"Hit him on the head, hit on the head with a baseball bat.."

Before this match I was under the erroneous impression that Liverpool are still a force to be reckoned with in the Premiership. I'm pleased to say that this is no longer the case; Liverpool, apart from a brief spell towards the end of the game, put on a display of such ineptitude that for 75 minutes I was convinced that they had had a private bet between them to see who could lose the ball the most...

Those of you who are not familiar with, or are uninterested by my domestic arrangements can skip the following couple of paragraphs, as I intend to use them to abuse my so-called "mates":

Due to the fact that I was slow to take up the option of buying tickets for the next six matches (I failed to get them on the first day !), I could only get seats in the West Stand for this game. The inappropriate slagging I got from the "lads" when they realised they might get their coiffures wet has caused me deep offence, hence I must abuse this forum in order to get back at them. They are all of dubious sexuality, and are the worst kind of ingrates, none more so than professional Scotsman Stewart Dickson, he of the Glasgow Death Grip. His gruesome display of drunken mustard eating at the pie stall defied all bounds of taste and decency, while his Celtic relative Fintan O'Bollocks also outshone himself by arriving at my house claiming that he'd "given up the drink", shortly before consuming the best part of a bottle of my vodka.

Nobby again fell asleep at the match, disturbing everyone with his snoring, although at least he has the excuse that he's well over sixty and comes from Somerset. The atrocious Marc Yates was drunker than a brewery rat, and narrowly avoided arrest at the turnstiles, due to the fact that his his eyes resembled two boiled eggs in a bucket of blood. Aston Villa fan Dogman also displayed the symptons and manner of the full blown alcoholic, yelling "Kipper Tie" and "Where's me cowing Bovril" at the top of his voice every time it went quiet. You just don't need it...

Back to the match. The game kicked off on a perfect pitch, courtesy of the Ģ57,000 returfing, and it actually did seem to make a difference from the word go. Chelsea attacked vigourously against a weak defence, and it wasn't long before we were awarded a penalty. The ball was crossed into the area, and the Liverpool defence were running round in circles and crashing into each other like the Keystone Cops, when Tore Andre Flo challenged the awful Babb. His response was to punch the ball so hard that it ended up in row Z of the Shed Upper. The ref pointed to the spot straight away, but Babb complained bitterly, proving that he has the brains to go with his lack of footballing ability. The sooner Liverpool sack him, the better for them, but we were well pleased that he was playing on Saturday, even chanting "Give the ball to Babb" at every opportunity.

Beefy duly crashed home the penalty, proving that his miss against Blackburn was a mere blip, and we went mental, baiting the scousers opposite and generally misbehaving in a thoroughly infantile fashion. Life can be so sweet..

The constant pressure was kept up by the Blues, and we were rewarded with another goal shortly before half time, involving a patient build up with some skillfull play from Robbie Di Matteo, who was magnificent, culminating in a pinpoint cross from SuperDan that found Bjarne Glodbaek completely unmarked in the six yard box. He volleyed the ball home through James' legs, leaving Babb and his colleagues blaming each other for not picking him up. Cue more mayhem in the West Stand.

For most of the first half it had looked as though Liverpool just didn't fancy the game, and the only reason the score wasn't in double figures by the break was Chelsea's preference for crashing the ball against the bar or post at every scoring opportunity. The highlight of the half was when a Liverpool player, in one of their rare forays into Chelsea's area, headed the ball into the side netting. The Liverpool mob thought they'd scored, and were jumping up and down as fast as their pockets full of other peoples' wallets would let them. As soon as they realised they hadn't scored, they went instantly sullen and silent, so the entire Chelsea crowd treated them to a Harry Enfield Scouser-style "All right, all right, Caaaalm down, caaaalm down" routine. We were helpless with infantile mirth, and I'm completely unashamed to admit it, being as big a regional sectarian as the next man..

The second half didn't go quite as planned, with Graeme Le Saux letting Fowler's baiting get to him to the point where he soundly boxed the little fucker's ears when the ref wasn't looking. Le Saux was lucky, because he'd have been straight off if the ref had seen him, and it looks like the FA will be having a word or two when they see the video. If you ask me, Le Saux should have twatted the git with a large lump of wood when he went down, just to make sure. Fowler (such an apt name) and his effeminate chum Owen seemed to be involved in some sort of perverted competition to see who could get the prize for spoilt brat of the week. I can reveal that Fowler nicked it by one point.

Chelsea weren't half as solid in defence after Beefy had limped off midway through the first half due to a vicious foul (probably), although Bernard Lambourde did a sterling job as his replacement. All the same, we still had plenty of chances, but failed to convert them. Liverpool finally woke up 15 minutes from the end, and put Chelsea under some sustained pressure, leading to their goal. A bad miscue from Desailly allowed Fowler's speculative poke towards Owen to get through, and with only Land to beat, he rolled the ball past and into the net. Pretty depressing, and even the scousers' celebrations seemed muted, as though they realised that it had been a lucky break. To Liverpool's credit, they did try for the equaliser, but were denied by some robust defending, particularly from Desailly, who looked a class apart.

To sum up, I'd say that although Chelsea weren't firing on all cylinders, they looked solid enough, certainly enough to overcome a Liverpool side that were the weakest that I've seen at the Bridge. Good to see Robbie D having a blinder for a change, and even better to see Tore Andre's return, albeit looking half a yard short of pace. We're still winning even though not performing as we can, so you can't be too picky, can you ?

UPDATE: It has been pointed out to me in no uncertain terms by an idiot from Shanghai that the superb Eddie Newton played in this match, and was I going to mention him or not ? The answer is yes. I apologise to Wun Fatt Tit for my gross oversight, and here is my addendum:

We were all delighted to see Eddie Newton coming on for the increasingly temperamental Le Saux with 8 minutes to go. Eddie's contribution was dazzling in scope as he outshone all the other stars in the firmament. How we marvelled at his close control and effortless running, how we laughed as the Liverpool defenders scythed away at thin air as he ghosted past them (that's enough - Ed).. Is that OK, Ratesy ?

What do YOU think ? Want to add your point of view ? Here's your chance to send me some feedback.