Heavy petting recalls days of the dark arts

Posted Saturday, March 20, 2010 by theguardian.com

Inter defenders' close contact with Chelsea's Didier Drogba conjured stimulating results for the Italian side

Heavy petting recalls days of the dark arts
Didier Drogba of Chelsea receives attention from Lucio, left, and Walter Samuel of Inter.

I had a night off last Tuesday, a rarity in the midst of a stand-up tour, and was thus able, for the first time in a couple of months, to watch a match live and complete. And I did not expect the evening to cue up so many strange emotions.

Sympathy for Didier Drogba was probably the most surprising. No amount of rolling the tape forward and back on Sky seemed to make it any more conclusive that he had deliberately stamped on Thiago Motta's foot, rather than accidentally. He may well have, but the fact that only seconds previously he had been fondled to the ground yet again made me have some novel fellow‑feeling for the Ivorian.

Time after time, Inter's Lúcio and Walter Samuel had deftly groped Didier across the penalty area and on to the ground. At corners some of the snuggling and heavy petting was verging on the ridiculous, and it was increasingly obvious that we were going to get an eruption from the Chelsea forward as, every time he looked to the referee for justice, all he got was: "You two! Get a room!"

Although clearly an infringement, that sort of carry-on just doesn't seem to register with referees. I honestly can't remember a penalty being given for that manner of intense fondling since the Ireland-Spain World Cup knockout match in 2002, where two spot-kicks were given to us in the last few minutes as recompense for being repeatedly felt up in the penalty area.

We were so surprised at getting the penalty we missed the first one, so they had to give us another.

My other strange sensation on Tuesday was feeling nostalgic for a top‑quality display from a visiting Italian team, particularly one built on the dark defensive arts. Even the time-wasting was a masterclass. Ball positions were moved, long debates about who was to take the free-kick erupted, fingers were waggled and innocence pleaded. There was a good five-minute period where the match didn't actually stop, and yet nothing really occurred. We only got 48 hours of this old-time glow, of course, before the "Miracle of Craven Cottage" went and destroyed Serie A's reputation all over again.

There was also a small amount of sympathy, I suppose, for those Chelsea squad members who suddenly appeared to be really, really old. There was a shot of Roman Abramovich crossing the pitch after the game looking typically inscrutable/blank and we all got to play the "How does the mind of a billionaire work?" or, if you don't follow Chelsea, the "D'ya think he's getting bored yet?" game.

Well, do we? Do we think he's interested enough to rebuild the team? After all, he's buying a lot of art these days, and art actually gets better with age. Or at least doesn't get shown up by younger art being quicker over 10 yards. Draw a graph of how much Chelsea have spent each year in transfer fees. Huge number, big number, fairly big number, average number, small number, nothing. These are, suddenly, interesting times for Chelsea, top of league or not.

The one major regret of the evening, though, was not being there when the policeman told John Terry he was to be breathalysed. I'd imagine that John Terry generally isn't a man who likes being told what to do, but particularly if the copper was doing that "Oh really, sir. And why might that be?" thing they do. I'm not drawing on a lot of experience at the business end of an official talking‑to here, but I did once get stopped in traffic for spending too long in a right-hand lane, and the guy on the motorbike was all about the long pauses and the "I think you'll find we drive on the left in this country". Thanks for that, officer, because now I'm condescended to, distracted, and still in charge of a motor vehicle.

Nice work.

The Terry grilling can only have been equally infuriating, and thus, for the rest of us, hilarious. A series of questions to which the only answer is "I think you know the answer to that" but to which you must never, ever say "I think you know the answer to that".

"Have you been busy tonight, sir?"

"Oh, been playing football, have we sir? Aren't we a little old for that now?"

"And you're sure that yourself and your mates didn't have a couple of drinks after the game?"

And right at the end, the final stinger.

"And who was in the car with you when the collision occurred? Your wife, you say?"