They'll Drink To Guus Hiddink
The rumour is that the door to the manager's office at Stamford Bridge has a big whiteboard on it with a damp cloth at the ready.
Some lowly youth team nobody who's destined to play his first team football at somewhere lowly like Bournemouth, or Leeds, has been busy writing the letters H-I-D-D-I-N-K on it this morning. (Given the average footballer's brain power he'll have finished that by ten this evening.)
Guus - my first choice for England boss ahead of Capello - has got his hands full at the Bridge. It's not surprising he's gone there, mind. He has a 'relationship' with Abramovich apparently, which is a bit like me saying I have a relationship with me bank manager.
But more importantly he's done very well with underdogs so Chelsea suits him very well.
I'm sorry to see Big Phil go. He never made excuses and tried to kick some backside but once teams worked out that the only threat came from the full-backs, stopping them scoring was as easy as keeping a toddler from pushing a door open.
Watching Aragones on the touchline against England was a bit like seeing the ghost of Scolari's future and there may be hope for him yet. Spain play a little like Chelsea in the middle of the park, only they move it around about ten times quicker and they have a couple of top-notch workers up the front in Villa and Torres, and a Geezer on the bench.
I bet Rafa the Gaffa watched the international friendly with his head in his hands, wailing 'But they are so tired! Nando and Xabi and Arbeloa and Pepe, they are so very tired, please stop tiring them out by making them play football!' They've got ten days off now so let's hear no more of that!
Blue Bell discussions centred around how Hiddink is going to approach his first meeting with the spoilt little workshy wastrels at the Bridge.
We reckon it'll go summat like this:
'Right, gentlemen, my name is Guus! That Guus with a 'Hrrgggggghhhhhh'. You have to pretend that you are bringing up phlegm into your mouth before schpitting, so you English boys should have no trouble pronounsching it.
'The firsht thing to shay ish that I will not put up with a divided dresshing-room sho Drogba, here'sh a big claw hammer - if you could smack a hole through those bitsh of plashterboard and then at leasht we can all shee each other. Thank you Drogba.
'Now, let me give each of you a bit of advische about what I expect from you. Peter Cech... do I call you Petta?... I think you need to lose weight. You are a heavy Petta. And lose the orange jersey. It never won anything in my time.'
'Bosingwa, my monobrowed friend. Do not leave your studmarksh in the backsh of any more opponentsh.
'Ashley, no more autobiographiesh sho we are taking your crayons away.
'JT, no more complaintsh about how bad your back feelsh or we'll let Bosingwa loose on it.
'Alex, Ivanovic, Mancienne, Carvalho... I don't rate you much, so I'm bring back Micky Droy.
'Deco... here's a Thomson's holiday brochure... read it.
'John Obi One-Kenobe... when we shay we want you to be our Makalele we mean in terms of protecting the back four and not in terms of not hitting cow's arshe with a banjo.
'Malouda... what can I say my little Cul-de-Sac King. You make Shaun Wright-Phillips look like a visionary.
'Herr Ballack... you are a quality midfielder, perhaps the most gifted all round player the Premiership has seen. There is however an obscure Dutch word for you - Ballacksadaishical. Pull your finger out.
'Lampsh, Fat Frank, in the wordsh of K.C and the ShunShine Band, pleash don't go.
'Kalou... Salomen Hasungotta Kalou... you are sho poor Middleshbrough have shown an interest in having you on loan.
'Quareshma, get your coat...
'And finally, you two. Mishter Drogba and Mishter Anelka. Are you listening to me, Nicolash? Right, take off your mittensh, take off your shlippersh, put down your cigar and get out of that armchair! Thank you.
'Now Drogba, shtop crying and give me your mobile.... what? Of course Jose won't talk to you, he'sh busy with hish new friends Luish and Zschlatan... there, there. Now who wantsh to be shentre-forward... No, you can't both be... Shtop shoving each other or I'll play Kalou upfront on his own!... ALL RIGHT EVERYONE CALM DOWN! It was just a little Dutch joke.
'Okay, here'sh what I'm going to do. The firsht person to give me twenty pressh-upsh get'sh to be my shentral shtriker.
'Oh dear. Neither of you can manage it? I heard Big Phil's training was a lidl bit gentle but this is ridiculous.'
In reality, no Joe Cole and no Essien is probably going to mean even he can't turn around this season for the stumbling wealthy ones. It was refreshing to hear Lampard talking about the players getting their own heads right before slagging off anyone else.
And if Chelsea want to get back to the top of the pile they need to invest in some lads who might make it in the long term - and do more than just buy thirty-plus millionaires who are raking in their last shekels before cosying up on a studio couch somewhere in Europe for the rest of their naturals.
Which is a criticism you could never level at Beckham, who, despite having no pace, no left foot and a rather too busy poncing about for money schedule, has always worked hard on a football and a training field and has, thank goodness got off his MLS gravy train cos he prefers working with people who can kick it to each other.
Of course Hiddink isn't anything other than good news for Blues fans. And bad news for the rest of us, at least next season.