Chelsea stroll as Ferguson mobilises

In my blissful ignorance, I imagine everything in China to be state-owned. Obviously this is unlikely to be the case but, for the sake of a cheap gag, I’ll cheerily depict the Chinese Football League as an entirely state-run organisation where the weekly winners are selected on the basis of regional productivity.

-    Ah, I see that handheld radio manufacture is up 22% in Hunan. They shall defeat Sichuan Guancheng by 3 goals to nil this weekend.
-    What... no recognition of Sichuan’s grassland-clearing project?
-    Very well. Guancheng may have a consolation goal late in second-half injury time.   

A quick glance at Wikipedia, that fountain of conjecture and opinion, tells me that Guangzhou Pharmaceutical have changed their badge (and name) 6 times since 1984, each time incorporating their new sponsor’s name and logo. I can’t imagine what the outcry would be if the Glazers turned round and informed Sir Ferg that their team would henceforth be known as Manchester Gatorade, or indeed if the Surrey supporter base would even notice that their home ground had been re-christened “The Gatorade FizzBowl”, but clearly the Guangzhou fans are a patient lot. I’ve no idea what it’s like to live under a communist regime. Forbearance is probably an important life skill to develop.

Guangzhou Pharmaceutical were, of course, Chelsea’s first pre-season opponents on their now-customary Oriental cash-and-grab tour. Something to do with spreading the brand, no doubt. Any concerns about the “Pharmaceutical” part of the club’s name – personally, I wondered if we were about to face 11 exquisitely tinkered-with examples of biochemical engineering... a sort of Universal Soldier for the football pitch – were quickly dispelled as Chelsea went to town on an obliging Guangzhou. 4 goals from 4 players, including the exciting but very gangly prospect Franco di Santo, meant a comfortable win with the absolute minimum of fuss. It was almost enough for everyone to stop talking about Frank Lampard’s contract-or-not.

Almost.

On a different subject, I don’t suppose there’s any chance we could stop referring to Ferguson’s half-baked bile as “mind games”? Even otherwise reputable newspapers seem happy to try and pass off these comments as the opening salvo of a devastating psychological blitzkrieg. You’ll have to excuse me while I refer back to my Sun Tzu and find the particular chapter that deals with destabilising your enemy by making vaguely derogatory remarks at a pre-season press conference. Perhaps it’s in the annotated Wordsworth Classics edition, next to Appendix C: Pre-emptive Strikes in the Transfer Market.

To be fair to Ferguson, there’s actually very little controversy to be found in his recent rumblings. Saying that it’s hard for Chelsea to progress beyond what Mourinho achieved... well, that’s like saying that it’s hard for Sir Edmund Hilary to find a bigger mountain. In terms of domestic results, Mourinho had it all his own way for over two years. As fans, many of us echo the suspected sentiments of our owner. Is it possible for Chelsea to achieve that relentless domination of League football whilst introducing elements of Barcelona-like flair to the tactics? Anyone who watched United consistently last year will know that they approached these heights, but that they never truly sacrificed pragmatism for exuberance. When they played Chelsea in the second League game, it was partly their caution that exposed them. And the same could be said of the Champions League final, where both Drogba (in open play) and Terry had chances to win the game.

So, here we are. Far-flung friendlies and Ferguson’s flatulence. The season’s so close, you can almost smell the money.