deep ball up and sending it back out to the wings.

That’s it! Well done back there!

Now that I’m looking for it, Ballack’s decline is glaring: Celtic’s first corner is a result of their midfielder easily dispossessing him and starting a break. But his passing touch is still remarkable—he places the ball on Didier’s head twice, only to see it saved once by their keeper and once by a defender by the far post.

Unlucky, Didier! Unlucky!

Minutes later, McGeady gets free in the box.

Yes, Alex! That’s the way to deny!

Essien wins the ball at mdfield to start a break, but his cross overshoots a streaking Kalou. Then Kalou comes down the left and lofts one into the box. Anelka rises for it and connects squarely, but the ball hits the post and bounds away. We can’t break through and they won’t break.

You did see who started that, Butch?

Nobody thinks he’s bad, Danyil. He’s just not what he once was.

Who is, Butch, who is?

Butch shrugs, looks back at the pitch. Kalou. His shot may be off, but he’s terrorizing them down that side there. He’s right: Salomon is having a great half so far, and should have a couple of assists.

What the hell! It’s a corner! Defend that! Butch, what the fuck? That’s schoolboy stuff, how do we leave him open on the corner? Butch shakes his head, but we’ve ducked out of danger yet again, a strong clearance from Essien lifting the ball back to a midfield scrum.

Kalou does it again, this time a drive to the byline and then a nice layoff for Zhirkov, who sends it to the far post. Their keeper is beat, but Lampard’s header is too strong, topping over the bar, and again we miss from under ten yards out.

Yesssssssss!

I jump, punching the air. Our constant pressure on the left finally breaks through, as Zhirkov’s cross is met by Drogba at the penalty spot. His header easily beats Boruc, and we have a lead just over half an hour into the game. It’s a lead. It’s not the control that I want, but it’s a lead.

Butch, you see that? It looks like they’ve abandoned the attack. Mowbray has pulled them back to a flatter formation, pushing Esquivel up front, but bringing Maloney and McGeady back alongside the two center midfielders. We pull it in a little, using the whole field now that the outside isn’t being kept wide open. We keep Boruc busy, with Lampard powering shots from a long way out that require awkward saves from the Polish keeper, but we go into halftime up the single goal.

OK, it was a good half. Salomon, you were deadly out there and Didier, great work. I want us to work it in and out when we come back: more time for Frank and Nicolas on the ball, more use of the right hand channel. Frank, work the ball in a bit more—your shot is great, and once we’re up by two, you can shoot from midfield, OK?

Alex, JT, all I can say is yes. Yes. That’s exactly what we talked about, exactly what we need.

It almost collapses: Danny Fox has a free kick from twenty-five yards out and curves it around the wall. It’s headed in, but somehow Cech gets there. Here’s how close it was: the fingertip save only deflects the ball into the side netting.

I turn to the players intently watching. Marc and Daniele! Get ready, both of you. Marc, you’ll go on first—straight swap for Ballack. Ballack is tiring, and is holding the yellow. I sit back down.

Butch leans in. Not De Rossi?

I shake my head. Not now. Ten minutes.

That and more goes by, and we are finally into extra time.

Butch, I’m not happy.

We’re going to win, Danyil. Take it.

I will, but it’s not what I wanted.

EURO Cup Quarterfinal First Leg
Chelsea v Celtic, Stamford Bridge
Chelsea 1 (Didier Drogba 34) – Celtic 0
MoM: Yury Zhirkov (8.3)
Attendance: 41,761. Referee: Thorsten Kinhöfer.

“Yury, you good with this?”

The Russian pulled a hand through his black hair and nodded. “I like him. We can work together well.”

“Good. Thank you.” Oranje turned towards the practice field. “Daniel! A word!”

Sturridge turned and the twenty year old striker jogged over to the sidelines, joining the manager alongside Zhirkov. “Yes, coach?”

“Daniel, you remember a few months ago, when we talked about getting players together to help each other out, that whole thing?” Sturridge glanced at Zhirkov, and smiled slightly. “We’d like you to work with Yury. We want you to meet in the middle—Yury needs to learn to do more in the front third, and we want you to work with Daniel on his crosses, on moving wide, on finding the open space. Got it? Questions?”

They both shook their head. “Alright, then. Off with you.”

3:13 PM

The locker room is disjointed, uncertain. There are mutterings, private conversations, guarded glances around the room. None of them like change, and the only solution for it is victories. Blackburn is mid-table, so victory should be forthcoming.

Should be. It’s been a rough week. Ashley’s departure has been met with defensiveness—the easiest way for the players to react is to blame it on the elusive ghost of “management.” All week, I’ve been reminded that “it just goes to show that football’s a business,” and “if Ashley left, any of us could go.” It’s been all I could do to keep it from blowing back on Daniele—it’s clear enough that if we hadn’t paid through the nose for him, we wouldn’t have to make the economic argument in the first place.

Which is true enough.

There are a few exceptions. Yury is obviously excited about his first team role. Paulo sees the possibility of scoring more goals. A few others—turns out Cole wasn’t universally loved. But he was—is—damn good.

It was a good few days at work in training, though. They were energetic, and the tactical changes play to their strengths. Now if we can only hold on for the Africans to return—right now, we’re awfully thin against top competition.

4:57 PM

Gentlemen! Your ears, if you will.

Butch has some specifics for you, but I want to remind you of Gamst Pedersen on throws. Remember to defend as if they’re corners. I don’t want to concede just because the Norwegian lofts one to the far post.

But, more importantly, I have something I want.

I want goals, gentlemen, goals. I want tap-ins and headers, drives from inside the box and bicycle kicks from crosses that drop in lovely arcs to their target. Goals. Penalties are acceptable, but curling tracers from the edge of the box that nestle in the top corner are preferred. Goals, gentlemen. We’ve practiced it. And I want it.

Go out there and get them.

I walk out. But, it feels forced. And if I feel that it feels forced, they’ll feel it too. But we can’t all be fucking Hoosiers all the time. I head down the tunnel, and peer into the cold, wet afternoon. Days like this, Ewood Park feels full of ghosts from when it opened in the 1880’s—the rain echoes off the metal, the wind makes a high pitched whine.

Come on, Oranje. Got a football game to manage.

Allardyce comes up next to me. His tie is already loose, his shirt struggling to escape his waistband. Who the hell dresses that man? We shake hands, mutter incomprehensibly to each other. He’ll have a job forever, and won’t ever win anything. Lucky bastard.

Kickoff comes, and we dominate the early play. Lampard goes outside the post, Anelka misses a header, then a breakaway fizzles into nothingness. The pitch isn’t helping—it’s so wet that water is beginning to pool lightly, and long passes alternate between skating on the wet surface and slogging to a standstill in the puddles.

Butch, watch the shape up front. He nods, and I think he sees what I do: Anelka and Sturridge both drifting away from goal towards their stronger legs. I want them tighter on the inside, more willing to turn in and find space without coming into the area where Zhirkov or Ferreira are pushing forward. More importantly, Sturridge is seeing more of the ball than Nicolas—not what we want.

What do you think of flipping them? Let Nicolas take charge in front?

Butch almost smiles, nods his head. It’s close to full agreement.

Nicolas! Daniel! The forwards look towards me at a stoppage in play. I wave my hands past each other, telling them to switch sides of the pitch.

They look better after we do this, but I am spending most of my time when we have the ball dreaming of Didier. Just a few more days.

The clock slowly clicks towards halftime. The game is a waste until we’re rescued by a brilliant bit of individual play. The whole sequence makes me smile, and even gives hope for the future.

Anelka has the ball on the left touchline, near midfield. He’s seen much more of the ball after the switch with Sturridge, and is beginning to play a part in the build-up play as well. He squares the ball to Lampard, and here is where I was happiest, here is where a faint whiff of what I want appears.

Nikola Kalinic, Blackburn’s young Croatian striker, is heading back upfield to get onsides. Alex is keeping pace with him step for step and Carvalho is in line on the far side, with Ballack holding space just in front. So, we have kept three safely in the back: both center backs and a safety valve. What’s important, though, isn’t that I see it. It’s that Paulo sees it as well.

With proper defensive cover behind him and seeing that Blackburn has abandoned that side, Ferreira dashes up the pitch. Their defense is caught unawares: Khizanishvili, Samba, and Jacobsen are in the middle, and Givet is man-marking Anelka. Lampard lays the ball into space in front of the big Portuguese defender who beats his man and sends a lovely cross into the box. Sturridge, unfortunately, is outjumped by Khizanishvili, whose clearance seems destined to head out of bounds for a corner.

But Zhirkov never paused in his run down the left, and was heading to the line at full sprint. He comes on the ball no more than two yards from the endline, somehow brings it under control, and sends it back to the far post before he tumbles out of bound. This time, Sturridge pounces, and volleys it hard and low into the back of the net.

I can’t help but smile and pump my fist.

Sturridge will get the goal—and deservedly so—but he understands what actually happened: he wheels away from the goal pointing at Zhirkov, who has gotten up and is jogging back upfield. Both of them turn and yell for Ferriera as well.

Yury! Paulo! Fantastic stuff! Well done! Daniel! Daniel! Well taken!

They are happy. And, they should be: Zhirkov’s cross was an amazing display of athleticism, and Ferreira’s vision to make the play was perfect.

Still, we are only up by one when the whistle blows for the half.

Very good, very good. We dominated the first half, and at the end, well, that was a well-deserved goal. That is exactly what we’ve worked at: if we have coverage at the back, I want you moving forward, and I want you to take advantage of the space they give us. Just like you did there. Let’s go get some more. And a clean sheet means a day off for everyone tomorrow.

Less than minutes into the second half, Blackburn gifts us another: Paul Robinson drills his clearance directly into Samba’s backside, and it falls right to Anelka’s feet. He takes a touch and scores easily. Several players look at me as they regroup for the kickoff—they want me to know they heard my desire for the second goal. That—even more than the goal itself—is encouraging. For a brief moment, all is right with the world.

That’s what I’m talking about, Butch. Two goals and a dominating day.

Butch grimaces. He doesn’t like me saying things like that. Thinks it sets us up for a fall. Superstitious little lovable gnome.

Except this time, he’s right. The message got mangled somewhere: they are letting up. Instead of taking their foot off the accelerator, they begin to play with the brake, coasting. I explode into the technical area.

Daniele! Forze! Don’t let up. Michael, Frank, give me what you’ve got. And then, to the bench, Marc, Nemanja, get ready. I’ll need both of you.

The youngsters go about their business.

Alex! You have to close that down!

I can feel the bad juju building, and in the 73^rd minute, it hits.

Gamst Pederson takes a throw from the far side of the field, and lofts one of his maddening throws into the box. Kalinic flicks it across goal, where Steven Reid has lost Vukcevic and rises to meets the ball with an easy free header. I don’t like that. Not only did I mention it specifically in the pre-game, I want the three points. Hell, I need the three points.

On the good side, they lost their day off tomorrow.

Butch, we going to make them hurt tomorrow?

You got it, gaffer.

A low moan from the substitutes who overheard the conversation makes me smile.

Simon is gassed, so I have to make my final substitution. We’re up one, and I want to try something. I bring on young Gökhan Töre. I can see he’s nervous warming up, so before he checks in, I grab him, hands on either side of his face.

Gökhan, just play within yourself. Work into space up front, and don’t be afraid to shoot the ball.

He nods, and heads in. Vukcevic is frowning as he comes by. I reach out, but he shrugs me off. I turn and grab him. He’s angry, won’t meet my eyes.

Simon. Don’t worry about it. It was a rough day. Your teammates took care of you today: you take care of them next time.

His eyes flick towards me, and he nods. He heads to the far end of the bench and proceeds to hurl water bottles against the plexiglass while cursing in what I assume is Serbian or Russian. I like the fire, I admit.

I turn back to the pitch in time to see Matic gain control of the ball near midfield. He sends a long ball diagonally to a streaking Zhirkov, but it is intercepted. The deflection comes all the way back to Matic, who heads it on to Anelka. Anelka moves back towards midfield, and all three central defenders float up the pitch with him. Töre holds just long enough to stay onside and make eye contact with Anelka, who sends a lovely pass to him at the top of the box.

Töre shows why he has a future in this league: instead of just blasting the ball at goal, he takes a touch to his right, and sends it hard and low back across Robinson’s body. The Blackburn keeper doesn’t have a chance, and we’re up by two again, and the little ginger is ecstatic.

It’s his first goal, and he deserves the moment.

I relax and even tell them to hold possession.

We give up a lazy goal to Gamst Pederson in added time—after the game, I think them for it, as it gives me an excuse to complain, and more importantly, a reason to run them into the ground tomorrow.

Premiere Division
Blackburn v. Chelsea, Ewood Park, Blackburn.
Blackburn 2 (Steven Reid 73, Morton Gamst Pederson 90+2) – Chelsea 3 (Daniel Sturridge 45, Nicolas Anelka 52, Gökhan Töre 84)
MoM: Gamst Pederson (8.0). Chelsea’s Best: Nicolas Anelka (7.7)
Attendance: 31,230, Referee: Chris Foy.

Danyil Oranje is paging through his inbox, tossing most of it into the large wastebasket he keeps for just that purpose—memoranda on the importance of reducing paper memoranda, information on the crèche services starting in February, a reminder about who qualifies for family discounts when purchasing tickets, the usual nattering from above and below—when he stops, removes a stapled sheet of paper and sits down, leaning back heavily in his char. He starts muttering to himself.

“Motherfucking son of a goddamn saint full of pig’s piss …” The string of invectives is interrupted by the phone on his desk. He sees Ron Gourlay’s name on the display, takes a moment to compose himself, and lifts the receiver to his ear.

“Danyil?”

“Yes, Ron,” all sweetness and honey.

“City contacted me this morning. You won’t believe it.” Oranje’s eyebrows arch up. He had proposed the gambit more to show his boss he was financially acute than a belief it would actually work.

“They bit?”

“They swallowed. Thirty-six million. We’ve changed the terms slightly to our favor, more money up front that kind of thing. But, thirty-six million.”

“That’s enough to free up some transfer funds, no?”

Gourlay’s voice grew wary quickly. “Yes, it could be. Do you have something in mind?’

“No, no I don’t. Just talking out loud. Dreaming of next summer.”

“OK. Well, I just wanted you to know. We think they’ll agree, perhaps even by the end of the day.”

“Have you talked to Ashley or his agent yet?”

“Yes. I would be prepared to be asked about it after the match. Good luck, by the way.”

Oranje rubbed his forehead. Today’s match against Liverpool would be hard enough, and with the recent mediocrity of form, he could just imagine how the fans would react to Cole’s departure. Still, he knew that Cole’s sale had been, in one sense, his idea.

“Will do. Thanks, Ron. Oh, one more thing.”

“Yes.” Again, Gourlay’s voice became closed. Clearly, thought Danyil, I am on thin ice. Wonder what the record is for shortest stay by a Dutch manager in the Premiere League?

“Ron, I’m looking at a press release here. About a transfer ban. Can you shed any light on it?”

“Oh, that. Yes, well … it seems the flap over Kakuta is still unresolved.”

“Unresolved? It says here we’re officially banned from any player transactions for two years starting on the first of February.”

“Yes, well, that is the official release. But we’re still negotiating. I’ve been told not to worry about it.”

“Not to worry about it?”

“Yes.”

Oranje heard the closure in his superior’s voice. It was easy for Gourlay not to worry, but for the under-fire manager whose plans depended on an infusion of talented youth to Stamford Bridge, this could be a devastating blow.

“OK, Ron, thanks. Let me know when Ashley becomes official.”

He turned to his laptop, mashed a few keys, reviewing the players already scheduled to join in the near future: Tanzanian goalkeeper Halo Jones was due in July of 2011, and youngsters Alípio and Alphonse Aréola were already in the field. There were growing rumors of a superb defender emerging from the academy. It wasn’t a lot, but they could survive for a couple years if they had to. Barely.

He reached for the phone again. “Victor de los Santos, please.”

“Victor? It’s Danyil. You saw the release?”

“No, I don’t have any idea. You know how it is: they keep me in the dark with the rest o fthe mushrooms. How goes it with Parham?”

“Really? Damn. OK. Well, try 1.6. And get it done today if you can. Yes, I’m sure. I’ll take the heat with Ron if it goes through if there is any. Promise.”

“OK, thank you. And, Victor? Any chance of getting something done with Galván in, I don’t know, the next few hours?”

“OK, didn’t think so. But had to ask. Keep working him, though, just in case this thing is all smoke and mirrors.”

“Great, talk to you then.”

# # #

Premiere Division
Liverpool v. Chelsea, Anfield
Liverpool 2 (Torres 53, Gerrard 61) – Chelsea 0
MoM: Steven Gerrard (8.8) Chelsea’s Best: Nicolas Anelka (6.8)
Attendance: 45,362. Referee: Kevin Friend.

Danyil Oranje paused before taking the podium. He was tired and it showed: his hair was still flattened to his scalp by the driving rain and beyond that was a weariness, almost a resignation to his stance. Shoulders slightly drooped, step slightly shuffling, gone—or at least subdued—was the unbridled arrogance of a few weeks ago: three draws along with losses to Liverpool and Manchester United clearly offset the single win over Stoke in his last six games. He took a deep breath, and walked up the stairs to the small wooden platform. He squinted slightly against the lights, and pointed to a young man in the front row.

“Yes, Steve?”

“A hard loss today. What were your thoughts about Liverpool’s tactics?

“Honestly? I had hoped to take better advantage. They left the middle of the field pretty open with the four up top. We were trying to control the middle, and it worked for the first half, but a couple strong individual moments on their part, and there went the game. But you have to applaud them: whatever Benitez said to them at half time should be bottled. He did a great job getting them out for the second half. They’re a good team, of course. They’re scuffling a little bit like we are, but they’re still pretty dangerous, especially here.”

“By individual moments, I assume you’re referring to Gerrard’s goal. What did you think of him today?”

“Steven Gerrard is a marvelous player. There’s not much else to say. He was the link with their attack today, and was probably the best player out there today.”

“And Torres?”

Oranje paused, stared at the reporter, his eyes going cold. “What do you want? We limited Fernando to two shots, and he absolutely murdered one of them. There’s not much else to say.” Danyil turned to the other side of the room, ending the exchange. “Mike, welcome back. Good to have you.” Oranje’s bravado was returning, rising as he fenced with the media.

Having already clashed with Oranje in public once, the young reporter from the Observer blanched slightly, but persevered. “Mr. Oranje, I’m getting word from our sources that Ashely Cole has completed a move to Manchester City for more than thirty million dollars. Can you confirm that? And, if true, could you comment on continued reports that link you with defender John Arne Riise?”

There was a murmur in the room as people dropped their recorders to check mobile devices.

“Well done, Mike. Looks like you got it first. So, a special for the Observer: yes, I can confirm that Ashley has moved on. I want to take this chance to publicly thank him for his time with us at Chelsea. I’m a little sad that we couldn’t hold off one more game, as he’ll move on with 99 caps for us, and it would have been nice to get him his century. In the end, the offer from City was too good to pass up, and while it always hurts to give up a player of his quality, we’re confident it was the right move for us. We wish him all the success in the world. As long as City’s not playing us. You broke it, Mike, you get a follow up.”

“In addition to Riise? Thank you. Who do you see as your first string left back now?”

“Nice try. No on Riise: he’s a very good player, but we’re pretty deep on the back line. I think you’ll see Zhirkov out there most days. Ferreira can also play over there, of course, but we’re looking for Yury to be a top flight player for us for years to come.”

“Mr. Oranje? Lise Stowers, soccerinfo.com. Could you comment on the performance of your forwards today?”

“Well, we didn’t score, so it wasn’t great. We can take some things from this game: Nicolas and Daniel are playing together more, that helps immensely. We’re really looking for someone up there to catch fire, though. We still have a few more matches before Drogba, Essien and the rest are back, and we need to find a way to generate a consistent offense in the meantime.”

“So, would it be fair to say that the African Nations Cup has contributed to your recent run of form?”

“No, not at all. We were aware of the schedule from the start, and we wish them all the best: the African Nations Cup is a great event, a chance for them to show their talents to the world, and to give something back. We’re all rooting for a Ghana – Ivory Coast final—with apologies to Jon Obi.” Oranje glanced offstage, where Roy Wilkins stood, slowly shaking his head. “Last question.”

There is a clamor for his attention. “Yes, Peter?”

“What will you take from this game heading into Saturday’s league clash with Blackpool?”

“The last twenty minutes. We were much sharper and were frankly unlucky not to score. Lampard’s shot deserved the net, and Matic heads that ball in nine times out of ten. OK, maybe eight. But we are just better when we play attacking soccer, and we need to do more of that. Consider that a preview. Thank you, that’s it from me. Frank and … who is it, Butch? Oh, yes, Frank and Petr will be available for you shortly.”

# # #

It was edging past midnight. The team had already left and were in the air heading back to London. Danyil was seated on a stool in a well-appointed kitchen, leaning on a dark marble bar whose perfect polish was only marred by the half moon of condensation beneath his glass of scotch. Across the room, leaning against the Viking stove, was a dark skinned man with close cropped hair and a concerned look emanating from caramel colored eyes. His voice was deep, rough on the edges.

“Wat ga je doen?” What are you going to do? Oranje shook his head and responded in English.

“I don’t know. We’re not doing well right now. I mean, if we were Fulham, we’d be thrilled. But we’re not. We’re Chelsea and fifth place—wait, after tonight, sixth place—just isn’t good enough.” He picked up the glass, swirled it just hard enough to hear the ice cubes gently clink.

“I just don’t know. I think I’m losing them. If I ever had them to begin with.”

“Danyil, you know what you need to do.” Oranje looked up, held the other man’s gaze. “You need to be true to your self.”

“Not that again.”

“No, not that again. In your football. You can’t manage them any way but your way. You got Gourlay stinking drunk just to buy De Rossi, you began to create a team that was suited to play the way you want to play. And then you shifted gears. Don’t. Go back to that vision.”

“And if it doesn’t work?”

“Then you’ll go down knowing that you were true to yourself. At least there.”

Oranje nodded. “Did you see today’s game?”

“Of course I did.”

“And?”

The other man crossed the room, stopping across the counter from Danyil. He reached out, took the glass of scotch, sniffed it and took a sip.

“The last twenty minutes were quite good. And you almost looked like a typical boring English side in the first half. But you can’t pull that off reliably.”

“You don’t think so? I’m pretty good at playing roles.”

“Yeah, you have the look-at-me, I’m-a-prick press conference down pat.”

“Lul.”

“Well, you do.”

“Maybe that’s the real me.”

“How long have I known you?”

Oranje took back the glass, emptied it in a long swallow, grimaced. “Too long, vriend, too long.”

1:25

Bloody African Nation’s Cup. Look, I know I’m supposed to think lovely things about the growth of the game in Africa, about a bunch of undernourished kids chasing around a ball falling apart at the seams. But this leaves us without Drogba, without Essien, without Kalou, without Mikel. All for a second rate trophy and a spit of pride. I don’t mind pride, but I need wins.

And without Chelsea—without the leagues in Europe that pay real money, without the academies, without the competition—they wouldn’t be either the players they are or nearly as rich. So there is something backwards here: for some odd ideal that has no relation to reality, some vague notion of continental togetherness, the clubs that made them what they are suffer. It’s just silliness.

And today we’re away at Old Trafford for the second leg of the League Cup Semifinal.

Without Drogba, without Essien, without Kalou, without Mikel.

So, Sanogo gets a start in a critical game, with Anelka on the right wing.

If I had any balls, I’d bench Cole and play Zhirkov on the left like I dream of. But I don’t have those kind of cajones. Maybe next year.

6:35

Hear that? That’s what we’re coming into. It’s over an hour to the game, and they’re in full throat. I looked around the room. They were stretching, taping ankles, jogging lightly in place. But they were looking at me, listening. But I’m happy to hear them. Do you know why? Heads shook slightly. Even some of the veterans looked interested. Because it’s the happiest they’ll be all night.

Our job tonight is to make them miserable. Our job is to play our game—not theirs, ours. Our job is to play together, to play hard, and to make sure that the only one’s happy at the end are the faithful in blue who made the trip. And we’re going to do that by imposing our will on them. This game will be like chess: if we control the center of the board, we’ll win. Frank, Daniele, Michael, this means you. Dominate your positions, we dominate the game. Dominate the game, and we’ll end up in the finals. I paused, cocked my head.

Just listen to them. My voice dripped derision, dropped in pitch. I fucking hate Old Trafford.

I walked out of the locker room, and found my way down the tunnel that led to the pitch. Careful to stay out of sight, I stood looking at the far side of the stadium awash in the early evening light. We’ve got our work cut out for us tonight, but we can do this. Kickoff can’t come fast enough.

7:30

It works from the kickoff. Lampard and De Rossi are controlling the game, keeping possession, looking for openings. The passes are simple, easy, and we are edging up the field. And nine minutes in, a sudden strike: Lampard corrals a pass, gives a quick turn, and fires a tracer from 35 yards out. It’s good, and we’re up 1-0.

The goal wakes them up, and we begin to lose possession. They are driving into our half, and if it weren’t for Cech in goal, we’d have given up an equalizer and more. But, we do have Cech, so in spite of being on our back foot, we hold the lead.

Michael! Daniele!

My arms are out wide, hands still. They immediately start the change throughout the squad.

You know we know what that means? I turn to see Ferguson looking at me, smiling. I think it’s the first thing he’s ever said to me that wasn’t good luck, good game, the white noise between coaches. I wonder if he does know—this is a little different than usual. I want us to spread, but to remain calm, to still work on our control and our possession. But what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

Yeah, we thought of changing the signals, but they couldn’t learn fast enough. He smiled. Isn’t that always the way? I nodded, turned back to the match. Sir Alex spoke to me, all friendly-like. Interesting, need to file that away for future reflection.

We see results very quickly. Anelka has the ball on the right, and instead of forcing the issue, calmly passes back to Ballack who turns and restarts the attack through the other side, to Carvalho and Cole. Ballack trails the play, and receives the ball on the opposite side, letting him find Zhirkov on the side and slightly deeper. As soon as Ballack makes the pass, Sanogo takes off, streaking towards goal. Yury sees him and lofts a brilliant pass over Rio Ferdinand’s head. Sanogo has space between Johnny Evans approaching from the rear and van der Sar rushing off his line. He controls the ball beautifully with his knee, and volleys it straight through the keeper into the back of the net. 2-0 Good guys.

Ferdinand and Evans are having a heated exchange after that one. Somebody missed an assignment, but they aren’t agreeing who it was.

We’re still applying pressure twenty-five minutes in: Ballack tests van der Sar from even further out than Lampard did, but the Dutch international is up for it this time, managing to smother the rebound after a diving stop.

Ferdinand is running angry, but we pay the price: he knocks JT out cold with a forearm to the back of the neck on a free kick.

Howard! How did you miss that? My man is unconscious and there’s no whistle? Howard! Look at me you blind son-of-a—Butch, get away from me.

OK, score one for Butch. He was quick enough to stop me from getting into hot water. But still, I was livid. I turned out of his hold. JT was only out for a few seconds, but he’s far too wobbly on his feet to continue, despite his protests.

Alex, get ready. JT’s done. And you—this to the fourth official—what the hell was that? You have to do better than that. I’ve got a player with a concussion, for fuck’s sake.

Jesus. I mean, we’re deep back there, so this game is fine. Alex and Carvalho may in fact be our best pairing at this point. But JT means a lot to this club. It is a sign of things to come: Carrick goes in with his studs up on Sanogo, who collapses grabbing his knee.

Howard! Not even a whistle? That’s a fucking card! I head over to the fourth official. Look, I don’t know what the hell is going on today, but you have to do better than that. We’re away at the harshest place on Earth, and you’re not calling studs up tackles? I know I have a long way to go before I’m knighted, but come on!

Ferguson can’t suppress a smile at that. Another point to file away.

We limp into halftime, up 2-0, but wounded.

What do you think, Butch?

I think the game still has goals in it. Pull back a little, hit them on the counter.

I stared at him. This was tricky. It was totally against my nature to do so, but we were away at Old Trafford and there were only two possible outcomes: either it works and he feels trusted, or it backfires, and he gives me some more room. I nodded. OK. Make it happen. But not too defensive—3-1 is fine with me. He smiled a thin smile and headed into the tunnel. I turned to glare at Howard Webb as he walked in: he ignored me, but I knew he saw, just as I knew he heard my screams during the first half; then I followed him in to the dressing room.

Good job, men. Expect more of the same: they are going to come at us hard to start the second half, and we need to be ready. I want to absorb that without giving up the initiative. Yaya, fantastic job. I need you to work just as hard in the second half—go all out, then let me know when you can’t go any more, OK? Butch has tactics today—Butch?

I wish it worked. But it didn’t.

We back off far too much, and they come out with a fire in their belly. A minute into the second half, Zoran Tosic takes the ball to the sideline and floats a cross in high to the back post. Alex manages to commit two sins on the same play, jumping too early and blocking Cech’s path to the ball at the same time. Darren Fletcher heads the ball firmly into the back of the net. He lands awkwardly and has to come off for a few minutes, but that’s small consolation.

Alex looks at me as he comes back up the pitch. He taps his chest and shakes his head. He knows what he did. I clap at him. He’s taking responsibility for the mistake, and other than not making it in the first place, I can’t ask for much more.

Butch looks at me. I shake my head. He’s worried, which I don’t like at all.

Still? His eyes narrow, and he shakes his head slightly. Well, I’ll fight that out later. For now, we need to get some initiative back.

Frank! Push up!

We do better, but the crowd senses blood and are urging their side on. Not ten minutes later, Fletcher finds Michael Owen at the edge of the box. Owen returns the ball, moves into space and Fletcher feeds it right back to him.

Owen’s shot is low and hard, and beats Cech cleanly. We’re tied and the stadium explodes. I can feel the ground shake. I stand still, watching my side. Their heads are down, expressions grim. I glance over, and see the Danny Welbeck ready to come on. Owen’s goal is his last part of the match, which is fine with me, although Welbeck’s pace is always a concern.

Ricardo! Alex! I point at Walbeck, then turn to the players. Simon, fast as you can. He nods, and starts sprinting.

We had prepped this in training this week—a slightly deeper back two, a focus on getting the ball to Ivanovic and Cole on the wings. Doing this needs more creativity up front, but Simon needs some time to get ready.

I’m good, coach.

Good. Go in for Yaya, push Anelka up front alone.

Yessir.

Yury! I motion him over. Pull back on your side. I want to overload on the left, and I need you on both ends. It’s a risk: having both Zhirkov and Vukcevic on the left will either open up opportunities for us, or will leave the other side of the pitch naked and gleaming. Here’s hoping for the former.

It’s working: we are pushing forward, and have some chances. And our defense looks stronger with Zhirkov quicker to add presence in the midfield. I’m worried, though: right now it looks like we’re headed to a penalty shootout, and nobody wants that.

Michael! 20 more?

He nods, but I wonder. Sweat is dripping from his body, and he’s clearly a step slower than the start of the game. Drop back—run it from there. He does. Maybe that will conserve enough energy to get us through.

Well, Butch, this is where JT going off hurts. Butch nods, the lights shining off his bald head. One more substitute, and I would be happy with the extra time. I turn to the replacements.

Daniel, I’m sorry. We need you, but we can’t use you. Marc, you’re in for Michael. Either at full time or when he collapses, whichever comes first. Mateu smiles, takes off at a sprint to get ready.

Ballack makes it to fulltime. I grab him. Michael, thank you. You gave me 90 strong minutes—it’s all I could ask for. Marc will take it from here.

Ten minutes into extra time, Walbeck bursts past Ivanovic into the box, but Cech manages to steer it just outside the post. We head into the final fifteen minutes still tied.

Mateu slides a nice pass to Anelka, who has lost his man. He launches one from the top of the box, but it hits the wrong side of the crossbar, leaving a clearly relieved van der Sar to launch a goal kick.

It looks like a shootout. Butch, you working on the shooting order? He nods. Good.

I turn back just in time to see Park gets loose on the far side of goal. Antonio Valencia sees him, too.

No! Bran! Get there!

Valencia launches the cross, and Ivanovic jumps high to clear … but misses. A twelve year old could score from Park’s position. And he’s far better than a twelve year old. Park wheels away in jubilation, and I turn away in disgust.

MOTHERFUCKER!

We try to get it back, but we only have eight minutes, and we’re a little too shocked by how it all happened. The fans are mind-numbingly loud—they deserve to be, honestly: it was a magnificent fight back.

The final whistle blows, and I make my way to Ferguson.

Magnificent second half. He thanks me, shakes my hand.

Danyil? Can I say something?

Of course.

Trust yourself. You got here on your passion and your own choices. They’ll take you far.

I get the message. And I appreciate it. I nod, clap him on the shoulder, and make my way down the tunnel, between players in red screaming with delight and my own, heads down.

The dressing room is quiet. I want to stay positive for them, but I can feel the anger rising in my chest. This could be an important moment for me, and for them.

Yury, you were magnificent. Petr, Ashley, Frank, great games. But in the end, we lost our concentration twice. One hundred and twenty minutes, and two moments, two brief instants. And the result is a loss to a side we could have beaten. Look, I’m proud of how each of you have stepped up with so many of your teammates missing. But, it’s not enough. You want to take something from this game? Listen to that noise. Take that. Take that, and take the fact that football is cruel. To succeed against teams like this, we need every single fucking one of you out there performing at your absolute best for every single fucking minute of the game. I expect nothing less.

It’s an exit line, so I leave. They’re stunned, so we’ll see how that goes over. I take a deep breath, head down the hall to the interview stand. I don’t really know what I say until later, when I see the clip on Sky:

It was a hard game, a good game. We thought we had them by the scruff at halftime, but you have to give United credit. They came out hard, took it to us, and in the end we had a lapse at the back. But, we’ll take the positives from the match—Zhirkov, Sanogo’s goal, the way we played in the first half—and move on. I expect great things from this club.

Manchester United v. Chelsea, League Cup Semifinal Leg 2. Old Trafford, Manchester.
Man Utd 3 (Darren Fletcher 47, Michael Owen 54, Ji-Sung Park 111) – Chelsea 2 (Frank Lampard 9, Yaya Sanogo 21)
MoM:Yury Zhirkov (8.5)
Attendance: 76,212. Referee: Howard Webb.

26-year-old Chelsea defender Yury Zhirkov who struggled with injuries last season is being linked with a move back to Russia to join Zenit St Petersburg in a deal reported to be around £21million.

Carlo Ancelloti was not responsible for signing Zhirkov and despite his injury problems, Chelksea boss Ancelloti did not featured Zhirkov that often, many say the player was Ashley Cole’s understudy.

Zenit St Petersburg are keen to build a side to compete on a top level in the Champions League and Zhirkov would probably be a regular. When the rumours were put to Zhirkov about a possible move he refused to comment, but he did say he was focussing on being fit for the new season with Chelsea.

I refuse to admit it to the press, but I’m nervous. Hell, I refuse to admit it to anyone.

I never thought my job would be shaky in the first few months, but a poor performance in Cup Competitions sets tongues a-wagging here. To be expected, but still. So, today’s game–which would usually be approached with calm and nonchalance–means something else.

We are healthier than we have been for a while: Anelka is back from suspension, but not quite match fit, so Kalou starts in his place. In the back four, I had to choose between Ferreira and Boswinga, and went with José, assuming we could take the game to Burnley quite effectively.

It’s a dreadful day: windy, with a driving rain. Fucking hate that. Don’t like being wet, don’t like what it does to the clothes. Most of all, don’t like pretending I don’t care.

The mood in the locker room is quiet, professional, focused. That’s good. I don’t have much to say to them–they know what they need to do, so I talk about the fans that made the trip to Turf Moor with us, about the kids coming out in the rain, about how important it is to remain disciplined and focused through the mud and the sliding tackles and the slippery balls.

Butch had mentioned a couple last minute adjustments, so I make sure that Yury and Salomon are prepared to close down their outside defenders whenever possible. Then, I closed. One more piece in the evolution of Chealsea FC, the Oranje Era.

One last thing. Remember that I want you crashing the goal on breaks. Trust your back line: we have the best collection of midfielders in the world and a back four I’ll put up against anyone. Trust them to worry about the counter. So, especially if one of the wings has the ball on the sides, I want four people in the box. Keep Didier company up there. He gets lonely, for fuck’s sake. And, Didier, if you have the shot, shoot. But, if you don’t, remember you have three men in blue around you who can score, too. Remember, all of you: from anywhere, at anytime.

And, we’re off.

A minute in, we catch some lightning in a bottle. Boswinga heads the ball a little wildly towards midfield, but Kalou races back to control it. One touch to Lampard, who sees that Kalou has found space after giving up the ball. Burnley does well to close off the attack, forcing Kalou  across the pitch. This brings Wade Elliott too far inside, and Zhirkov streaks down the wing behind him. Kalou finds him, and the race is on.

Sometimes it works: whether from my pregame speech, or just because it’s starting to sink in, or just dumb luck. Whatever. I see Lampard and a streaking Essien coming into the box. Burnley can’t cover them all: Michael finds free space, and Zhirkov finds him eight yards out from goal. A touch, and a shot, and we’re up 1-0 barely a minute into the game.

Lovely.

The team looks over at me, and I have to remember not to laugh or get frustrated. No, I don’t want to fucking take the pressure off. We gain a couple corners, and then, on the 8th minute, another.

This time, Zhirkov lays it short for De Rossi, who turns and powers the ball towards goal. We get a lucky deflection off the leg of Steven Fletcher, and catch Heaton flatfooted. 2-0, and, more importantly, Daniele’s first goal of the season. That should remove some of the pressure he’s been feeling, and should put us on our way. They haven’t heard my “two goal speech,” but they will.

I signal for them to take a small step back. I want to control the game now, pick them apart, add a couple goals without losing our composure. This does a lot for us: it brings Cole and Boswinga into the game more, and focuses on Essien and De Rossi in midfield.

Burnley keeps trying to work through-balls into the box. That won’t work against us very often: JT is dropping back into a cover position, and, of course, Cech is pretty magnificent at coming out back there.

Kalou knocks a header off the woodwork. Unlucky. But, a few minutes later, Zhirkov–have I mentioned how crucial he is to our team lately?–continues his fantastic play, latching onto a long floating pass from De Rossi near the penalty spot, using his chest to both direct the ball sideways and shield Elliott from the ball. The ball runs almost directly along the six yard line, and the result is obvious long before he slots it neatly into the net.

I keep trying to sit down, stay out of the rain, but I can’t. Never have been still on the sidelines, and despite hating the sight of my expressions on the large screen above the fans, it’s just who I am on match day. Today, the problem is the wet, dreadfull stuff, which has found a seam between my jacket and the requisite deep blue scarf. Not my best color, but I doubt they’ll change it just for me. Yet. A change of clothes at halftime.

There certainly isn’t much to say to them: I tell them I’m pleased with the first half, I joke about scoring 3 without Drogba’s help, and I let Lampard and José know that I may pull them off to rest them for the next match. I tell them to spread out a little more, increase the length of our passes a bit. Then I surprise them.

OK, that was the good stuff. Here is the rest: I know it’s wet, and I know we’re up three nil. But bad habits breed, and we’re tackling like a bunch of scared schoolboys. Stay careful–no need to get cards, no need to get hurt. But get in there. We need to be tougher, stronger, perhaps not for this match, but definitely for next week. I want a clean sheet, and to get one, we need to get them off the ball when they have it.

They nod. But, they always fucking nod. We’ll see.

We’re playing more physically. Maybe they are beginning to listen to me.

We get lucky when the woodwork denies Martin Paterson.

I decide to switch things up a little without sacrificing our attack. Vukcevic comes on for Lampard, and takes up a central attacking role. Michael looks at me as soon as he sees Simon come on and I smile and nod–he knows what I want. He grabs De Rossi and makes sure he knows, too: Essien drops back into an anchor position, and De Rossi shifts up the pitch. I yell at Yury to drop deeper as well–we are asymmetrical now, but should have a good balance going forward.

I wanted to leave Daniele on for the final whistle, but the downside of the tactical shift is he needed to expend a lot more energy as the only attacking midfielder. We’re keeping the pressure up, and Ballack signals me that he’s ready, so he comes on. The Chelsea stands go wild as De Rossi comes off, and I can’t suppress a smile. I still think De Rossi will become a beloved player for the Blues–perhaps this was the start. I stop him as he passes.

Daniele. Magnifico!

Grazi, Gafferi.

He can’t say it right, but he thinks it’s hilarious to call me that. The indignities of success.

There is one bit of bad news: an awkward challenge from Jlloyd Samuel takes Michael down hard in the 90th minute. He has to take treatment on the sidelines, and I must admit I was watching our trainers more than the last seconds of the game.

It finishes 3-0, and I’m thrilled with the performance. Haven’t been able to say that much this year. Feels good.

On the continent, Zhirkov, De Rossi, and John Terry were named in the weekly EPL teams.

Zhirkov was second in the Player of the Month voting, finishing just behind Luka Modric. Manchester City’s Micah Richards, for the 3rd time, won the Young Player of the Month.

Perhaps most impressively, St. George’s Mohammed Abera was named in the U18 World Team of the Year, quite an honor for the young winger.

I never thought my job would be shaky in the first few months, but a poor performance in Cup Competitions sets tongues a-wagging here. To be expected, but still. So, today’s game–which would usually be approached with calm and nonchalance–means something else.

We are healthier than we have been for a while: Anelka is back from suspension, but not quite match fit, so Kalou starts in his place. In the back four, I had to choose between Ferreira and Boswinga, and went with José, assuming we could take the game to Burnley quite effectively.

It’s a dreadful day: windy, with a driving rain. The mood in the locker room is quiet, professional, focused. That’s good. I don’t have much to say to them–they know what they need to do, so I talk about the fans that made the trip to Turf Moor with us, about the kids coming out in the rain, about how important it is to remain disciplined and focused through the mud and the sliding tackles and the slippery balls.

Ray had mentioned a couple last minute adjustments, so I make sure that Yury and Salomon are prepared to close down their outside defenders whenever possible. Then, my continued attempt to tweak how Chelsea play.

“One last thing. Remember that I want you crashing the goal on breaks. Trust your back line: we have the best collection of midfielders in the world and between them and the four at the back, I’m not worried about the counter. So, especially if one of the wings has the ball on the sides, I want four people in the box. Keep Didier company up there. And, Didier, if you have the shot, shoot. But, if you don’t, remember you have three men in blue around you who can score, too. Remember, all of you: from anywhere, at anytime.”

And, we’re off.

A minute in, we catch some lightning in a bottle. Boswinga heads the ball a little wildly towards midfield, but Kalou races back to control it. One touch to Lampard, who sees that Kalou has found space after giving up the ball. Burnley does well to close off the attack, forcing Kalou takes the ball across the pitch. This brings Wade Elliott too far inside, and Zhirkov streaks down the wing behind him. Kalou finds him, and the race is on.

Sometimes it works: whether from my pregame speech, or just because it’s starting to sink in, I see Lampard and a streaking Essien coming into the box. Burnley covers most of them, but Michael finds free space, and Zhirkov finds him 8 yards out from goal. A touch, and a shot, and we’re up 1-0 barely a minute into the game.

Lovely.

The team looks over at me, and I have to remember not to laugh or get frustrated. No, I don’t want to take the pressure off. We gain a couple corners, and then, on the 8th minute, another.

Zhirkov lays it short for De Rossi, who takes a touch and powers the ball towards goal. We get a lucky deflection off the leg of Steven Fletcher, and catch Heaton flatfooted. 2-0, and, more importantly, Daniele’s first goal of the season. that should remove some of the pressure he’s been feeling, and should put us on the way.

Now I signal for them to take a small step back. I want to control the game now, pick them apart, add a couple goals without losing our composure. This does a lot for us: it brings Cole and Boswinga into the game more, and focuses on Essien and De Rossi in midfield.

Burnley keeps trying to work through-balls into the box. That won’t work against us very often: JT is dropping back into a cover position, and, of course, Cech is pretty magnificent at coming out back there.

Kalou knocks a header off the woodwork. Unlucky. But, a few minutes later, Zhirkov–have I mentioned how crucial he is to our team lately?–continues his fantastic play, latching onto a long floating pass from De Rossi near the penalty spot, using his chest to both direct the ball sideways and shield Elliott from the ball. The ball runs almost directly along the six yard line, and the result is obvious before he slots it neatly into the net.

I keep trying to sit down, stay out of the rain, but I can’t. Never have been still on the sidelines, and despite hating the sight of my expressions on the large screen above the fans, it’s just who I am on match day. Today, the problem is the rain, which has found a seam between my jacket and deep blue scarf. A change of clothes at halftime.

There certainly isn’t much to say to them: I tell them I’m pleased with the first half, I joke about scoring 3 without Drogba’s help, and I let Lampard and José know that I may pull them off to rest them for the next match. I tell them to spread out a little more, increase the length of our passes a bit. Then I surprise them.

“OK, that was the good stuff. Here is the rest: I know it’s wet, and I know we’re up three nil. But bad habits breed, and we’re tackling like a bunch of scared schoolboys. Stay careful–no need to get cards, no need to get hurt. But get in there. We need to be tougher, stronger, perhaps not for this match, but definitely for next week. I want a clean sheet, and to get one, we need to get them off the ball when they have it.”

They nod. But, they always nod. We’ll see.

We’re playing more physically. Maybe they are beginning to listen to me. We get lucky when the woodwork denies Martin Paterson.

I decide to switch things up a little without sacrificing our attack. Vukcevic comes on for Lampard, and takes up a central attacking role. Michael looks at me as soon as he sees Simon come on and I smile and nod–he knows what I want. He grabs De Rossi and makes sure he knows, too: Essien drops back into an anchor position, and De Rossi shifts up the pitch. I yell at Yury to drop deeper as well–we are asymmetrical now, but should have a good balance going forward.

I wanted to leave Daniele on for the final whistle, but the downside of the tactical shift is he needed to expend a lot more energy as the only attacking midfielder. We’re keeping the pressure up, and Ballack signs me that he’s ready, so he comes on. The Chelsea stands go wild as De Rossi comes off, and I can’t suppress a smile. I still think De Rossi will become a beloved player for the Blues–perhaps this was the start.

There is one bit of bad news: an awkward challenge from Jlloyd Samuel takes Michael down hard in the 90th minute. He has to take treatment on the sidelines, and I must admit I was watching our trainers more than the last seconds of the game.

It finishes 3-0, and I’m thrilled with the performance.

Old favourite: Nicolas Anelka

I feel bitterly disappointed after seeing that tonight.

We defended very well through large periods of the game but never really threatened their goal a great deal.

I am pretty annoyed with the referee’s performance with two clear penalties not being given.

First was a blatent handball by Didier Drogba in the first half then another clear hand ball by John Terry.

Nicolas Anelka scored the only goal of the game in the 43rd minute with a close range header after an impressive cross from Drogba.

It was typical that he would end his goal drought against his former club – he hadn’t scored since January before tonight.

Owen Coyle started with Sam Ricketts in central midfield and Jack Wilshere in behind Kevin Davies with both giving a good account in an unfamiliar role.

It’s a little frustrating because I thought we were worthy of a point but that’s the way football goes and against the big teams you very rarely get given the big decisions.

Team & Ratings: Jussi (7), Steinsson (6) Knight (6) Cahill (7) Robinson (7), Lee (5) Muamba (7) Ricketts (7) Taylor (7), Wilshere (7), K Davies (6) Subs: Elmander (5) Klasnic (5) Not Used: Al Habsi, Samuel, M Davies, Cohen, Weiss

My man of the match: Yury Zhirkov – Despite picking up a horrible head injury the stand-in left back gave a very solid display.

We need to go and perform well against Stoke on Saturday now with this game now even more crucial.

COYW!

This is my blog, this is our club, this is for you

Inter Milan manager Jose Mourinho celebrates – briefly – after his side score the winner against his former club Chelsea

Inter were leading 2-1 from the opening leg of the last-16 tie, and they secured their place in the quarter finals when Samuel Eto’o scored the winner at Stamford Bridge in the 78th minute.

Chelsea’s campaign ended in more misery when Didier Drogba was sent off in the 87th minute for a crude moment of petulance, appearing to stamp on Thiago Motta.

Mourinho, who never lost a home league game during his entire time as manager at Chelsea, had begun the evening with a low profile entry from the tunnel and into his dugout seat. Chelsea fans responded with warm applause but Mourinho refrained from hogging the limelight. He knew he and his team had a job to do.

Mourinho had cleverly picked an attacking side with Eto’o, Diego Milito and Goran Pandev up front, and his plan worked superbly. They set about the task of preserving their one-goal advantage from the opening leg in the San Siro with a determination and energy rarely associated with Italian teams.

They closed Chelsea down with alarming efficiency for much of the half and squandered a gilt-edged opportunity to pile on the agony for the English side.

But when the home side did get into gear, there was enough encouragement to suggest the deficit could easily be wiped out. In the 11th minute, Michael Ballack collected a pass from Frank Lampard and sent a 20-yard low drive just wide of the post. But it was an isolated moment.

The low intensity of the game was briefly interrupted in the 15th minute when Florent Malouda was kicked in the face by Lucio. Drogba quickly squared-up to the Inter defender before referee Wolfgang Stark, who had a poor game, restored calm.

But the Serie A side were doing everything to protect their lead and Maicon was the hero in the 25th minute when he blocked a shot from Drogba.

Milan responded with the miss of the half from Eto’o. Maicon’s cross eluded Chelsea captain John Terry and fell straight to the Inter striker at the far post. But instead of planting his header into the net, Eto’o headed the ball down and over the cross bar.

It was a real let-off for the home side who then had two penalty claims rejected within minutes. First Motta escaped when he rugby-tackled Branislav Ivanovic and moments later Walter Samuel was guilty of an atrocious challenge on Drogba as the Ivorian attempted to lose his marker from a corner.

Amazingly, Stark missed both offences and Motta then cleared off the line after Nicolas Anelka had turned a pass from Drogba towards the empty goal.

It had been a frustrating half for the English side and more of the same was dished-up in the second period.

Malouda briefly threatened to take the game to the Italians and his trickery earned Motta a booking in the 47th minute. It was a yellow card that will keep him out of the quarter-final.

The France winger, the architect of West Ham’s downfall in the Barclays Premier on Saturday, then forced Julio Cesar into a fine save at his near post. Lucio was also booked by Stark and he too will miss the first-leg of Inter’s quarter-final tie.

But as the second-half wore on, Milan began to exploit Chelsea’s nervousness.

Yury Zhirkov produced a sensational block tackle to prevent Goran Pandev from putting Milan in front on the night and in the 65th minute Diego Milito put his shot wide with just Ross Turnbull to beat.

Moments later Motta headed over the bar from close range as Mourinho’s side edged closer to the last eight.

The goal they had threatened throughout the second half finally arrived in the 79th minute when Eto’o collected a superb pass from Wesley Sneijder and ran on to fire past Turnbull.

Mourinho allowed himself a short run out of his dugout but then remembered his pledge not to celebrate and walked back to his seat.

Chelsea, who had never looked like scoring in the second half, now had to get two – a task that was clearly beyond them.

It got worse for Chelsea in the 87th minute when Drogba was given a straight red card for a lunge on Motta, seemingly raking his studs down the midfielder’s calf after the ball had gone.

Inter wasted another chance in the closing stages when Eto’o's shot was superbly saved by Turnbull.

But it was all academic in terms of the result and with a minute of added time to go, Mourinho ended the game with a low profile exit. The former Chelsea boss watched the closing seconds from the sanctuary of the tunnel and disappeared at the final whistle to leave the glory and celebrations to his victorious team.

MORE PICTURES FROM CHELSEA V INTER MILAN:

Essien has not played for Chelsea since he suffered a hamstring injury against Apoel Nicosia in December and his problems have been further compounded by a knee problem he sustained while with Ghana in the African Nations Cup.

Michael Essien

Bosingwa is back in light training after knee surgery but still short of match practice.

The 27-year-old Essien had an operation in January but he is currently with left-back Ashley Cole, who is recovering from a fractured ankle, at a sporting injury clinic in France.

Chelsea trail 2-1 to Inter from the first leg of their last-16 tie in the San Siro and it is unlikely Essien will be fit in time for the return encounter against former boss Jose Mourinho and his side.

However, Russian international Yury Zhirkov, who missed the first leg with a calf problem, should be fit to play at left-back.

Portugal midfielder Deco, who has been struggling with a knee problem, could be in line for a return against Stoke in the FA Cup quarter-final at Stamford Bridge on Sunday.

Carlo Ancelotti shares a joke with Frank Lampard at the San Siro last night

Ashley Cole is to separate from his wife Cheryl following a string of newspaper allegations, while Blues captain John Terry ’s private life has also come under the microscope in recent weeks.

The Coles’ split was announced on the eve of Chelsea’s Champions League last-16 tie against the Italian champions in the San Siro.

But Ancelotti, who is also keen to play down a war of words with his Inter counterpart Jose Mourinho , maintained his squad would not be distracted by off-the-field issues.

‘We are focused on this important game,’ he said. ‘We will not change our motivation, whatever happens outside our dressing room.’

Ancelotti’s uneasy relationship with Mourinho stems from their rivalry in Italy.

The pair endured a difficult time in Milan but Ancelotti, despite Mourinho’s best efforts in recent days, was determined not to fall foul of any mind games from his old nemesis.

He added: ‘I will respect Inter like I always have in the past. We respect them and to beat them we need to play at 100 per cent.

‘But if they want to beat us they will also have to play at 100 per cent.’ Ancelotti has found himself facing a major selection headache over the left-back position.

Ashley Cole’s broken ankle and a calf injury to Yury Zhirkov has left him calling upon Juliano Belletti, who has not played for a month because of a knee injury.

But Ancelotti added: ‘He has been training well.’

Chelsea met Inter Milan at the Rose Bowl in Pasadena in July and won the game 2-0 and now the sides meet in Champions League action at the San Siro with Mourinho up against his former club for the first time in a competitive fixture.

John Obi Mikel

Mikel, brought to Chelsea by Mourinho, said: “Mourinho is the man who brought me to Chelsea and this is the first time I will play against him, though we played in a friendly and won 2-0. It is a soft spot but we have to do what we did in the friendly and win the game.”

Chelsea, now coached by former AC Milan boss Carlo Ancelotti , will be looking to take some kind of advantage back to Stamford Bridge for the return leg of their last-16 tie.

When asked to compare Mourinho with his current coach, Mikel was full of praise for both men as the Nigeria midfielder added: “They are both very good managers and I am really pleased to work under both of them.

“Ancelotti has come in and brought a different mentality to the way we play, playing a diamond system and I think it has been really effective. We have to just keep supporting the manager and playing to his instructions.”

Ancelotti must deal with a defensive crisis, but the Italian is confident Juliano Belletti can fill the void at left-back.

The Brazilian utility player has been out for a month with a knee injury, but is set to come in for the injured duo Yury Zhirkov and Ashley Cole .

Zhirkov is out with a calf problem and Cole is sidelined with a broken ankle, while Paulo Ferreira, who has deputised at left-back before, is not registered for Champions League competition.

“Definitely it’s a problem, we are missing two important players,” Ancelotti conceded. “Belletti is back, he has been training all week and has been training well. We will definitely find a solution, however, Ashley Cole and Zhirkov are going to be missed.”

The England midfielder missed the weekend win over Wolves with a virus but returned to the squad, along with Brazilian defenders Alex and Juliano Belletti who were both back after knee problems.

Frank Lampard

Russian Yury Zhirkov has a calf problem and did not travel with the squad, giving coach Carlo Ancelotti a problem at left-back for tomorrow’s match as Paulo Ferreira is not registered for the competition.

Drogba ensured the Blues took advantage of United’s 3-1 lunch-time reversal against Everton at Goodison Park with a goal in each half.

Didier Drogba

It took his tally for the campaign to 25 in all competitions and earned Carlo Ancelotti ‘s side only their second away win in their last seven league games.

Chelsea were quickly in the ascendancy and the first half-chance fell to Michael Ballack , who headed Yury Zhirkov’s cross wide. After 15 minutes, Kevin Doyle made space for himself after a diagonal run and Petr Cech had to go down to his right to save his 20-yard drive, before the Republic of Ireland international was alert to a quick throw from Kevin Foley and forced Cech to parry his shot around the post.

Ballack was only just too high with a rasping volley after a corner from Florent Malouda was only half-cleared.

David Jones, who scored the winner against Tottenham 10 days ago, curled a free-kick just wide, but five minutes before the interval, Chelsea took the lead. Zhirkov played a one-two with Ballack before squaring a low ball across the six-yard box and Drogba had the easiest of tap-ins.

Cech produced a superb reflex save to keep out Adlene Guedioura’s volley after 55 minutes, then blocked Foley’s effort after John Terry miskicked when attempting to clear.

But then Drogba doubled Chelsea’s lead as Wolves were caught napping by a long clearance from Cech. Drogba was the first to react and took the ball away from Christophe Berra before clipping the ball wide of Marcus Hahnemann.

Doyle was only just off target for Wolves with a shot on the turn after some typical aggression. But it needed a good tackle from Ronald Zubar to deny Nicolas Anelka a third as he bore down on the Wolves goal.

Terry cleared the ball off the line in a late Wolves rally after Cech had failed to gather a long throw from substitute Greg Halford.

The Italian coach believes there is every chance that the England left-back can return to first-team action before the end of the season and play for his country in this summer’s finals in South Africa.

Ashley Cole

“In three months he will be ready to play, so for England he can play in the World Cup,” Ancelotti said.

“It’s bad news because Ashley is a very important player for us,” said Ancelotti. “But we have the opportunity to play Yury Zhirkov, another fantastic left-back, and I have confidence that he will do a very good job.

“He’s played very well in the last few games, and has played very well at left-back as well as in midfield. I’ve said I have a lot of confidence in him.

“He’s a very good player. We wanted to buy him in the summer also for this – he could be an alternative to Ashley. Now his moment has come and I think he will be fit to do his best.

“I’m disappointed because Ashley is a very important player for us, but it can happen that a player gets an injury. I hope he recovers quickly and comes back before the end of the season. That’s a realistic possibility. He will have surgery today and we hope to recuperate him quickly.

Ancelotti insisted Chelsea were taking Saturday’s FA Cup fifth-round clash with Cardiff seriously – but he was confident enough to reveal his starting XI.

The Blues will be without John Terry, given compassionate leave, and the injured Ashley Cole, while goalkeeper Petr Cech and striker Nicolas Anelka were also absent from the team named by the Italian.

He said: “Tomorrow we’ll play Hilario in goal, Paulo Ferreira, Alex, Ricardo Carvalho and Yury Zhirkov; Frank Lampard, John Obi Mikel, Michael Ballack; Daniel Sturridge, Joe Cole and Didier Drogba up front. The bench will be Ross Turnbull, Jeffrey Bruma, Branislav Ivanovic, Florent Malouda, Nemanja Matic, Fabio Borini and Salomon Kalou.”

The England left-back is almost certainly out for the remainder of the domestic season and his place in Fabio Capello ‘s squad for the finals in South Africa will depend on his rehabilitation programme. England open their campaign in South Africa on June 12 with a match against the United States, but Cole will have to convince Capello he is back to full fitness before the Italian names his 23-man squad.

Ashley Cole

Ironically, Cole’s injury will provide former Chelsea team-mate Wayne Bridge with the chance to become Capello’s first-choice left-back.

Bridge has been at the centre of a media storm involving his former Stamford Bridge team-mate John Terry in recent weeks.

Terry was stripped of the England captaincy by Capello after allegations he had an affair with Bridge’s ex-partner.

Chelsea are fortunate they have enough cover to cope with Cole’s absence.

Russia international Yury Zhirkov is comfortable at left-back and Portugal international Paulo Ferreira can also play in the same position despite being signed by former boss Jose Mourinho as a right-back.

Speaking about Cole, Blues boss Carlo Ancelotti said: “We are very disappointed because he’s a very important player for us.

“Now we have to do our best to get him recovered quickly, although we have Yury, who is a fantastic full-back, so we can use him.”

Asked about Cole’s prospects of playing in the World Cup, the Italian added: “I don’t know – I hope so for him and for the England team.”

Jika memang benar Cole absen hingga 3 bulan seperti yang dikabarkan oleh situs resmi Chelsea, maka bek kiri timnas Inggris ini baru bisa tampil di bulan Mei.

Sisa pertandingan untuk Chelsea saat itu adalah pertandingan terakhir di liga Inggris, final piala FA dan final piala liga Champion – dengan catatan Chelsea bisa lolos ke final kedua kompetisi tersebut.

Dengan cederanya Ashley Cole ini, tentu Yury Zhirkov yang beberapa kali telah mengisi posisi Cole harus membuktikan dirinya. Zhirkov sendiri tidak asing dengan posisi di bek kiri, karena ia memang bermain di posisi tersebut untuk timnas Rusia.

Menurutnya lagi, ia cukup optimis dengan masa depanny di Chelsea. “Impian saya di 2010 hanya satu – bermain, bermain dan bermain. Kepindahan saya dari Chelsea hanya rumor,” ungkap Zhirkov seperti yang dikutip dari Sky Sports.

“Jika anda jarang bermain, rasanya sangat aneh dan tidak menyenangkan. Saya cukup mengerti perasaan Roman Pavlyuchenko,” lanjut Zhirkov tentang kompatriotnya di timnas Rusia tersebut.

Namun Zhirkov mengatakan bahwa situasi yang ia dapatkan di Chelsea berbeda dengan apa yang dirasakan oleh Pavyluchenko. “Sekarang saya beberapa kali bermain, jadi mood saya berbeda dengannya.”

“Dan jangan lupa menulis ini, Zhirkov adalah pemain Chelsea yang berharap mengejar karirnya dengan klub ini.”

Belakangan tercuat isu kalau Zhirkov akan pindah ke Dynamo Kiev dengan status pinjaman, kabar ini dilansir dari dailymail. Walaupun masih sebatas isu, tentunya kabar ini cukup meresahkan karena Ashley Cole sendiri belakangan mengalami masalah dengan engkelnya.

Kalah bersaing dengan Ashley Cole di bek kiri dan juga Florent Malouda di sayap kiri nampaknya membuat kabar ini mencuat belakangan. Bahkan pemain asal Rusia ini sempat diturunkan sebagai gelandang  tengah di pertandingan melawan Burnley.Walaupun begitu, Zhirkov kabarnya masih sabar dan terus bersikap positif mengenai keadaannya saat ini.

Well, semoga saja ini sekedar isu dan Zhirkov bisa membuktikan dirinya sebagai pemain yang memang layak mendapat tempat di skuad utama Chelsea.