Conte suited, Spurs booted
LAST WEEK he stood quietly in his technical area, unshaven, dishevelled even, in his blue Chelsea tracksuit.
Absent was the frantic leaping, pointing and cajoling that we have become so used to from Antonio Conte since he arrived in English football.
Instead, the Italian simply stood there as his champions were dismantled by Burnley, 3-0 down in their own fortress at half-time, down to 10 men, a shambolic rabble.
Hand on chin, he observed the transformation of a team from relentlessly drilled champions to shell-shocked opening-day mugs.
He had spent the summer, even the build-up, to that match complaining that he needed new players, that his squad was not strong enough, that this would be the most difficult season of his managerial career, that his team were not favourites to retain the title.
Conte was markedly more cheerful in the build up to yesterday’s game, giggling at the antics of Diego Costa, whose absence has haunted him and Chelsea this summer.
Conte had promised to be back to the usual black suit and tie in the wide open expanse of the Wembley technical area. And he was as good as his word.
Mauricio Pochettino, of course, is usually Mr Cool in that space. Occasionally there will be a stroll to the touchline and a barked instruction, pen in hand. Mostly, though, it is hands in pockets, coolly observing.
Normally, there could not be a greater contrast in demeanour. Mind you, very few compare to Conte for excitability when he is in full flow. Which was why eyebrows were raised last week.
What was wrong – why had the electricity been turned off? Conte insisted that moving house into London with his wife and daughter had thrown him in the suit-wearing stakes. There was no intended signal to the Chelsea board.
So there he was yesterday suited and booted again, Pochettino relaxed in sweater and trousers. And the Italian was back to jumping about – especially when new boy Alvaro Morata put a golden early chance wide.
Pochettino was complaining to the fourth official as Chelsea took the lead through Marcos Alonso. Then the Argentinian sat. And Conte leapt, Conte pointed, Conte yelled. Pochettino is your saloon-bar man pontificating on the game with a glass of white wine. Conte is the guy spilling his lager on the floor as he yells at the telly.
Mind you, the Argentinian must have been wondering how his team could possibly have been losing, so dominant were they. As the game wore on, the more agitated he became.
They levelled when the hapless Michy Batshuayi nodded into his own net and it seemed that Spurs – on top for so long – must go on to win.
But then, with two minutes left, the excellent David Luiz won the ball, fed substitute Pedro who played in Alonso – and the left-back won the game with a low angled shot.
Then we saw the real Conte, leaping into the arms of his coaching staff. As the final whistle went, he marched on to the pitch and hugged every player. Then over to the fans to celebrate, punching the air. Just like the old days. Suit back – mojo returned.
He leapt, pointed, yelled