Right from the start Chelsea took command of the game, engineering a series of attacks that could (and should) have resulted in us being 3-0 after 10 minutes. I was starting to get the feeling that it wasn't going to be our night. Ominously, Dicko was already calling certain players "Southern Jessies", a Scots term of endearment, by all accounts. Feyenoord had a couple of desultory attacks broken down by resolute defending in the first five minutes, but after that it was all Chelsea.

I counted at least fifteen clear chances to score in the first half, but somehow the ball always seemed to thump against the bar or cannon off the keeper's leg. One speculative forty yard shot from Flo travelled along the ground, and as the keeper went down to scoop up the ball, it took a wicked deflection off a piece of disturbed turf and bounced off his head as he lay on the deck with his hands grasping at thin air. Luckily for him there was no Chelsea player there, because it would have been a certain goal. How we all laughed. "Just like you, Priesty", said Marc. Good from a man whose skill level as an outfield player would make Douglas Bader look like Pele.

Poyet, Zola, Flo, Bab and Petrescu all had chances saved in a game that was going one way only. Feyenoord looked incredibly lacklustre and generally very poor. It could have been that Chelsea were too lively for them, but they seemed to have no energy for the game. In fact the whole first half was played as if Chelsea were at Harlington, just passing the ball back and forth looking for an opening. Just as we were despairing of ever seeing a goal, Dan Petrescu whipped in a curling cross from the right straight to Baba, who directed a powerful header that the keeper could only get a hand to as it went past him into the net. Baba performed his usual circus act of a double twisted pike with backflip and extra barbecue sauce, and we were away. Unfortunately the whistle for half time went a minute later.

Half time was spent bullshitting each other about how many of Chelsea's attempts on goal we personally would have scored, the consensus being that we'd have been 49-0 up had any one of us been on the pitch. The fact that we are to a man slightly overweight (some more than others, no names, no pack drill), unfit beer monsters is completely irrelevant. You know how it is.

Our mood was greatly improved as we saw a huge pile of polystyrene containers making their way down the row towards us, followed closely by Dicko, who distributed them with a smile. They contained pies hot enough to take the surface off your tongue, which were consumed rabidly and rapidly. Dicko is a Scot, and pies cost three quid. Three quid times five is fifteen quid, so the reputation that the Scots have as mean, penny-pinching, ginger, skirt wearing, alcoholic neanderthals is thoroughly undeserved. And don't listen to those mean-spirited people who would have it that the Scots' veneer of civilisation is only half of lager deep, because I won't have it. Luckily I was three people away from Dicko, so I managed to stay conscious throughout the match - Dicko tends to get a teeny bit carried away when we score, and he usually likes to bear-hug somebody (me) to the point of asphyxiation...

The second half went pretty much the way of the first, with Chelsea attacking and probing constantly, and it wasn't long before the second goal, which was eventually bundled home by Flo. Previously Petrescu had had a beautiful, twisting header crash against the bar, and Baba had suffered the same fate from close in. The final goal was the best, with Franco Zola wrong-footing the entire Feyenoord defence with one back-heel, straight into a completely unmarked Flo's path. Tore Andre dribbled the ball towards the advancing keeper, and delicately chipped it in the direction of over his head. The keeper somehow got a hand to it, but Flo was following up and didn't miss the second time. Game over. Chelsea had completely turned over the team with the best defensive record in the Champs League (no losses), and on this form they'll be hard to stop. On this form. That's always the question with Chelsea.

There followed more attacks from Chelsea with not much reply from Feyenoord until a few minutes from time, when Desailly mis-controlled the ball, allowing Feyenoord's Cruz to take it away and direct it past the helpless De Goey. A pity, but no real problem as away goals mean nothing. It might give Feyenoord some hope in the return leg, though. We'll see, but if they play like that Chelsea are a million to do them again.

A great result for all, especially Vialli. Now the journos who make a living making up stories about his imminent sacking will have to think of something else to fantasise about. Scumbags. We're in a good position to take on Lazio, who as we saw at the weekend, are not invincible at the back. Marseille will also have noted the rout of Feyenoord, and will realise that they've got a game on their hands. It's a shame we've got to wait until March for the rest of that games, barring one more bfore Christmas. My only moan is that Chelsea really should have made more chances stick. Luckily we had so many that it didn't matter in the end, but I wouldn't rely on Lazio and Marseille being so charitable.