So we’re off to Greece. Grease round me ma to see if she’ll lend us a quid to head off to Athens. For a Champions League Final.

Champions of what?

Champions of restraint, of quiet, of grace, of doing not talking, of recognising the opponent’s current strength. not degrading them through their glorious history.

Champions of playing, not cheating; of using one’s natural and fabulous football skills for the beauty of the game, not the desperation of needing attention.

Champions of playing to win, not playing that the “End justifies the means”. It doesn’t and for once, the good guy won.

Won - nil. That’s a good way of pointing out the real aftermath of Tuesday’s wrestling match. We won the right to be who we are. Nil - the respect earnt by Drogba’s antic’s, Jose’s wabbling tosh, Joe’s histrionics, oh and we had a crowd full of paid for banners.

PS Hope we’ve found the sniper who kept shooting at Drogba the entire match, he went down like he’d taken 29 bullets.

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