Even as John Terry walked up to the penalty spot at the Luzhniki Stadium in Moscow yesterday, a large part of me knew that he wasn’t going to score. Moscow has always loved the color red.
It’s always nice to get the better of Russian oligarchs in their own backyard but I don’t bear ol’ Roman any grudges. After all, being a Russian billionaire is not easy. But I have a few bones to pick with some of his employees, past and present, at Chelsea Football Club, Didier Drogba being one of them. Big D, much like his (pet) namesake of Whinging Street fame, never seems miss an opportunity to throw his weight around, and show just how petulant he can be. I think Big D and Emmanuel Adebayor hung out a lot together this season, watching Thierry Henry videos. You know what; I won’t be surprised if the three of them get together and start a School Of Petulance For French-Speaking Strikers, with branches in West Africa and the Caribbean.
And at the exact moment when Avram Grant received the loser’s medal from Michel Platini, miles away, somewhere in Portugal, a crabby man afforded himself a rare smile. Jose Mourinho never came across as a gracious man. He’d be thinking that if he hadn’t been booted out of West London, he’d be the one to bring back Europe’s most coveted prize from Moscow. But he’d be wrong, because no one in the whole wide world could have stopped Ryan Giggs and Rio Ferdinand from holding aloft the piece of silverware that their club had last won nine years ago.
There is something about these big European nights. Little else in the world can get me to scream at the top of my voice at 3 in the morning, and twirl my T-shirt around like a maniac.
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