If Russian linesman Gennady Krasyuk could see properly, Chelsea would no longer exist. You think we're on the baccy they call whacky, don't you?

It's simple, really. Allow us to explain.

Manchester United versus Porto, second leg in the last 16 of the 2004 Champions League. United trail 2-1 from the first leg but are 1-0 up on the night thanks to a crisp Paul Scholes header from John O'Shea's fine left-wing cross.

Just before half-time, O'Shea drives the ball into a crowded Porto penalty area and Scholes pounces, one touch, control, second touch, goal and wheels away in... despair. Linesman Krasyuk has ruled the little ginger assassin offside. He is on, by at least a yard. Had Krasyuk not read the rules before the game? The rules that state: disallowing a United goal at home is an act punishable by a severe Scottish shouting to the face. What was he thinking?

If that goal had been allowed, United would have been 2-0 up, Tim Howard wouldn't have panicked in the last minute and gifted a tap-in to Costinha. Jose Mourinho wouldn't have sprinted like a well-dressed, moody-looking gazelle along the touchline to incite the crowd, Porto wouldn't have gone through and, quite clearly, wouldn't have been European Champions.

The once and future king, José, would have been just another manager who came and saw and lost at Old Trafford. There'd have been no throwing of medals into the crowd, no looking sexy and gorgeous in victory. No being thought of as God's gift to football, women and well-tailored clothing. No lovely coats. Nothing. José Who?

Roman Abramovich, a man whose football wish list is seemingly decided by whatever Russian and other Eastern European players he thinks are cool, or whoever else happens to be the flavour of the month, does not hire Mourinho as Chelsea manager when he tires of Claudio Ranieri in the summer of 2004. Why would he?

Instead, he hires the coach of the summer's Champions' League winner: Didier Deschamps of AS Monaco. The former Chelsea player is given plenty of money to spend, and he spends it badly, because Didier is a ropey old manager and hasn't a clue how to win the Premier League with a team of over paid prima donnas. As Avram Grant and not-so-big-now Phil have found out, it's actually quite hard, and you have to be a bit brilliant to do it.

Didier turns to the old boys network and Roman is delighted to see genuine legends of the game, like Zinedine Zidane, and long-time Chelsea targets like David Trezeguet and Alessandro Del Piero come to the club. Unfortunately, Deschamps can't motivate them and the only thing that seems to get his massive earners out of bed in the morning is infighting as to who has the most enormous contract. The club's wage bill is spiralling out of control, but success is not forthcoming because, as Manchester City have shown us, you can spend as much money as you want but it doesn't mean instant success.

So not for Chelsea the back-to-back titles and the incredible unbeaten run. There's no ads for American Express for Didier. No swooning middle-England housewives, no enigmatic press conferences, no worrying about bird flu. No looking like a movie star while prowling on the touchline. It all goes horribly wrong.

The Sun mocks up an image of him as one of Ken Dodd's diddy men. Because Didier sounds a bit like diddy. See?

Turns out that Chelsea had peaked under the poetic insanity of Ranieri. They slip down the league.

When they finish the 2005-2006 season in fourth place, Abramovich has seen enough. He fires Deschamps and, in a widely derided move, installs Andriy Shevchenko as player coach with Sergei Baltacha in a supervisory, Director of Football role. The players revolt. When a delegation lead by Frank Lampard protest, Roman tears up Lampard's contract and throws it in the bin. It would have missed but deflects in off a chair-leg. But worse is to come.

With the team labouring in mid-table and Abramovich facing financial and

One cold and bitter Thursday in Munich, Germany,
Eight great football stalwarts conceded victory.
Eight men will never play again, who met disaster there,
The flowers of English football, the flowers of Manchester.

The Busby Babes were flying home, returning from Belgrade,
This great United family all masters of their trade.
The pilot of the aircraft, the skipper Captain Thain,
Three times tried to take off and twice turned back again.

The third time down the runway disaster followed close,
There was slush upon that runway and the aircraft never rose.
It ploughed into the marshy ground, it broke, it overturned.
And eight of that team were killed when the blazing wreckage burned.

Roger Byrne and Tommy Taylor, who were capped for England's side,
And Ireland's Liam Whelan and England's Geoff Bent died.
Mark Jones and Eddie Coleman and David Pegg also,
They all lost their lives as it ploughed on through the snow.

Big Duncan he went too, with an injury to his brain,
And Ireland's brave Jack Blanchflower will never play again.
The great Matt Busby lay there, the father of this team,
Three long months passed by before he saw his team again.

The trainer, coach and secretary and three members of the crew,
Also eight sporting journalists who with United flew,
And one of them was Big Swifty who we will ne'er forget,
The finest English 'keeper that ever graced a net.

England's finest football team it's record truly great,
It's proud success mocked by this cruel turn of fate.
Eight men will never play again who met disaster there,
The flowers of English football, the flowers of Manchester.

I've learned that no matter what happens, or how bad it seems to-day, life goes on and it will be better tomorrow.

I've learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way he/she handles these three things; a rainy day, lost luggage and tangled Christmas lights.

I've learned that regardless of your relationship with your parents, you'll miss them when they are gone from your life.

I've learned that making a 'living' is not the same as making a 'life'.

I've learned that life sometimes gives you a second chance.

I've learned that you shouldn't go through life with a catcher's mitt on both hands. You need to be able to throw something back.

I've learned that if you pursue happiness, it will elude you. But if you focus on your family, your friends, the needs of others, your work and doing the very best you can, happiness will find you.

I've learned that whenever I decide something with an open heart, I usually make the right decision.

I've learned that even when I have pains, I do not have to be one.

I've learned that every day you should reach out and touch someone: people love that human touch - holding hands, a warm hug, or just a friendly pat on the back.

I've learned that you should pass this one to someone you really care about ... I just did. Sometimes they just need a little something to make them smile.

People will forget what you said. People will forget what you did. But people will never forget how you made them feel.

Written by Eric S. Chatman, a man on Death Row, in San Quintin Prison in California.