I had been worrying about the effect the Champions League adventure had been having on Chelsea's performances in the Premiership, even wondering if it wouldn't be a good thing if we were knocked out of the competition, but as soon as the game kicked off, the sheer will to see Chelsea win took over. It took only ten minutes to completely change my mood, as Didier Deschamps fired in a sublime goal from twenty five yards. He hit the ball with the outside of his boot, and the ball bent away from the diving keeper and flew into the top right hand corner of the net. The atmosphere was instantly transformed, and we all went what can only be described as bananas.

Within a minute of the restart Flo received the ball wide on the left flank. He performed his usual, gawky shuffle which resulted in two defenders looking at their own boots, and fired the ball across the keeper, only to see it skid past the far post. The result of this was to increase the fervour of the crowd, who foresaw another avalalanche of goals. It wasn't going to be that easy, however. Hertha were poor, but their tenacity and determination made up for a complete lack of cohesion, with passes constantly going astray and comical misunderstandings between their players.

Shortly before half time Chelsea scored again. Dennis Wise received a dodgy pass from Zola in the Chelsea half which put him under pressure from the Hertha forwards, but he bullied his way back into possession, did a neat one-two with Deschamps and pinged the ball fifty yards into the box, right onto none other than Albert Ferrer's boot. Bertie controlled the ball beatifully and rifled it past the despairing keeper. Cue mayhem and near death from asphyxiation on the terraces. All was well with the world.

Half time was enlivened by my death defying dive down the concrete steps into the bowels of the Shed stand, arriving in a heap in front of a vastly impressed group of tea girls and stewards. In spite of the pain from a shattered kneecap, I attempted to regain some small shreds of dignity by announcing that I also did weddings and Bar Mitzvahs, which, I'm glad to say, got a belter. This was a source of some comfort as I limped to the bog.

The second half began with a bang from Hertha, who'd made two substitutions at half time. They looked a different side as they attempted to bully Chelsea out of possession, and for a while it looked as though they would succeed, but Chelsea dug deep and held the line. We were kept amused by Hertha's clown of a keeper doing his exercises in the penalty area. He was wearing Big Old Trousers, which had the unfortunate effect of making him look like the central character from "Felix and his Amazing Underpants", the Viz cartoon. "Come on, lads, you can play the rest of the game in my pants", he cried...

It was during the second half that my attention was increasingly taken up with watching the glorious Chris Sutton. To be fair to him, he was fucking useless. Why does Vialli keep sticking up for him when he's so bad ? Is it me ? Do I really know fuck all about football ? I suspect that must be the case, as for the life of me I can't see what it is that makes that man worth 10 million quid. He was sulky, lazy, dirty (eight fouls, two bookings, one sending off) and just couldn't seem to be arsed in any way. Apart from that he was brilliant.

It all ended badly, as I ended up having an argument with some blokes in the crowd, because I'd stood up in my frustration and yelled that he was useless. These geniuses told me to shut it. Of course I asked them why they were sticking up for Sutton, and predictably no intelligible reply was forthcoming, so I said "Why don't you buy him, then, if he's so fucking good ?", which soon put a stop to their tricks. How I laughed in the back of the ambulance on the way to hospital.

Three minutes later the useless tosser got himself sent off, in the 90th minute if you please, for a stupid, pointless foul which led to a second booking. His professional response was to petulantly kick the ball away. Vialli was furious, and so was I, but Sutton's bitches were silenced and I was vindicated. A few minutes later the game was over, and we were looking at some heavy duty queueing for a season ticket for the next phase. Were you watching, Arsenal ?