I know, it's mad isn't it.
In what was one of the Blues worst performnaces in recent times at Anfield, the boys gleefully zipped of home, grining like naughty schoolboys who had got one over teacher - quite how they got a draw is anybodies guess.
Petr Cech was almost faultless - just keep an eye on the crosses, mate.
The back four were resolute, if unconvincing at times.
The midfield performed like a bunch of strangers, while Drogba, as predicted yesterday was so isolated up front, one wondered if he had body odour.
Nevertheless, thanks to an own goal, Chelsea can go into next week's second leg with the knowledge that they cannot play so bad again.
Or can they.
Old head scratcher Grant is so close to taking his side to the promised land of Moscow for the final, he can't quite believe it.
You know something Avram, neither can we.