The game, meanwhile, started off with Gillingham running around the pitch like startled hares evading a whippet, which was only to be expected - they'd been told that this was their Cup Final. With all due respect to them, if they'd had a bit more tactical sense and a touch more composure on the ball they would have put Chelsea under a lot more pressure than they managed to achieve by charging around the place; Chelsea just soaked it up and kept tight at the back. There were signs from midfield that Deschamps was on form, and Desailly, Lambourde and Terry looked composed at the back. No Dennis Wise or Franck Leboeuf, who were suspended, and Vialli had gone with Weah, Zola and Flo up front. Harley, Poyet, Morris and De Goey completed a strong lineup.

After the initial excitement the game was starting to bog down into a scrappy mess, but things changed after fifteen minutes as Gus Poyet found himself on the wing with the ball. He floated in the perfect cross to an unmarked Flo, who gently nodded the ball over the line. Up we all got and gave it to the Gillingham fans, who responded magnificently by leaping to their feet and cheering and clapping to encourage their team. What a brilliant attitude. It reminded me of the days when Chelsea were in the second division and we travelled around the country with them; it's exactly what we used to do when we went a goal down, and I know for a fact that the boys took courage and comfort from it, because they told us so - in those days the players got to recognise the people who travelled and used to stop for a chat before they got on the team coach. Anyway, let's just say it's a lesson that a lot of Chelsea's present fans could take on board.

The expected rout didn't materialise, as Gillingham responded to their fans and tightened up. The game once again became a midfield stalemate, punctuated by the occasional breakthrough from both sides, but nothing approaching a real goal chance materialised. Our attention was unfortunately drawn away from the game by the fact that the Assistant Referee, or Linesman, or whatever the hell they're called nowadays, was a woman. I say unfortunately because as this fact dawned on the supporters around us, they got on her case every time she flagged a Chelsea player for offside. So what ? you may ask, but when did you last hear someone yell "Fuck off home and do some ironing, you slag" at a linesman ? All very unfortunate, as I said, but I'm afraid that even I fell foul of my mate Tania who was next to me, when I suggested that a bad offside decision the lineswoman (Linesperson ?) made was due to PMT. I didn't yell it out, but I was firmly ticked off by Tania, who is of Maori origin and has the innate fierceness of her race bubbling just under the surface at all times (only joking, Tania !). Enough said.

Half time arrived without further incident, and Ruprecht (my half-witted brother Tommy) was despatched to fetch the bovrils. Ten minutes after the second half had kicked off he triumphantly arrived back in his seat, minus, of course, the bovrils. It turned out that he'd been having a crafty pint with Dogman, the little shit. I got him back later in the pub, though, but that's another story, and I'm not sure it's legal to tell it...

As I was berating Ruprecht with all the force I could muster, we won a corner at the other end. Zola marched up to cheers from the Matthew Harding stand, swung the ball over, and John Terry nodded home his first goal for Chelsea. The Gillingham fans had been taunting us with chants of "England, England", so we were delighted that Terry had scored the goal, and turned their chant back on them, with interest. Other chants of "you might as well go home" were a touch premature, I remember thinking. Knowing Chelsea of old, I'm only happy when we're five goals up.

Just as we were settling down after the goal, we were up again as George Weah score the goal of the game by cleverly looping a header over the advancing keeper which grazed the underside of the bar before going in. At last the Gillingham fans were stunned into silence, and I don't blame them; two goals in a minute is a sickener. The atmosphere became jolly, and we started to shout "Ole" every time a Gillingham player got the ball, and even booed when Chelsea got it back. Highly amusing, but I'm not sure the Gillingham fans were that impressed. Chelsea kept up the pressure on the field, and it wasn't long before Jody Morris was ludicrously pulled down in the box, and Franco Zola stepped up to slot the ball past the Gillingham keeper, who went the wrong way.

There was just time for one more goal, which was provided by Morris himself. He fired in a shot which crashed against the bar, and found himself on the end of the rebound, from which he made no mistake. 5-0, and I relaxed at last. The inevitable "Man U, it's just like playing Man U" chant went up, and we were applauded for it by the Gillingham fans, a nice touch. The whistle went, and those of us that remained in turn applauded the Gillingham fans and players. There is some sportsmanship left in the world after all. Gillingham's players and fans were a credit to their club, and were beaten because Chelsea can afford the best players, not because they didn't have the guts for it, and there's no shame in that.